Chapter 14
I limped a little on the way back to the house just for show. The smell of roasting chicken and smoked meat floated through the air. The harsh rays of the October sun had mellowed with the help of a few white, fluffy clouds. When I returned to the house, the Mexican women were in a frenzy trying to get things ready for the feast. I wove my way through the small kitchen and retrieved my brownie pans from the top of the fridge to cut them in squares. One of the pans had a generous piece missing.
“I couldn’t resist.” I heard Mrs. Opal giggle. “Jen, those brownies are scrumdiddelyumptious!”
Mrs. Opal was sitting at the kitchen table staring at the fading wallpaper. “I swear those flowers are dancing. Don’t you see them, Jen?” At least I knew the brownies would work when the time came.
I found out Mortas had returned to the town. Good, I thought, at least he didn’t see Brodie. If he had seen Brodie, he probably wouldn’t have gone back to town so easily. Apparently Brodie had never met Mitchell, or the little weasel would have snitched. At least Mahlia was keeping her mouth shut.
So Mahlia was giving information to Caiyan to protect her family from being arrested and taken to Gitmo. Caiyan might have promised, but I didn’t. She wouldn’t be too happy when she found out I was the transporter. I didn’t understand why Brodie and Caiyan wanted Mahlia to think I was Brodie’s girl. Unless Caiyan didn’t want Mahlia to know he had been kissing me in the hen house… that two-timing snake. As I contemplated the reason why men are so irritating, I walked out through the enclosed dining area and onto the back porch, letting the screen door bang closed behind me.
“Hello, earth to Jen.” Gertie was standing in front of me. “You were a thousand miles away.”
“Try a century,” I replied. I explained to her what had gone down in the barn.
“Do you think they have discovered Brodie is missing?”
We stepped off the porch to get a better view of the layout of Villa’s men. Guards were stationed at all the exits to the front of the house and the road out of here. Pancho Villa was sitting in the shade under a tree, surrounded by several Mexican women.
“I don’t think they care,” Gertie said. The moonshine was flowing, and everyone was dancing, eating, and carrying on. Gertie and I were starving, so we made our way to the food. We would need fuel if we were going to make a run for it later. I didn’t want to be lost in the woods and hungry, so we ate sitting on the porch steps away from the outlaw.
After a bit Villa looked like he was getting restless. The women had become bored and were dancing with one another and any available male they could recruit. Most of Villa’s men were leaning against a fence and watching the women, occasionally giving a few catcalls. But they always looked ready. Ready for battle, their pistols strapped in their holsters and their shotguns within an arm’s reach.
“You’d better get those brownies out there so we can get outta here,” Gertie said, stuffing the last bite of chicken in her mouth.
“I can’t believe you can eat that chicken after you killed them.”
“I’m hungry, and they were happy to help out.”
Gertie grabbed a plate full of brownies, and I got the second one. “You go offer the guards a brownie, and I’ll get the men around Villa.” Gertie gave me a nod and headed off toward the nearest Dorado.
Most of the Mexican people were sampling the brownies. Johnny and the cowboys were off getting the wagons ready. I took a plate over to Villa and offered him one.
“No,” he said.
“But I made them special,” I said, doing my best pouty-lip impression. I used it to sell Girl Scout cookies when I was ten, and it worked like a charm.
The Mexican woman with very huge breasts sitting next to him helped herself to a large brownie. She took a bite and licked her lips, then said something to him in Spanish, which made him smile. I offered the plate to him again, and he cooperated and took a small one. He took a bite as he slid a hand up Ms. Boobs’s leg, and I backed away. Jeez, what about his wife in Mexico? I guess even his big deal with the Mafusos didn’t stop a man’s penis from being numero uno.