Some people believe that cities are the heart and soul of all that is human; the centers of culture, the hubs of commerce, the budding blossoms on the tree of knowledge and progress. They believe that, outside the urban buzz, life can only be about longing and regret and that only those who can't stand to be close to the heat of what's truly important, those who can't hack the competition and the pace set by the doers and the dreamers, only those poor, misguided souls choose the boredom and surrender of life on the fringes of the megapolis. Eddie Barlow was not among those people.
As he sat on his front porch at 4:00 a.m.--carefully cleaning and loading a pair of 12 gauge shotguns--Eddie was musing about the nature of things. He'd lived in the city; cleaned up its messes and dealt daily with its violence, its victims, its calamities and casualties. He'd put his life on the line and even felt, once in awhile, as if it were worth it; that he was actually doing some good. But he couldn't honestly say that, in all his time on the job, he'd learned anything particularly meaningful about the underlying reasons that things were the way they were.
Out in the desert it was very different. All he'd had to do to understand it was to keep still and watch. Out here, the rhythm of things flowed effortlessly and its results, though they sometimes seemed ruthless on the surface, made a kind of hard edged sense. Each thing, each creature had its place, its own unique role to play. Earth and sky, sun and rain, predator and prey; all seemed to accept their positions in the natural order. Even mankind.
When you lived so close to the bone, when every day was a struggle to survive the unforgiving elements, it taught you the value of simple things--trust in your fellow men, loyalty to those who trusted you, courage in the face of fear. It came down to this: either you lived by those principles or you perished, and Eddie Barlow was a survivor. He picked up the shotguns and slipped back inside. He didn't want Maggie to wake up and worry.
The muffled drone of the helicopter engine lulled Quentin Stefano into an uneasy twilight sleep. As the craft banked over the city on its way toward the desert, images and memories that constantly hovered just beneath the surface of his consciousness mingled with the city lights disappearing below him. Like Barlow, Stefano's world was one of immutable certainties but, in his case, they were centered on and revolved around him and him alone. He trusted no one. Apologies and excuses were not in his vocabulary. On the contrary, his way had served him well; enabled him to claw his way to a pinnacle where he was master of all he surveyed, where there was no debate and no dissension, where he ruthlessly lorded the power of life and death over anyone who dared to stand in his way.
A woman's face, a face he hadn't seen in many years. She'd said "no" to him, back in the early days when it was still within the realm of possibility for someone to do that. He remembered her raven hair, her dark, endless eyes and perfect skin. And he remembered how she'd disappeared from his life, taking with her something that belonged to him, something so precious to her that the idea of him coming anywhere near it was unthinkable. She had stolen from him, and now he meant to get his property back.
"Mr. Stefano? We're landing, sir."
Stefano smiled. Today, he would take back what was his.
"Got it. Thanks, Bobby, you have no idea how important this is," Eddie said before hanging up the phone. "Stefano might be a king in his world", he chuckled to himself, "but out here a man doesn't need a fortune to have eyes and ears everywhere, even on an old air strip."
Eddie knocked at the door of the guest room. Inside, Jimmy and Amria stirred.
"It's time", he said quietly.
Putting on his best unflappable face, he strolled into the kitchen where Maggie was already at work over the stove. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and nibbled her ear.
"What's for breakfast, babe? I'm starving."
She elbowed him, grinning, and went back to breaking eggs into the iron skillet.
A showroom shiny Land Rover stood waiting as Stefano and four of his men hopped from the helicopter, shielding their eyes from the abrasive desert dirt kicked up by the rotors. One of the men opened the vehicle's hatch and began to distribute a cache of military issue assault rifles to the others. As they checked and loaded the weapons, Quentin waved off the pilot and the chopper disappeared in a whirling, dusty cloud over the mountains. Stefano nodded, and they all took their places in the Land Rover.
"You know the place, young man?" Quentin asked the driver.
"Like the back of my hand--and the name's Bobby, Mr. Stefano. Bobby Whitfield."
"Then let's be on our way, Mr. Whitfield."
The faint glow of approaching dawn was gathering behind the mountains as the vehicle roared into the starless night.
Jimmy, Amria, Eddie and Maggie sat around the kitchen table sipping coffee and saying little. Eddie got up from the table, walked to a tall cabinet and brought out the two shotguns. He tossed one to Jimmy and set a box of ammunition on the table. As he loaded his own, he winked.
"Just like old times, huh?"
Jimmy nodded, slapped in the last shell, pumped one into the chamber and stood up.
"Old times."
Maggie took Amria's hand and led her to the back door. She smiled stoically at Eddie and then flicked off the kitchen light, plunging the entire house into darkness. Outside, headlights pierced the night along the deserted road leading to the Barlow place. The Rover eased to a stop a few hundred feet from the driveway and Stefano stepped from the vehicle. He felt a moment of vague unease, and then quickly understood its source. With the exception of a distant water pump humming faintly from the direction of the barn, there was absolutely no sound, a marked contrast to the ceaseless, subliminal background noise of the city. Quentin leaned into the open window of the Land Rover.
"Wait here."
"Yes sir, Mr. Stefano."
Quentin tossed a thick envelope to Bobby, and then motioned silently to his men. Three of them headed toward the driveway, the other joined Stefano and they began to make their way overland toward the barn. The as they drew nearer, Quentin glanced at the darkened house smiled, smugly.
"Sheep", he thought.
Unseen by the interlopers, Mr. Bobby Whitfield--the proud new defacto owner of an extremely expensive, European made, all terrain vehicle--eased his prize quietly onto the road and slipped away, headlights off. Crouching behind a scrub tree several yards from the porch, Jimmy watched three shadowy figures approach. He waited, propping himself against his shotgun and swaying a little on his haunches as the men came closer. When they reached the front steps, one of the men made a hand signal and the other two disappeared around the corner furthest from Jimmy. The remaining man began to creep up the front steps and still Jimmy waited, silently, beads of sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead. The man reached into his belt and withdrew something Jimmy couldn't quite make out through the darkness and the salty sting of the sweat dripping into his eyes. When he heard the unmistakable "ping" sound of a grenade pin being pulled, Jimmy jumped stiffly to his feet.
"Hey, pal? 'Something we can do for you?"
The man whirled around, grenade in one hand, rifle in the other. He threw the grenade toward what he thought was Jimmy's position, but Jimmy had been on the move when he'd spoken and was now leveling his gun at the man from behind the relative safety of the low wall which ran along the porch's perimeter. Suddenly, the night exploded in orange and yellow thunder. The man pointed his rifle toward the grenade explosion, its laser sight cutting through the thick smoke, and in his last second of life he heard the pump action of Jimmy's 12 gauge. The shotgun blast knocked him off the porch and he landed in a lifeless heap at the bottom of the steps.
Along the back side of the barn, Quentin and his companion froze. After a few seconds, Stefano motioned for the man to continue on while he stayed to investigate the barn's interior through a cracked window. Behind the house, the other two invaders pressed themselves low to the back wall in the wake of the grenade and shotgun reports. When all seemed to be quiet again, they moved on--guns leveled, laser sights scanning purposefully over brush and dirt and outbuildings. They searched slowly, side-by-side, hyper alert for any sign of movement, inside or out. Then, in unison, they stepped into oblivion; tumbling head over heels into some kind of wet, deep, stinking mire. Inside the barn, Maggie flicked on her flashlight and turned it comically onto her own face.
"Hmm...’sounds like somebody just found the garbage pit" she said with a nervous giggle.
Red streaks of laser light darted and criss-crossed crazily toward the sky from the bottom of the hole, accompanied by pointless automatic weapons fire. The men scrambled and flailed in a futile attempt to extricate themselves from the deep pit. Eddie appeared, looking down at them from the rim, and they stared at him for a second or two in stupefied surprise. When one of the would-be attackers made the mistake of swinging his rifle toward Eddie, it was his last. The shotgun flashed and jerked as Eddie pumped two quick loads into the pit, leaving nothing but blue smoke and uneasy silence.
As he was about to head over to the barn, a shot fired from somewhere behind him tore through Eddie's upper right thigh. He staggered and went down, his shotgun skidding across the baked ground and coming to rest just out of reach. The sound of footsteps made him instinctively turn over to get a look at his approaching attacker, who proceeded to kick the throbbing wound savagely. Eddie howled. The man sneered and aimed his rifle down into Eddie's face. Three shots pierced the night and, after first the rifle and then the man himself crumpled to the ground, Eddie saw Maggie standing there, shaking, his old '38 service revolver smoking in her trembling hand. She fairly flew over the man's corpse and knelt beside Eddie.
"Don't worry. Don't worry, baby. I'm here. It's ok. It's ok, baby. Maggie's here", she said, trying desperately to control her rising panic as she gathered Eddie into her arms. He looked up at her and managed one of his big goofy grins.
"What's the matter with you woman? 'You've never seen a little scratch before?"
She held him to her breast, not sure whether to dissolve into tears of joy or pummel the old fool for scaring her half to death. Just then Jimmy raced around the corner of the house, gun leveled. He ran quickly to where Eddie lay and, seeing that the wound wasn't life-threatening, patted his partner on the shoulder and then leaned over and kissed Maggie's cheek.
"She's still in the barn, Jimmy," said Maggie.
Jimmy nodded and moved off.
Amria sat silently, immersed in the thick, stifling air of the hot barn. The sound of a door opening made her involuntarily suck in a shallow breath as she got slowly to her feet.
"Maggie?" she whispered.
Nothing.
"Jimmy?" she asked, her voice pitching up a little.
She fought back her fear as footsteps slowly padded against the dirt floor, moving inexorably in her direction.
"Who is it?"
Her answer was a single match crackling to life, its tiny flame flickering over a face she'd learned to know well and fear even more. Quentin lit a cigarette and stared at her wordlessly. Finally he reached up and pulled on a thin chain, flooding the barn with the light from a single bulb which hung from a cord stapled loosely to the rafters. The light swayed between them, alternately illuminating and then plunging each of their faces into shadow. Slowly, it came to rest. He smiled. It was a smile she'd seen before; a smile she'd come to dread.
"Well, little one. You've been very bad, haven't you? You've cost me a lot of time and trouble and effort, but now your little adventure is over. 'Time to go."
Amria began to take involuntary back steps. With each one, Quentin moved one step closer. Abruptly, he jumped forward, gripping and twisting the front of her t-shirt as he backed her against one of the rough hewn barn poles.
"And time to pay", he hissed.
He yanked Amria from the pole by her shirt and pushed her toward the door. She stumbled and fell to unforgiving earthen floor, crying softly as he loomed over her.
"Just like when you were a little baby," he said icily.
Stunned, Amria stopped crying and raised her head tentatively.
"What do you mean, 'when you were a little baby'?"
"Precisely what I said. I knew you when you were born. I knew your mother, too. How do they put it? In the biblical sense?" he sneered.
"You mean? No! NO! It's not possible. Not you. You can't be..."
"Oh, I can be, and I am, Amria...your father."
He leaned down into her face. She recoiled in horror.
"Your very own, long lost, ever loving father," he spat.
His words bored through her like flesh eating worms. Frozen in his obscene leer, she could neither speak nor move. He smiled sardonically, reaching down to clasp her wrist. Instantly, another hand was around his wrist, ripping it away. Stefano's look of surprise lasted only as long as it took Jimmy's fist to smash into his face. He staggered backward, pulled his pistol and fired several wild shots in Jimmy's direction, succeeding only in annihilating the flimsy bulb and socket between them and plunging the room into darkness. Sparks leaped from the bare wire as Jimmy landed a flurry of punches to Stefano's midsection. With a painful groan, he buckled and lost his grip on the gun. Immediately, Jimmy went for the throat, squeezing as if he might pop the older man's head from his shoulders. Struggling and sputtering, Quentin fell to the floor, landing hard with Jimmy on top of him.
Jimmy didn't see the knife. The six inch stiletto flashed in Stefano's hand for only a fraction of a second before slashing across Jimmy's chest. He fell backwards, clutching his hand to the angry, bleeding gash. Q
uentin got to his feet and stomped viciously into Jimmy's midsection. Gasping for breath, Jimmy could only watch Stefano bearing down on him with the blade. Suddenly, a bright light froze him momentarily in his tracks. Amria had felt around in the dark until she'd found Maggie's flashlight and was aiming it directly into Stefano's eyes. Seizing the moment, Jimmy lashed out with his foot, kicking hard into the man's groin, sending him reeling. Quentin screamed in pain, stutter-stepped backwards and caught the edge of the horse trough with his boot, tumbling headlong into the water. Jimmy sagged to the floor, exhausted. Before he could clamber out of the trough, Quentin felt the touch of cold steel pressed to his forehead. He looked up and saw Amria in the glow of the flashlight--holding his pistol.
"You would shoot me? Me? Your own flesh and blood?"
He shook his head with a confidence born of arrogance and contempt.
"I don't think you will. I don't think you have it in you. Now put it down. I said...put...it...down, Amria!"
She stood there, staring at Quentin, the man who had kidnapped and brutalized and used her for months; the man who had regularly reduced her to a mass of quivering terror with a single look--and reveled in his power to do so; the man who had murdered her former lover; the man who had, in all probability, raped her mother, as well. This man. Her father. The very word seared her consciousness.
Amria lowered the gun. Quentin began to smirk. Laying the gun carefully at her feet, she reached up and grabbed the loose wire, ripped it from the ceiling with a single, sweeping motion and dangled it inches above the trough. In an instant, Quentin's expression changed from triumph to terror.
"No, I won't shoot you...father," she whispered.
Without hesitation, she dropped the wire into the water. The crackling was replaced by a low, metallic hum as Quentin Stefano began to convulse violently, clutching spastically at the side of the trough. His teeth began to shatter and blood trickled from one if his nostrils. Finally, a tiny plume of smoke rose from behind his head and he went limp, sinking slowly beneath the surface.
Amria ran to Jimmy, got him to his feet and helped him out of the barn. Outside, Eddie stood with Maggie, one big arm propped over her shoulder and a fresh bandage wrapped around his wounded leg.
"Cut yourself a little, did you partner?" chuckled Eddie.
"Aw, it's nothing old man. Just a nick," Jimmy grinned. "Um, Eddie? 'You think there'll be any trouble about…well...all this?"
Eddie shook his head.
"Funny thing about the desert. Sometimes, people just go missing. They get lost or they have an accident and they're never, ever found. 'Just happens."
Eddie shrugged. Maggie nodded thoughtfully, and then looked at others with an odd smile curling around the edges of her lips.
"You know what, Eddie? I think it's about time we dug ourselves a new garbage pit."
They all laughed quietly, and then stood there for a long time basking in the first golden rays of a new day rising over the mountains.