Long before there was a Johnny Appleseed, there was Kokopelli, this flute player of the southwest desert. Now he appeared everywhere, on bolo neckties, earrings, cufflinks, and paintings. Southwest chic. But once in a distant time, he was a god of fertility, a Greek Pan of the Río Grande Pueblos, a humpbacked creature of the underworld.
Kokopelli’s hump was said to be full of seeds, seeds he scattered on his journeys, the semen of the male principle to be laid to rest in the earth. His flute music soothed the earth, made it ready to receive the seed, as the honeyed words of a man will soothe the woman and make her receptive.
Sonny chuckled and looked up at the crest of the petroglyphs, where two shadows darted. He glanced at Lorenza. She had seen them too.
“The coyotes watch over you,” she said.
Sonny nodded and turned to look at the swarm of approaching cars. “God almighty!” he exclaimed.
There were cars, cops, ambulances, and even a fire truck streaming up the sandy slope, threatening desert tarantulas on their way to their winter nests, threatening the West Mesa roadrunners even the developers hadn’t been able to wipe out.
The whole thing looked like a circus to Sonny as he looked up at the dark escarpment of the petroglyph park. A few more feet and the basket would have crashed into the huge black boulders. He shivered. As it was, the balloon came down just short of the old volcanic flow and landed on the soft sand dotted with chamisa and sage. They couldn’t have asked for a better blind landing spot.
The TV and radio stations had reported the balloon’s flight from the time they spotted it. Some who heard the reports had followed the balloon across the river to its landing on the West Mesa. Now a caravan of cars and trucks and lowriders came following the police and television vans up the slope of the hill. Sirens pierced the quiet October sunset.
The children who had untied Sonny and Lorenza were in awe.
“Great landing.”
“You guys do this for a living?”
“Is this a movie?” the littlest kid asked.
“Yeah,” Sonny answered. “It’s just a movie.”
A movie, but I didn’t rescue my girl and I almost got us killed. He kicked the sand at his feet.
Chief Garcia plowed through the gathering crowd, followed by his lieutenant and two paramedics.
“You trying to get yourself killed?” Garcia shouted.
Sonny groaned. He was in no mood to talk to Garcia. “Did you get to the warehouse?” he asked.
“I’ve got men there. Nothing! It’s clean.”
“Rita and the girl were there,” Sonny insisted.
“Did you see her?”
Sonny shook his head. He was sure he had heard her—that’s why he hadn’t fired at Raven—but no sense explaining to Garcia.
“The place is clean. You’re lucky you’re alive, you know.” He looked at Lorenza and added, “You, too.”
The place wasn’t clean, Sonny thought. They had stored the powder in the warehouse. Maybe they had moved it just before he got there, but every time they moved it, they took a chance on getting caught. They had to unload it soon. It was panic time in the drug deal.
The DEA helicopter that had hovered over them now turned and swooped toward the river.
“Who’s the DEA agent?” Sonny asked.
“Flannery,” Garcia answered.
“Why did they come up shooting?”
“They thought they had Raven.” Garcia shrugged.
“Bullshit,” Sonny replied. “They knew it wasn’t Raven.”
“Don’t go making up stories, Sonny. How were they to know it was you and your lady friend in the balloon? It has Raven’s sign on it.”
“You could have told them,” Sonny shot back.
Garcia shrugged again. “The DEA isn’t exactly in radio contact with me.”
Sonny turned, glad to see Howard pushing through the crowd.
“I heard about Rita,” Howard said. “Damn, I’m sorry. There anything I can do?”
“You can get us out of here,” Sonny replied.
Howard led Sonny and Lorenza toward his truck. His four-wheeler quickly plowed around the traffic jam through the sandy path and to Coors Road.
“Raven?” Howard asked.
“Yup.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Nada,” Sonny replied. “We ran into an ambush.” He looked at Lorenza. “I nearly got us killed.”
“We tried,” she said. They had been so close to Rita and the girl—and missed.
“I heard her voice,” Sonny said.
“Yes,” Lorenza agreed, “she was there.”
“Thank God, she’s alive,” Howard said. “That’s good news.”
“I think the dope was at the warehouse,” Sonny said.
Howard frowned. “I hate to think so,” he said. “The place was staked out.”
“Who?”
“DEA.”
“The DEA had the warehouse staked out? You sure?”
Howard glanced from Sonny to Lorenza. “Off the record, but Garcia got a tip on the warehouse, and about the same time he got a call from the local DEA man—”
“Flannery?”
“Yeah. He told Garcia they were on top of everything. They’d take care of it. That’s why Garcia’s pissed. They’re dancing circles around him.”
“Or—”
Sonny didn’t finish the thought. He looked at Howard, and Howard shook his head. Neither of them could believe Garcia would sell out for a cut. But it sure as hell looked as if a lot of people interested in the dope shipment might be bedfellows.
“Is Flannery calling the shots?” Sonny asked.
“Yup. He’s probably working with the FBI on this.”
“Have you heard from Matt Paiz?”
“Garcia called him, so he’s lending his boys to look for Rita.”
Good, Sonny thought. The FBI was looking for Raven, and now they would also be looking for Rita. But the clock was ticking, and there was very little time left.
“How about the CIA?”
Howard’s forehead knitted into a question. “You know more than I do.”
“Yeah,” Sonny whispered. William Stone was in town, and Gilroy had once been connected to the CIA.
“They have to distribute the dope soon,” Howard said as they drove toward Corrales.
Yeah, but where? Sonny thought, looking at the Río Grande valley that lay baking in the mellow October warmth. Across the way the Sandias rose, a pale blue granite face rising up five thousand feet.
The valley was a green oasis in summer; now autumn was creeping in, and in a few weeks the Río Grande cottonwoods would be completely clothed in brilliant gold and yellow.
The fall ushered in a calmness over the land, backyard gardens matured, the cosmos and marigolds overran their plots. The people of the valley began to prepare for winter.
In the orchards, apples took on a crispness with the first frost. People hung red chile ristras for winter. Kids began to think of Halloween. The warm shirt-only weather would probably last the entire month. Even November would be pleasant if the jet stream didn’t dip south. The people of the valley were spoiled by the mellow transition of time. They sighed, a breath of satisfaction as life slowed to a crawl.
Cycles—the seasons of the valley moved in cycles. Each season created its distinct flavors, colors, sounds. The seasons were also reflected in the temperament of the people of the valley. Time was a value to the old paisanos. Time was more valuable than gold, and so it was to be lived fully.
But for Sonny there was no time to enjoy his favorite season, no time to indulge in the final burst of life before winter fell. He had to find Rita; Raven would not play cat and mouse much longer.
They dropped Lorenza at her home in Corrales. Sonny walked her to the door. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s not good,” she replied, confirming his own fears. “Even if you find Raven—”
“What?”
“Don’t yo
u see why he can come and go as he pleases? He laughs at the police, and he takes your woman. You and Howard think it’s because he’s protected by others, by people interested in making money from the sale of the mierda. It’s more than that. He is living in the spirit world. He comes and goes as the spirit Raven, and he has taken Rita to draw you to his circle.”
Her words were whispered, the tone deadly serious.
“He’s looking for a fight.”
“Yes. And you must respond!”
Respond? To Raven the brujo? Raven had said, “You haven’t told Mr. Baca about us brujos. Ah, maybe he’s too innocent.” And he’d said Lorenza was “in on it.” Were they playing games around him?
“How?” he asked, a tone of irritation in his voice.
“We didn’t go prepared,” Lorenza said. “We were worried about Rita and we rushed. We have to think like Raven. Otherwise …” She didn’t finish.
“Otherwise what?” Sonny asked.
Lorenza touched his arm. “You have to concentrate on Rita. Make a connection to her. Keep thinking of her. She’ll answer. Her image will come to you.”
“I’ll try,” Sonny said. “I’ll try anything.”
“Both of us will,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “Call me if you feel she’s answering you. Trust her power to come to you.” She turned quickly and went into the house.
Howard drove Sonny to his truck at the balloon field. The Fiesta Control building was surrounded by cars and trucks. They spotted Madge Swenson waiting near Sonny’s truck.
“Looks like a big party,” Howard said.
“Gilroy will be spooked, running. Maybe finding him leads us to Raven.”
He looked at Madge. She was a piece of the larger puzzle in Sonny’s mind. The dope deal was supposedly worth millions and that was bound to attract cats of every stripe.
“Do you have the time to follow a good-looking woman tonight?” Sonny asked, nodding at Madge as Howard pulled over.
“Madge? You got it,” Howard said. “And you?”
“I’m going to hit the bars, take the city apart piece by piece. The drugs have to be somewhere,” Sonny replied, and jumped out. “Thanks for the ride.”
“I’ll call.” Howard waved and drove off.
“I heard everything on the radio,” Madge said as she approached Sonny. “I’m glad you’re alive. What now?” she asked. Her concern seemed real.
“Can you get your chopper back?”
“No problem. The guys are out there already—And Rita?”
“I’ll find Rita,” Sonny replied.
“I waited to tell you personally that we’re going to fly tomorrow.”
“You’re going to what?”
“Jerry and the board have decided that the only way to save the fiesta is to give the go-ahead and let everyone fly.”
“After what just happened?” Sonny protested. “Raven’s still out there! Lorenza and I came this close to being killed!”
“That’s just it, Sonny. You weren’t killed. You should have heard the news! They played it up like a game. Like Chase the Hare. The phones are ringing off the hook, the place is packed with pilots who want to know why you’re up there having all the fun and they’re grounded. They formed a group to pressure the board, and they won.”
“And Stammer?”
“Jerry’s with them. He thinks it’s safe.”
“You?”
“God, Sonny, I just want to save the fiesta. The truth is, Raven isn’t out to hurt the fiesta. Whatever happened had to do with the dope deal you suspect. That has nothing to do with us. We’re not involved. The fiesta’s safe.”
“Yeah, and the death of Mario Secco was an accident.” Sonny frowned.
Anger rose in him, an anger that had started when he fell into Gilroy’s hands at the Juárez warehouse, an anger that came with the fear he felt as Raven’s balloon rose into the sky with him and Lorenza in it. But the real cause of the anger was the emotional, gut-wrenching fury that came from knowing Rita was in danger and he was helpless.
“Sonny, the fiesta has nothing to do with the other thing. But I still need your help. The board can still make it worth your while if you go on television. I’ve got a press conference waiting right now. If you say it’s okay, we can save seven days of flying, maybe even add two—”
“And you write in black on the bottom line, is that it?”
Madge stepped back. “Yes. That’s my job, Sonny. I have a lot invested in this. And so has the city. We can’t blow it.”
“If Mario Secco was an accident, what was Veronica?”
“She was a witness. She was killed because she was a witness. It had nothing to do with the fiesta. Look, our pilots have families, but they’re convinced the murderers had nothing to do with any kind of terrorism against the fiesta. All they want to do is fly. Can’t you see that?”
Sonny leaned against his truck. His entire body felt bruised. The October afternoon carried a breeze; he shivered. He smelled the sweat of fear on his body.
“I feel like a drink,” he said.
“Come inside.” Madge touched his arm. “I have some good scotch. Wash your face, you’ll feel better. Everyone’s waiting for you. You’re a hero, Sonny. The whole city knows about your flight today. You walk in there and the applause is going to take the roof off the building. Come.” She held out her hand.
Sonny hesitated. “I gotta find Rita.”
Madge nodded. “And I want to help.” She squeezed Sonny’s arm. “Come in. Come with me.”
He shook his head.
Her shoulders sagged for a moment; then she took a deep breath. “We’re going to fly tomorrow,” she said. “It’s a board decision.”
“I’ve got to talk to Stammer,” Sonny replied.
“It won’t do any good, but go ahead.”
“I’ll go by his office.”
“He’s probably at the lab. You haven’t heard. His peers at the hospital just kicked him out. After all these years and he’s out.”
Sonny shrugged. He remembered his mother, and his promise to call her.
“Can you call him for me? Tell him I’ll drop in at the lab?”
Madge nodded. “No problem. But he’s really depressed. I don’t know if he’ll be of much help.” She turned and walked quickly into Fiesta Control.
Sonny watched her walk away and close the door behind her. He looked west, toward the West Mesa and Petroglyph Park, where a short while ago he had touched back to earth.
“Rita,” he whispered, “speak to me. Tell me where you are.”
He listened in the void of silence. In the field the shrill, final cry of a locust sounded. A truck honked as the eager pilots repositioned their vehicles. A breeze stirred the dust. Along the main street the food and souvenir vendors were opening their tents, lending an air of excitement to the afternoon.
Rita didn’t answer.
Sonny cupped his hands over his eyes and felt the tears wet his palms. He had been to Raven’s warehouse, he had seen the van Raven was driving, he had been so close, and now he had nothing. Not a clue. And Rita and Cristina were still missing.
He got in the truck and called his mother.
“Hijo? Do you want to get yourself killed? We saw everything on television. What were you doing? What are you thinking? Why are you flying balloons? They’re so dangerous. And oh, God, why Rita? Why Rita?”
There wasn’t much explaining he could do. Rita had been kidnapped because Raven wanted to get to him, but he didn’t want to worry his mother. He tried to assure her that things would work out. The police were looking for Rita. He was looking for her. It was only a matter of time.
He had to lie. He thought of her operation, and her alone at home. And he not able to be there.
“Have you seen your doctor?” he asked when he was done reassuring her.
“A Dr. Sanchez is coming by. Not the one who did the operation. I really like him; I can speak Spanish to him. He treats me like he would treat his mother.”
br /> “And you’re feeling well?”
“I’m feeling great! I feel like going dancing. Max came this morning and brought me breakfast. He stays with me all day. Don’t worry about me. You concentrate on finding Rita. I can’t believe anyone would wish her harm.”
“I’ll find her. I’ll call you. Don’t you worry.”
“It’s impossible not to worry. Don’t be concerned with me. Ay Dios, I love Rita like a daughter. Hay qué cosas! What is this world coming to?”
“I don’t know,” Sonny replied, trying to reassure her. “Adiós, mamá.”
“Adiós, hijo. Cuídate.”
He knew little about Jerry Stammer, so he drove to the public library and had Ruth hustle up every newspaper article she had on the doctor.
Stammer had been considered a young genius in the field of heart transplants. He was driven to score a sensational breakthrough, but at every turn he had been beaten by other researchers in the field. He turned his attention to baboon hearts, hoping to beat those working with pig hearts. It was a race, a very expensive race, with big consequences. Stammer was funding his own laboratory.
Now the small coterie of heart specialists who were the big honchos in the city had just passed judgment: baboon hearts were out of the picture as far as the Alburquerque heart surgeons were concerned.
As the sun was setting, Sonny started his truck and drove to Jerry Stammer’s lab. He drove up Martin Luther King Avenue and turned west. The Stammer Laboratory sat on the hill near St. Joseph’s Hospital. He tried the front door and found it open. Inside, the office was empty. No receptionist, no patients, no magazines on coffee tables, no paintings on the walls, no Muzak.
A bad odor hung in the stale air. Baboons, Sonny thought.
He called hello into the dimly lit hallway and waited. Shortly, an exuberant Jerry Stammer entered the reception room and greeted Sonny warmly.
“Sonny, how are you? I heard the good news. We can let our pilots fly. Best news we’ve had in days.”
“I—” Sonny started to answer, but the nervous doctor wasn’t listening.
“The pressure’s off. I’ll level with you, this problem with the fiesta has taken it out of me.”
“I’m sure,” Sonny replied.
He motioned for Sonny to take a seat, and he sat at the receptionist’s desk.