36: A Novel (8 page)

I took my time, slowly scanning across the horizon.  Each stand of creosote bushes and palo verde trees were carefully examined.  I looked for dust plumes from vehicles in motion.  Nothing.  At the moment it looked wide open.

Dashing back to the truck, I jumped in and started driving.  I wanted speed, but knew that the faster I went the more visible I’d be.  Clouds of dust hanging in the air behind a vehicle
can be seen from a very long distance. 

Following one of the well worn paths made by human feet, I was starting to congratulate myself when I remembered a news report about the Border Patrol using electronic sensors to monitor the vast open stretches of desert.  If an alarm was tripped, they’d dispatch a helicopter to get eyes on what had set it off. 

With a mental image of a bunch of guys hunched over monitors in a dark room, watching me drive across the sand, my right foot pressed harder on the accelerator.  My stomach was in knots and my palms were sweaty on the steering wheel.  As I drove, I kept leaning forward to peer at the sky through the windshield.  Not that I could do anything if I spotted an aircraft, but I couldn’t help myself. 

Finally, I made it to pavement without incident.  Checking my watch, I wasn’t happy to see that it had taken me two hours to get this far.  I only had two left before I was supposed to meet the cops. 

The road wasn’t marked and was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass without driving onto the sandy shoulder.  Turning north, I accelerated to 60, happy to be making progress.  Fishing my phone out I checked for signal, sighing when it showed
no service
.  Not surprising, considering I was in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I needed to call Monica and tell her to head for Casa Grande.  I debated the wisdom of calling the cops and telling them I was behind schedule.  Would that piss them off and cause them to do something rash?  Or would showing up late without having given them a heads up be worse?

The road wound its way through desolate countryside.  Nothing but sand and cactus with the occasional palo verde tree.  And it was noon and hot as hell.  The wind blowing through the open windows felt like the breath from a blast furnace. 

There wasn’t air conditioning to turn on, and even if there had been there was no way I was going to seal myself in with Ralph.  Ralph was what I had decided to call the odor.  It was so vile and intense it was like a physical presence, so I’d given it a name.

The pavement changed from level to rolling as I continued to make my way north.  I was checking my phone for signal as I climbed a low hill, looking up when I crested and nearly soiling myself.  A few hundred yards ahead, neatly hidden in a low spot between two hills, sat a pair of green and white Border Patrol vehicles.

One was the commonly seen Chevy Tahoe, the other, one of the Ford Raptor trucks they were using.  Built for high speed driving across open desert, there wasn’t much they couldn’t catch.  I’d seen a segment on one of the local Phoenix TV stations where a reporter had gone on a ride along with one of the agents who drove a Raptor.  She’d had a great time as he pushed the truck to 90, over terrain that most vehicles would be hard pressed to navigate at 20 miles an hour.

They were sitting on the sandy shoulder at a ninety-degree angle to the pavement.  I could see two figures standing at the rear of the Tahoe, one of them watching me approach through a pair of binoculars.  My first instinct had been to lift my right foot and slow down, but these weren’t traffic cops.  They didn’t give a shit if I was speeding or not.  All they cared about was who I was and what I might have in the truck with me.

Heart pounding and a lump in my throat, I forced myself to maintain my speed.  I knew if I deviated, after having obviously seen them, it would be like waving a red flag that they made me nervous.  Glancing at the speedometer, I saw I was up to 65, but didn’t dare slow.

Inside a hundred yards I could see the one with the glasses lower them and turn his head to speak to the other.  What the fuck was he saying?  Stop this one?  I had no way of knowing, and I was committed.  If they wanted me, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. 

At fifty yards I could see that both of them had rifles slung on the side of their bodies opposite holstered pistols.  The only positive news was the rifles were hanging down and not being pointed at me.

At thirty yards the road flattened out.  My heart stopped when the one with the binoculars raised his right hand.  But it was just a wave.  A fucking wave!  Somehow, I had the presence of mind to return the wave as I flashed past where they were parked. 

Immediately, as I started climbing the next hill, I focused my attention on the rearview mirror.  Certain I would see the Raptor spitting sand and gravel as it pulled out to pursue, I couldn’t believe my luck when neither of the vehicles moved.  I watched them until I crested the rise, but they weren’t coming after me.

When they were out of sight, I let out a huge breath that I hadn’t even realized I was holding.  Then the shakes hit so bad I wanted to pull over for fear of crashing.  I was considering doing just that in another mile or two when something suddenly vibrated against my hip.  I let out an involuntary shout and very nearly drove off the road.

10

It was my goddamn phone!  Monica.  Relief flooded through me when I saw the caller ID. 

“Hi,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Are you OK?”  She asked, the concern clear in her question.

“I’m good,” I breathed, steadying my nerves. 

“Where are you?”

“I’m back,” I said, wanting to be careful with what I said over the phone.  “On a road that I have no fucking clue where it is or where it goes.  Where are you?”

“I’m in a hotel in Nogales.  On the Arizona side of the border.  Everything go OK?”

“Yes.  I’m on my way to meet them.  Can you head for Casa Grande?”

“Is that where you’re going?”

“Close to there,” I said, not wanting to broadcast specifics about the location of the meet.  “Close enough I can find my way into town.  There’s a truck stop just east of where I-8 and I-10 meet.  Can you go there and wait for me?”

She was silent for a moment before speaking again in a cautious tone.

“Listen.  I’ve been thinking, and I’m scared.  Do you really think they’re going to just let you walk away once they get what they want?  You’ve seen their faces.  You can identify them.”

The knot in my stomach that had loosened when I heard her voice returned with a vengeance, threatening to double me over in pain.

“What are you saying?”  I asked.

“Maybe you should go to the police.  Tell them everything.”

“These are the police, Monica,” I said, trying to hide the frustration in my tone. 

“The FBI, then.  Or the DEA.”

“No,” I said after a very long pause to think about what she was saying.  “I’m already running late.  If I don’t show up, they’re going to have Tim killed.  There’s no time to convince anyone I’m telling the truth.  It would be a bunch of bullshit, and if I could convince them it would be days before they’d do anything.  Tim would be dead by dinner.”

She was quiet for a long time.  I’m sure she was trying to think of an argument that would change my mind, but apparently she couldn’t.

“Then you need to take a gun with you,” she finally said with absolute conviction.

“I don’t have one,” I said.  “Didn’t want to risk taking one across the border.”

“I have them.  Remember?  I’m leaving now.  Meet me at the truck stop before you go see them.  Get your gun.”

I thought about what she was saying, liking the idea of having a weapon to defend myself.  Things had been such a whirlwind that I hadn’t thought through all of the potential pitfalls of meeting these guys in the middle of the desert.  I wished I had the rifle I’d carried in the infantry.  Hell, I wished I had my whole platoon with me.  But I didn’t have either of those.

“OK,” I said.  “Good idea.  I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.  Be careful.  Don’t get pulled over because you’re in a hurry.  That shotgun is illegal and if your car is searched you’ll be in trouble.”

“I already ditched it,” she said in a quiet voice.

“You did what?”  I shouted.  “Why the hell did you do that?”

“You told me it was illegal,” she said, anger in her voice.  “I already told you.  I’m a mother and I’m not going to fuck that up for any man.  I’m not taking that chance.”

I let out a sigh, realizing she was right.  I’d had no right to put her in that position.

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “You’re right.  But you still have the pistol?”

“Si.  I still have the pistola.”

As she came under stress I’d noted that her accent thickened and she fell back on the use of words in her native language.  I actually thought that was kind of sexy.  Maybe if I survived this I could get her to start speaking Spanish in the bedroom.

“Are you still there?”

I’d been quiet too long, retreating into a daydream about her lying naked on my bed and talking to me in Spanish.

“I’m here,” I said.  “I need to go.  Need to call them and let them know I’m running late.  I’ll see you in Casa Grande.”

“Roberto?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful,” she said after a very long pause, then the call was ended.

I don’t know if it was just wishful thinking or not, but I was almost certain she’d wanted to say
I Love You
.  Had to be just what I wanted to hear.  Right?  What the hell did I have to offer a woman like her?  But then, why the hell was she helping me?

Dismissing thoughts of Monica, I thumbed through the phone’s memory and found the number I’d dialed before leaving Nogales.  The call was answered after two rings.

“Bobby Boy, where are you?”

“I’m on my way.  North of the border,” I said.  “But I’m running late.  Took longer than expected to cross.”

“Not what I want to hear, Bob-O.  Not what I want to hear at all.  Late isn’t good.  Late gets the Timster a shiv for dinner.  Understand what I’m saying?”

“Look, I’m coming as fast as I can, and I’ve got your shit.  OK?  Just fucking relax.  I’m still south of Tucson.  There’s no way I can be there in,” I paused to look at my watch.  “Eighty minutes.”

He was quiet for over a minute, probably with his hand over the phone as he consulted with his partner.  When he came back on his voice was low and dangerous.

“Two hours, Bob.  Two.  Fucking.  Hours.  That’s all.  If you’re not here in two hours, I make a call and your baby brother is on a slab.  No more extensions, no more excuses.”

“If that happens, I’ll drive this shit right into the closest DEA office, you motherfucker.  See how you like that shit, cocksucker!”

I was taken aback when he chuckled and his tone reverted to the overly friendly, condescending asshole I’d gotten used to.

“Bobberino, that would be the second biggest mistake of your life.  Tell me if you recognize this address.”

He read off a street address in Scottsdale.  Before he finished speaking I was gripping the phone so hard my hand was cramping. 

“If you fucking touch them…” I started to say before he cut me off.

“Mom and Dad will be just fine as long as you do what you’re told.  Two hours, or Timmy is toast.  Fuck with me and Mommy and Daddy will join him.  So you see, Booby Boy, all you have to do is get here in two hours and everyone is fine.  It’s all up to you.”

He hung up when he finished speaking and it took all my self control to not smash the phone against one of the exposed metal braces where the dash used to be.  My parents!  Dragged into this by more of Tim’s bad choices.  When was the little shit ever going to grow up?

Setting my anger aside, I focused on my driving.  I pushed the little truck as fast as I dared on the narrow road.  Foolish, I know.  I could top a rise and be surprised by a cop waiting for a speeder, just like the Border Patrol had suddenly appeared.  But the stakes were higher.

I finally figured out where I was when I reached the Patagonia Highway.  It ran in the wrong directions, so I continued on the small road, heading due north.  The pavement wasn’t smooth, but the small Ford handled it without fanfare and soon I began seeing signs of civilization.

Small homes on large tracts of land.  The occasional car or truck going in the opposite direction.  Soon I began seeing signs alerting drivers to the approaching intersection with the Interstate that ran from the border up to Tucson.  Knowing this was prime territory for a radar trap, I reduced my speed to exactly the posted limit.  The last thing I needed was for some rural Barney Fife to pull me over and decide to search the truck.

Not that he’d be that interested with Ralph along for the ride.  It would just depend on how bored he was.  I wasn’t going to take the chance.  I’d make up some time once I got on the Interstate with a legal limit of 75 miles an hour.  I’d be able to safely push my speed to over 80 without worrying about drawing attention.

11

Monica was waiting for me, parked at the far edge of the massive truck stop.  I checked my watch as I wheeled into the lot, grimacing when I saw I had less than 25 minutes to make the meet.  Racing across the asphalt, I braked sharply and slid to a stop next to her 15-year-old Honda. 

Jumping out, I wrapped my arms around her when she rushed to hold me.

“I was getting worried,” she said, her voice muffled against my chest.

“Me too,” I said, holding her tight.  “I have to go.  I’m running out of time.”

She stepped away and grabbed my duffel out of her car.  Handing it to me, she moved close and put her hand on the back of my head.  Pulling my face down, she pressed her lips against mine for a long moment.  Breaking the kiss, she looked directly into my eyes.

“I’ve decided something,” she said.

“What’s that?”  I asked, antsy to get back on the road.

“I’ve decided you are who I want to be with.  Come back to me.  Maybe, someday, we can tell our grandchildren about this.”

I was momentarily frozen in place.  Surprised.  Yes, I’d thought she wanted to say something like this on the phone earlier.  Had been thinking similar thoughts myself the entire day.  But I wasn’t prepared for her to be so open and frank.