The Beasts of Juarez R.B. Schow (reading the story of the .TXT) 📖

With that, he found the picture of Alabama, gave it one last look then put it back where he had hidden it. Turning to Dicampli and the guard, he said, “All right, fellas, I’m ready to go when you are.”

The guard threw the burlap bag at him and said, “Put it on yourself, asshole.”

Atlas obliged him and then he took a swift and immediate kick to the balls, one he was not expecting. If he was wearing a smile on his face right then—which he was—that kick turned his smile upside down.

The guard grabbed him, hauled him out of his cell, then pushed him forward and made him walk with busted nuts all the way to transport. They moved so fast, Atlas stumbled forward most of the way, the pain in his groin more intense than he wanted to admit.

When they were finally outside, Atlas was hustled into a van and shoved inside. The bag was torn off his head again. He found himself staring at a very upset Fabian Dicampli. Atlas was about to say something cute when the man spit in his face.

Slowly wiping the saliva off his cheek, Atlas said, “I see you’re a spitter. I’d heard from reliable sources you were a swallower, so imagine my surprise.”

Dicampli handed Cira her phone which she took begrudgingly. “You dropped this when you assaulted me.”

“When I kicked your ass,” she said.

To the driver, Dicampli said, “Dump their asses off a mile down the road. No sense in wasting valuable gas.”

The transport driver did exactly as he was told, and from there, Cira arranged for an Uber. Within four minutes, they were picked up and taken to a private airfield where she had a chartered flight scheduled for a one-way trip to lovely El Paso. When they got to the airfield, they had to call the pilot. He’d gone home when they didn’t show earlier that morning.

“Your face looks like a seventies porno,” Cira said without cracking a smile.

“It kind of feels like it.”

“I mean, seriously. I can’t even see you behind all that…hair. My God, Hargrove, you look like you sleep in a garbage can for a living.”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he asked.

“Hell no, not now.”

“Imagine being one of those scumbags inside, always looking for that perfect catcher, that prison pocket that no one has managed to violate just yet. Looking the way I did going in…I was a target in the showers. Guys thought they could rape me, break me, molly wop me, and leave me bleeding from every conceivable hole. Not then and certainly not now.”

“As much as I appreciate your tactics—”

“I know, they’re brilliant.”

“Did you see the Uber driver’s face when you got into his car?” she laughed. “He’s going to have to take his KIA to the dump after your dirty ass stunk it up.”

Atlas started to laugh for the first time in a long time. Being with her was good. “I’m not going to say you look beautiful right now, but…you do. I mean, for real.”

“Stop,” she said, grinning.

“I’m going to,” he said, “but I’m also not going to.”

“No, you really need to.”

“After I get showered and cleaned up properly, we’ll pick up where we left off and you’ll like it, and then you will remember our last time together with fondness rather than distaste.”

“You want to place a bet on that?” she challenged. “Because my kitty’s in its own form of solitary confinement these days.”

“Maybe we’ll bust each other out.”

She turned, put her hands on her hips, and said, “You seriously look like Tom Hanks in Cast Away right before he left the island, but not so clean.”

“He was filthy,” he said.

“Exactly.”

When they finally saw the pilot walking to the plane, Cira smiled almost like she was relieved. Before boarding the jet, she pulled out her phone and started texting someone.

“Leopold?” he asked.

“I’m letting him know we’re on our way.”

“Be sure to let him know I’m on the clock. I want my minute-for-minute access to his detective or I’m not doing squat. I’ll sit on my hands and become his problem unless he agrees to that over the phone.”

“He will,” she assured him.

“I want to hear his voice. You tell him he needs to say the words.”

She looked up at him and frowned as if she understood already and that he was wasting his time and his breath reminding her.

“So, that’s a yes?” he asked.

“God, you’re annoying,” she said. “Of course, it’s a yes.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

LEOPOLD WENTWORTH

Leopold got the text and breathed a sigh of relief. He pressed Cira’s phone icon, automatically dialing the number. It rang only once before she picked up.

“Hey,” Cira said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. We’re going to clean up the mess that is Fabian Dicampli, but not now.”

“I assaulted him, Leopold,” she said.

“Physically?”

“Yes.”

A smile curled his lips. “Good,” he said. “I need to speak to Atlas.”

“Hang on,” she said.

A moment later, the gritty, mean voice came on the line. “It’s about time you called,” Atlas said.

Leopold wasn’t sure how he’d feel dragging Atlas’s ass out of the slammer again, but now that he was about to talk to him, he found he had a certain degree of confidence in the mission, something he didn’t have earlier.

“Atlas Hargrove,” he said warmly, “it’s good to talk to you again.”

“What took you so long?” he barked.

Backing away from the phone, Leopold cringed, not sure how to respond. “This was the first job I could bring you in on. I’m not sure if you noticed but everyone’s had their heads in the sand this last year. A pandemic, a contentious election, all kinds of lunacy associated with just about every single thing right down to the color of your skin and whether or not you’ll wear