The Desert Flower
#49 of Miscellany
The eddies of dust drifted away in the hot wind as the last few shovelfuls of desert soil were sifted over the recently excavated hole. An assassin by the nickname of Vibora was putting forth a little extra effort to fulfill the terms of his contract, for burying his victims was not a part of it. But this time the hit had been different - and difficult, for despite everything people might think about his type, he for one had a conscience. He sat down on a sharp outcrop, looking from the setting sun in the west to the location of the village where he had been staying less than a full day. His orders had been simple, but carrying them out had proven to be most onerous. Most onerous indeed. The glint of steel in the fading light caught his gaze, and he stared hard at it before getting up and walking away. This all began when had met with one of the crime bosses that dotted the landscape down here below the Rio Grande, oh, a good eight weeks ago. Apparently he has having trouble with one of the villages in his territory and needed the leader taken out. Sounded simple enough on the surface of it. Then again, being given just the tip of the iceberg when there was so much more information to be had on this assignment proved that further investigation was in order. Normally he would have slipped out of town well before a corpse had grown cold. This case was an exception. The leader did not turn out to be the alcalde, but rather a lovely coyote lass who packed a lot of looks, resilience and sass into that amazingly slim body. Her name was Flora, and she was indeed a lovely cactus flower, and like the cactus, one who carried a dangerous needle and wasn't afraid to use it. That blade was sharp enough to shave with, and was more than capable of slitting any interloper's throat. It was just one indication that life out here wasn't great, but it was a life nonetheless. For life was different back then. It was the nineteen fifties, and much of this semi-arid region was connected by bad roads and dry creek beds. Anyone living out here was tough. You had to be. Otherwise you died. It was just that simple. There was no room for the weak. The assassin walked for three days and nights to reach the village, called locally by the odd name of Tortuga Negro. He carried little with him except some money, his clothing and a canteen. There was no point in showing up in a truck, or on a motorcycle. As it was, he was versed in his profession well enough to know that any stranger showing up in an isolated place like this was going to draw immediate attention to himself. Therefore, low key was the word of the day. He carried nothing on him that would have belied his true nature. Weapons could be made from anything at hand, so bringing something along that was that obvious was stupid. Sure enough, he was greeted by several males holding outdated guns. He stopped and sat down on the ground, not even bothering to hold up his arms. "You got the drop on me amigos. I've come to take your gold and your women." "You are a funny one. Who the hell are you and what do you want here?" "My name? I don't really have one. As for what I want, it is to fill my canteen at your well and then to be gone."
"Where do you come from and where are you going?" "From home. And to the coast." "And where is home?" "You muchachoes ask a lot of questions. I could answer them a lot easier if I had a wet whistle." "Wet whistle?" "Something to drink." As a demonstration he opened his canteen and turned it upside down. "See. No agua. See?" "Si. You may come in and get more water. We are not unkind to strangers, but you must then go. We have problems that you wish to have no part in." "Problems? You bet your cojones I don't want any trouble. But then I doubt you want any either. Care to tell me about it?" "Come. Get your water. Then you go." "OK, ok, sorry for asking. I just was curious because I do know how to handle a gun." "So can we. You get your water and you go." "Fine. No need to get huffy about it." The well was in the middle of town, not overly surprising out here where water was the mainstay of life. That simply meant that the town had been built around it. These people and their ancestors weren't stupid. Simple maybe, but not stupid. They were primarily of the canine class of citizen; some wolves like he was, and others coyote. They were athletically lean and well adapted to their environment. He had to admire them for that. He was already in the mood to return to his home and escape the oppressive heat, but a job was a job and he never failed to fulfill a contract. He filled his canteen and pulled several long draws on it until it was empty again. Then he refilled it, capped it and saluted weakly to the ones holding guns. "Señors. I thank you. I could go for something stronger now to brace me for my journey, but I wish not to impose upon your hospitality." "Cerveza?" "Si. Or something stronger. Something to take away the aches and pains. Traveling on foot is difficult." One of the wolves lowered his gun. "We have a cantina. Do you have money?" He pulled out a crumbled wad of bills. "Some. Enough I think." One of the other wolves laughed. "You wish for drink, but you desire no food? What kind of fool are you?" Vipero smiled inwardly. The best and most cunning kind. "Now that you mention it, food does sound good." And just that quickly he was sitting in a chair, a table in front of him, drinking a cool glass of pale yellow brew and feasting on a plate of one of the locale's epicurean delights. Well, delight might be overextending the concept, but it was at least satisfying. He placed his money on the table when he was done. The owner shoved it back. "Señor, there is too much here." "Not if you have a room I can have for the night. I don't really wish to go back out there today. I can be on my way tomorrow." There were several looks exchanged, and a few mumbled words. "There are rooms available. But I would advise against it. We expected an attack at any time." The assassin shrugged before pulling out a lie from his collection of many. "I have already been attacked. Do you think I would walk to where I wanted to go?" "Who attacked you?" "Sorry. I failed to ask them their names. Some banditos wearing skulls on their lapels. Does that ring a bell with you?" "Si, it does. But how come you still have your money?" "They took my motorbike, and they took the rest of my clothes. I gave them some of my money. The rest I had hidden away safely. Do you know these gilipollas?" he asked, using an especially endearing insult. "Si. They are also the ones giving us trouble." "Is that so? Then maybe this is my chance of getting back at them. But why are they so up in your faces? You don't look like people who could offend anyone." There was an extended and embarrassed silence before a female voice filled in the void. It came from the stairway leading to the rooms upstairs. "They tried to hide their guns and their grenades here." He turned to look at the source of the voice. He nearly let out a low whistle, having properly wetted it earlier. His mind overrode his heart and he did nothing. But that dress; and what it was filled with; dios mio! "Weapons runners? That is a dangerous business. But just because you told them no shouldn't mean they would be dead set on vengeance." "Shows what you know hombre. First off, I didn't just tell them no. I took their supplies and hid them away, just like they asked. For some reason they're mad that we won't give them back." "So, if you have newer guns, why are you still using these relics?" "I will not allow blood money to taint our hands. And those things have only one purpose; to kill." "True, just like the guns you carry. Why would you care so much about it?" She finished walking down the stairs and came right up to him, her nose just inches away from his. "These guns are used to hunt with; for rabbit and deer. Those guns are used to kill folks like us. You do not go hunting with grenades." "Ok, so you made your point. So you stole the guns from the traffickers, and now they want them back. Why haven't they just overrun your village?" "Simple moron. They think we'd use them against them. They find it hard to comprehend that we wouldn't." He leaned back in his chair, not out of any fear of this slim little chica, but so that he could get a better look at her. She had the spirit of the torero in her, covered over in the beauty of the saguaro flower. Then he had a sudden and stomach wrenching thought. "What's your name, if I might ask?" "Flora. Flora del Canino." "Hmmm. Yes you are." She suddenly had a knife at his throat. "What did you say?" He hardly flinched. "You heard me. I say what I think." "So you think of me only for my looks!" "Hardly. I was stating a truth. I do not yet know you enough to claim anything more than what my eyes perceive at first glance." She pulled the knife away. "You're a funny one señor. And yet you see I am not laughing." "I've been told that before. And you see that I am not lying. If you have a better side to show me, then by all means do so." Blood rushed to her cheeks as she comprehended his meaning. She was suddenly at a loss for words and stalked away. One of the males chuckled softly. "You have done something no other has been able to do for years señor." "And what is that?" "You must be el gato, for you seem to have her tongue!" The assassin watched her head back up the stairs. It was a shame he was going to have to kill her. Her hips swung like the pendulum of a clock, and that tail swished with pert agitation. He could only imagine what she was like when she hadn't been put off by the likes of him. He almost felt for her, not sorry perhaps, but she seemed to be a jewel trapped in a mud pit. She could have been so much more, even if that had merely boiled down to being a madre with lots of little cubs running around her feet. But she had to go and stick her nose in someone else's business and now she was going to have to pay for that. Some things in life and death cannot be helped. He did talk them into a room for the night. It was plain and simple, with a wooden cot overlain with a down filled mattress. The room was free from bugs, something he denoted as being a minor miracle, and as he settled down for the evening, he went through his orders in his head. They were simple and straight forward. He had to kill this girl and get the location of the missing munitions. Of course, the nature of the missing cargo had never come up. Now that he knew what it was, he felt a twinge of guilt. Like the girl, he wasn't fond of weapons. Yes, that sounds odd coming from an assassin, but then he often used his bare hands to kill. Weapons were too easy and often far messier than was needed. He lay there listening to the sounds of the desert, and to the off key renditions of traditional songs sung by those males who preferred to stand watch at night. He was at first surprised that they would make such a fuss until it dawned on him that it served two purposes. One, they kept their spirits up by singing them. Secondly, it allowed for both the villagers and any of the enemy who happened to be in the vicinity to know they were awake and alert. It reaffirmed his notion that these folks might be simple but they were not fools. He drifted off to sleep dreaming of vaqueros and bailarines, and of gunfights and tragic deaths. His mind was like a movie theater, playing forth scenarios from his life; past, present and future. It was the knife blade to his throat in one such scene that came across as too real, and the whispered voice in his ear all too audible. "Make a move and I'll see your blood!" He cursed himself for not waking sooner, but then decided to turn it to his advantage. "Whatever you say. But if you fear for your life from me, then why did you bother coming to my room?" "I need to know more about you. I don't trust anyone anymore, much less someone like you who just happens to wander into the village at the worst possible time." "Then all you have to do is ask. You folks are paranoid. Maybe you shouldn't have bothered taking those weapons." "I did what I felt I needed to do. Everyone else backed me up." "I saw that. But if you have no intention of using the damned things, then why haven't you just blown them up? A single grenade dropped into the middle of them should be enough to set off a chain reaction." "El stupido! They are the only thing keeping us alive! They want them back. If they knew we destroyed them they would be down here faster then a correcaminos to wipe us out." "Yeah, that makes sense I guess. So what is it you want from me? I was hoping to be on my way tomorrow." He was contemplating a move to get the knife and turn it against her. "You said you could use a gun." "I can." "How well?" "Well enough. I don't carry one if that's your question. Guns are a coward's tool." She pulled the knife away. "You know, you are the strangest male I have ever met. Most men sleep with theirs, polish them and treat them better than their women. To have someone scoff at them is...loco." "I respect guns Flora. I often choose not to use them. But I can and I will if I have good reason." "What, señor, would you call a good reason?" "Saving innocent lives." "Innocent? Well, I would not go that far with everyone here, but they are good enough in their own right. They certainly don't deserve to die because of a decision I made." "So does that make you the guilty one then?" The knife returned to his throat. "It might. I have to live with that." Not for long, he thought, as he chose his next course of action. He didn't have much at hand to dispatch her with, and he wanted to make it clean and quick. Her knife would do the job, but not without making a mess. As if in response to his thoughts, she dropped the knife on the floor; it clattering loudly against the dry wooden boards. In the next instant her hands were around his neck and her lips were on his. Lips? He was just prepared to get his hands locked around her slim throat when he realized that her own petite hands were behind his neck, not around it. And she was kissing him! He pulled away and held her by her shoulders. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She looked defiant. "What do you think I'm doing? A girl has needs now and again!" "With a perfect stranger?" "What makes you think you're perfect?!" She had him there. "You know what I mean. You know nothing about me and in the morning I intend to be gone. For all you know I could be some sort of killer." "Yes you could be. Who is to say that I haven't killed? I have other plans for you unless you have other plans for me. I see no reason you can't lose a little sleep tonight before you go tomorrow. I'm sure I can make it worth your while." He was stymied. He couldn't kill someone who trusted him enough to be bedded by him. So he either had to act now or forgo all hope of completing his mission. He groped blindly on the floor near the edge of the bed. He found his shirt and in a quick motion flipped it over the nape of her neck and grabbed it with his other hand. He pulled it tight and drew her down. He kissed her firmly. She responded in kind. He couldn't help but think that she would be dead come morning, but for now, it would be a terrible thing to waste so much vibrancy and vivaciousness. At least he will have known that he gave her a good conclusion to her life. His pants came off and were flung across the room to land against the wall. Her dress she kept on, but her shoulders were already exposed by the style, and she deftly slipped her arms free of it, exposing a pert pair of pechos, tanned and lightly furred like the rest of her. The skirt of the dress hid her lower portion, but he could feel it just fine. And it was fine, as fine as the grains of sand that carpet the Gran Desierto de Altar. She had the heat of the desert to fuel her fires, and a burning desire that was not going to be easily quenched. He hesitated for just a moment. Killing her was likely the easier route. He chose to take the more difficult road. The easier way was great for getting somewhere quickly. The lesser traveled one offered more to the soul. If he did take this road, there was no easy way back. It was essentially heading in only one direction. He wavered between his choices. She made the decision for him. He was already hard, for he never dallied much with the ladies and thus his body was ready and willing to perform at her command. He did his best to avoid emotional entanglements because they meant that your enemies had something to hold over you. Thus, a one-night stand was all he ever allowed himself. This gal, this little señorita would be just the same. That is, if he let her live after they were done. He didn't see how he could, but then, the night was young and morning was hours away. He might come up with another plan before the sun rose. She slid up and over his cock with an ease that precluded his notion that she was a virgin. He should have guessed she wasn't from her whole attitude. Any lady capable of wielding a knife like she carried had to have good reason to need it, and a mock pair of cojones to back it up. She was certainly equipped with the proper lady parts, and proper they were. She pushed down over him with a savage grace he had never encountered before. There was a wild side to her and she was letting it out to roam freely upon his pastures. "Flora, are you sure we should be doing this?" She stopped and eyed him in the most severe manner. "Is there something wrong with you? Every male in this stupid village wants to be where you are and you're lying here protesting?!" "I never wish to take advantage of anyone." "Did you tie me up? Are you raping me? Am I protesting?" "No, no and no." "You're damn right. I don't know what it is about you, but I like you. Even if you're leaving in the morning, I still want to have a good memory of your visit. Do you intend to ruin that for me with your whining and your incessant questions?!" "No. It's just that, well..." He was trying to come up with a believable lie. "It's just that I'm normally the one who makes the move. Having a lady who knows her mind and isn't afraid to act on it is out of the ordinary for me." "Is that a good thing or a bad one?" she asked tersely. He thought before answering. "I believe that I like it." "Is that so? Then I'm not trying hard enough." "No?" was his bemused reply." "No! Liking is for amigos and amigas. We are not friends hombre. Tonight we are amantes - lovers - and we will act like lovers. You don't have to love me, but I expect you to act like you do. I will not tolerate you lying here as if you have something better to do." He put his hands against her arms and gently raised them. Releasing them he grabbed a hold of her dress and pulled it back up and over her shoulders. "Lovers hide nothing Flora. If this is what you want, so be it." He looked at her in the dim light and knew that he was only making his task all the harder in the end. He found himself at a loss for words to describe her, even with his knowledge of multiple languages. She was everything he could have ever wanted in a woman. And he was going to have to throw it all away before he was done. There is something in the futility of existence in the harshness of life that can bring out a fiery passion that normally would lie dormant and hidden away. Not this night. The assassin put aside his duty to revel in this rare beauty. No longer bound by his duteous nature, he let himself go. Thus freed, he did look upon her as a lover, and one that deserved everything he could give her. For now, he was content to allow her the privilege of being on top. Her forceful and outgoing nature demanded it right now, and since it was in no way offensive to his sense of propriety, he simply lay back and watched her working him over with a fierce passion. He could see why she might be in demand with the locals. He could see why she carried a knife. Flora rode him like the caballeros north of the Rio Grande rode their mounts. She leaned back, her hair flying in a veil of fine silken strands, as she put forth every ounce of energy into her lovemaking. Come sunrise, things would change. So tonight, she was in charge of directing her own fate. It didn't take her too long to achieve that which she desired. His cock was meant for a female slightly larger, and so she found it just right for her needs. She was no delicate flower, despite her name and his insistence that she was. She had toughed out many a close call and she lived on the edge of danger constantly. Whoever he was, he could only just touch upon the surface of who she was. But boy, where he was scratching now; that was one massive itch! He, for his part, did his best to be both interested and yet lay there quietly and meekly. He didn't want to interrupt her enjoyment by trying to participate in manner that would prove counterproductive to her elegant movements. She was engrossed in a kind of dance, not as lively as some of the traditional fare, but a private one that displayed all of the skill of a well rehearsed ballerina. He had wondered at her readiness to take him on. She was of a cousin species; not like the more diminutive vulpines, but smaller in every way from what he was used to. It was almost as if he had a teenager riding him, something he hadn't had happen in many a long year. It brought back fond memories and he felt his heart skip a beat. He was getting emotional and that wasn't professional at all. It would never do. But this was now pleasure and not business, though before the night was out he was going to show her that he meant business. Flora put her heart and soul into this performance, riding him like there was no tomorrow. It wasn't often a stranger came to town, and when one like this did, it was extraordinary beyond coincidence. But if his purpose was as she thought it was going to be, then she intended to make his life hell by making this night one he would never forget. His type lived out their lives by not getting attached to the ones they dealt with. They got their hands dirty, but not so dirty they couldn't somehow wash them clean. She knew what he was. No other would come here, under any guise, and so she had been prepared. Sadly, he was handsome. That made it all the easier for her. All too easy. But she was prepared to do whatever it took to keep her people safe. She would even die for them if necessary. She would do it willingly. She just wouldn't be happy about it. It was in her desperation that she pushed herself into her role as lover. Not that this fellow was a terrible choice. If not for what he was, she might like him for who he was. For at any point along the way during the past few hours, he likely could have killed her. She almost wondered why he hadn't bothered trying. What she didn't know was that he had a code by which he lived. Killing was fine when the person on the receiving end deserved it. Often it was a matter of petty squabbles involving drug lords, and he then went in and took out one, only to have that clan hire him to take out the leader of the other. That he could live with. But this was different. His code told him that this case was special. And so was she, in so many ways. But if he didn't kill her, someone else would, and then there would be a price on his head too. That simply wouldn't do. Regardless of how he felt about her come morning light, she was going to have to be dealt with. It was going to be no easy thing. For now, all he could do was make her last night special, as she asked. It was the least he could do. She leaned down and kissed him, knowing that she was possibly kissing the lips of death. But death was cold and his lips were warm and inviting. He might be a killer, but he wasn't cold blooded. He kissed her back as she violently thrust against him, working over his cock with wild abandon. Her tail whipped like a flag caught in a dust devil as her hips gyrated like a sidewinder trying to escape the ravenous roadrunner.
He returned her kiss with one of equal strength, pulling her down and wrapping his arms around her. He gave her a squeeze, and as he did, he brought up his knees and took over as the dominant one in this tryst. He jerked his hips into her until he felt his knot come live, and then they were both locked into their affair until such time as it subsided. It gave him a certain amount of emotional comfort and freedom. There was no way he was going to kill her until this was over, and a knot made sure it lasted a good long while. It's sometimes considered trite and a bit prejudiced to think of the coyote clan as being howlers. The fact is they are. There was no question what was going down in that tiny room on that hard, wooden cot. With the windows open the village and half the surrounding desert knew. But no one came; no one interfered. They knew what the penalty would be and they stayed their hands. Flora had warned them a week or more ago, and to interrupt them now would earn them her wrath, assuming the wolf didn't kill her outright. As it was, she was finding his physical form and his dexterous abilities to be to her liking. Whoever he was, he put his all into what he did. He would make a far greater asset to her if she could only convince him that his goal was unjust. Surely he had to see past his contract. Couldn't he? He drove into her for all he was worth. Some of it was true passion, and some of it was hate. Hate for being put into this position; hate at what he was; hate at being here doing this to her when he knew she had to die. She had never had the likes of this in her life, and she thought that she might be willing to be buried in the unforgiving ground only because she thought she would never see the likes of this ever again. To live without such intensity would diminish the remaining years of her life. She pulled loose from his grasp and sat up again, her hands behind her head as she rocked in time to his unrelenting thrusts. She let loose every bit of range her vocal cords could produce, right up to the ear splitting howls that rattled his eardrums. Not being an overly emotional male, he tolerated her tempestuous cries with well contained humor, until he found them contagious. He recognized, much to his mild horror, that he was longing to add his to hers. He held off performing such an indignity until she clamped around him like a boa constrictor, send shock waves through him and setting off a chain of events that left him breathless. Well, maybe not breathless. His howls mingled with hers, signaling the culmination of that sexual peak and signified by a comingling of their bodily fluids. That is to say, he pumped her as full as she could take, and still more poured out of him. She dug her nails into his flesh to the point of drawing blood. He barely noticed in the throes of his sudden emotional need to have and protect her. He knew it wasn't right, but he couldn't help himself. He continued to pump away on her until she collapsed against his heaving chest. By that time they were both utterly spent. They lay together in a heap for an hour or better, for they were presently inseparable thanks to his engorged knot. He forewent sleep his body now craved, despite his present exhaustion. His mind was wildly alive and confounding him with a wild assortment of scenarios. Sadly, they all came to the same conclusion. He was a fool. Logic told him he was suffering from an emotional attachment of the sort his kind never engaged in. And yet, with her draped across him, their bodies still together as one, how could he feel any different? He couldn't. And yet, he couldn't save her. He knew the type of goons she had managed to draw the ire of, and they weren't the type to give up. Regardless of where he might try to hide her, they would ferret her out and destroy her. He really should have stuck to the plan. The plan was simple. The plan was clean. This was a total mess. She stirred, nuzzling his chest as she came awake. "I guess I wasn't wrong." "Wrong? About what?" "That you were here to kill me. You just about succeeded." He felt a lump form in his throat. "What? No!" "Oh please don't lie to me. It'll ruin the evening. At least be as honest in your words as you were with your emotions. I went into this as you did. I have come out not as I went in. Tell me you felt something as well." He sighed. "If you knew, why didn't you just have the others shoot me and get it over with?" "If I had you killed, they would send another and another and another. All they wanted was me, but others might have gotten hurt or worse, killed because of me." "They want their weapons back too you know." "Of course they do. That's what this is all about. Power. I have taken some of it from them. Do you think I would be so quick to give it back, even if I have no desire to wield it myself?" He brushed back her disheveled hair. "No, I can see where you have your ways set into stone. You have a good heart Flora." "Had." "Had? How do you mean?" It was her turn to sigh. "I think that somewhere during our lovemaking, I handed it over to you.: "I am not the one to keep safe such a jewel." "Nonetheless, it has been given over to you. What will you do with it?" He was silent. She was no fool, and he loved her because of that. She was at least his equal, if not his superior. He had never met a female like her and he knew deep down inside that he would never meet one ever again." "I would treasure if I could, but as it belongs to you, and as you must die, I can lay no claim upon it." "So you still intend to kill me?" Again there was silence. "I don't see where I have a choice, now more than before. "True. You have been compromised. And if you do not do it, someone else will assuredly step in to finish what you have started." "Dammit girl! You talk as if this is nothing more than pleasant conversation!" "I am resigned to my fate. I only wish that I had not fallen for you, or rather, that you had fallen equally for me." He growled at her, lifting her part way off of his chest and shaking her. "Who's being the idiot now! I cannot live with you and I cannot live without you! I have never been placed in as great dilemma than the one you have woven around me!" She managed a smile after his furious outburst subsided. "You do love me then?" "I don't know. I've never been in it before. But the thought of losing you makes my heart ache, so then yes, damn you, I'm in love." "Then I can die happy." He shook her again. "That's not funny!" "But we agreed that I had to die. Whether by your hand or another's; my actions sealed my fate. There is no other way." "Well dammit, I un-agree. I cannot do it." "Do you love me?" "Yes! I will aver it, or avow it, or whatever it is you want from me." "All I ask you is that you do me the kindness of making it fast and painless. Any others who would follow you would not extend such a courtesy as that." He looked her deep in the eyes. He knew she was right. He had bungled an easy hit and was now going to pay for it the rest of his life. "If that is what you wish, I can do it. But I will not do it willingly." "It is. Unless you can find some other way out of this predicament, that is all I can ask for." "It seems a poor gift for as fine a lady as you. You deserve more." "I can but agree with you señor. But there is little more you can give me now." "Is there nothing at all?" "Well..." she began. "Yes?" he asked a little too eagerly. She wiggled her hips. "Since you're still inside, perhaps you'll do the lady the favor of another round?" "With pleasure!" And indeed it was. By the time daylight came, a decision had been made and affirmed. It was a day that was long remembered in the village, a day when life had to be sacrificed for the good of all. They did not interfere in this decision, for how could they? The decision had never been theirs, and this was the only manner in which it could be righted. And so the assassin stood alone over a mound of stones and sand, angry with himself and his lot in life. He would soon be done with killing. Let others who had less moral fiber than he carry on in his absence. He suddenly felt old. Until this business was finished, he intended to remain in the village. After that? Only the fates knew for sure. A message was sent out to the crime boss who had hired him. He wrote it out himself and had one of the locals deliver it to an outpost, who from there would see that it got to its intended recipient. It went like this. Done. Job is complete. Package is buried in the old corral outside of town. Buried my heart on top of it as an added bonus. Wasn't worth the money. He kept his eye on the road the next few days. On the third he saw several old trucks rattling down the dusty dirt track. The villagers were still armed with their rifles, for there was no guarantee that this group of thugs might not still try to exact revenge on the community as a whole. They pulled inside the corral, surrounding the spot of raised stone. There was a lone, dead rose sticking out of the ground there, and through a spyglass he could see one of the desperados kick it to pieces. There was something else down there too. A knife. Flora's knife. Someone reached down to retrieve it. It was meant to be a symbol. Its blade was a sharp reminder that one should never stand in the way of love. And the wire that was attached to it? A reminder to be careful what you decide to take up as your own. The explosion ripped into the gang and sent the trucks flying. Stones rained clear to the village. When the dust cleared, there was no one left standing in the corral. "Señor?" asked one of the villagers. "Si?" "Will you stay here now?" "Yes señor", cooed a voice. "Will you stay here now that you have freed my village of this curse?" "Flora dear, if you ask, I shall do it." "Then I ask it. And besides, you owe me a new knife." "I'll buy you a hundred if you wish it." "Just one will do." Now, you may be asking yourself; what the hell happened? Love happened. Would you kill the one you love to save them from a fate even worse than death? If you answer yes, then you have an idea of how deep love can imbed itself in your soul. But a wise wolf once said that turnabout is fair play. A single wire tied to the pin of a well-placed and carefully buried grenade, and thus yanked upon unceremoniously by some worthless goon, will tend to send the whole pile of explosives sky high. And with no gang to seek retribution, the village - along with the loving couple, found that life was worth living again. True, there might be other obstacles to deal with down the road, but there would be plenty of time before they needed to bother their heads over that. Today the desert proved to be a little less harsh and a little more forgiving.