Read Online Deadfall by Stephen Lodge - Free Book Online Page B

days, I wouldn’t be surprised if they came up with an easy-opening ketchup bottle next. One that you didn’t have to pound on the bottom to get the last drop out.”
    â€œHow about if they made a ketchup bottle out of plastic, and all you had to do was squeeze it instead of having to shake it until your ears fell off,” said Josh.
    â€œToss me one of those soda cans while you’re over there, will you, Caleb?” said Hank.
    â€œWhat flavor do you want, Grampa?” asked the boy.
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” answered Hank. “But if there’s a cream soda in there, I’ll take it.”
    Caleb rummaged through the slush again and pulled out a cream soda can.
    â€œI found one, Grampa,” he said, tossing the container to his great-grandfather. “Catch!”
    Hank didn’t get his hands up fast enough and the can bounced straight down, hitting the ground beside him. He quickly retrieved the can and opened it up. Cream soda sprayed every which way.
    â€œAw, geez,” said Hank, shaking his hands, one at a time, then wiping them on his trousers. “I just reckon I ain’t as fast as I used to be.” He took a large swig.
    â€œNow let me think,” he said to his family. I just gotta remember where I was in my story . . .”

C HAPTER E IGHT
    1900
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    The outfit rode north in the darkness for at least two hours, putting them several miles beyond the border bridge before Charley figured it was safe to cross.
    Taking Fuerte’s word for it, Charley led them into the chilly waters of the Rio Grande. The former Rurale had chosen a shallow route for the horses so nothing would happen to delay the mission, and hopefully they would be able to slip into old Mexico without being seen or heard.
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    Bright rays of sunlight bounced off the glittering sand and reflective rocks that surrounded them, which, like the abundant cactus plants dotting the land, had been a familiar part of the northern Mexican landscape for centuries.
    Charley, Henry Ellis, and the others rode in twos, like the military, keeping themselves bunched together so there would be no chance of stragglers.
    After a few moments, one of the riders broke away and galloped up to the front of the column where Charley and his grandson were leading. As the rider got closer, Henry Ellis recognized her as Kelly.
    She reined in beside the boy, making eye contact with Charley, who rode on his grandson’s other side.
    â€œCharley,” she began, “do you, or anyone else, know where we’re going, for heaven’s sake? Or are you just guessing at which trail the attackers might have taken? We’ve been paralleling the river heading north for quite a while . . . are you sure that’s the right direction?”
    Charley smiled at the woman’s concern.
    â€œIf it was just me,” he said, “I would be guessing. But this time I decided to leave it all up to Señor Roca Fuerte.”
    He indicated the Mexican gentleman riding directly behind them.
    â€œ. . . He’s not only real familiar with this territory, Miss Kelly, he’s also got a pretty good idea about where those men took my daughter and her husband. And for now, the trail heads north.”
    Fuerte spurred ahead joining the others.
    â€œWhen we were attacked back in Brownsville, I was able to recognize several of the abductors,” he told her. “They are only faithful to one man . . . an ex–Mexican army officer who has participated in these types of abductions before . . . mostly political kidnappings . . . and always for a price.”
    Charley picked up the conversation.
    â€œWhat Señor Fuerte means is that this ex–Mexican army officer, Armendariz is his name, does not do these abductions for himself alone; he is always hired by someone else.”
    Charley went on, “Señor Fuerte also thinks that tracking Armendariz to wherever his present location might be will