Chupacabra Outlaw

Chapter 1

SAMUEL MARTINEZ

FLAMES LEAPT HIGHER AS THE wood crackled and popped under the iron wide-belly smokers. The flames from the two open fires (there was another burning near the other smoker in back) made Ricardo Cuaron nervous, and they had since he first started working at Carl’s. Ricardo — unremarkable but handsome, with straight, black hair, mysterious, dark eyes, and small, round glasses perched on his narrow nose — was a cautious kind of guy.

Ricardo was the sort of person who always maintained proper stopping distance between his car and the one in front of him. Ricardo, like a Boy Scout, was always prepared. He didn’t exactly obsess about safety and precaution, but liked to feel as if he was forever ready for whatever might happen next. The fires were wildcards that unsettled Ricardo whenever he saw a customer getting closer to them, which happened quite a lot.

Sometimes, Carl’s lobby grew crowded (it was legendary in Glen, all of Kansas, and across the entire breadbasket) and the line snaked back on itself, filling the entire area and bringing the customers closer to the open flames. There was no proper stopping distance between feet and those roaring fires. There wasn’t even the tiniest of fences, walls, or railings. It was only a matter of time before someone fell into one of the fires, and when that happened the only thing Ricardo could do is grab the fire extinguisher from the wall and douse the person dancing in flame.

Despite the fires, every day hundreds of people came through Carl’s Barbecue (some thin and many obese), ordering endless pounds of fatty meat to take home, or plopping down at picnic tables in the next room, where they gorged with their fingers. Brisket. Ribs. Sausages. None of it slathered with barbecue sauce by the connoisseurs, who appreciated truly good barbecue — the only kind Carl’s served, and what they were known for — with nothing but salt.

Today, the line was light, and as Ricardo worked the register his fear that a child would fall into the logs and burn, eased. The day was warm; the smokers behind him were hot; the scent of meat mostly obscured the smell many of the customers must have been discharging as they came in dripping. It was as peaceful as a shift at Carl’s could get.

A woman and a man, both heavyset, stood in front of the register, fishing out cash to cover their enormous hunk of smoked brisket. Several others stood behind them. He eased into what passed for relaxation in the life of Ricardo Cuaron — a quiescent form of readiness. As he settled, he heard the chatter of others in the room. Behind him at the smoker was Brian Gheary, an enormous man with a chest as large as the bellies of the brick furnaces. To his side was Maria Gianni, a small, dark-haired girl with understatedly beautiful features, a disarming smile, and soft, brown eyes. As Ricardo glanced at her, she dipped her chin and gave him a hint of a sideways smile. And in front of him, in the lobby, were the customers. Ricardo liked them.

Carl’s clientele were salt-of-the-Earth folks, mostly farmers and rednecks, who came in with dark tanned forearms and dirt under their fingernails. They weren’t always couth and polished, but were honest and never put on airs. Despite chuckling at some of their folksy antics, Ricardo had come to like the people of Glen. He’d only been in town for two months, but for Ricardo it was a long stay. There were towns where he spent only a few days. Those were the towns where there’d been an unexpected incident, and where Morales surfaced, despite Ricardo watching his every step — metaphorically putting railings around all the white-hot fires he could. He hoped here would be different.

Sam, said Brian, looking at Ricardo, when you get a chance, can you toss another few logs on that fire? Ricardo’s boss then nodded toward the abject safety hazard.

Ricardo said he would. For now, he was Sam. Samuel Martinez, to be specific, though he had no driver’s license or birth certificate bearing that name. There had been a few times he’d taken on new monikers with fake IDs to establish identity, but he’d abandoned the practice almost immediately. For one, the process was too expensive and took too long. For two, Ricardo moved too often, usually mooting the point. And for three, it exposed his secret to one more person. This was 2013, not 1980 and certainly not 1909. Today, he had the Internet to consider.

There was easy surveillance to think about. These days, parents could track their kids’ cells from anywhere. Ricardo hadn’t grown up with technology, and while he thought himself fairly adaptive, he knew there was a lot out there that he not only didn’t know… but didn’t know he didn’t know. With so many unknowns, it was best to keep things simple. Carl’s Barbecue paid most of its employees under the table and thus didn’t cover their Social Security or Medicare taxes. Perfect for a man who could announce himself as someone else and not have to prove it. In every town, there was a place like Carl’s, where Ricardo could slot in, do a job, get his money, and keep to himself. He didn’t mind being Sam. It fit him, and the only one Ricardo felt bad deceiving was Maria.

I know I’ve got a few quarters in here, said the woman in front of him. She dug in her pink wallet’s side pocket, overstuffed with cards and coupons.

You’d better, said the man. He threw an apologetic look to Sam, mild-mannered cashier at the local barbecue joint. The look said he was sorry his wife was so foolish as to cut it so close on their giant hunk of meat. The look didn’t say he might be partially at fault. Carl’s didn’t accept credit cards, and everyone in line knew it. But they weren’t flush with cash, and this wasn’t the first time Ricardo had watched the locals fishing for coins.

Ricardo let his eyes stray to the customers behind them. Sometimes, people got impatient while waiting, but not today. The day was hot, but the quiet, almost relaxing mood remained unbroken. It was as if the entire town had agreed that ill tempers simply weren’t worth the energy. Ricardo felt his guard lower with the thought. It had been getting harder and harder to stay invisible, but maybe he’d finally found his place in Glen. There were times, back in the early part of the century, when he’d been able to stay in the same place for years. Now that was rare, until Glen. He imagined himself as a long-timer at Carl’s and pictured signing a year lease on his monthly apartment. He saw himself settling with Maria and becoming Sam Martinez, finally seeking a forger capable of making him Sam forever, and maybe giving Maria a new last name.

But growing complacent was a mistake, and as he mentally smelled the roses, the universe was there to remind him.

Ricardo had excellent hearing, and could tune it like a radio. It was part of his condition, part of who and what he was. He could be in a room filled with chatter and focus his attention on a specific conversation while excluding the rest. It was handy at the few parties he went to, and handy at Carl’s when bored — or, as was often the case with Ricardo, when he simply grew curious. People had always fascinated him, and the more he knew about them, the better his impersonation.

Ricardo’s sharp eyes picked out an enormous man wearing bib overalls sitting at the long picnic tables in the next room. Across from the large man was a woman with fried-blonde hair the color and texture of hay. She was tiny. Tomas Morales, who had a great sense of humor and would make a great friend for Ricardo if he ever stopped hunting him, would have wondered what the two looked like when they had sex. Morales might say the two were so mismatched that when she climbed atop him, she would resemble a growth.

Ricardo tuned in and caught the woman speaking in mid-sentence.

… $50, sure, but you ain’t gonna be picky, Tom. You got the machinery, you got the time, so what do you care if you take a day or two to reap the corn on his…

In front of Ricardo, the woman found two quarters and placed them in his palm. She resumed digging, looking for 50 more cents.

… totally shot, the fat man was saying when Ricardo returned his attention to the couple. It’s not just doin’ the field; it’s taking the time to fix that motherfucking arm, and the part alone is going to cost 50.

Like you’re not going to fix it eventually?

Not ‘til next year, said the fat man, tearing a huge bite of meat into his maw and chewing while he pawed for a napkin with greasy fingers. Next year, I’ll have our stipend, and then I can fix it. But I ain’t fixin’ it now just so I can…

There! said the woman in front of Ricardo.

He turned his attention from the couple in the next room back to his palm where he found a dollar in change. He looked up at the woman. She looked pleased as if she’d achieved something truly remarkable. Her husband grinned with pride. Ricardo envied them. It took more than successful payment to make him feel accomplished.

He handed the people their wax paper-wrapped sausage and brisket with a stack of napkins, said thank you, then told them to enjoy and turned to the waiting customers. The woman told Ricardo she needed a minute. The customers behind her and her husband looked at the photos on the wall. It seemed that today, no one was in a rush.

Still curious, Ricardo’s attention returned to the mismatched couple discussing their broken tractor part and, apparently, a job that was out there to be had for $50.

The woman was speaking again. Her chin, like the man’s, was covered in grease. Between words, she licked her fingers. The napkin in front of her was untouched. Ricardo picked her up mid-sentence, finding they’d changed topics.

… cabra, and I ain’t stupid, so I said to him, ‘Don’t give me no bullshit, Paul. If you ain’t willing to come over and help out, then just say so. Don’t make up something with your goats and a monster.’ The nerve of some people.

Ricardo felt his head swim. He had the sensation of almost hearing something but not quite making it out. She could have said anything, right? It didn’t have to be what it sounded like, did it?

What did he say to that? the big man asked his wife.

He said to come on over! I had to go there anyway, so I did it while you were out mowin’. And yeah, he had a bunch of dead goats. He’d stacked ‘em like firewood. I says, ‘Paul, why didn’t you toss them goats out in the weeds? Like, just past his fence?’ But he said he went out with his trailer and picked ‘em all up so he could show the police.

What’s the police want with a bunch of dead goats?

The woman scoffed. It’s like I said.

He ain’t that stupid, said the man.

He is. He said there’s something out there. Says he seen it. He’s got a camera or two, I guess, on account of he’s got coyotes. She said it like kiy-oats.

So, it’s coyotes, said the man. Kiy-oats.

That ain’t what he thinks. And I’ll tell you, it ain’t what it looks like, from them goats. They looked all sucked dry. And when I pointed it out that’s just what Paul said. He looks at me and points at me like this — The woman pointed at the man. —and he says, ‘That’s what it means, Charlene! It means ‘goat-sucker!’

The man chortled.

Back at the register, Ricardo felt himself starting to sweat — and not from the fire or heat of the day.

Goat-sucker. That’s what it means.

Is there anything you recommend? said the woman in front of Ricardo.

He fought to bring his attention back to the line. She and the man beside her looked like they’d never been in a real barbecue joint before. If Ricardo had his wits about him, he’d help lower their bafflement, then make a point to tell them not to ask for barbecue sauce when they sat. Amateurs always asked for barbecue sauce, and it earned them nothing but laughs or dirty looks from the die-hards.

As it was, however, Ricardo hold his thoughts from drifting back to the goats. He’d be lucky to simply stumble through the transaction. He mumbled something about brisket, unsure what he was saying. He must have looked unsteady, light-headed, or sick, because Maria’s pretty face was looking at him askance as she took an order at her register.

Where there was an incident, Morales would follow.

And when people discovered the incident, Morales followed faster.

When they used the word? Well, that spelled trouble with a capital T.

Across the room, the tiny woman with the fat man said, I told him, ‘Paul, ain’t no such thing as a chupacabra.’ But Paul, he says he has it on his little security camera.

A shiver rippled down Ricardo’s spine.

The customer ordered brisket for herself and her husband, then asked for barbecue sauce to go with it.

He gave her a bottle, no comment.

Chapter 2

DONE FOR THE NIGHT

RICARDO HAD HIS HANDS ON the big triple sink in the back room, arms straight and head sagging between his shoulder blades. He looked at the floor past the sink’s edge, trying to find the place where the tile’s pattern repeated. The front of his carelessly disheveled black hair hung down, wet from the water he’d splashed on his face.

Sam, you okay?

Ricardo snapped erect and spun to face the voice. He fumbled for his round glasses, which he’d set aside, and put them back on as he brushed his hair back into place.

I’m fine, Sally.

You rushed out.

I’m sorry. I felt sick.

You need to go home?

Ricardo shook his head, which unseated his hair and caused it to hang over his glasses, where it left wet streaks. He looked at Sally, feeling bad about lying to her. She was in her upper 60s but moved like she was in her 40s and acted like she was 30. Contrasting with her young manner, she had a giant, white hairdo, sprayed in place like a helmet. To complete the down-home cliché, her hair helmet adopted a bluish tinge. Sally’s face was less wrinkled than it should’ve been, and she wore lipstick outrageous enough it’d make a younger woman hedge. Today’s was an almost neon shade of pink and sparkled with what looked like glitter.

Ricardo shook his head. I’m fine.

You need time, you take it, Sam.

Really. I’m fine. The rush will be coming soon. I’d rather stay.

Ricardo would rather stay through his shift than leave, and would rather stay in Glen as Sam Martinez than flee to be someone else. Again. He shouldn’t have been thinking about how comfortable it was here. It was like slapping the universe in its face and begging for a jinx.

Okay. Take your time. You need medicines, you know we have them in the other bathroom.

She meant the one at the far side of the restaurant, through the door marked Private. It led to her and Carl’s house. The house was adjoined to the restaurant and, in Ricardo’s opinion, unduly bound them to their business. Sally and Carl had told him they hadn’t gone on a vacation since Carl’s father — Carl Sr., who’d founded the restaurant — retired and they’d taken the place over. Between Sally’s concerned eyes and the way she was willing to casually send an employee into her home bathroom for Pepto Bismol, Ricardo felt his heart wanting to break. These were special people, and he didn’t want to leave them. He certainly didn’t want to leave Maria.

Maybe he could take her with him.

But as he stood with his back to the sink, watching Sally and her blue hair enter the restaurant’s lobby, Ricardo realized the idiocy of his idea. He’d known Maria for two months, and they’d been lovers for one and a half. Yes, they’d clicked fast. But what woman would run off with a man she’d been sleeping with for six weeks? What woman would take it in stride that her man had to leave everything behind, change his name, and hide like an animal? And even if she were to accept all of that, what woman wouldn’t ask why he had to run… and if Maria asked and Ricardo were to tell her the truth, how could she possibly believe him? And if she did, how could she accept his horrible truth? He’d be alone forever, save single-serving relationships that always ended in a broken heart and blame. The truth required him to accept that, and could, seeing as he’d been alone ever since that…

He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that.

Ricardo wondered what would happen if this time he stayed where he was. It wasn’t a for-sure thing that the fat man and little woman’s story would go any farther than their own home — and the picnic tables at Carl’s Barbecue. Even Paul, their friend with the dead, sucked-dry goats, might not contact anyone. And if he did, what were the chances that the police would care enough to investigate? Sure, there were other animals in the area that had been sucked dry, but Ricardo thought most were unknown, still considered missing. Maybe nobody would connect the dots. Maybe the word chupacabra would go away, and maybe Morales would never come to Glen. Ricardo couldn’t feel him and hadn’t felt him in a long while.

He sighed.

No, that was stupid. This was the age of the Internet, the age in which water-stain Jesus made the cover of tabloids. This was the age in which a kid could make one joke to a friend in his school’s hallway and shut the whole school system down for fear of a massacre. In the age of information, where everyone carried a cell and could talk to the world from their pocket, rumors rarely vanished. All it took was for someone to connect the dots. And Morales searched for dots to connect.

Ricardo would have to leave Glen, Kansas; leave his job at Carl’s; leave Sally and Carl behind; and leave the woman who made his heart beat faster whenever he saw her, Maria Gianni.

Ricardo closed his eyes and sighed — deeper this time. The longer he tried to fool himself, the more difficult things would be. He’d been hard before, and would have to be again. That wasn’t his nature; Ricardo liked people, music, and art. He wasn’t a monster. But, he was, and to survive he’d have to stay a monster.

Maria and Ricardo usually took their break together. Both worked the register, and two cashiers leaving at once was bad practice, but Sally and Carl had insisted that they did so often as possible once they saw them sharing a fancy. The owners worked nearly every hour the restaurant was open, so taking over at the registers for 15 minutes was easy enough. Still, the gesture was touching to Ricardo, and when they did it on what would be his final day in Glen, he tried to refuse — not because he wanted to, but because it seemed important to let Sally and Carl know that he saw what they did and appreciated it.

He drew himself a diet soda and a second for Maria. Then the two of them went outside together. There was a picnic table in the shade around the restaurant’s rear, in a corner where Carl’s Barbecue met the owners’ house. It was quiet, not too hot with the light breeze, and peaceful. They sat opposite one another, sipping sodas and saying nothing in particular.

You feeling better? she said after they’d settled.

Ricardo looked up. Maria had dark, Mediterranean skin and a touch of an accent. She was 28 (which worked, because she believed Ricardo was 30) and had come to America in her teens. She’d been fluent in English upon arrival, but had fought hard to lose her accent — harder since moving to Glen. But the bit that remained Ricardo couldn’t have loved more.

I’m fine. He paused, then cracked a smile. Same as the last 50 times you asked.

Oh. Well, forgive me for caring about your well-being.

I’m tough as nails. Don’t you worry about me. How are you?

Ricardo winced, because the question was stupid. He was asking a global How are things? but Maria didn’t know he was clearing loose ends and assuaging his conscience to prepare for a mad dash from town. She’d take it at face value, and at face value it made no sense since she wasn’t the one who’d been sick.

Instead of puzzling, she said, I’m fine. Her delicate hands slipped back and untied her pony tail. She shook out her black hair, pulled it back, and re-tied it tighter.

Fine?

Yes, fine. Shouldn’t I be?

Ricardo shrugged. Then, seeing she hadn’t flinched at his clearing-up-loose-ends question, pushed on with boldness.

Maria, where do you think you’ll be in five years? What do you want to do with your life? The question could have appeared insulting because it implied that what she was doing now — working in a barbecue joint in the middle of nowhere — wasn’t good enough. But it wouldn’t since Maria was always talking about how her job at Carl’s was temporary, and how she had no desire to be a cashier and waitress forever.

Instead of being insulted, Maria did something worse. She took hold of his hands on the table between them. I want to be with a kind man.

That doesn’t sound very feminist of you.

She shrugged. Who says I’m a feminist? I just want a goooood maaaaan. She drew out the last two words with heavy sarcasm, pursing her lips.

Seriously. He tried to withdraw his hands, but she took his adjustment for a next-step move and clasped his large hands with her small, dark ones.

Maria shook her head, clearly not feeling the moment’s weight, then carelessly said, Oh, I don’t know. I want to travel. I want to write.

Write what?

The great American novel. Or perhaps the great Corsican novel.

And you’re going to make your millions that way? So, you can travel?

She gave him a small smile that said she wasn’t really giving it any thought. Not right now, on a random day like any other. Tomorrow, the sun would rise, she’d go to work and be with Ricardo. There was no need to be serious or grave.

Yes. That’s how it works.

Ricardo met her eyes. You’ll make it.

He realized how it sounded the moment he’d said it, but hoped it’d appeared sincere. With any luck, it would be something to remember him by. Five years from now, maybe her dream would still be breathing. Maybe she’d be married to a good man, have the kids he knew she wanted, and remember a soft-eyed man who had believed in her.

Instead, she laughed, loud and unladylike.

You are too much, Sam, she said, her slight accent returning in her metered words.

I’m serious. Ricardo wanted to be insulted. Here he was trying to be earnest and she mocked him.

She made her face stone, then looked him in the eyes and pursed her lips. Ooo-kay.

Ricardo tried to hold his annoyance, but he was wrong, not her. He swallowed his pride and tried to rescue his last break with Maria. What else do you want to do?

She pulled on his hands, rose from the bench, and leaned toward him.

I want to kiss you.

Ricardo could feel his blood rise as her lips reached his.

The rest of the day chugged along, through the rush and into the slowdown, past the setting sun and mellowing mood inside Carl’s. As shadows grew long then disappeared, Ricardo always thought the barbecue had an almost noir feel, like an old diner at closing, as lost souls sipped coffee and soda jerks swept a black-and-white tile floor to the mellow sounds of slow oldies on the radio.

The final customers left, fires were banked then extinguished as smokers were bunkered down for the night. Carl — a bald, rail-thin man with a potbelly so odd it looked like he had a basketball under his shirt — locked the door. Sally tied loose ends with the food. A few other workers left with the locking door, and the rest said their goodbyes a half hour later, after the place was clean and stocked for the morning. Eventually only Sally, Carl, and Ricardo remained. Ricardo lived nearby and preferred night to mornings, so he always closed. Tonight, Maria stayed with them. This was, for Ricardo, both welcome and unwelcome. If she’d left at closing like usual, they wouldn’t have a one-sided goodbye, with him hurting and her oblivious. Still, he wanted every minute the world was willing to give him, even if it agonized the inevitable.

You good, Sam? Carl slapped a mop into the empty bucket and wheeled it into a closet. Carl was 68 and wore brightly colored baseball caps with mesh backs to cover his bald head. The bills on the hats were never remotely curved or broken in, and Carl never pulled the hats down on his head. Thanks to the mesh backs, you could always see the four or five inches of space between his scalp and the top of the hat.

I’m good, Carl.

Carl nodded, then gave a small wave before heading toward the door leading into his adjoining house. Lights were off; money was in the safe; food was away. Ricardo liked to prep a few small things for the morning that nobody else bothered with — details like filling the coffeemaker with grounds and replacing the cutting boards with clean ones. It wasn’t necessary, but it was kind, and Carl didn’t like to discourage him even though it added time to the end of Ricardo’s day. Ricardo clocked out dutifully on time, so all it cost Carl was a few moments of trust, leaving his man alone in the store unless he wished to sit and wait.

Halfway to the door, Carl seemed to remember something. Specifically, he remembered his wife. He detoured toward the back room and kitchen, and Ricardo found himself alone.

Well, almost alone.

Maria opened a supply closet, set a small dustpan and hand broom inside, then closed it and sashayed toward him, hips swinging dramatically. She brushed her hands, one against the other.

Done, she said. I should help you every night.

You don’t want to do that.

Maria shrugged, then reached behind her head and pulled out the rubber band holding her hair in place. She fluffed her shoulder-length, black hair, then scrubbed her fingers through it. She tossed her head back and looked toward the closet and supplies, then over to the door leading out to the dumpsters.

You’re right. I don’t want to.

I told you not to. It’s no fun.

What can I say? I’m selfless, she said, then walked closer and wrapped her arms around him. Maria was a good six inches shorter than him, and his chin rested on the top of her head. She pulled away, looked up, and said, What’s wrong, Sammy?

Ricardo blinked. Nothing.

But you’re not coming over?

He shook his head, not wanting to look her in the eyes.

But you always come over, she said, her voice filled with promise. And tonight of all nights. It’s Biggest Loser night. She batted her eyelashes, kidding but not really.

They had a handful of rituals, and The Biggest Loser was one. Each week they watched the weight-loss show and ate ice cream. Neither was spiteful, but Ricardo had commented once that watching people so deprived made him hungry. And thus, a tradition was born.

I forgot, he lied.

What’s bothering you? You’ve been strange all day.

Nothing.

She sighed, then looked away. He could tell she didn’t believe him at all, but her eyes said she would pretend that she did. Or rather, she would accept his lie because she was a trooper, even though she knew it was bullshit.

Really? Nothing?

She turned, smiled, and held her palms up at her sides. Okay, mystery man. Somewhere in the first syllable of mystery, Maria’s subtle accent cleared her throat, like it did when something was bothering her, when she wasn’t as in control as she wanted.

Ricardo was about to reply — to lie about being tired and tell her he’d see her tomorrow, which he wouldn’t — when Sally and Carl re-emerged.

Normally I’d just let you take care of your final tasks, but I figured since you’re all finished, I might as well lock the door behind you, Carl said as he scratched the top of his basketball belly.

Ricardo and Maria looked at each other. Her eyes pleaded for the truth and he wanted to tell her. Wanted to let someone fully into his life.

Carl cleared his throat. You are done for the night, right?

Ricardo broke from Maria’s stare, nodded at Carl, and walked toward the door. Carl turned to follow. Ricardo plodded forward and with each step his throat grew tighter. This time could be different. He took a deep breath and stopped to face Maria, Carl, and Sally. I want to tell you something. Ricardo’s words slipped out in quiet firmness.

The owners raised their eyebrows, but Maria’s were cocked like a pair of old TV antennae trying to find the right wavelength.

Ricardo wiped his mouth just as the silent night exploded.

Chapter 3

PREDATOR AND PREY

TURNED OUT THE NOISE WAS a souped-up Dodge Charger. It had a blower protruding through the hood and either didn’t have a muffler or its muffler was broken. The car was bright-red, incredibly obvious, and roared into the parking lot spitting gravel. A prickle ran up Ricardo’s spine as his bones shifted. The change was coming. He willed himself to calm, drawing deep breaths. But even if his senses hadn’t been alive — and, he had to admit, they’d been simmering for a few hours now — he would have been on alert watching the Charger stop and seeing the two men shamble out.

Even if Ricardo were human, he would have known these men were bad news. They carried the stink of misdeeds. Ricardo had seen it again and again and again, enough that he always wondered why criminals acted like criminals, but in the end, he concluded that it was a repeating loop. Bad men behaved like bad men because that’s exactly what they were. There were bad men who appeared normal, but in Ricardo’s experience, those were exceptions rather than rules. Profiling worked just fine most times. Ricardo, even without his extra senses, could spot a troublemaker a mile away.

Oh, God, said Sally.

As the two men sprinted toward the door, the Charger spun its tires and screeched back onto the road. All four rushed for the door to lock it, but it was too far. The men were almost to it from the outside, and the four employees still had the entire room to cross.

Get into the back, said Ricardo. Inside, he cursed himself for not listening to his instincts. Around the time the woman was mentioning the farmer’s goats and the word chupacabra, Ricardo had been sizzling with foreboding, but — out of habit — thought he was feeling Morales. The emotion’s flavor was like dry, chalky dust. The color in his mind was a dusty gray. All felt like Morales, but Morales felt like dogged pursuit, not the panic of imminent danger. Morales held some fear of Ricardo and respected him. What he’d been sensing all day was nothing like that. Fight or flight — the feeling preceding a forest fire, where his inner animal was desperate to flee.

I want to stay out here, said Maria.

Ricardo let his gentle mask drop. For a moment, he feared that his eyes had flashed red, but Maria didn’t react. Now! He practically snarled at her, his voice low and lupine.

You too, then!

It was too late. The door flew open. Carl, Sally, and Maria hadn’t moved an inch. They stood like prey, frozen in the face of attack. It was always like this. The response was supposed to be fight or flight, but usually the helpless were paralyzed. Humans were like deer, waiting to be pierced by a circling predator’s teeth.

The men were clean but shabby, their clothes torn and hair a mess. One was blond, the other had dark-brown hair. Both were tall and wiry. They seemed to be all sinew and bone, with spare muscle and no fat as if toned by a life on the run. In a way, Ricardo could relate.

From across the room, he watched their pupils contract. Their eyes told Ricardo they were scared enough to be truly dangerous. He saw their pulses shudder in their necks, and heard the thundering of blood through their veins, near deafening to his enhanced sense of hearing. Through pricked ears, he heard their boots pound on the floor echoed by a squeak from wet toes. Yet it hadn’t rained outside in the dusty lot, so they’d come from somewhere with moisture — somewhere with grass. It was close. Whatever they’d done and whatever they were running from was nearby.

Both men carried handguns. They weren’t precisely aimed. Ricardo could disarm them both. He’d be shot, but he’d been shot before. He glanced at Maria and stood his ground. Too much was unknown. He’d have to wait: watch them both, position himself correctly, and see what came next.

Ricardo tuned himself down, forcing his calm. Behind him, his bones changed and his shirt slowly settled against his back. He shouldn’t be bleeding, but it had been a long time, and it was possible that his white shirt was now spotted with a series of red dots. He reminded himself to find a mirror and check, to keep his face toward Sally, Carl, and Maria until he could see.

Prey, he told himself. Act like prey.

Ricardo took in the guns and slowly raised his hands. He looked around at the others, urging them to do the same. Eight hands rose. The two men stood in the doorway, still sweating, and looking around with sharp glances. They might shoot without meaning to. Their guns were semiautomatics, likely .45s and cocked. Ricardo could see red dots that showed their safeties were off. They had either readied their weapons before coming into Carl’s, or had been traveling that way, lucky enough to keep from blowing their own feet off.

Ricardo said, We don’t want trouble.

Both men turned toward him. Ricardo had wanted to stay silent, but saying he didn’t want trouble wasn’t lying down like prey, exposing his belly for mercy. But he wanted the men’s eyes on him, not the others. First impressions mattered. Through the encounter, he needed them to see him as the leader and focus less malice on the others.

We don’t want no trouble either. We’re just going to hang out here for a spell. Okay, bud? The blond pointed his gun at Ricardo.

Maria’s mouth opened, and she took a step toward Ricardo. He used one of his hands to push his palm toward her, telling her to stay back.

Carl said, The money’s already been dropped in the safe.

Ricardo wanted to sigh in exasperation. Carl had just done two things: established himself as a person of interest and that Carl’s Barbecue had something to lose. It was a stupid thing to say. If one person at Carl’s knew the combination to the safe, it was Carl. Fortunately, the men with the guns, backs still against (and now blocking) the door, barely paid him any attention.

Don’t care about the fuckin’ safe, said the dark-haired man. We don’t want your money. Got plenty of money now.

The second man scowled, glaring at the first as if outed. He turned back toward Ricardo, Maria, Sally, and Carl, then lowered his gun, seeming to calm himself. Look, our buddy’s coming back. There will be cops coming this way a bit after, I’d bet. You look like a sensible guy. He looked at Ricardo, because Ricardo was clearly the leader. So, I’m going to level with you. We know we can’t outrun the cops, and you’re smart enough to have already figured out we’re runnin’ from ‘em anyway. So, we’re going to let them pass like a storm. We’re going to hang out while you cover for us. Then when the cops are gone and you’ve told them you ain’t seen no boys in a red hotrod, we’ll be on our way just like that. We don’t want to hurt nobody. You do us right, and we’ll part ways. Fuck us, and trust me, we ain’t afraid to make things messy.

The man waved his gun at all four to underscore his point. Ricardo inhaled the air wafting from his gun. He could smell powder, and could see the burns on the muzzle. It had been fired in the past hour. Whether that shot had hit someone or not, Ricardo couldn’t know. But the boys were nervous, like they were in the adrenaline haze of something new and terrifyingly exciting. Maybe that was robbing a bank. Maybe that was killing someone. Either way, Ricardo heard the man’s words as a promise.

No problem, he said.

Maria held his arm with both of hers, shaking like a leaf. He wanted her away. This had to be a transaction: six people conducting business. The clock was ticking. Morales was still coming, and the rumor mill was already churning over the outbreak of animal deaths. The only way to get through the siege and out of town without attracting undue attention was to play along. If anyone played hero, or ended up dead, things would get messy. As it was, Ricardo would have a hard time shaking Maria after all of this. She’d demand he come over now, assuming they both lived through the coming hours.

The two men settled into metal-and-plastic chairs near the locked doors and directed the others to sit down opposite them. As the four sat the two gunmen took turns peering nervously through the windows, whispering to one another about their third man. They spoke low, but as far as Ricardo was concerned, they needn’t have bothered. He could hear everything they said, though Maria, Carl, and Sally weren’t hearing a word.

As Ricardo listened, he learned that the men (four of them total) had robbed a convenience store earlier in the day. That went well, so they robbed a second. While they’d been at the second store, the clerk at the first was speaking to police, delivering a description of an obvious, identifiable red car. The police followed the clerk’s directions and were closing in on the second convenience store when the robbery went bad. At that locale, it was the owner rather than a clerk behind the counter. He’d taken the robbery not just as a harrowing experience, but as a threat to his livelihood. He’d drawn a gun from under the counter after slapping a silent alarm, but was too slow. Both of the men inside Carl’s had fired, and both had hit him. The owner fell dead, and the men ran. They were barely down the road when they first heard the sirens, and there was a car pulling into the lot as they screamed out from it. It would take the police no time to turn robbery to double robbery and homicide, to hear from the witness about where the red car had gone, and come rapping their knuckles on wood.

A third man showed up five minutes later. He was too loud, and when he burst through Carl’s front door, the other two, keyed-up, nearly shot him. After they calmed down, Ricardo heard him hiss to the others that he’d scouted the building enough to give it an all clear. A fourth guy was burying the car behind a shed down the way, and would sprint back shortly. The third man was broad-shouldered and strong, but also carrying at least 50 extra pounds — a look that contrasted sharply with the rail-thin physiques of the other two. He had several days of stubble on his chin, and sharp, evil, little eyes in his round face. Ricardo didn’t have to wonder who was in charge as the man spoke the others snapped to attention.

The big man seemed both nervous and angry with the pair as if everything was their fault. He looked at Carl’s staff and saw them sitting like hostages, waiting for orders. Sirens started in the distance, just in time.

They’re coming! said the blond.

All three leaped from their chairs and spun, clawing at the windows like trapped animals. They raked the blinds aside and peered out. Ricardo had been hearing the sirens for a while, hoping they’d somehow sneak up on Carl’s without the bandits realizing what was happening, but now, even from across the room, if he squatted a bit, he could see the faint red and blue lights on the road in the distance. He felt his body starving to change, but now wasn’t time. Johnny Law was on his way; the three criminals were new graduates to murder, and unpredictable. Ricardo’s best bet was to lie low. Maybe when the cops showed, the four of them could make a run for it. What did any of them care if Carl’s was shot up? They’d be safe, and Ricardo could sneak quietly out of town as he’d been planning — tomorrow if