Dance of the Bones

Henry wasn’t due at Jane’s until after dark. Since he still had time to spare, he sat down and made a single phone call to a number in Nogales. The call that would show on his bill would lead to what was ostensibly an aboveboard shipping and expediting company that specialized in cross--border transportation issues. Inside the company, however, were -people who handled far more questionable transportation arrangements.

Henry’s call was patched through to one of those. These were -people Henry dealt with often. It took only a matter of minutes for him to negotiate a deal that included a time, location, and price for having him and his goods carried across the border and deep into the interior of Mexico. Early the next morning, he’d drive out to the Organ Pipe National Monument, park his truck at the appointed spot, lock it, and walk away.

As Henry hung up the phone, he was in a much better frame of mind. Tim José had been locked in the back of the truck for going on twenty hours, Gabe Ortiz for only half that long. Still, without water, they wouldn’t last much longer. A few hours of being parked in a black vehicle in direct sunlight would finish them off. Yes, -people would know it was Henry’s truck, but Henry would be long gone by then. And so would Gabe and Tim. Other than parking the truck, Henry wouldn’t have to lift a finger or pull a trigger. That might not be better for the two boys, but it would sure as hell be better for Henry.

WHEN LORRAINE JOSé FINALLY FELL into an exhausted slumber, Lani made her escape. Out in the hallway she ran into Lucy Rojas. “What are you doing here?” Lucy wanted to know. “Isn’t this supposed to be your weekend off?”

“It is,” Lani answered, “but Mrs. José needed me. You’ve heard about her sons?”

Lucy nodded. “It’s terrible.”

“Yes, it is,” Lani agreed, “so if she wakes up and asks for me, call me immediately.”

“I will,” Lucy said. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a group over at the airport searching for Tim José and Gabe Ortiz. I’m going there to help.”

“I hope you find them,” Lucy said.

“So do I.”

Out in the parking lot, Lani hopped into her Ford Fusion and headed for the airport. That was something of a misnomer, however, since the airport in Sells was an airport in name only, one that saw few planes land or take off in the course of a year. These days it was mostly a hangout for teenagers who went there to neck and drink.

Decades earlier the tribal chairman had been a pilot who had kept his own small Cessna there. At the time the airport had consisted of a single landing strip/runway as well as several outbuildings. When the chairman’s plane had crashed, killing all on board, the tribe had stopped doing upkeep on the runway. Most of the outbuildings had been repurposed or rented out. One of those was the sturdy metal Quonset hut that Henry Rojas used as a garage and workshop, leasing it from the tribe for a nominal sum.

Even though few planes came and went these days, the airport’s metal cattle guard still kept grazing animals from straying onto the property. As Lani approached, she saw a collection of cars scattered along the fence line. Taking a hint from where the other cars were parked, she stopped along the fence line as well. Leo Ortiz’s tow truck was pulled up close to the door of a Quonset hut. Then she saw what looked like the flare of something that might have been a blowtorch. She was shading her eyes and squinting in that direction when someone knocked on the window next to her head.

Startled, Lani looked around. Henry Rojas stood just outside. She rolled down the window. “Have they found something?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “maybe.”

She didn’t spot the syringe until it was coming through the open window. She tried to dodge away, but Henry caught her wrist with his other hand and held it motionless while the needle bit through the sleeve of her lab coat and plunged into her arm.

“What the hell?” she demanded. “What do you think you’re doing?”