Telling Fortunes in Phoenix

Johni

At the ranch a donkey brayed. Johni raced from the house and Viktor followed and tried to restrain her but she shrugged him off. She stood in the yard, all of her consciousness in her ears, willing the donkey to call one more time. The sound had penetrated into the house but she needed to hear it out here to know where the burro’d gotten to. She knew he’d been taken by that boy and if she found the one she’d have the other. Her eyes narrowed in concentration.

She peered up to the cliff, her entire body listening, willing the little beast to call again. Slowly the look of strained watching left Johni’s face and she spoke to Viktor, her low voice carrying through the quiet desert air.

“That’s my burro.”

“Where is it?”

Johni swayed as if in a breeze. “We brought in the consignment last night.”

“Yeah?”

“We bring them in on the full moon,” she said. “You get the kids. The adults are tested and I send out the blood for matching.”

“Matching?”

“For transplants.”

“Oh.” Viktor nodded. “Go on.”

“That idiot lost one of the kids. He retraced his steps to see if he was at the pick-up spot. While I was asleep my keys and the donkey and the kids were stolen and all the bunkhouse doors were opened.”

“That’s when you lost my merchandise,” Viktor said. “While you were asleep.”

Johni nodded rhythmically. She nodded and nodded until her whole body was rocking forward and back.

“So you’re selling organs.” Viktor watched her sway.

“I take them to Casa Grande,” she said. “The surgery’s done there.”

“How do you control so many people?”

“Drugs.”

Viktor nodded his head, then reached down and brushed dust off his chinos. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He waved the pistol. “Come on. Show me your records.”

Her office was a converted pantry off the kitchen and she led him there. The phone rang. Johni picked up the receiver but Viktor reached past her and yanked the line out of the wall. Johni whirled on him, forgetting his pistol. He was right behind her and they collided in the cramped quarters. She grabbed his wrist but he pulled it away and backhanded the barrel across her face, opening the same cut he’d given her earlier. He shoved her against the desk and backed away into the kitchen.

“Goddammit, Johni,” he said. “You’re more trouble alive than dead.”

Tears sprang to Johni’s eyes as blood dripped down her face. “There’s no cell service out here, genius.” She pointed at the cord on the ground. “I was expecting a call from Casa Grande so I could bring in the others.”

“Well, we’ll just load ’em up and take them there,” he said. “Now.”

Johni stifled her visceral anger. On this point they agreed. She was amazed that no police had shown up yet but it was only a matter of time.

They went to the bunk house. The rohypnol had worn off enough to leave the captives sleepy and tractable so they could be led, one by one, into the van. They acted drunk and the air filled with happy voices as the doped Mexicans reunited with family members they hadn’t seen all day. When the last detainee entered the vehicle there was a fiesta atmosphere.

“How do you lock this thing?” Viktor asked, pointing at the rear cargo doors.

“With a padlock.” Johni patted her pockets. “I’ll be right back. I need my purse.”

She didn’t wait for his reply but jogged easily away from Viktor. Her back itched, expecting a bullet, but she made it into the house where she raced through the living room and slid across the linoleum in the kitchen to a closet and opened the door. Reaching in, she grabbed her dead husband’s double barreled shotgun and scrabbled in a box for shells, filling her pockets.

Viktor shouted from the yard. “Hurry up!”

Breaking the shotgun, her hands were steady as granite. Good old smack.

All through the morning Viktor had dogged her, using threats and rational discussion to convince Johni to take him on as her business partner. Johni, pissed off and not really concerned about being shot, which would frankly be a relief, and not very hurt by the pistol whipping, had kept her mouth shut. Viktor could fuck himself. She couldn’t imagine a worse partner. He’d off her as soon as he had a good understanding of the set-up.

But as the day went on and no phone call came from Casa Grande she became certain that cops would show up soon. The burro had reminded her that there were witnesses out there and though she’d told Eddie he needed to get her out of jail she suspected such action was beyond his ability. She didn’t mind a sudden violent death but years in prison before a certain execution was not on her agenda.

She changed tactics. Viktor had watched as Johni snorted some heroin an hour earlier. She only took enough to keep from getting sick but the bastard thought she was flying high and she let him think so. She could see he thought of the drug as a tool to control her, but she didn’t give a shit about Viktor’s long term plans. It’s always easier to be the victim. Viktor did the hard work, he was the one carrying the gun all day, always on guard, always alert. She knew a moment would come when he’d be vulnerable and that moment was now. Serenity cloaked her and she fearlessly loaded both barrels and snapped the rifle closed.

She cocked it and walked swiftly out.

“I’ll be right there,” she called from the porch. The screen door slammed behind her.

Time slowed. Viktor, face like thunder, had his handgun pointed vaguely in her direction. He walked toward her, his mouth open. Perhaps he wanted to speak but Johni had the shotgun at her shoulder and fired. Her upper body spun back from the recoil but she saw ground explode in dust as the shot scattered behind her target. A smatter of red freckled the left side of Viktor’s white shirt but he stood erect.

His gun raised and fired. The bullet struck into wood.

The damned shotgun always discharged to the left, a fact she’d temporarily forgotten. She cocked the second hammer, the gun at her bruised shoulder for the killing shot. Two more bullets smacked into the porch, closer. Johni counted on Viktor’s sun dazzled eyes to be blinded when looking into the dense shade of the porch but he was getting her range.

Johni aimed at the gun in his right hand and squeezed the trigger on a slow intake of spring air. The handgun clattered away and Viktor flew onto his back, his shirt finally red. He rolled onto his belly and reached away with his left hand, facing away from her. Johni broke the shot gun and reloaded by feel, her eyes never leaving the downed man.

Until the grey van, after waiting patiently for the violence to end, disgorged its passengers.