by D. V. Berkom
"Nope. Virginia. I just like the Vikes. How about you?"
"Minnesota, born and bred."
We drove in silence for a while.
"What's in the pack?"
I tensed. Too personal. The old man's warning flashed in my mind. "Just stuff," I replied.
He snorted. "Stuff? What kind of stuff?"
A feeling of dread swam through me. Just take it easy, Kate. He's a friendly American, that's all.
"Oh, you know, the usual. Clothes and things."
"Looks pretty heavy."
"Well, there are shoes, too." I hoped my smile looked innocent enough.
"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here in the middle of the Sonoran desert?" He glanced in the rear view mirror. "That pickup truck back there on the side of the road yours?"
"I wish. I've been hitching for days."
"You wouldn't happen to know a guy named Roberto Salazar, would you?"
I nearly choked.
He smiled. The scenery reflected off his sunglasses.
"I guess you do." He glanced at me. "Don't freak out. I'm one of the good guys." He reached for the glove box, hesitating until I nodded for him to go ahead. My hand rested under my jacket near the gun.
He pulled out a badge that read Drug Enforcement Administration, Special Agent.
Shit. A backpack full of drug money and I catch a ride with a DEA agent.
My options had just narrowed considerably. The larger question was how did he make the connection? Had news of my escape really spread that fast?
I was torn. If I told him who I was, he'd detain me for questioning, and possibly arrest me since I'd been involved with Salazar. On the other hand, I'd get a free pass to the states, maybe even a new identity if I volunteered information. It was possible he already guessed my identity.
I decided to test the waters.
"I've heard of him."
"What have you heard?""That you don't want to get on his bad side."
"Sounds about right. Ever met him?"
"Once, at a party, I think." Better to establish a slight link rather than play completely stupid. "Hey- do I know you from somewhere? You seem familiar." My hand inched toward the door handle.
He chuckled and pushed on the accelerator. The Galaxy's speedometer read sixty-five, then seventy. Alarm shot through me like a lightning bolt, and that old familiar panic returned.
"Why don't you slow down? You're making me nervous."
He sped up in response. "How can a little speed make you nervous? Living with Salazar was so much more dangerous."
I glanced out the windshield. We headed straight toward a bend in the road. I strapped on my seatbelt. His grin reminded me of Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
"Scared, Kate?" He turned to look at me.
"Stop-" The words died in my throat as the Galaxy plowed into the side of the black steer standing in the road.
As if in slow motion, my upper body and legs flew forward from the force of the impact, the center of my body anchored in place by the single strap of the seatbelt. Glass shattered and metal screamed, drowning out the animal's bellow.
A deathly stillness followed the crash. The punctured radiator hissed steam. Dazed, I unhooked the seatbelt and opened the passenger side door, and fell onto the roadside. My gun dropped onto the road with a clatter. I grabbed it, then dragged myself up onto the door to stand, gasping and choking from having the wind knocked out of me.
I felt around for broken bones, but didn't find any. The driver's seat held shards of glass instead of the driver. Warily, I stepped around to the front of the car.
The steer's dead body lay wedged underneath the front wheels. At least it had been quick. My backpack rested a few yards further up the road. It appeared to be intact. I walked over to retrieve it when I heard a moan.
He sat slumped against a mesquite tree on the side of the road. Blood from a head wound stained his Hawaiian shirt a dark red. His left leg canted out at an unnatural angle. The ball cap was nowhere in sight. He watched as I approached, his breathing ragged.
With no cap and sunglasses, I finally recognized him, even through the blood on his face.
I aimed the gun at his chest.
"I thought you said you were one of the good guys."
"You won't make it, Kate. Salazar's got everybody out looking for you, and he didn't say he wanted you alive. I came to find you before they did."
"Gee, thanks John. That was real nice of you." I should have known the square jaw, the aquiline nose. John Sterling was DEA, all right, but not the good kind. He wanted the money, not me.
"Give me your gun." I pointed at his armpit.
He sighed as he slid his hand underneath his shirt to the shoulder holster I knew he always wore. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest belied the difficulty he had breathing. After a couple of futile attempts, he let his hand drop to this thigh.
"I can't."
Careful to keep my gun out of reach, I leaned over and slid his Glock out of the holster, then stepped back.
He closed one eye and squinted. "You gonna kill me?"
I considered the question for a moment, let him sweat. Then I shook my head.
"No."
He nodded. "Didn't think so."
I turned to go. The backpack felt much heavier than before.
"He'll find you. Salazar never quits."
I shrugged the pack onto my back.
Neither did I.
Just Passing Through (Chapter 2)
Paranoia kept me off the highway. The blisters on my feet burned with each step. There weren't many other transit options in this part of Sonora, apart from the occasional steer. Although I'd left John Sterling broken and bloody by the side of the road, he wasn't the only one searching for the cash, and I needed to be careful, or I'd end up dead.
I wore my jacket even though the temperature had soared. The ball cap I used to hide my blonde hair didn't prevent the sun from searing my neck, and I needed the coverage.
My spine ached from the weight of the money. I limped toward what looked like a small carne asada place that had appeared like a mirage on the horizon. Normally family owned, these Mexican versions of an open-air barbecue joint dotted the countryside along well-traveled routes. Since the highway I skirted happened to be the only one that led to San Bruno, I didn't have the luxury of following a less popular road.
The buff colored hound sleeping in the shade of an ancient station wagon pawed at the air, chasing dream rabbits. The whitewashed structure's silence told me I'd arrived after the lunch hour, with the inhabitants more than likely taking a siesta.
I shrugged off the pack and let it fall to the ground.
"Hello? Anyone here?" I called out in Spanish.
"One moment," answered a man's voice.
A burly, middle-aged man in a white tee shirt and black trousers walked through the door at the back of the restaurant, wiping his hands on a towel.
I glanced at the menu board propped up on the counter. "May I have two tacos and a Seven-Up?"
He nodded, reached into an old cooler for my soda, and set it on the counter.
As he prepared my lunch, I scanned the road in each direction, aware of my vulnerability. Relieved that traffic was light, I took a sip of the Seven-Up and turned back to watch him.
Finished, he placed the plate of tacos in front of me. He glanced out at the dirt lot, a quizzical expression on his face.
"Where is your car?"
I took a bite of my taco. "I haven't got one."
"You're a long way from anywhere. A woman alone needs to be careful."
"When does the bus come by here?"
"Not until tomorrow."
The hound shuffled past me, sniffed at the backpack and, disinterested, wandered off.
"Would you happen to know anyone around here who's trying to sell their car?" It was a long shot, but the least I could do was try. Although the news of a gringa with cash would travel fast, my feet and back screamed for relie
f.
"I might be willing to sell that car over there." He nodded his head at the dusty old pile of metal.
"As long as it runs. How much?"
"Two thousand dollars. US."
I smiled. He knew an opportunity when he saw it. "No, my friend. The car is not worth nearly that much. Five hundred."
He smiled back, revealing a gold incisor. "But then I will have no car. One thousand."
"Is there enough gas to get to the next town?"
"The tank is half full."
I sighed and made a show of thinking about his reply. I'd give him five thousand if it meant getting my ass to San Bruno faster.
"Seven-fifty. That's my last offer, friend."
He held out his hand and grinned. "Deal."
***
Aside from the cloying cigarette smell and ripped upholstery, the car was perfect. No one would look twice at the ugly brown station wagon, and the cracked windshield obscured the occasional curious glance inside. The car's shelf life would only last until I reached the next town, but I'd be that much closer to San Bruno. I didn't dare keep driving. A bus was my only other option.
I pulled into Los Otros in the late afternoon. A small town within a short drive of the Sea of Cortez, the population consisted of mainly Mexican farmers, with a few ex-pats from the US sprinkled in. Its main street boasted a cantina, a bank, a drug store and a Laundromat. I took a left and parked along the curb on a side street, next to a dental office.
The bank had already closed for the day. My plan to transfer a portion of the money to my sister in Minnesota would have to wait until morning. I'd need to keep the amount small. Anything over ten thousand would attract unwanted attention in the US. The longer I dragged the money around, the more I realized I needed to find a way to unload it. Aside from digging a hole in the middle of the desert and burying it, the only thing that made any sense was to wire it to someone I could trust.
My younger sister Lisa was the only person in my family who had any idea how I'd been living the past three years. I didn't trust the rest of my siblings to appreciate the finer points of making a stupid, life-changing mistake, like hooking up with a ruthless, power-hungry drug lord, and then stealing his money to escape.
I figured I'd transfer a little in each town I traveled through, holding out enough to buy a forged passport and pay my way back to the states.
I walked into the cantina and sat at a table in the corner. A kid of about twelve came over and asked me what I wanted. I ordered a Bohemia and asked him what time the bank next door opened.
"Nine o'clock." He put a plastic basket of tortilla chips on the table.
"Where can I find a place to stay the night?"
He turned toward the kitchen. "Mama! This lady wants to know where she can rent a room."
Mama walked through the doorway that led to the back. Tall and fit, energy radiated off her, belying the dark hair shot through with gray. She eyed me curiously.
"I have a friend, an American woman, who rents out her extra room. Twenty-five dollars a night. It's not far, maybe two kilometers."
She wrote down the address and made a crude map on the back of a napkin. I thanked her, paid for my beer and left, following the map to her friend's place. I looked wistfully at the station wagon as I passed by. I couldn't take the chance of staying with any vehicle for too long, so I left it at the curb, the keys dangling from the ignition.
The adobe house sat on a large rectangular dirt lot. Cheerful yellow curtains dotted the windows. Two lime trees grew next to a small shed. A profusion of lush plants in colorful pots greeted me as I followed the curving walk to the front door. I rang the doorbell and turned to survey the neighborhood. It appeared relatively quiet, with the exception of a stray dog and a kid on a bicycle.
"Yes?" The door opened and a woman with dirty blonde hair and a lived in face peered out, smiling.
"Your friend at the cantina sent me. She said you might have a room available for the night?"
"Yes, yes. Come in. You're American?" I nodded. "Lovely. How long will you need the room?"
"Only for the night. I'm just passing through."
She sighed. "Everyone 'just passes through' here." She glanced at my backpack, then at the walk behind me. "Do you have any other luggage?"
"I travel light."
"Apparently."
She showed me to my room and I slid the pack under the bed. She asked me if I wanted to wash up before dinner. I said I would.
Her name was Lana, and she'd just turned forty the day before. We dined al fresco in her backyard under strings of lights, giving it a festive air. She served fish tacos with rice and had finished her third margarita by the time I'd barely drunk one.
"I came here ten years ago. Followed a man." She shook her head, smiling. "You probably know how that goes." She stared off into the darkness and took another drink. "Girl meets guy, girl falls for guy and follows him to another country. Guy leaves girl in one horse town with no money." She shrugged. "Things a girl will do for love, eh?" She had no idea.
Lana noticed my drink was empty and picked up the pitcher. I placed my hand over my glass.
"I'd better not." I leaned back, trying to relax and enjoy the mild, star-filled night, but that was a thing of the past, now. Alcohol only dulled my senses.
"So what's your story, Miss I'm-just-passing-through?"
"I'm on my way to Mazatlan," I lied. No sense leaving a trail for Salazar. "I have some friends there I haven't seen in a long time."
We talked long into the night, or, I should say, she did. I answered her questions with the truth if I could, lies if she got too personal. Around one she passed out in her chair, her snores cutting through the still night. I wrapped her arm around my shoulders, hoisted her to her feet and walked her to bed. After taking off her shoes, I tucked her in and walked out, closing the door.
I searched through the kitchen, found a box of plastic baggies in a drawer and took them to my room. There I pulled out several stacks of hundred dollar bills from the backpack and stuffed them into the baggies.
Next, I carried the bags outside and set them on the ground alongside the two lime trees. Earlier, I'd noticed a pick and a shovel leaning against the house and went back to get them.
It took all the strength I had to hack my way into the caliche-filled ground between the lime trees and shed. At first I used the shovel, but finally resorted to the pick ax. Once I had a deep enough hole, I dropped the bags of money in and covered them with the remaining dirt. I poured water from the kitchen on the freshly dug earth, knowing it would be dry by morning and the evidence obliterated.
I returned to my room. My backpack was much lighter. I calculated roughly a third of the money now lay in the hole in the yard. Satisfied I'd found a necessary temporary home for the cash, I fell into a fitful sleep.
***
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, and my eyelids snapped open. At first unsure where I was, I remembered and sat up, glancing at the clock on the dresser. Eight thirty. Just enough time to have breakfast and walk to the bank. I hated doing the transfer in daylight, but didn't have a choice.
I brushed my teeth with my finger and some toothpaste I found in the medicine cabinet and washed my face. Then I went out to the kitchen to see if I could get some coffee before I left.
Lana stood at the stove, frying eggs and bacon, talking to a dark haired man sitting at the table. Instinctively, I stiffened. The less people I encountered, the better. Lana turned at the abrupt pause in conversation, and broke into a wide smile.
"You're just in time for breakfast. Jorge dropped by this morning and offered to give you a lift into town." She pointed her fork at me. "Kate, Jorge. Jorge, this is Kate."
"Mucho gusto." Jorge bowed his head, a charming smile on his face. My shoulders released a fraction. He seemed like a nice guy. Salazar's men couldn't have found me so soon. No one knew where I was headed.
We ate breakfast and drank coffee, making small talk. Soon, it
was time to go. Jorge held out his hand to take the backpack.
"Thanks, Jorge, but it's not that heavy." He looked slightly offended, but shrugged as we walked out to his pickup.
We drove to town in silence, which was fine by me. I hadn't slept much the night before, having jolted awake with every sound, and didn't want to make the effort at more small talk.
Jorge pulled up to the curb near the bank and I thanked him and got out. I could feel him watch me walk through the bank's doors. The teller at the window smiled and motioned for me to come to her window. I'd already separated $7,500 from the rest of the money in the pack, and reached into the front pocket where I'd stashed the bundle.
"I'd like to make a wire transfer to my sister in Minnesota, please."
As I filled out the paperwork, I resisted the urge to look behind me. I handed the forms back to the teller and smiled. Tiny rivers of sweat ran down my back and under my arms, and beads of perspiration formed on my upper lip. Maybe wiring money to my sister wasn't such a good idea. It left me exposed in public for too long. The game had changed- my penchant for acting on the first idea that popped into my head could now get me killed. I thought about grabbing the money off the counter and leaving, but stopped short as I realized the transaction was almost complete.
Something hard pressed into my back. I started to turn around to see what it was, and stopped cold at the familiar voice.
"Eyes forward, bitch."
A cold wave of dread washed through me. Frank Lanzarotti. Apparently Salazar wasn't the only one looking for the money.
I stared straight ahead and forced a smile when the teller handed me my receipt and told me to have a nice day.
Right.
"Turn around, real slow, and we're gonna walk out that door together with a smile on our faces, got it?"
I nodded and we moved toward the door, Frank's arm firmly around my waist.
As we neared the entrance, the guard smiled at us. I stopped and turned toward Frank.
"Oh, honey, I forgot to pee," I whispered, loud enough that the guard blushed and turned his head. Frank stiffened and his hand clamped down on my waist, hard.