Dirt Dollars Death

By Amanda Sherrill

Inspired by true events, Dirt Dollars Death is a crime mystery novel about organized corruption in a rural county located in the Texas Hill Country and what happens when love, friendship, and loyalty don’t give up the search for a missing person.

Missy, Clint, and Giselle arrive from Houston with plans to meet Missy’s boyfriend and then spend a long weekend touring The Three Sisters on motorcycles. They find strange behavior from the locals, and then a mysterious man gives them startling news.

The little group, with its own personality dynamics, experiences most of the one-hundred-mile motorcycle route while they explore the small town of Leakey, travel across a mountain to Camp Wood, and eventually visit two other tiny communities (one not by choice). There are hostile encounters with the unfriendly locals, and then something happens, and their energies focus in a new direction that leads them to a fight for their lives.

The story spans four days and includes missing people, real estate fraud, identity theft, money laundering, human and other contraband trafficking, betrayal, murder, and more perpetrated by a variety of interconnected crime syndicates as well as by individuals with their own agendas. The reader will not only ride along with the protagonists through scenic landscapes but will also see into some of the locals’ relationships and operations, all of whom will do the ultimate evil to keep their secrets safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638142829

Book preview

Chapter 1

Four men, one reddening with anger, one sneering, one smiling and one expressionless, along with a woman looking down her nose, sat around the prosecution table in the otherwise empty courtroom. Two expensive cowboy hats rested on the age-darkened oak tabletop in front of their owners, and a few note tablets, pens, napkins, and coffee mugs occupied other spaces. The absence of an audio recording device wasn’t unusual because most sessions of any type that were held within these austere walls went unrecorded and undocumented.

I don’t understand why the properties are so grossly undervalued! said the large, beefy, clean-shaven man. His usually pale complexion further deepened in color as he pushed his Stetson aside and grabbed the edges of the table. If they were properly appraised, we’d increase our county and school income dramatically. Wouldn’t have to raise the tax percentage. Leaning forward, his fingertips whitened. Get this. My name is on a property that I don’t even own!

Really?

"And it shows me as Tracy John Sumpter et ux Maria. I’m a bachelor!"

That’s enough, Teej, snarled Antonio Lagosee from the head of the table. His face was distorted as if he had just smelled something offensive.

There’s no need to get upset. D. A. Weiner laughed. With a revolving door of chief appraisers over the last couple of years, there’s gonna be a few abnormalities. We just have to work through it. Smiling, he calmly stroked the brim of his own white straw Stetson as if it were a favored pet. Maybe you’re misreading the records, he added as he glanced at the open box of pastries in the center of the table.

Teej looked at the two goatees, a poofy blond ponytail sipping coffee, and the perpetual look of hate that were fixed on him. The faces bore an eerie greenish hue cast by the fluorescent tubes nestled in the acoustic tile ceiling. He leaned back with his wrists on the edge of the table, hands poised as if in defense.

Listen. I’m here to perform a service for our community, like the rest of you. He waved a hand around the group to emphasize the point and then looked at the man petting his hat. You recruited me, D. A., and I want to do a good job. Last week, I looked over the records and was surprised by the disparate values of like properties, so then I compared them to those that’ve recently sold or are currently listed for sale. I was shocked by what I found.

A few throats cleared, and there was one cough. Teej waited for a response but didn’t receive one. He blinked and continued.

I’ve only lived here a few years, but I’ve been coming out here for over ten, so I know the area. A handful of prominent residents are buying devalued properties from out-of-towners or deceased owners, and then they sell at triple the price to more nonlocals.

That’s called doing business, said D. A.

No, it’s called fraud. And I hate to say it, but you real estate agents support these sales when you list the properties.

The light above the witness stand flickered spastically as electrical surges buzzed in pulsating bursts. Teej remembered his blood pressure and tried to relax. The stagnant air, musty from the antiquated furnishings, grew warmer and more oppressive, and he leaned on the armrest and dabbed his face with a napkin. Tossing the thin, damp paper on the table, he leaned forward in anticipation of a response.

Weiner’s hand moved from the hat to his red and gray goatee. Yes, it was at my urging that you were brought into the group, Teej. The short, chubby man stood, effectively taking the floor, and then reached into the pastry box, hooked a large bear claw, and took a bite. The community’s happy, and we get very few complaints, so don’t rattle the snake. You just don’t understand the market.

What about this lot that bears my name? Teej challenged as he retrieved a sheet of paper from a shirt pocket. He unfolded it and laid it before them. Here’s a screenshot. There, in black and white—he pointed at the names—me and Maria. Does this mean I can sell it?

Weiner’s smile froze. Holding his pastry in midair, he said, We fix things as needed. Right, Carl?

The second goatee, Carlton Riggs, half-grinned to his cousin. That’s right, D. A.

You might not be aware that a commercial water bottling company recently tried to build a new plant in our county, Weiner said. Nobody wanted it, so we made sure it didn’t happen. We represent the needs of our community, and I hope you stand with us.

Antonio glared at their newest member and said, So leave it alone.

Really, Teej. It’s not a big deal, said Sandra Brown as she adjusted the scrunchie that held her ponytail. We strive to contain the tourists to the river area shops and bars and away from our personal business. It’s a long-running, well-developed formula that helps us manage our local economics. She took a sip from her mug and then added, It’s all for the future prosperity of our children.

And to keep the local population in check, Riggs added.

El righto, said Weiner, turning to Teej. Do you want outsiders coming in and telling us what to do?

Not really.

Then you should thank us instead of pointing fingers. Antonio sneered. He jerked his chin up and added loudly, Another problem surfaced recently, but we’re about to fix it too.

Weiner tossed Antonio a stern look, and then a knock at the open doorway caught their attention.

Everythin’ all right, folks? The strong, deep, hillbilly-accented voice squeezed through tight lips that were draped with a gray, square mustache. The man, his face dominated by a generous hawkish nose, wore a uniform and badge.

It’s under control, said Weiner. Just business as usual.

The sheriff’s deputy grunted and then disappeared from sight.

So how do we fix your issues, Teej? Weiner said jovially.

Teej looked at the suddenly smiling teeth and the one sour face of the county appraisal district board. He saw them differently, as if for the first time. Almost like they were writhing, snarling demons. He didn’t know what to say. He felt weak and outnumbered but made an effort.

We should advise both the chief appraiser and the county judge of what’s going on. Carlton, have you noticed anything strange with the properties that run through your title company?

Riggs stared at the man as if he was an idiot, and then the table erupted in laughter. Once the three other men reached for pastries, Teej realized that no reply was forthcoming. Flushed, he grabbed the crown of his hat and put it on and then pushed his bulk up, shoving the chair back loudly. He scanned the amused faces one last time and then turned and headed toward the doorway.

Weiner pulled out a phone, punched in a few numbers, and held it to his ear, waiting patiently.

I haven’t adjourned the meeting, Teej, shouted Antonio.

Teej stormed out of the courtroom as he heard Weiner say, It’s time to make the sacrifice… Then the pounding of his western boots on the granite floor drowned out the voice.

Sacrifice? What in the world does that mean? he wondered. Fifty feet later, he slung open the heavy glass door and exited the courthouse. Cooler weather was forecast to arrive soon, so maybe the weekend wouldn’t be as warm. But he couldn’t think about that now.

He heaved himself up into his pickup truck, started it, and then pulled away from the curbside parking slip and onto empty Fourth Street. He smashed the accelerator and, without pausing, turned south onto Market Street, which was also deserted. He should be able to make it home before dark. After a couple hundred yards, he tossed off his hat and turned right onto Ranch Road 337 then followed the climbing two-lane road westward. The falling sun periodically checked his progress as it peeked from behind the limestone canyon walls while he coursed the curves and switchbacks.

He was disturbed that they blew off the lot that falsely named him as the owner. And with a wife! Did they think I would be a party to it? Who really owned it? He needed to do some checking. His mind couldn’t fathom what had been going on under his nose. Don’t they understand the seriousness of the situation? Are they monsters? Antonio said they’re going to fix another problem. What’s that about?

Teej needed to talk to somebody, or he’d never sleep tonight. But who? Few people lived in his area because most of the properties were acreage used for occasional hunting or held for investment. Or that’s what he had always thought. His closest neighbors were clickish and unfriendly, but he recently met a man not too far from his own ranch. Talk was that the man was a loner with no family or friends, but he liked him. Teej was happy to see the new face because over the years he had observed a variety of people on the man’s land, including illegal immigrants, which he also encountered on his own property. He had called the sheriff, but nothing was done about it. Maybe now he had an ally in the cause!

He made a mental note to check the man’s property records too. Surely the man would appreciate it, especially if he found something strange. He glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of a single headlight in the distance. The road curved and he lost the visual, but when it straightened again, the lone light returned and had gained on him. The pattern continued for the next six miles until he reached the final stretch that was two miles from his turnoff. As the vehicle rounded the last curve behind him, he could tell it was a motorcycle, and then it suddenly cut speed and paced him. At last, Teej turned off the main road toward his destination and was startled to see a red glow from the rear brake light of the trailing vehicle as it pulled onto the shoulder fifty yards back.

His pickup threw a rooster tail of dust as he flew along the narrow kaliche road that carried him into a dense forest. He passed his own ranch and several others, some bordered with high game fences, and finally came to the cabin. The man’s pickup truck was there.

Teej parked in the brush on the side of the road then went to the door. No one answered his knock, and he heard no noise inside. The door was locked, so he walked over to the man’s truck. The driver’s window was down, and nothing looked unusual inside. He then checked the hood, which was warm but so was the air.

Walking around to the back of the cabin, he noticed that the window air conditioner wasn’t running, so he figured the man must not be inside. A few feet beyond, the remnants of what had been a mass of lilac-hued wildflowers still covered the forty feet to the rim of a deep canyon. In the distance, the sun tickled the hilltops in a sky brilliant with reds, oranges, and yellows and its cast-off light gave a back-lit glow to the struggling foliage at his feet.

He listened to the stillness and the occasional wooosh as a gentle breeze passed up through the canyon, ruffled the flowers, and then bathed his face in a lavender scent. So refreshing. He relaxed.

Did he overreact at the meeting? High blood pressure could do that to a person. But his name was on that property! That was unmistakable.

Teej assessed the area and then said softly, Maybe he’s checking the water well.

He got back in his pickup and followed the road around the rim to the well house, then turned into a narrow drive that ran in front of it and parked close to the canyon. Head-swiveling, he looked for signs of anybody, checked his mirrors, and then lowered the window.

Anybody here? he called.

There was no response.

He grabbed his hat off the passenger seat then stepped out onto rock.

What was the man’s name? Smith?

Mr. Smith, he called, and then louder, Mr. Smith, it’s your neighbor, Teej. You all right?

Maybe he’s hiking down in the canyon.

He moved to the rim where he found the view spectacular. The canyon narrowed as it headed toward the sunset, and the dry creek bed that had carved it zigzagged between staggered, richly forested hills, which culminated in a series of smoky ranges, one behind the other.

Wow, he said quietly. Still the best view in the county.

He cupped his hands widely to his mouth and called again, Mr. Smith. You down there?

Dry grasses rustled around his legs, and again, he heard the wooosh of… No, this time it was more of a hum. He turned toward the noise, which came from the well house. He didn’t remember the pump sounding like that.

His shoes loudly crunched the gravel as he walked toward the east side of the structure, which was in complete shadow, and was surprised to find the extra wide door lying on the ground. It had been badly damaged. In its place was a sheet of plywood that had been nailed to the oversized doorway. He also found it strange that new No Trespassing signs had been posted in addition to the older ones.

He knocked on the wood. Mr. Smith?

For some reason, he felt the need to get inside, so he retrieved a claw hammer from his truck.

Mr. Smith! he called as he began to pry the wood from the opening.

He was in almost complete darkness. Some light trickled from the millions of stars that were rapidly popping out, but the moon was blocked by the dense forest behind him. His hands began to sweat as a sense of urgency fell on him. He had to get the thing off before someone found him here and began to work feverishly, as if possessed.

Then he heard something. He stopped and listened. There was no sound but the beating of his heart and the humming within.

Just my imagination, he thought. Only a few more nails.

A force demanded that he continue, and its unseen hand pushed him to discover what had to be found…had to be revealed in order to expose the greedy, deranged minds that were behind it. He shuddered as a chill ran up his arms then spread into his scalp and down his back.

He didn’t want to be the one…the discoverer, but he couldn’t stop.

He finally got one side free and struggled to pull it outward. With a loud crack, the wood ripped along the opposite side, causing the huge sheet to hang haphazardly. He pushed it wide then gave it a few more shoves to keep it open. Tentatively, he stepped inside.

The interior was dark, and a palpable fear swept him, raising goose bumps on his flesh. Stiffly he took several more steps. The hum was much louder in here.

Down by his feet, an open bleach bottle lay on its side on top of a torn, stained tarp. Odds and ends were scattered along the walls as if kicked out of the way and back in a dark corner stood the small utility trailer, which Teej knew housed the well’s pump. But what caught his greatest attention was the large object in the middle of the solitary space. It was the source of the humming. Something was terribly wrong here.

This can’t be what I know it is. He felt the thought.

As he moved toward the object, his blood, like ice water, carried an invading chill deep into his being. He had to see what was inside the awful thing, but he was also repulsed. Overwhelmed by a desire to get out of there, he finally turned to run. With a gasp, he froze, his eyes wide with confused terror. The doorway was blocked by a dark, looming, wild-haired figure. The figure’s hands rose as one, bearing something long and narrow. Teej knew full well what it was because he usually carried a similar model himself. Suddenly, he heard the blast, and then everything became blindingly clear.

Chapter 2

The sporty little matador-red sedan traveled west on Texas Ranch Road 337. Miles of following the narrow two-lane road as it wound through the hilly, scrub oak-covered rocky terrain had left the driver weary and tense. As it straightened, gates and barbed wire fences posted with No Trespassing signs appeared intermittently on both sides of the road. Flood gauges were staked where the roadway dipped and yellow signs standing proud in the cracked dry earth warned Roadway May Flood.

Missy’s eyes fluttered open. She checked the landscape racing past her window while trying to make out the barely audible sounds from the radio. Inhaling deeply, she reached up behind her neck and, with an arched back, stretched in the cramped space, then her hands slid through her long, silky honey-blond hair and shot up in a victory-V as she loudly exhaled. She rolled her head along the seatback to face the driver and said with a smile, Are we there yet?

Giselle Sánchez Kingsley, a bit piqued, glanced at her passenger with the one dark eye that looked past a jet-black hair curtain and said, You could have been better company.

Missy’s hands dropped to her lap, and still smiling, she teased, You’re just hot and bothered because you can’t get your hands on your man.

Not since we got gas in San Antonio! Which doesn’t count.

Missy snickered playfully at the younger woman’s distress. If you’d trust somebody else to drive your car, I’d be happy to relieve you. You could even hop on with Clint.

Not in this short skirt, said Giselle, running a hand over the soft black leather. She checked her husband in the rearview mirror who paced them fifty yards back on a blue and bronze motorcycle. His six-foot, two-inch helmeted frame rode tall and broad. She flipped the air conditioner a notch cooler then declared, We need to get gas shortly.

Oh, turn it up! begged Missy as she reached for the radio volume.

Giselle held down a button on her steering wheel, allowing Conway Twitty to soulfully profess, I’d Love to Lay You Down. Missy joined in, and her infectious smile lured in Giselle. They happily sang along and shared a high-five at the end. Over too soon, Giselle was lowering the volume when a different song began, and the women quieted down, their thoughts tangled with the previous artist’s words.

Suddenly, an old rock-and-roll tune mingled with the radio’s country. Missy scrambled to answer her phone. Missy Franchette speaking. She giggled. It was one of her male admirers.

The little convoy had left Houston early that morning under dark skies and sporadic showers. After two hours, the sun popped out, and the clouds became history. The plan was that the trio, along with Missy’s boyfriend, would spend a long weekend in the Texas Hill Country riding the Twisted Sisters, a route renowned in the biker community for its beautiful vistas and diverse countryside.

Missy’s boyfriend, Michael, had already been there three weeks. The idea for his sojourn came up suddenly, and he asked her to go with him, but she couldn’t take off from work for the whole month that he would be there. Unbeknown to her, he and Clint had devised this weekend’s adventure but only as a guy thing. As the day for Clint’s departure drew near, he finally told Giselle of the plan, and she threw such a fit that he had no choice but to bring her too. Clint knew that Michael was pining for Missy, so he invited her as well, and the two decided to make it a surprise.

Bye-bye, Missy said into her phone and disconnected the call.

Watching the road, Giselle sneered. "Thought you luvved Michael. Didn’t take you long to hook up with another guy!"

I haven’t found anyone new. That was a friend. I love Mikey, and I’ve missed him terribly. More than I thought I would!

So why’d you throw him out?

Giselle! What makes you think that?

I figured you two would split up back when he got fired.

He wasn’t fired! The plant shut down. Sure, our momentum changed, and it really put a strain on us emotionally. My goodness, he’d worked there over twelve years! She looked at Giselle and smiled softly. You know that’s where he met Clint.

Giselle nodded. I know.

He quit speaking, so I did too. Then one day, I came home from work and saw him looking so dejected. My heart suddenly felt full for him. We talked for hours, and I decided to take two weeks off so we could just be together. We made a couple of short trips on his motorcycle then trailered the bike to the Sturgis Rally in South Dakota, which was a first for us both.

Oh yeah, I think I remember hearing about it. Did you like it?

Missy laughed. We saw things we’d never seen before! Yes, we had a good time until the bike broke down and the trailer had a flat. They were both pretty old, so Mikey sold them right then and there, and then we made a speedy trip home in his pickup. Shortly after, he started a new job in Beach City so we moved there.

Clint told me. Where is it?

About forty miles north from where we lived before. My job’s between the two locations, so the drive time isn’t much different. But most of my friends are now an hour away, so without Mikey, I feel isolated.

Do you live on the beach?

No. We’re renting a little house that’s close to the plant where he works. The job pays well, and he seems to like it.

So he really doesn’t know you’re coming?

No! He’ll be so surprised! And we haven’t spoken for almost three weeks, which is good because I’d have spilled the beans for sure.

What? said Giselle. Three weeks?

He called right after he arrived, and we talked almost two hours. Then it turned into phone tag and a few texts.

Hmph. Typical guy.

No! He said the service was bad.

Giselle checked Clint in her rearview mirror. That wouldn’t happen with me and Clint. He’d be dead where he stood!

Giselle! What a terrible thing to say!

The women were silent as the DJ on the radio announced the upcoming selections.

We’re thinking about marriage, Missy said and then stated resolutely, You know what they say, fourth time’s a charm.

Which of you were married three times?

Missy sat up in her seat. We’re getting close. Buildings!

An industrial plant came into view on their right. There was a cluster of small sixties-era buildings and several open-walled shacks joined together by long, horizontal pipes that stretched the length of the property. A smoke stack puffed black cloudettes out of one large shack. No people were visible, but there were a few private vehicles and a tanker truck parked on the grounds. The complex was surrounded by a high, electric wire fence, on which hung a sign labeling it Texas Scent.

I’m not impressed, said Giselle.

You know, for all this wilderness, I haven’t seen any animals, Missy observed.

That’s because you’ve been watching the back of your eyelids! I saw some deer, a hog, a bunch of birds, and oh yeah, an armadillo.

The next sign they passed declared that the Leakey Eagles were the state football champs of 1975.

I think we’re entering a time warp, laughed Missy.

To the right of the highway, the land sloped up into scattered low hills several hundred yards away. To the left, rocky pastures continued the downward slope into distant scrub forests and a range of hills beyond.

We haven’t passed one car for the last twenty miles, said Giselle.

We’re definitely off the beaten path.

The ground on each side of the road rose quickly, blocking the scenery, and then fell away as they dropped into a river bottom. Crystal-clear water formed scattered pools in the wide expanse of white gravel and thick stands of cottonwood and cypress trees lined the banks. About halfway across, a flood gauge marked the lowest point and advised that a potential water hazard of five-plus feet could occur there.

Hard to believe the river could get that high, said Missy then she read the next sign, Leakey City Limit, Population 425.

Sa-a-a-lute, said Giselle.

They both laughed.

We’ll have a great time this weekend. You know the Sisters are a hundred miles long?

I’m not going a hundred miles on the back of a motorcycle. My rear hurts thinking about it! Giselle winced.

We’re not going to do it in one day, silly. Didn’t you and Clint talk about it?

Not really.

I imagine we’ll start first thing tomorrow and spread the ride out over three days.

What’s the purpose? asked Giselle.

Really? asked Missy. To see beautiful scenery and enjoy each other’s company. To have relaxing meals at outdoor eateries and meet interesting people.

Hmmmph, she noised.

And the best part, you’ll be snuggled up close to Clint on the bike.

Giselle glanced at Missy around her hair curtain. We’ve only ridden together a few times. Staring at someone’s back isn’t my biggest thrill.

A pecan orchard passed on their left. Short, dry brown savanna grasses, yucca, and prickly pear cactus filled the voids between the trees. Soon, several large oaks provided a welcoming canopy as they entered a grove of fifty-five-foot tall cypress. Then the flat road became a bridge and carried them over a narrow river.

Suddenly the brightness of the day dimmed as if the sun had ducked behind a thick cloud. Both women, followed by Clint seconds later, looked to the sky as a shiver coursed through their bodies. There were no clouds. The sun was high in the blue sky. The shiver trickled away but left something different in its place. As they crossed onto the west riverbank, each of the trio perceived a darkness upon them and, without realizing it, physically shook off the feeling.

Signs of rural civilization materialized so Giselle decreased her speed. A rusty gray pickup truck, heavy on the bondo and missing the tailgate, approached in the oncoming lane. As it passed, his window down, the driver focused his piercing beady black eyes on Giselle, who returned the look. His snarl was accentuated by a beaked nose and squared mustache. She turned to the rearview mirror and found Clint watching the man.

Did you see that creepy guy? Missy asked. That’s somebody I would never date!

Scary lookin’ dude, Giselle confirmed.

The edge of town brought tiny houses with large propane tanks sitting on fenced, dirt-landscaped yards. Then came the cemetery, with a great many more residents than that of the town. It covered several acres on one side of the road and a new addition on the other side was ready and waiting.

Stupid thing, said Giselle to the radio as the fading, scratchy song finally became completely indecipherable. She scanned the frequencies but found nothing so turned it off.

Wish I’d thought to bring my CDs, said Missy.

Me too.

At last, they reached a major intersection where Ranch Road 337 drivers were required to stop, according to the traffic sign, before crossing US Highway 83. Clint zipped around his wife’s car and pulled into the center of the intersection, above which hung four single caution lights that each faced the roadways. He looked up and down the highway and then motioned for Giselle to follow him south, to the left, and then a thousand feet later, they pulled into a gas station.

Clint dismounted, and before he could get the pump gun off its holster, Giselle was on him. Missy watched the two from her seat.

Clint Lewis Kingsley was all of his forty years, with a maturity and seriousness gained from his service in the United States Marine Corps and an overseas deployment. He still had his boyish good looks and cut a handsome figure in his chocolate brown leathers. His first marriage lasted eight years, and tumultuous would be an understatement. He had tried hard to make it work, but it ended when she left him for her boss who had more money. Clint moved, changed jobs, and joined an athletic club. He had always taken care of his body, but the club gave him a new social outlet. There he met Giselle. After a few months, his ex found out about the new girlfriend and wanted Clint back, but he’d already come to terms of life without her, and he suggested she move on.

Giselle, almost twenty-four, was quite a contrast standing on her tippy-toes as she reached up and ran her hands through his wavy, sandy brown hair. Even in her two-inch-heeled black western boots she was a foot shorter, and the maroon, sleeveless top that clung to her body emphasized her petiteness. Looking up, her white face was fully exposed as she smiled and talked to her husband, his tanned face looking down. The two married six months ago, and it was still the honeymoon phase, at least in Giselle’s eyes.

Missy, at thirty-four, was between the two in age. She flung open the car door and pulled herself out of the low-riding vehicle. First stretching her five feet, nine inches, she then did a few awkward squats, not getting much traction from her jeweled flat-heeled sandals. Slim with narrow shoulders that were tasked to support an ample bosom, she made no pretense about sports fitness. She was aware she didn’t have an athletic bone in her body, but her statuesque figure was captivating, and she knew it. Grabbing her phone, she walked toward the couple, her hair brushing the top of her hips as the short blue-jean skirt swayed side to side. She retucked the rose-colored sleeveless top and laughed, Okay, lovebirds, I’m calling Mikey. I can’t wait any longer! Any messages? With just a hint of a suntan, her skin had a healthy glow.

Grinning, Clint uncoupled from Giselle and began to fuel his bike. Tell him to get here ASAP.

Missy, giddy with excitement, made the call and waited for the warmth of his familiar voice. Instead, she got his recorded greeting, This is me. Who are you? and instantly felt gut-punched. She thought the message was hilarious the first time she heard it, but now it sounded cold and distant. She disconnected and felt tears rising. Maybe he saw it was me and doesn’t want to talk. She decided that was ridiculous. He’s just not by his phone. Maybe it’s charging. Maybe he’s in the bathroom.

She stepped a few feet away from the others then called again. Cooing sweetly, she left a message. "Hi, baby. It’s me. I’ve missed you so much. Surprise! I’m here in Leakey with Clint and his wife. I’m ready to hop on that new bike of yours and head off in the sunset. I love you, baby." She felt better.

Clint walked up behind Missy, his eyes twinkling. Where’s he gonna meet us?

Missy turned around. Her head tilted slightly as she looked up at him, and her clear green eyes misted up. He didn’t answer, so I left a message. Do you think…maybe he thinks we’re over? We haven’t talked in a while. A tear grew in the upturned corner of one eye and slowly rolled down her cheek.

Clint put an arm around her. Don’t be silly. He’ll be ecstatic to see you.

Are you sure?

Of course.

Giselle watched her husband as she topped off her tank. She quickly finished and then joined him and sidled in between the pair, wedging them apart. Annoyed, she asked, What’s going on, babe?

Missy had to leave a message. She just misses him.

Try him again, Clint, said Giselle, suspicious of the other woman’s intentions.

He pulled his phone from a pocket. I’ll text him. He began to type and then looked closely at the screen, held it up, and advised, No bars.

Missy and Giselle looked at their phones and confirmed they had no signals either.

Well, Clint said, at least he’ll hear from Missy so we’ll see him soon. How about we find something to eat? It’s almost noon, and I could eat a horse.

The two women agreed then visited the restroom while Clint went inside to pay for their gasoline.

Do you take American Express?

An unfriendly couple behind the counter glared at him. She spoke, No. Cash only. Debit machine’s broke.

Clint paid then asked, Where’s a good place to eat?

With narrowed eyes, the man answered, It’s all good, then in a suspicious tone, he added, What’r you folks doin’ in town?

Clint looked squarely at the man. This is a tourist town, isn’t it?

Water’s too cold for tourists in October, and hunters don’t show on Thursdays.

Clint said cordially, I don’t hunt, and we promise not to swim.

The woman, attempting to sound pleasant, said, Most tourists like the Brake, ’bout a mile from here out 337 west. You can’t miss it. She pointed back up US Highway 83 from the direction they had come. Turn left at the flashing lights.

Thank you, ma’am, and good day. Clint flashed a smile with perfect white teeth through perfectly shaped lips and then left to rejoin his convoy.

Chapter 3

A group that included one woman sat huddled together at a round table that was situated in open air just outside the rear opening of a pavilion-like restaurant. Immersed in intense, muted conversation were three county judges, two bank presidents, a state representative, and a state senator’s aid. This particular table, bearing the remains of a lunch well-eaten, was kept for their use only as was the royal blue cantilever umbrella that shaded them.

Their front-row view to the southwest overlooked a dry, grassy, sloping pasture scattered with a few stands of evergreens. At the bottom of the slope nestled a small neighborhood known as the Hallowed Woods, which was bound by a creek. Beyond that began a series of hilly ranges that continued as far as the eye could see. The distinguished group was afforded more privacy here than if they were inside next to listening ears, and the possibility of hidden microphones couldn’t be ruled out.

The only other customers were across the dining area on the northeast side next to the wide front entrance. At one table, an off-duty deputy sheriff, Junior Raft, and the county attorney, BJ Leesaw, were just arriving, and both carried sidearms. Raft chose a seat that faced the parking lot.

Next to the pair, two square tables had been shoved together to accommodate five brothers. Sharing similar facial features and stature, they wore pristine blue jeans and blood-red shirts of varying styles. A few also wore black leather vests that displayed a Mexican flag insignia on the front left shoulder. The back bore a large patch of a golden eagle that stood on a cactus with a snake in its beak, a human skull in one talon and human leg bones in the other. Below was a rocker patch that stated Lagosee. The obvious leader, Antonio, presented an especially nasty look on his face and occupied a seat that faced the round table across the room. The sour alpha male received a call on his phone and, after glancing at the caller’s ID, simply disconnected the call. Discreetly he caught the waiting eye of one from the privileged group and slowly shut and opened his eyes a single time. He then pulled out a concealed .45 caliber semiautomatic pistol, checked the magazine, and replaced it inside his vest.

The signal was received back at the special table where the occupants were dressed in khakis and short-sleeved oxford shirts. Each carried a handgun either in a body holster or in the leg of expensive cowboy boots. Some toted in both places. Solid gold watches adorned half the wrists and Stetson-style hats crowned all heads. These seven people represented the majority of the movers and shakers for the SouthWest Texas Hill Country organized crime network, better known as the Sweaty Hicks. Two county judges and a bank president were absent but were taking care of business elsewhere.

A breeze rustled the extra napkins on the round table, and two men reached to swat them back to order. Real County Judge Larry Gelddurrom looked at the cause of the brief disturbance then his hard, cold gray eyes refocused on his constituents. Because this was his jurisdiction, Gelddurrom had the honor of holding this particular court. Speaking concisely and clearly, he resumed.

As I told you at our last meeting, that unforeseen problem was resolved by an unauthorized source so the situation was put on hold in anticipation of any fallout. Now our attention is required to ensure that there will be no investigation by outside authorities.

We understand that, said the Uvalde County judge, looking at her fellow conspirators as they nodded in agreement.

Glad to hear it, Gelddurrom said.

I guess I’m wanting to know when it will be concluded, said the state senator’s aid, the youngest and newest to the group, because it’s my understanding that another train is on the way here.

No problem with the transit, Gelddurrom replied. My county has been on red alert to watch for unfamiliar faces, and since there have been none, the final cleaning stages have begun. With smiling lips, he took a sip from his wine glass.

Can you tell us anything about this cleanup? asked the president of Second State Bank.

The Kerr County judge couldn’t resist and blurted out, I think I can explain.

Gelddurrom scowled at the man trying to steal his thunder. If you don’t mind, he said curtly, feeling every ounce of his authority. He reveled in the supreme power he held over his guests at the moment, especially over the other county potentates.

A few days ago, he continued as his smile returned, a problem we had anticipated finally materialized, but it was short-lived. That incident will be merged with the cleanup, and then we can wash our hands of all of it. Come Monday, it will be business as usual.

Frio River Valley National Bank’s president spoke up. One of my employees just called and said he stopped by his parents’ gas station. They told him some people they’ve never seen before just bought gas. Said they were kind of uppity. Does somebody need to watch them?

Appreciate the heads-up, but I’ve already been advised, said Judge Gelddurrom, rubbing his unshaven face. We may all have a chance to meet them shortly. He smiled briefly, revealing very small teeth.

We don’t need another threat… said the state representative.

Gelddurrom cut him off as he motioned to a waitress across the dining room. There are no threats, only challenges and inconveniences.

Just another day in paradise, said the Uvalde County judge.

Loud, self-assured chuckles bounced off the underside of the umbrella.

The waitress hurried over to clear their dishes and then scurried off with orders for a few desserts and another round of wine and beer.

I’ll have last month’s figures by the end of the week, said Gellddurrom. He addressed one of the bankers, How’d you do after little Wallace died last month?

He was only eight, so not as well as we would for, say, a teenager.

A little child? asked the aid. I don’t know how I feel about that.

Are you kidding? asked the state representative, amused. Were you not briefed?

Shall I explain? asked the Kerr County judge.

Be my guest, Gelddurrom replied.

The kid didn’t exist.

Thank you, said the host.

The banker continued, The online funding website we created for little Wally’s two surgeries brought in a total of $190,000. Almost $22,000 was from good Samaritans whose names are now on our radar for future solicitations. The rest came from thirty-five of our locally established accounts out of three different banks. After his obituary was published, we received $30,000 in funeral expenses and memorials, of which only $400 was from real donors.

The aid looked surprised so the banker added, For the benefit of our fledgling member, Wally has a public history. He lived through social media as an underprivileged orphan placed into foster care in our county when he was four. Anyway, the rest of you know that his foster parents received government funding over the years as well as the proceeds from a $40,000 life insurance policy after his death. The school district also received government subsidy throughout his lifetime. Additionally, he was a sickly child so there were many medical visits that were government subsidized as well as funded by anonymous donors, which were actually our accounts.

Well done! commended Judge Gelddurrom. He waved the waitress over, who was waiting outside the kitchen with their final orders. She rushed to their table, unloaded the tray, and quickly left.

Gelddurrom locked eyes with Uvalde’s county judge, Tomorrow? Lunch?

The woman nodded. My place.

Judge Gelddurrom suddenly removed his hat and stood. The others followed suit. Holding his glass high, he said solemnly, To those who must go before us.

One man crossed his heart, and then as a single unit, they lifted wine stems and pilsners and took a communal sip.

The judge continued, We have nothing to hide…

Because we’ve hidden it, the leaders said in unison.

We have nothing to fear…

Because we’ve removed the threat.

And we’ll have no worries…

If we keep product out there.

To the little people who enrich our lives! Gelddurrom finished emphatically.

The group laughed and then tossed back their libations.

Replacing his stemmed glass to the table and his hat back on his head, the host judge steered the meeting toward its close. We’ll have one last discussion regarding a snag within our banking operations then the open forum. He nodded to the bankers and raised his hands, palms up, in front of his chest. I hand the floor to you, gentlemen.

The Sweaty Hicks’ elite sat.

Chapter 4

Clint pulled into the large gravel parking lot and scanned the vehicles populating it: a half dozen motorcycles, several expensive luxury sedans and SUVs, and a handful of pickup trucks ranging from brand-new four-door dualies to the gray bondo job they saw a half hour earlier. He selected a spot close to the entrance, cut the engine on his bike, and assumed a straddle stance as he removed his helmet. Giselle and Missy pulled in next to him.

The Frio River Valley Motorcycle Brake sat on a corner of land that covered seventy acres. Fifty feet off to the right stood an open-air pavilion filled with empty picnic tables, and more tables were scattered around the grounds. In front of them, the restaurant itself was also pavilion-like with its two giant garage doors, located on opposite walls, rolled up.

Missy shut the car door and called to Clint, I tried Mikey again but couldn’t get a signal.

Me neither, chimed in Giselle, sounding irritated. She slipped her hand into Clint’s and added, Can’t check my messages.

As they walked toward the wide entrance, they heard vehicles approach. Clint and Missy turned to the source and found two county sheriff SUVs pull into the parking spaces next to theirs.

The trio stepped into the high-ceilinged airy interior. The first few tables were occupied and just outside the back opening of the dining area a group wearing cowboy hats talked in earnest around a large table that was sheltered by a freestanding umbrella. In unison, the three turned left toward the south