Chapter Five
Angelita whimpered as if in sheer terror and tried to make herself invisible behind Davy. Davy swallowed hard as El Diablo advanced, shielding Angelita with his body as his chin raised defiantly.
The old man got between them. “El Diablo, my daughter is none of your affair—” he began bravely.
“She is mine, old man!” El Diablo thundered, shoving the man out of his way. His blazing eyes fixed on Davy. “Gringo, for touching my woman I should kill you . . . ”
“And I should kill you for laying a hand on her!” Davy snarled, his eyes snapping fire.
“Davy, no, man . . . ” Micky groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
El Diablo blinked for a moment, stunned that a foreigner would dare to speak to him in such a tone. One of his meaty hands seized Davy by the front of his shirt, yanking him forward. Davy didn’t move, his eyes never wavering from the man-mountain’s.
“For such impertinence, gringo, you will not live to see the sunrise tomorrow.” He wrenched Davy around, shoving him into the arms of several of his cohorts.
Angelita ran forward. “El Diablo, por favor! I tempted him, he did nothing!” The back of the burly outlaw’s hand met her fair cheek with a resounding smack. She spun to the ground with a cry.
“You bastard!” Davy snarled as the others immediately went to her aid. He strained against the arms that held him. The hand that had delivered the slap seized Davy’s throat, squeezing with the force of the bandito’s anger. “Silence, gringo . . . before I cut out your tongue.”
Mike drew himself up to his full height. “Put him down.”
El Diablo’s beetle black eyes slid around to focus on Mike. “Or what, gringo?” he purred, his fingers digging even further into Davy’s throat, making the smaller man gag.
“Or I’ll make you put him down.” Mike’s heart was pounding in his chest.
El Diablo’s laugh was harsh, his hand moving up to seize Davy by the hair. “Take one step forward and I will shoot you like I will shoot him.” He gaze Davy’s locks a sharp yank for emphasis.
“You’re awful sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Micky growled.
Another laugh. “I have the guns, gringo. You are not faster than bullets.” He waved his hand, indicating with a few short commands for his men to take Davy away. They tightened their grips, hauling him to the door.
Peter leaped from the stage gracefully, lunging toward them to get Davy out of their grasp. As soon as he’d managed to grab hold of Davy’s shirt, the barrel of a rifle slammed onto his shoulders, sending him to the floor in a heap. As Mike and Micky lunged for him, El Diablo and his men made it outside.
“Davy, no!” Mike shouted, scrambling outside. Dust from the fleeing horses and a spray of bullets quickly chased him back in. Angelita was curled up in a miserable ball, being comforted by the old man.
“Peter . . . Peter, you okay?” Mike said, helping Micky lift the blond into a chair.
“Ooowww . . . ” was the articulate answer.
“He’s okay, Mike,” Micky said. “No blood—probably just bruised bad.”
“Davy . . . ” Peter gasped out.
“He’s gone,” Mike said, his voice tight with grief. “I . . . I couldn’t stop them.”
Peter looked at Mike. “He’s a mountain of a man.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah, with lots of foothills around him.”
“Funny thing about mountains,” Peter said with the wise man tone he’d developed since their transformation.
“What?”
A slight smile graced his lips. “They make winds unite faster . . . blow harder.”
“We’re gonna have to if we want Davy back,” Mike said, rubbing his tired eyes.
“We will.”
“I don’t know,” Micky said. “Do we want him back?”
“Micky,” Mike said sternly. He wasn’t in the mood for Micky’s wisecracks.
“Sorry,” Micky sighed.
Peter shoved himself out of his chair, wobbling precariously. “Mike . . . we gotta go . . . ”
“Peter?” Micky said, suddenly business, holding him still.
“Mike, we gotta get him back . . . they might hurt him . . . ”
Mike met his eyes. “We will, Peter. We will.”
Peter’s eyes were suddenly filled with tears. “I couldn’t get to him, Mike,” he whispered. “I couldn’t get to him . . . ”
“You did your best, Peter. You tried.”
Peter shook his head. “I didn’t try hard enough.”
“Stop it. You sound like me.”
Peter sank back down into his chair, putting his head in his arms. Mike and Micky both rubbed his back, then Micky turned to Angelita and her father. “You two start talking. Tell us everything you can about these men.”
She looked down and gave a great sigh, switching from her halting English to Spanish. “I cannot do this,” she said. “Much as I care for him, much as I grieve for your friend, El Diablo holds a claim on me I cannot go against.”
“A claim?” Mike asked. “What does that mean?”
Angelita’s head snapped up. “You . . . understood me?”
Mike took in a breath, then nodded. “Yes. We all do. You don’t have to translate for us.”
Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. “Very well, then.” And she moved to Spanish again. “I tried to keep my problems my problems, but The Devil has made my problems your problems.”
“Please,” Peter said, still holding a hand to the back of his aching neck. “We’re involved. We know that. So please . . . speak plainly.”
She took another deep breath. “I never loved him. I never cared for him. He is powerful—he’s the most powerful, most feared man in the entire valley. And for him to choose me . . . well . . . What woman wouldn’t be flattered? B-but then, he turned violent. He b-began one night, after a festival. He w-wanted me for his own. I refused, and he . . . ” She sobbed, her hand going to her neck.
The old man spoke up. “He choked her until she was unconscious. And then we feared he’d had his way with her. But he never touched her that way. He lost interest after that night in her as a wife. She became a thing to him—something to be used . . . beaten . . . ”
Micky’s eyes widened, than narrowed furiously. Peter’s eyes drooped closed, his features suffused with crushing sorrow and grief. Mike’s stoic features hardened into an unreadable mask, his hands clenching into tight, white fists.
“I cannot leave,” she whispered. “Or I will die. I cannot lead you to him—he will kill you three, then my father, then me.” The old man lowered his head, and she went on: “And nobody can help your friend now. He is lost to The Devil.”
“Like hell he is!” Micky raged, switching to English in the haze of fury that swept through him.
“Micky,” Mike said, his voice soothing. “Just relax. We’re not abandoning him.”
“She is!” Micky roared, his hand shooting out and trembling as it pointed at Angelita. “She’s abandoned him already!”
“There is nothing that can be done!” Angelita protested, her eyes shining. “To go against El Diablo means death!”
“To do nothing means death as well,” Peter said calmly but firmly. “More slowly, more painfully . . . a piece at a time . . . but death just as surely.”
“We need to get the car fixed, and then we need to go after Davy,” Mike said. “We’ll get the uniforms and weapons and—” He stopped, realizing that the weapons and uniforms were nearly two thousand miles away. He looked blankly at Peter, plainly seeking his friend’s opinion.
Peter nodded slowly. “This is a test, Michael. To see if the Four Winds can blow as strongly without the weapons and trappings of battle—or if we have become overly dependent upon the exteriors.”
“So, what now?” Micky asked, his voice subdued and yet still loud in the dead silence that followed Peter’s pronouncement. “We’re just supposed to storm in, unarmed, against guns and superior numbers?”
“Not unarmed,” the old man said, walking forward and tapping their foreheads, one after the other. “As long as you have your minds and your skills and your focus . . . you are never unarmed.” He smiled. “And I will give you guns.”
Mike looked his friends, the comfortable weight of leadership suddenly growing unbearably heavy. This was more than taking on some street punks or defending the Pad from a handful of intruders—this was taking on a fully armed group of Mexican bandits on their territory, where they were sure to be outnumbered at least four to one. Mike didn’t like the situation one bit.
But what choice did they have?
On to Chapter Six
Back to Chapter Four
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
