by Jack L Knapp
She quietly let herself out of the house the following morning and started her car. She had no idea of where to go or what to do and knew of no one who could help her; she only knew that she couldn't remain at home while her family treated her with such coolness. Such were her feelings when she decided to call Ray. He had been sympathetic before and had offered to help if he could, after worry had proved more than she could cope with. She needed some of that sympathy now.
He answered her call and provided directions to his house. Heading north, Ana Maria crossed the border at the Zaragoza Bridge, then drove toward El Paso’s west side.
#
She parked her car in front of his house, and through habit, carefully locked the doors.
Ray met her when she rang the doorbell and offered a hug, which she gratefully accepted. She needed human contact and sympathy; Ray freely provided what her family had denied.
He already had coffee made, and offered her the choice of that or tea. She accepted the coffee and a Danish; she wasn’t feeling hungry, but found eating the pastry comforting. Perhaps she had been hungrier than she’d thought.
“Ray, I don’t know what to do. I feel like a stranger at home.”
Ray had still been mad at T when he woke up, but the anger quickly faded.
He’d spent a few minutes just marveling that he could easily pick up items now and move them around, and he’d tried forming the ‘bubble'. He played with expanding and finally collapsing it, only to do it all over again.
Ana Maria’s call had given him something else to concentrate on. He had spent the time between her phone call and her arrival thinking about her problems. Now, it felt good just having her in the house.
Ana Maria’s cell phone rang while she was drinking coffee and she checked the screen. After a glance, she decided she had nothing she wanted to say to her father at this point. Perhaps later, after they both had more time for the grief to fade, they would be able to discuss the rift that had come between them, but not now. She turned the phone off.
“Well, you’re here now and I’ll offer you whatever help I have. I can’t help you grieve, but you’ll know you’re not alone, and that may help you get through this.
"Life rests on three main relationships, I think. There’s family, friends, and work, school in our case. I think people can readily deal with problems in any one of these areas. Your family is a problem for you right now, but you still have friends who care for you, and you have the chance to succeed in school. Support from what you accomplish in school and from your friends will help you realize that losing your sister, even feeling uncomfortable at home, will pass.
"You can still concentrate on school, because your goals haven’t changed. You also have friends, and that group includes me, who will help you while your family situation sorts itself out.
“Would you like to stay here for a while? Maybe go out for dinner or something, or maybe just go for a drive?”
“I think I’d rather just stay here for now. I drove through the barrios after I crossed the bridge; it’s depressing, all those empty boarded-up buildings, and the graffiti is all over everything. It seems like every street has its own gang, and then there are the big ones like the Fatherless and the Locos. I even saw a new one, BCN. Something nuevo, I think. And the Tangos, too. So I don't feel like going out, not just now.”
Ana Maria, like so many others along the border, sometimes dropped a Spanish word into her English speech or used an English word when speaking Spanish; the combination was referred to locally as ‘Spanglish’.
“Yeah. There are no jobs and because of that, there's no future for those kids. There are ads everywhere for new cars and nice houses, there's bling all over the TV, and all the kids in the barrio have to look forward to is drugs and gangs, and maybe involvement with the drug cartels in Juarez. Many of them, too many, they won’t survive long. You don’t see many old gangers around.
“I read an article that said that the cartels in Mexico are hiring these young guys, the gangers from this side of the river, to be their part-time hit men. The ones they hire walk across the bridge, meet someone on the other side just long enough to pick up weapons, then do the hits and drop the guns before they cross back. Someone will grab them and they’ll soon be hidden, you can count on that! Then it’s back to the bridge, walk across, and as soon as you’re back in the barrio with your homies you’re safe. There’s no trail on the other side of the border for cops to find, and the people on this side have no visible connection to the victims. It’s brilliant, really; the cartels don’t risk anything but money, and as long as our citizens buy their drugs, they aren’t short of that!
“You just make yourself at home. There are books and the TV, and I’ve got a few movies if you want to watch something on the DVD. I’ll fix us something for lunch in a little while.”
“Ray, are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother, really. I just needed a place to stop and think, without everyone looking at me like I’d betrayed them all.”
“I’m sure. Friends are people you can call on when you need them, and we’re friends.”
Ray did not mention the possibility that, after today, they might become more than friends. Ana Maria, after all, did have those very nice legs! She wouldn’t be grieving forever; he could wait.
#
Shezzie had not forgotten the night’s activities when we got up. She was still cold to me, but at least now she was speaking.
“I need you to take my Subaru to that shop on Montana. I had a blowout coming in to town and I need something reliable today. If you can take the Subaru to the store, and have them look at the other tires too, I’d appreciate it. I’ll take your truck while you do that, and then you can take my Subaru while you look for Henderson.”
I said I could do that. Maybe I could help put yesterday behind us. It was cheap at the price, just taking her car to the shop.
“Why do you need something reliable today?”
“I’m going to Juarez. I took Spanish in high school, and it’s rusty, but I’ve been around Spanish speakers since we got to El Paso. Some in New Mexico, too. The language is coming back to me and I can understand it, even if I can’t speak it fluently yet. I hope I can overhear something around the police station by using my Talent. If they know anything, I’ll pass what I overhear on to you and Ray. We agreed we’d help him, before that...that episode last night.”
“Are you sure you’ll be safe over there?”
“I can form the bubble to protect myself if I find I’m in danger. If I need you, I’ll call; I’m not as skilled as you are at controlling stuff, lifting and so on, but I can do that too. I’ll be all right.”
She headed for my truck and I went down to get her Subaru. I detoured through the lobby long enough to pick up some of the ‘continental breakfast’...I’ve had breakfast in Germany and France, and trust me, what the hotel offered isn’t the same...and then found her car. The gas tank turned out to be nearly empty, of course. I stopped to gas up before heading to the tire shop.
I parked, went in, and ended up in the waiting room until a salesman was available. I glanced at some of the ad magazines that all such offices seem to collect, but found nothing interesting. I was still considering that object in my neck. I needed to get it removed, before what happened to Surfer happened to me. I thought about it while I waited.
Finally a youngish guy, very enthusiastic, came over.
“The Subaru I’m driving had a flat. Blowout, she said. I need the tire replaced. Can you check the others, too? She’s not very mechanical, and I don’t want her stranded on some West Texas highway.”
“Sure, be glad to. Have a seat and help yourself to the coffee.”
He was back in about five minutes. “How long have you had the car, sir?”
“Not long, a few months. Why?”
“We can replace your tire, but I checked the others. They’re all in need of replacement. There’s quite a bit of wear and some evidence of sun damage. With an a
ll-wheel drive, it’s usually best to replace all the tires at the same time.”
“And how long is this going to take?”
“We can have you out of here by noon, sir. We’re a bit busy this morning, but I’ll get someone on it as soon as possible.”
“I really need to replace all of them?”
“I wouldn’t recommend you keep driving on those, sir. You’ve already had one failure. And you said it was a car used by a lady who’s ‘not mechanical’?”
I muttered a dirty word and went with him to select the new tires, four of them plus the spare. He was enthusiastic still, and happily smiling now. Cheeky bastard.
“Can someone run me out to the airport?”
“Oh, certainly. It’s not far. We can do that.”
I left the car in their hands and went off to see what I could rent. I would swing by later to pick up the Subaru after Shezzie got back. Or maybe Ray would help. I decided to try that.
We dropped the connection. He’d said it was OK, but it wasn’t, not yet; well, we’d work through it. Hopefully.
I rented a car at the airport. I wanted something inconspicuous, and it was that, but it was also underpowered. I know the American manufacturers have to push for fuel economy, but must so many of their products be such dogs on the freeway?
I headed to the Holiday Inn, but couldn’t detect any sign of Henderson when I got there. I asked the desk clerk if Henderson was in his room, and he wouldn’t tell me. I told him to go ahead and ring the room; I would just use one of my assumed names if Henderson answered, but he didn’t.
“Did he leave a message for me, by chance?”
Of course not, but hey; the desk guy didn’t know that. He said there Henderson had left no messages.
“We were going to meet later. We have business to finish.”
I smiled at the clerk. Yes indeed, we had unfinished business, Henderson and me.
“He left no messages, sir, but he did mention he was going to Fort Bliss.”
“Oh. I didn’t expect him to leave this early. Maybe I can catch him there.”
I wasn’t sure if going in to the Army post was a good idea. I had good documents, but would they stand up to a real search? What if they took my fingerprints for something and discovered I was a deserter?
I didn’t know what gate security might do, and it wasn’t worth the risk finding out. I might be able to detect Henderson if he passed nearby; I certainly would recognize him, at least as soon as he could recognize me. It was worth a try.
I drove out the Interstate and thought about the best place to intercept Henderson. He would have taken the Interstate Highway as the shortest way to Fort Bliss, so he might take the same route back to his hotel when he left the base.
I picked up a magazine at a bookstore and looked for a good place to wait. There was a restaurant, not far off the route I expected Henderson to take. I could wait there and read the magazine.
I soon settled in and had coffee near the intersection of Airport Road and Montana Avenue, scanning through the magazine while Iwaited.
There was no certainty that Henderson would come this way, but it was worth waiting to see. Other exits from Fort Bliss led generally north into housing areas; such usually have a lot of congestion.
The Franklin mountain chain dominates the skyline in El Paso, running roughly south to north. The Rio Grande flows along the west side of the mountains and around the south end of the Franklins through the pass that gives the city its name.
Across the river is Mexico. To the east are more mountains, the Huecos. El Paso has grown rapidly in recent years as trade increased with Mexico, but growth has been constrained by natural and political obstacles that have defined the shape of the city. As the city grew, a pattern developed that dictates how traffic can flow, whether easily via a freeway or slower and more congested through the old neighborhoods. I was basing my hopes for intercepting Henderson on that growth pattern.
The post had expanded periodically during the various wars. In time, a National Cemetery had been added on the north side. More land had been taken for the municipal airport and a military airfield that had been Biggs Air Force Base. The bombers were gone, now; it was still an airfield, but the Army had taken over and helicopters now used the field. All of this meant that leaving the area is slow, unless someone heads south and joins Interstate 10. I hoped Henderson was in a hurry.
I read my magazine, drank coffee, and settled in to wait.
#
It wasn’t much, what I felt; it was more of a tickle than a real contact. Still, we’d learned to be on the lookout for Henderson when I was in the School and avoided him as much as we could. We had gotten quite skilled at detecting him when he was anywhere nearby. It’s something that no non-TP will understand, but I recognized Henderson now; there was no possibility of error. The contact was there for a moment, very tenuous, and then it was gone. I realized that Henderson had just passed the restaurant.
I dropped money on the table to pay for my coffee and abandoned the magazine as I bolted for my rented car. Henderson was heading for Interstate 10, and since he hadn’t yet checked out of his hotel he might be going there next.
I thought through the problem rapidly, then took the on-ramp to I-10 and headed west. I pushed the little four-banger as hard as I could and busted as many speed laws as the car would let me along the way.
I began to feel that small tickle almost immediately, and soon there was no doubt. Henderson was ahead of me on the Interstate, possibly only two or three cars ahead. I pushed my way into the left lane and tried to get more speed out of the little car.
I managed to overtake Henderson’s car, and finally I got a look at him in the next lane over. Now that I had identified him, not only by the feel of his mind but also by sight, I tried to move into the traffic behind him.
I hadn’t known when I began this search exactly what I would do, but a plan had occurred to me, and now I just needed to get into position to make it work.
There was already a car directly behind Henderson, and he didn’t want to move.
I needed to be there, immediately behind Henderson’s car. There were overpasses ahead and supports for them, large, concrete supports. There were barriers too, to keep motorists from running headlong into those concrete supports. A wall would suit my purposes best, but any barrier would do for what I had in mind.
Finally, I simply moved in behind the car that was following Henderson. I would just have to wait until the car between us changed lanes or Henderson took one of the off-ramps.
As we approached downtown, Henderson began to slow for an exit. When he did, the car between us finally switched to the lane on our left; this left me an opening and I moved up. I was not quite tailgating, but I was close.
It wasn’t easy, and I doubt anyone else could have done it. I had to concentrate on driving my own car, while
still sparing a lot of attention for Henderson.
But I knew what was coming and he didn’t, so when the wheel jerked out of his hand and sent him off the road into the barrier, it caught him by surprise. I immediately slowed and pulled out of traffic, stopping behind his car. I glanced in my mirror to be sure I was safe from oncoming vehicles and got out. I was just a concerned citizen, rendering aid as the traffic veered around me.
Henderson was alive. He might not even have been injured by the crash, but he might have been stunned as the wheel jerked and the car hit the barrier. The air bags deployed and slapped him in the face. Now he sat there in shock, not yet moving.
I glanced over my right shoulder at the traffic exiting the Interstate; the drivers had slowed and moved over to give me room, but they were watching me as they drove past where I stood by Henderson’s damaged car.
I could not afford to waste time; he might recover from the shock. I could see his coat in the seat behind him. I didn’t know where the controller was, or for that matter whether he even had it with him; it might be in the coat, or it might be right there on the seat beside his hand. If he recognized me he might be able to grab that controller, and then I’d have to hurry before he used it on me. I took a deep breath and reached out, using my Talent.
I don’t know if he even saw me as I squeezed the carotid arteries. It took less than ten seconds before he lost consciousness. I kept the pressure on while looking in at him, and a few seconds later, he was dead. The contact I'd been feeling disappeared.
Henderson slumped over the collapsed air bag as I fumbled for my throwaway phone. I called 9-1-1 and reported there’d been an accident, and that the driver appeared to have lost consciousness. I was very helpful; I suggested that perhaps the driver had been drinking.
