Devils and Dust (20 page)

“That seems to happen to you a lot,” Oscar observed.

“Can’t deny it,” Keller said. He checked the address of the Church of Elohim against the stored destinations. One of them, designated as “Farm” appeared to be located in South Carolina, near a town called Hearken.

“Maybe this is too big for us,” Oscar said. “Maybe we
should
alert the authorities.”

“Not sure how we’d explain being armed like we are, driving a truck across the border, a truck that could probably be traced with a little work to a notorious drug dealer, with, no offense, an undocumented immigrant on board.”

Oscar sighed. “You’re right. Of course.”

“Only one way out of this,” Keller said, “And that’s forward. We need to check these people out.”

Oscar nodded. “I could see what I can look up on my phone,” he said, “but it was in the truck.”

“Well, shit,” Keller said. “So was mine. Hang on a sec.” He rummaged through the center console. The only thing he found was what appeared to be a motel key card in a small paper envelope. FREY MOTOR LODGE, the legend on the envelope read, FREY, TEXAS. The room number was written on the envelope in blue pen. Keller pocketed the key card.

They’d have to use the dead men’s vehicle to get out of there. He didn’t like the idea; one traffic stop could end in questions being asked that would get them locked up. And he couldn’t shake the sense that they were running out of time.

“So what do we do now?” Oscar said.

Keller reached into his pocket and pulled out the key card. “Somewhere around here is a town called Frey,” he said. “They were staying there. Let’s see what they left behind.”

E
SMERALDA WAS
back the next morning. At least Angela assumed it was morning, because this time there were eggs on the plate, with a little salsa spread across the top, and a single piece of toast. Angela thanked Esmeralda anyway. “Remember what I said about needing to use the bathroom?” she added. “It’s gotten kind of urgent.”

Esmeralda nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Wait.” She seemed a little friendlier today. She slipped out the door.

Angela noted that she didn’t lock it behind her. She heard the muffled sounds of conversation outside, low at first, then Esmeralda’s voice rose in anger. Angela took a bite of the toast and waited.

In a moment, Esmeralda was back. Her eyes were narrowed and her jaw set with anger. “He says you can use the bathroom, but you have to leave the door open. So he can see you.”

Angela took a deep breath. “Okay. I guess I don’t have any choice.” She stood up. “Is there a sink, too? So I can wash?”

Esmeralda nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Angela smiled. “It’s not your fault. Thanks for asking for me.”

Esmeralda opened the door. The guard in the hall was young, with a wispy attempt at a mustache that looked like a smear of dirt on his upper lip. He leered at Angela as she walked out of the room, with Esmeralda behind. “This way,” he said in accented English, gesturing down the hall with the shotgun he held in his hands. She saw an open door down a short hallway. She held her head up as she walked down the hall, the guard and Esmeralda behind. As they reached the end of the hallway, Angela noticed a door to her left that opened onto a set of rickety wooden steps. She mentally filed that away and turned back to the door ahead.

It was a half bath, with a toilet and sink, but no shower or tub. Without looking at the guard, she unbuttoned her jeans and took them down. She heard the guard’s quick intake of breath as he saw the scars on her legs—from the old burns and the ones caused by the surgeries to put her broken leg bones back together. She sat down and did what she needed to do, still not looking at the guard. When she was done, she stood up, and pulled up her jeans. She looked at the guard for the first time. His smile was gone. “May I wash?” she asked in Spanish. Esmeralda stepped into the doorway with a washcloth and a bar of soap. “Thanks,” Angela said. She turned to the sink and washed her face. She could see the guard’s face in the mirror over the sink. She stole a look at him as she slowly removed her blouse. He turned away when he saw the burn scars on her back and arms. She could see Esmeralda put her hand over her mouth. She washed her body quickly, and then put the blouse back on. She turned back to the guard. “See everything you came to see?”

He didn’t look at her, just mumbled something in Spanish and gestured back down the hall to her room. They walked back the same way they’d come, in the same order. The guard stayed outside as she entered the room, sat down, and began to eat.

Esmeralda stood by the door, her pretty face unreadable. Finally, she spoke. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Other than a way out of here?” Angela said.

“That will happen soon,” the girl said.

“I wish I could believe that. Can you at least tell me why I’m here? Why did
Senor
Mandujano lie about letting me go? Where are my husband and my friend?”

The girl just shook her head and walked to the door. “I’ll be back,” she said. “I’ll try to bring you something to read.”

“Thank you,” Angela said. She turned back to her meal. When she heard the door close and the locks click shut, she bent over and put her arms on the table. With her head cushioned within her arms, Angela began to cry, releasing all of her fear, anger, and humiliation through her muffled sobs. She wasn’t going to let them see how afraid she was. But she didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up. Or how much longer they’d let her live. She let herself cry for a few minutes, then sat up and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Okay,” she said aloud to the empty room. “You’re no princess, this whorehouse isn’t a tower, and there’s no knight in shining armor coming. If you’re going to get out of this, girl, you’re going to have to do it yourself.” She thought of adding a “you can do it,” but she’d always hated that pep-talky bullshit. She walked over and lay back on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling…thinking.

B
ACK IN
the days before NAFTA, Frey had probably been a mirror image of Ciudad de Piedras. But where globalization had created a boomtown south of the border, time had passed Frey by and left it a dried husk of itself. The town’s main street was mostly empty storefronts. Only a lone, sad looking diner and a dusty convenience store showed any signs of life. A couple of men in folding chairs sat outside the convenience store, their gazes tracking the pickup truck as it drove past.

They found the Frey Motor Lodge on the far side of town, beside the road heading north. It looked as sad and dispirited as the rest of the town, with only a few units extending away from a small office. The whole place was painted a pale yellow that looked washed out in the bright hard sunlight of a Texas late-summer morning.

Keller pulled the truck into a parking space outside the unit whose number was written on the envelope. As he turned the engine off, a man stepped out of the office at one end of the building. He was an older man, with a full head of gray hair. He was dressed in jeans, a white shirt with a string tie, and cracked leather boots. He eyed them suspiciously as he leaned against a post and crossed his arms against his chest.

“What are you going to do?” Oscar said.

“Have you got a business card?” Keller said. “From the bail bonding company?”

“Yes.”

“So we’re tracking a jumper,” Keller said. “Just follow my lead.”

“How will we…” Oscar said, but Keller was already climbing down from the driver’s seat.

“Howdy,” he said as he approached the gray-haired man.

“That ain’t your truck,” the man said.

“Actually,” Keller said, “it is. At least it’s going to be.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You repo men or somethin’?”

“No,” Keller said. “We’re bail bondsmen.” He stepped forward and presented a business card. The man took it. “The guy we’re looking for put up his vehicle—this one—as security. He didn’t show for his court date. And he took the truck.”

“We’re here to bring him back,” Oscar said. “And the truck.”

Keller nodded. “We saw it at the diner, and, well, I guess we did kind of repossess it. Sort of. The guy we’re after took off, though. We lost him. Found the key to his room in the truck and figured he’d come back here for his stuff.”

The man didn’t look convinced. “Which one you after? They was three people in that room.”

“The…um…one with all the tattoos,” Keller said lamely.

“You don’t know his name?” the man said.

“His name is Jefferson Hager,” Oscar said. “But he was probably using an alias here, no?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. Called himself Colton.”

Oscar nodded. “Colton. Yes. That is one of his aliases.”

“So can we look around in his room?” Keller said. “Maybe get some idea of where he went?”

“I think you’re fulla shit,” the old man said.

“No, really,” Keller said. “We just want to—”

“Fifty bucks,” the old man said.

“Pardon?” Oscar said.

“I don’t know who the hell y’all are, or what you’re really up to. No good, most likely. But I know for damn sure they was. Up to no good, I mean. But gimme fifty bucks an’ you can go on in there an’ do whatever bidness you need to do. I’ll look the other way for fifteen minutes. After that, I want you two out of here. An’ take their shit with ya. Whatever trouble this is, I want it gone from my place.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Keller reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, counted out the money, and handed it to the old man.

“Another twenty,” the man said, “an’ I never saw y’all here. In case someone comes askin’.”

Keller sighed and pulled out another bill. “Whatever.”

The inside of the room smelled of spilled beer and body odor. The occupants had stacked beer cans in a ragged pyramid on the dresser. Clothes were thrown carelessly over the two double beds. There was an unfolded cot next to one of the beds.

Keller turned to Oscar. “Jefferson Hager?” he asked. “Wasn’t that the name of Angela’s ex-husband?”

Oscar shrugged. “First name I could think of at short notice.”

Keller grunted. A laptop computer was plugged in and closed on the desk next to the TV. “We’ll take that,” he said. “It may tell us something.”

The only luggage was a pair of army-surplus duffel bags on the floor. Keller bent down and rifled through one of the duffels. He came up with a wallet and opened it. “Belongs to a Rance Colton,” Keller said. “Address is Hearken, South Carolina.” He tossed the wallet back in the duffel. “Same address as on the GPS.”

“You think that’s where they took people?” Oscar said. “My sons?”

“If not,” Keller said, “that’s where people are who’ll be able to answer some questions. So I guess that’s where we’re going.” He started throwing things in the bags. Oscar did the same.

Suddenly, Oscar straightened up, holding something in his hand. It was a large roll of bills. “Jack,” he said.

Keller looked over. “Great,” he said. “Because we’re starting to run low.”

Oscar nodded, but he still looked unhappy. “This feels like stealing.”

“Probably because it is,” Keller said. “But they won’t miss it. And it’s time they contributed to a good cause.”

That brought a smile to Oscar’s face. “Well, if you put it that way.”