What Price Humanity Chapter 9 – Sinister Purpose

"When the sky is gray

And the moon is hate

I'll be down to get you.

Roots of earth will shake."

----- "Sinister Purpose" performed by Credence Clearwater Revival

A Private Upper Class Home in Amarillo, Texas – present day

"Wilson, don't go quite yet. Sit down, pour yourself something to drink," Adrian Belmonte invited.

Wilson warily seated himself on the edge of a leather arm chair and shook his head when Belmonte would have poured him a glass of cognac. Most people invited to drink with Adrian Belmonte never left the room alive and Wilson didn't want to be one of them. "I never touch the stuff, boss. You know that. Let's get down to business."

"There is the small matter of the Kiowa Grassland distribution operation to be addressed," Belmonte continued, steepling his fingers and pinning Wilson with an icy stare. The dark brooding eyes conveyed displeasure and disappointment, neither of which Wilson enjoyed when he was its source. "You were in charge. You allowed the feds to close down the operation and you managed to lose our best cook. You will take care of that particular problem as well. I want him back and I want him compliant. I don't care if you have to permanently maim him, I want him unable to ever run off again. Do not kill him, understand?"

"He presents a threat," Wilson countered reasonably. "If the Rangers get to him before we do, he could jeopardize your entire operation. He knows too much."

"Precisely why we need to get him back. He represents assets which would be too difficult and time consuming to replace. Get him back and ensure production continues." Belmonte turned a cold smile on his adjutant. "Don't fail me in this, Wilson. You don't want to know what will happen if you do."

"I won't fail you again, Mr. Belmonte. I'll get the job done and I'll take care of the Rangers on our trail."

"And Wilson?"

"Yes, Mr. Belmonte?"

"Make sure you give the boys orders to kill anyone who interferes or gets in the way. I meant it when I said I wanted no witnesses left behind. Get going."

Having received his orders from Mr. Belmonte, Wilson Two Tree left the office and navigated his way back to the foyer. "Bring my car up from the garage," he told the servant waiting in the foyer, "and be quick about it. I have places to go."

He considered this assignment distasteful as well as excessive. Wilson didn't like killing when threats would do the job just as easily. Scared witnesses were unlikely to talk or attract the attention of law enforcement the way leaving a trail of bodies might. Wilson had known Kathy Mustang Talker before her aunt and uncle bought out her contract. I doubt the stubborn cripple would allow either that half-breed Ranger or the lack witted blanketback to remain at her ranch. Temperamental broad. She's as likely to shoot as she is to render assistance. Kathy's silence could be bought with a well-worded threat to harm what remained of her family if she didn't keep her mouth shut and mind her own business.

That Ranger, however, could present a problem. He had heard of Walker and the man had a reputation as a tough opponent among the criminals and inmates Belmonte employed for the dirtier work. Walker, he'd been told, ignored standard law enforcement protocol and preferred a more direct, confrontational approach. Wilson knew a few people on Belmonte's payroll who had had their cases dismissed because of Walker's failure to follow procedure.Given the content of the relayed message, however, he felt that he would probably find the Ranger already dead.

The meth cook --- John Quail had been his name --- was the only one Wilson considered a serious risk. He not only knew the formulas for their latest product but also every distribution warehouse, the contact information for their clients, and the major sales locations. Wilson knew he needed to get to John Quail and take him out of the equation before the Rangers caught up with him or Belmonte's entire operation would be in jeopardy. I'll do hard time if they catch up with him and he's able to spill what he knows. I can't afford that.

Not many knew Wilson Two Tree had a family; only his boss knew why Wilson's time with them was so precious these days and could not be squandered behind bars. It gave him the impetus he needed to overcome his reluctance regarding this particular assignment and see to it that his boss' orders were carried out. But first… He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, found his cell phone, and dialed his home number.

Galena answered the phone on its first ring, almost as though she had been awaiting his call. Which she probably has been, Wilson thought. He seldom talked about his work because he tried to shield his family as much as possible from the consequences of working with a man whose industry had been built upon illegal activities. His wife had known something had gone wrong with the latest operation because he'd been forced to discuss contingency plans with her if he didn't return. She'd watched him leave the house without knowing whether or not he would return. Adrian Belmonte did not suffer mistakes lightly, especially when they cost him assets and threatened his financial empire. "Wil! You are well? Señor Belmonte did not harm you?"

The anxiety in his wife's voice pained him. He wished for what must have been the hundredth time that he was in another line of work. I'm in too deep to change anything now. At least I am able to provide for my family now. "'lena, calm down. Everything's fine. I have a few loose ends to clear up for Mr. Belmonte but it's nothing important. Certainly nothing you need to worry about." He changed the subject. "How did it go today? How is the boy?"

"Today he had his first treatment. The specialist had some new ideas about treating the progression of the disease. I noticed an improvement almost immediately afterwards. Wil, Tobias was able to walk down to the car Señor Belmonte sent for us and when we got home he even played in the yard with the dog for a while."

"That's good to hear, 'lena. Where's Toby now? Can I talk to him for a minute?"

"He's upstairs resting, without sedatives or painkillers for once. You can see him when you get home. You'll be here soon?"

"About that ---"

"Aiee, Wil, not again! Que malo el dictator! Surely he can spare you for a few hours. You haven't been home in days."

"Enough, 'lena!" Wilson cut in, losing his temper. "We'll talk about this later. I'm right outside Mr. Belmonte's and you know what will happen if he hears you talking like that. Don't make this harder than it has to be!"

"Lo siento, mi corazón," his wife replied softly. "It is hard for me. I hate it when he gives you extended assignments. It always means someone will die. I would prefer it not be you."

"I'll only be gone for a few days, long enough to tie up these loose ends. I promise I'll call you from the road, check in to see how Toby's doing. I gotta go, the valet has brought up my car."

"Te amo, Wil. Be careful!"

"I love you too. I'll see you soon, 'lena." Wilson snapped the phone closed, stuffed it into his pocket, and slid behind the wheel of his black Ford Thunderbird. Waving the valet back, he gunned its engine and headed for Dallas and the filly farm. The men he needed for the job to be done would most likely be found there.

Painted Pony Carousel Lounge Dallas, Texas – late that afternoon

The business which men in Adrian Belmonte's employ referred to as "the filly farm" was actually a nondescript building modestly situated on the edge of Dallas' nightclub district in Deep Ellum. Located on the far end of July Alley off of Monument, the Painted Pony Carousel Lounge didn't stand out much. Someone had bricked in the windows long ago and then painted a crisp black trim around them. The front two held recessed bulletin boards advertising the cover bands and showcasing the various dance acts. A red canopy depicting in black a carousel horse in silhouette with the words "Painted Pony" in a style made to resemble a brand arcing over it led to the smoked glass doors with brass handles which served as the entry point for the club. With its turn-of-the-century white brickwork façade, it blended in with the surrounding establishments. One wouldn't find it unless one knew to look for it or stumbled upon it by accident. Mr. Belmonte liked his fronts that way because it kept the Dallas police and the Rangers from casing them for suspects.

The club hadn't opened its doors to customers yet but the bouncers were already in position outside when Wilson parked his car on the alley facing the street and went through the side entrance. The sound of something shattering, followed by a high pitched shriek and diminishing sobs alerted him. Instinct took over and he had the Smith & Wesson .357 magnum in his hand before he'd rounded the corner. It took him only a moment to assess the scene: Lopez, the appointed assistant manager of the club, punching and kicking one of the dancers who hunched protectively over a much smaller sobbing figure.

"Get away from her or you're dead!" Wilson shouted, drawing a bead on Lopez. Lopez paused, his fist raised to hit the dancer again, and stared into the barrel of the gun.

"All right, take it easy, man. I didn't mean nothin' by it!" He backed away, hands raised protectively in front of him.

Wilson kept Lopez covered with the handgun while the dancer and her companion scrambled to their feet. "You all right?" he asked them. When both stared at him in confusion, uncomprending, he repeated the question in Navajo.

"She should not be here!" the dancer dared to blurt out, frightened eyes darting between the barrel of the gun and Lopez glaring impotently at her from the corner into which he had been backed. "She is not old enough."

"I'll take care of it, don't worry about her," he whispered in Navajo as he reached forward with one hand on the pretext of tossing her a robe with which to cover herself. More loudly, and in English, Wilson said harshly for Lopez' benefit, "Now get out of here before I finish what he started. You'd better make some real money tonight!" To Lopez, he added, "Don't do anything stupid. I'm not through with you" and then holstered the gun so that he could speak to the girl without frightening her further. "I'm not gonna hurt you, babe. How old are you?" She looked at him with liquid brown eyes and reluctantly held up five fingers on both hands. "Ten, huh?" She nodded. "Tell ya what…let me finish taking care of some business here and then we'll get you situated. How's that sound?"

"Are you gonna take me back home?" the girl asked in a small voice with heavily accented English.

"No, sweetie, I can't do that," Wilson responded with real regret in his voice, "but I promise you'll like where you're going." He stood up. "Lopez, get Jacinta in here and tell her to take the kid to my car. Have her get the girl something to eat on the way out too. You and I have some unfinished business to discuss so hurry it up."

When Lopez came back, Wilson was ready for him. He grabbed the assistant manager by the collar and then slammed him against the wall in a choke hold. "Estúpido! Do you want the cops to find this place? She's only ten years old!"

"It was a mistake, esse, an accident!" Lopez croaked. "She's Jacinta's younger sister and the crazy puta wouldn't come here without her. I was just gonna ---"

"I know what you were 'just gonna'," Wilson roared in disgust. He gave Lopez' throat a final squeeze to remind him who was in charge and then thrust him backwards so hard it cracked the plaster. "Where's Claudio? He knows better than to leave a slime ball like you in charge."

Lopez massaged his bruised throat, tried to speak, and wheezed. He tried again, his voice coming out in a raspy squeak. "Claudio's making a bank run and collecting payments from the distributors. He'll be back in a couple of hours. What d'ya want anyhow, Wilson? This isn't normally your scene."

"I need a job done," Wilson explained. "It's a sensitive situation requiring careful handling. We could end up taking out a few Rangers in the bargain. Mr. Belmonte has authorized me to make it worthwhile."

"The Rangers busted most of our best men in that sting operation up in the Kiowa Grasslands last week," Lopez said after careful consideration. "The only ones here right now are Harrolton and Lovato. They're not particularly smart but they could get the job done if you make sure they know what they're doing."

Wilson nodded. "Tell 'em to get packed; we're going on a little road trip. I'll be back for them in about an hour. I have to find a way to take care of the little "mess" you created with Jacinta's sister. And Lopez? If I catch you attempting to sample or damage Mr. Belmonte's assets again, I'll take it out of your hide."

Author's Notes: This was originally one part of a much longer chapter but I have decided to break it into smaller chapters since the events flow better that way. I am sorry it has taken so long for me to update. I spent a lot of time researching places in the city and the laws of Texas for upcoming chapters since I have never been there myself.

I apologize if you're wanting me to get back to Walker and company sooner, but the bad guys demanded their own stories and refused to be stereotypes!

The derogatory terms used by Wilson to refer to other Native Americans are not meant to be an endorsement of such slurs. They are instead a manifestation of Wilson's personal views regarding his own cultural heritage. The terms are defined as follows:

Blanketback – refers to any Native American who lives on the reservation. Specifically, it refers to a hidebound 'traditional' Native American who has had all the ambition sucked out of him or her and is content to live on the reservation off of government welfare checks.

Half-breed – refers to anyone with one non-tribal parent especially if the person in question inherited more of the Caucasian characteristics than those of the tribe with which he or she is affiliated.