The two of them made their way to the Hotel del Cobre about 15 minutes away. Trent paid with a $100 bill and requested a room for the night on the first floor, which they were able to accommodate. Francisco returned to his riddled pickup to answer questions by the police. He told them that some bad people had used his truck for target practice, and that he did not know them, the dead man, or who killed him.
Speaking in Spanish, he explained. “I came out to my truck and bullets were flying. I fell to the ground behind a man who was shooting at the man who is now dead.”
The officer rattled off in Spanish for a description of the shooter, but he explained it was too dark and the man had his back to him. The officer became frustrated with Francisco and went inside the San Felipe to question employees and patrons. Francisco took that window of opportunity to leave. He went back to the Hotel del Cobre and knocked on Trent’s door.
“Come-on in, compadre, ya saved my bacon back there…well…you and yor pickup.”
“I have insurance,” Francisco said proudly.
“Glad to hear it,” Trent said with a smile.
“I must get home to my family. Come back mañana.”
“No need for ya to do that.”
“You still want to go to Tres Ojos and border?”
“Yeah, but I done got yor pickup put outta commission.”
“We rent car mañana.”
“Amigo, ya don’t even know me, and I got ya nearly killed and yor truck shot up, why you doin’ this?
“Don’t know, think I like you. Must go home,” Francisco said.
“How ya gonna git there?”
“Walk,” he said, removing his ball cap.
“How far?” Trent asked.
“One-half hour,” he said, pushing back his long jet-black hair.
“Ya ain’t walkin’, ya gonna take a cab, and I’m gonna call one right now,” Trent said, picking up the phone and dialing the desk, “here’s mah change from the room check-in,” he said, handing Francisco $40, “that should cover it.”
“No-no-no,” Francisco said, refusing the money.
“Oh, yeah,” Trent said, stuffing the two $20’s in his shirt pocket.
Fortunately for Francisco, there was a taxi in the parking lot, and the driver responded almost immediately. After he left, Trent decided to get cleaned up and check his old wounds. Even in his pretzel position, he really couldn’t tell much, because it was difficult to see his right side, but he found no evidence of bleeding, so he assumed, considering what had just gone down, he was lucky. After that, he replaced the empty magazines in both of his weapons and decided to turn in for the night. He was exhausted and sleep came quickly, even though has last thoughts were of the terrorist who got away, because he might have friends.
Trent was startled by the knocking on the door. He jumped to his feet with Glock in hand and peeked through a curtain covering the window. He immediately recognized the stocky frame of Francisco, so he opened the door.
“Howdy, Amigo, come in,” Trent said, stretching with a big yawn.
“How are you?” Francisco asked.
“Okay, I guess.”
“No more trouble today?”
“It’s still early, amigo. A lot can happen between now and nightfall.”
“Does law chase you?” Francisco asked.
“No, bad guys. It’s a long story.”
“When you want to go to Tres Ojos?”
“Soon, very soon, but we have to get a car.”
“We have car, I rent car with credit card,” Francisco said.
“Have a seat,” Trent said.
“Muchas gracias por favor,” he pulled up a chair.
“What do ya do for a livin’?” Trent asked.
“I own landscape company—Francisco Gonzalez Landscape.”
“I’m in the truckin’ bidness…well… I was in the truckin’ bidness until I lost my truck a few weeks back.”
“Could not make payments?”
“No, nothin’ like that. Some bad guys blew it up. It was a beautiful rig. I had one of the best semis on the road.”
“Sorry, do bad people always follow you?”
“Not until a few months back.” Trent replied, “I’d like to get started to Tres Ojos. Let me wash up a bit.”
“We go when you ready.”
Trent went into the bathroom, doused his face with cool water, and slicked his hair back. He left the key on the room table, grabbed his cane, and Francisco led the way to the rental car just outside. It was a shiny blue Chevrolet Impala.
“Nice car,” Trent remarked, surveying his immediate surroundings.
“It’s okay, but it’s not my F150.”
“Think maybe you could drive through a fast-food joint, and we could get somethin’ for the road?”
“Hungry? My wife made me a big breakfast early this morning. No problem.”
“’bout how long’s it take to git to Tres Ojos?” Trent asked.
“Three hours.”
CIMI Hospital was abuzz with gossip about the attack on the desk nurse and the mystical disappearance of patient Willobee. They could not be sure whether or not the attackers kidnapped him from the facility; however, they did find three envelopes lying on his tray-table, one addressed to Dr. Zapatero, one to Hospital Admin, and one to the Surgical Ward Nursing Staff. Each of the envelopes contained $1,000 in 100 dollar bills, and a note thanking one and all.
The police peppered the staff with many questions, but they had little to share. One thing left unsaid was about the money he left behind. They assumed any mention of the cash would have resulted in an undesirable outcome, because the police would have impounded the funds, and they would never see any of it.
Dr. Zapatero thought it was kind and thoughtful of him to be so generous, the hospital administration thought what he paid wasn’t enough, and the nursing staff divided the money with glee and had many kind words about their southern cowboy, especially Samira and Gloria.
About ten o’clock the same morning that Francisco and Trent had headed for Tres Ojos, Creet stopped in to see Dobson.
“Dobs, any information from the CIA about Willobee? Hell, they outta know something by now.”
“Glad you stopped in, ’cause they’re damned near sure he’s alive and in Chihuahua City, Chihuahua.”
“Was this gonna be a new-old game show ‘I Got a Secret?’” Creet remarked facetiously.
“Don’t get your drawers in a wad, I was gonna call you this morning and give you an update, but I do have a few things to do.”
“Sorry, ’bout that, I’m just hopeful that Willobee’s alive.”
“Read this,” he said, pitching a folder to Creet.
Creet sat quietly and read the report. It was obvious that the CIA operatives had found solid evidence that Willobee was still among the living. They were able to trace him to CIMI Hospital in Chihuahua, Mexico. They even knew the name of the surgeon who operated on him, and the last piece of evidence was he had been admitted as a patient of the hospital.
“Dobs, I could go—
“Nope, don’t even suggest it,” he interrupted, with a buffering hand, “we know enough info about Willobee to conclude he’s among the living. He’ll find his way back to Oatman, Arizona in a few days. Then we’ll reconnect with him,” Dobs said firmly.
“It’s just that he lost his means of making a living, Dobs. I feel badly about that.”
“Creet, don’t think for a minute that his sacrifices are going to go unnoticed. Between you and me, we have millions in unaccounted for seized drug money. We’ll find a way to make things right.”
“Are you suggesting what I’m thinking?” Creet asked.
“You might say that,” he said, making eye contact.
“That’s good news…wow…that’s real good news,” a s
miling Creet commented.
“Francisco, we should be purdy close. What time ya got?” Trent asked.
“Almost noon,” he replied, checking his watch, “where do you want to go?”
“There’s a clinic for animals I need to stop at.”
“Animals? You cannot take animals over border.” Francisco said.
“Amigo, I ain’t stoppin’ for no animals. I gotta see Doctor Chantico Castillo, she owns the place.”
“Oh, a woman, comprender.”
“It’s not that, I owe her,” Trent said.
Tres Ojos was such a small hamlet it wasn’t difficult for them to quickly locate the clinic. They both went in. They saw no one, but a sign which said to ring the bell. Trent tapped it a couple of times, and suddenly an attractive dark-haired woman appeared, wearing a long white apron.
“May I help you gentle…men,” she paused and then said to Trent, “don’t I know you?”
“Yes ma’am ya shor do, but I don’t ’member bein’ here.”
“You’re Willobee,” she said with excitement.
“Uh-huh, me in the flesh,” he said, smiling and leaning on his cane.
“You’re proof that Doctor Zapatero is a miracle worker,” she said ebulliently.
“That’s true, Doctor Castillo, but he had some help. If ya hadn’t done what ya did, he wouldn’t have had nothin’ ta work on. He told me that hisself.”
“Well, Mr. Willobee, I just patched you up and sent you to him,” she said.
“I had ta leave the hospital real fast, and I need ta get back cross the border, but I had to thank ya and ask for one more favor. Ya see, I still got stitches in me that need to come out, and I thought you might take care of that for me.”
“You should have let them take the stitches out at CIMI. I’m not supposed to treat humans.”
“Doc, I had no choice but ta leave early ’cause some real bad hombres were tryin’ to do me in. Mah amigo, Francisco here, can vouch for that,” Trent said, pointing to Francisco.
“I see…follow me back to an exam room, and I’ll take care of it.”
“I really ’preciate ya doin’ this,” he said, following her.
Trent climbed up on the exam table rather gingerly. He still had some discomfort, but he felt okay. Since he was still wearing surgical pants, she had no problem dealing with the apparel issue, except his Kevlar vest, which he removed. She pushed the pants down a few inches and his shirt up until the incision was clearly exposed.
“Everything looks good; this should heal quickly. I’ll have these stitches out in no time,” she said.
A few minutes later she finished, and Trent was able to get off the table. She strongly suggested he take it easy for another week or so.
“If I can stay outta trouble, that’s just what I intend ta do. I don’t look for it, but it seems ta look for me. Before I go, I want ta give ya a little money for helping me,” he said reaching into one of his vest pockets.
“That’s not necessary. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do, I owe you mah life. Guess mah life ain’t worth much, but it’s the only one I got,” he said, counting out ten 100 hundred dollar bills on the exam table.
“I can’t accept that kind of money. That’s too much,” she said.
“Mah guess is, there’s a whole lotta folks who bring you animals, and they ain’t got no money, but you take care of ’em anyways. Am I right ’bout that?”
“Well, there’s a lot of poor people here that will feed their animals before they’ll even feed themselves.”
“See, ya made mah point. Take these few dollars for me and them, if you won’t take anything for yorself.”
“I don’t know what to say, except thank you and may God bless you.”
“I shor nuff thank ya, and God has already blessed me the day I ended up here. Me and ole Francisco gotta get to the border. I must bid ya farewell, dear lady.”
Trent returned to the waiting room, and he and Francisco headed to the car. It was still about two hours to get to the border. As they travelled, Trent queried Francisco about getting across the border without any identification.
“That will not be easy,” he said, looking over at Trent, “I had not thought about you not having any papers. You will need at least a passport, driver’s license, and maybe a birth certificate. Those are most common. A Global Entry card would be good.
“Hell, I don’t have any of them things. All my papers went up in smoke! Ya don’t think I can talk my way back.”
“No, Señor, it will take the U.S. Consulate in Chihuahua city to prepare many papers.”
“Ya think I can git some phony papers somewhere around here?”
“Maybe…in Palomas…but that is expensive and dangerous. Drug cartels use those places. We will be in Palomas soon. We can check around at cantinas or bars to see, but I can’t stay long, I must return home. Palomas is as far as I can go. The border and Columbus, New Mexico are a short distance. You can take taxi.”
A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of Adelina’s Cantina. They went straight to the bar and ordered two Tequilas. As they nursed the drinks, they surveyed the clientele. Within a few minutes, they concluded this was not the place. Mostly tourists and locals were there to have a good time and be entertained by a trio of musicians, one guy on standup bass, another strumming guitar, and a guy playing the accordion. Francisco checked his watch.
“I do not have much time; we should try another place.”
“Okay, compadre, let’s go,” Trent said, downing his drink.
They made two more quick stops, just to take a look at the crowd, but concluded they needed to move on. The last stop was the Benito Bar. It was located in the south of Palomas.
“Willobee, amigo, I must return home. It will be late before I get back.”
“I know, I took up too much of yor time and hospitality. I’ll take it from here. You be careful now, ya hear me,” Trent said, standing in the parking lot and shaking the hand of Francisco.
“I will, but I don’t like to leave you.”
“Don’t you worry none, amigo, I’ll be okay. I been stumblin’ ’round this ole planet a lot. Go home to them wife and youngins. Wait just a sec, before ya leave, let me use yor writin’ stick?”
“What?”
“Let me borrow that pen in yor shirt pocket.”
“Of course,” Francisco said, handing him his ballpoint.
“Put out a hand,” Francisco complied.
“I’m gonna write you my phone number on back of yor hand. Ya call me sometimes, and we’ll chew the fat. Mercy… I nearly forgot…let me give you a little somethin’ for all yor kindness.” Trent said, retrieving money from one of his vest pockets.
“I don’t want money,” Francisco said.
“I know ya don’t, but I took ya away from ya work and bidness, so at least let me pay for somethin’. It would make me feel a whole lot better,” he said, crumpling up bills and putting them in Francisco’s hand, “ya put that in yor pocket as a muchas gracias, amigo.”
“Sure you will be okay?” Francisco asked.
“Next week sometime, ya call me, and I’ll tell all ’bout my trip back to Oatman, Arizona,” a smiling Trent said.
“Si, Señor, I will, but be safe,” he said and returned to his rental car.
Francisco stopped for gas before leaving Palomas, and decided to pay cash since Willobee had given him some. When he took the crumpled bills out, he discovered that there were seven 100 dollar bills.
Trent went into Benito’s Bar and ordered a Cerveza. It was rowdy and raucous, mostly locals. He could barely get a stool at the bar, but he squeezed in cane and all. He sat elbow to elbow with the patrons. He noticed that a lot of them were speaking English much to his surprise. He called the English-speaking bartender over.
“Do ya know how I can git cross the border without papers?” Trent asked, slipping him a hundred-dollar bill while trying to talk over the ambient noise.
“Perhaps, but I don’t; however, there’s a number of hombres in here that do it all the time.”
“Ya think maybe ya could introduce me ta somebody?”
“Well, that depends, what do I get?” The bartender replied.
“I gotta another Ben Franklin that’s itchin’ ta git outta mah pocket,” Trent leaned back, “well, I’ll be, he done jumped right outta there into mah hand. Maybe you better put ’em away for safe keepin’,” he said, handing the bill to the bartender.
“Santiago, Mateo, over here,” the bartender called out and waved.
“Si,” Santiago said over the noise as he approached the bar.
“You need to talk with this hombre outside,” he said pointing to Trent, “you and Mateo could have help tonight.”
“Out,” Santiago said to Trent, pointing to the door.
“Sure nuff, compadre,” Trent said, getting up from his stool and then walking outside.
“We need body-packer, mule, can you do it tonight?” Mateo asked.
“You want me to carry stuff cross that border?” Trent asked.
“With that cane?” Mateo asked derisively.
“I don’t need it, I’m okay,” Trent replied.
“Be here at eleven o’clock tonight.” Santiago insisted.
“What am I gonna git for my haulin’?” Trent inquired.
“Many pesos, U.S. dollars,” Santiago assured him.
“Just how many U.S. dollars?” Trent asked.
“One-thousand!” An annoyed Mateo yelled.
“See ya at eleven tonight,” Trent said as he causally walked away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Mom, I wonder if Trent got the money. I wish he’d call. I really didn’t like the idea of sending that much cash in a package,” Haylee said.
“Ya did what he asked, and if the money goes missin’, it’s not your fault.”
“I have so many questions. I hope he’ll call.”
“No need to fret, Trent ’ill call when he can. No tellin’ what that boy’s got himself into,” Kit said.
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