Forty-Four Book Eleven (44 series 11)

by Jools Sinclair

  “No, please don’t tell him, Kate. It’ll just make it harder for him to let go. Promise me you won’t tell him.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “But if you won’t come back, at least tell me where you are and I’ll come to you.”

  “I can’t, Kate.”

  “But you must need money. You didn’t take that much out of your bank account. The police showed me. They froze everything, but you must know that.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “Are you still in Nevada? David said he received a mysterious postcard the other day with a Las Vegas postmark.”

  “Kate, I can’t tell you. It’s for your own protection. You can’t be an accessory to this…”

  “Arizona?”

  I ignored her.

  “Okay, look. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I’m going to because you need to understand something. They’ve listed you as armed and dangerous.”

  “Yeah, I know. Okay, whatever.”

  “No, not okay and not whatever.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think you understand what that means. It means law enforcement agencies across the country have been issued a warning so when they find you, they don’t need to ask any questions. They’re going to shoot you on sight if you try to run. Damn it, don’t you see? I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. You’ve got to come back here and turn yourself in.”

  She was full blown out of control now and crying again. The only other time I had ever heard such pain coming from Kate was when our mom died. It made it all the worse.

  “Please,” she said. “Please, Ab— Please, just come home.”

  Just then two men walked through the alley, talking loudly.

  “¿Dónde vas?, huey,” one of them said.

  “Pues de regreso a Juárez, cabrón.”

  Ah, hell. Juárez was the city just across the Mexican border from El Paso. I hoped Kate hadn’t heard. I put my hand over the cheap phone, even if it was too late.

  “I gotta go, Kate. I love you. I’m sorry for putting you through this. Bye.”

  She started to say something but I hung up.

  The call didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Part of the reason I had left Bend was to spare the people I loved from having to go through the pain of a trial and conviction. But I hadn’t spared them anything. Ty and Kate were still suffering. They had to endure my absence and the anguish of not knowing where or how I was and, even though Kate hadn’t said anything, the shame of how I left.

  I hadn’t eased anyone’s pain. I just kept piling it on.

  But there was a bright moment. It had come when Kate said she knew I hadn’t killed Ben. That meant something. I would have to hold on to that.

  I thought about the reference to Juárez in the men’s conversation. They had been speaking quickly in Spanish and there was a lot of traffic noise. Plus the reception wasn’t great. With a little luck, Kate hadn’t picked up on it.

  But on the other hand, it was Kate.

  CHAPTER 24

  I pushed away the sadness that the conversation had left swirling around inside me. I needed to stay focused. Just a few more hours and I would be on the bus to a new farm, putting El Paso in my rear view forever.

  But I had to survive those hours.

  I thought about just hunkering down in and around the shelter the rest of the afternoon and night, but I needed a few supplies, things I might not be able to find in Hatch.

  I took a shower, changed, dug the paring knife out of my pack, and headed out. I pulled the battery and SIM card out of the phone, dropping the pieces in different trash cans along the way.

  Even filtered through the dust and haze of the city, the sun was still strong. I kept my head down but scanned the street from time to time, looking for anything suspicious and making sure I wasn’t being followed.

  I stopped at a store but found that everything was overpriced, so I went back to Goodwill. I bought another long-sleeve shirt, a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and some new underwear. Then I went over to Rite Aid and finally picked up some Advil and a few other sundries.

  When I stepped back outside, for a moment I thought I saw him again. Across the street, walking with a limp. Part of me was surprised that he was walking at all. And part of me was even relieved that I wouldn’t be wanted in connection with two murders. I reached back under my shirt and felt the knife in my pocket as the adrenaline surged through me. I was ready for him this time. I didn’t want it to, but if my life had to end on the streets of El Paso, I was ready for that, too. I was determined that if I was going down, I was going to go down swinging.

  “Bring it, bitch,” I whispered, the rage coming back.

  But a second later I realized it wasn’t him. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling my knees buckle.

  This was no way to live.

  I decided I needed to make one more stop.

  CHAPTER 25

  I pulled down my cap and ducked inside.

  The surveillance cameras, located just below the ceiling in the four corners of the small shop, immediately caught my eye. I was just about to leave when a voice called out.

  “May I help you?”

  There was something in the way he said it. Four little words. It was hard to explain. I think it was the kindness in his voice that caught me off guard. The cameras had already captured my image anyway. Might as well stay and get what I came for.

  The knife in my pocket gave me some confidence, but I needed something more. Or something less. Something I could carry around without setting off a metal detector or running the risk of a self-inflicted wound. Something that, if things went bad and I got caught, wouldn’t throw more gasoline on the fire and reinforce what people already believed about me. That I was a knife-wielding murderer.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said.

  I had hoped there would be other customers, but I was the only one in the store. I kept my head down without being too obvious, but removed my sunglasses.

  “I’m going to guess you’re looking for a little personal protection,” he said.

  He was a slight man with a big comb-over, the wispy hair pulled across his bright scalp.

  I nodded.

  “Do you already have something in mind, or would you like me to present you with some options?”

  “I think I’d like some pepper spray,” I mumbled.

  He shot me a kind smile and nodded.

  “Sure I can’t interest you in a small handgun or even a Taser? I just got in some nice .22s. Light, easy to carry. Nothing against a little pepper but a lot has to go right for it to work. Basically you have to take the assailant by surprise and then you have to hold your nerve. And of course your aim has to be true. That’s a lot on your plate, right there.”

  He was right. I remembered the last time I had tried to use it. Against Samael, last winter on that footbridge that crosses the Deschutes near Drake Park. Back when I thought he was a killer. I had forgotten about the safety switch.

  “I guess so,” I said. “But it’s what I can afford right now and what I’m comfortable with.”

  “Enough said.”

  That surprised me. I would have expected more of a hard sell, but he walked over to the display case housing the spray. As he brought out some different models, I glanced at the rifles lined up behind the counter, the handguns and knives underneath the glass, and the bows hanging on the far wall.

  There were some photos and posters, too. One of Steve McQueen caught my eye. He was riding a motorcycle from that scene in The Great Escape.

  “You know he died not too far from here,” the man said. “Just across the border at a cancer clinic. Too young.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Anyway, here’s some to choose from.” He pointed to the four canisters on the counter. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

  I studied the selection. One was in the shape of a small handgun and came with a holster. Another looked like a pen. Two of
the models were the more traditional keychain canisters. I just wanted something small I could carry in my pocket at all times.

  “This pink one here is my bestseller,” he said, holding out one of the keychain models. “You get hit with a dose of this and it’ll ruin your day.”

  I nodded and picked it up, feeling its size and weight. The attacker flashed in my mind and I envisioned emptying the entire load into his face and watching him scream. And then kicking him again.

  “This is good,” I said. “But not in pink.”

  Not that I could see it, but it was the point. I hated pink.

  “It also comes in black and lime.”

  “Black.”

  He took the spray and I followed him back to the register, where he pulled out one of those old-fashioned receipt books and a pen.

  “So you from around here?” he said.

  “No, Los Angeles.”

  I thought I’d have it line up with the hat.

  “That Kershaw sure can bring it, I tell you what,” he said, nodding toward my cap. “He’s from Dallas, you know. Too bad St. Louis seems to have his number.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about but shook my head and said, “Yeah, it’s a real shame,” hoping that would be enough.

  “So what brings you to El Paso?”

  “I’m visiting my girlfriend, she goes to school out here,” I said, making it up as I went along and wishing he would hurry. “I had to leave my spray behind. You can’t bring it on planes, you know.”

  “That 9/11 changed things.” He stopped writing and looked up at me. “What’s that W used to say all the time? ‘Freedom isn’t free’ and ‘Otherwise, the terrorists win.’ Well, if you ask me, the terrorists did win. Can’t board an airplane without having to take off your boots or have your privates X-rayed? Where’s the freedom in that?”

  I smiled.

  “Okay, damage comes out to $23.97. Paper or plastic?”

  “I don’t need a bag. I’ll just put in my backpack.”

  “No, what I meant was, cash or credit.”

  “Oh, sorry. Cash.”

  I put down a ten and three crumpled fives on the counter.

  “I’ll also need to see your ID. State law. They make me keep records of these transactions in case you go out and pepper someone to death. Next thing, they’ll want to regulate hot sauce.”

  He laughed. I tried to look cool, noticing that his energy was off when he had said it. I wondered if he was telling the truth.

  “Shoot. Sorry, I didn’t realize,” I said, going into golly gee mode. “I left my purse back at my girlfriend’s apartment. To tell you the truth, I felt a little nervous walking around with it.”

  “Hmmm,” he said. “I can understand that. Some rough neighborhoods ’round here.”

  “Well, not a big deal,” I said, reaching for the money. “I’ll just stop back in tomorrow.”

  He put his hand over mine and patted it. Normally, and especially on the heels of what had happened yesterday, it would have turned my stomach. But there was something about him, a kindness that came through again. And a deep loneliness as well.

  “I’m just going to look the other way this one time,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. What the government don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”

  “That’s nice of you,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Wouldn’t mind knowing your name though, just for personal reasons.”

  “Callie.”

  “Stan.”

  He gave me my change and the pepper spray.

  I began to leave and the bows caught my eye again. I was struck by how cool they looked, like something from The Hunger Games. He noticed my gaze and turned around to look at them.

  “Like those, huh?”

  “Yeah, they seem to have a quiet power to them.”

  “Exactly. I’d take one of those over a gun any day. Strictly for the pure of heart. They’re for the hunter who respects his prey. Native Americans believed the bow and arrow were sacred. It’s a warrior’s weapon, no doubt about it.”

  I gave him a little smile.

  “’Course, I sell them to a lot of weekend hunters who use them in their backyards during half time. But a man’s gotta make a living, right?”

  I nodded and turned again to leave.

  “Wait,” he said. “How long you gonna be around?”

  “A few more days I guess.”

  “I close here at six. I have a bottle of Beam. Maybe you’d like to come back for a drink. Just to talk, you know. You can bring the pepper spray if you don’t trust me.”

  He just put it out there, a quiet desperation running through his words. I believed him, that he meant me no harm.

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had all week,” I said. “But I’m going to have to pass. Thanks anyway.”

  He aimed a sad smile in my direction.

  I left him there with his guns and knives and bows and loneliness, and walked out to the street.

  CHAPTER 26

  I was almost back at the shelter when I saw it.

  It rocked me, like a shotgun blast to the chest.

  Pointblank.

  A familiar face looking back at me from an El Paso Times newspaper rack.

  My face.

  The headline read, Have You Seen Her?

  CHAPTER 27

  I walked quickly, forcing myself not to run. Just a few more blocks, I told myself. Stay cool.

  Stay cool.

  I turned the corner and saw people filing inside. I sighed. Almost home.

  If I could just make it inside, I would be all right. These people, both the ones who slept there and the staff at El Campesino, were too busy to read newspapers. Who read newspapers anymore anyway? No, I would be all right. Just a few more hours and the bus would take me away from here. Then they could look for Abby Craig in El Paso all they wanted.

  I went to the back, pulled down my hat, and followed the last of the workers into the shelter. I made my way to the little bathroom and tried to catch my breath. I had finally managed to calm down when the door suddenly opened, but it was just the old woman. She was holding a jar of something. She smiled and removed the lid, dipping her fingers and rubbing her hands together.

  “Para tus dedos,” she said, handing me the jar. “Para tus dedos.”

  I looked down at my own hands. They were a bloody mess. I came back at the end of each day with a fresh crop of new cuts and blisters to add to the original ones, which never got enough time to properly heal. I took some of the ointment and began to work it into my hands. After just a few seconds they already felt better.

  “Gracias,” I said, holding the jar out to her.

  But she just shook her head and pointed at me.

  “For you, Dolores.”

  She turned around and shuffled away, leaving me to stare at my face in the mirror again.

  “You see anyone here who looks like Abby Craig?” I whispered at the reflection, my eyes dancing wildly.

  “Not me,” the mirror replied, steady and cool.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Hey, llorona, tonight you take your little girl nightmares and sleep far away from me, you hear?” Lupe said, first thing in the morning. “All night long with, ‘That’s not me, that’s not me, that’s not me.’ Well, you know what I think, weepy? I think it is you.”

  I stared at her for a moment like she knew. But then realized she was just messing with me.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said, playing along.

  Somehow I had managed to get some sleep during the night, the knife under my makeshift pillow and the pepper spray in one hand, the face behind the dirty plastic of the newspaper rack haunting my dreams.

  It was cold when I stepped outside. The coldest since I’d been here. If it was this cold this close to the Mexican border, I wondered how cold it must be back in Bend. It was probably the type of night where I would have had to cover the plants in my little chef’s garden.

  “Híjole, huey,” someone sai
d. “Esta más frío que las nalgas de un pingüino.”

  I took my seat on the chilly cracked vinyl and let out a sigh. I was going to make it. In thirty minutes I would be in New Mexico and never have to come back here again.

  “Hasta la vista, El Paso,” I whispered when the driver closed the door, a tiny smile on my lips.

  I heard a siren, getting closer, but there was no need to worry, I told myself. A lot a crime here in the city.

  But just as I felt the driver shift into first, the back of the bus was suddenly lit up by the flashing lights of a police cruiser, the siren now howling directly behind us. It stayed back there for a few seconds before slowly passing on the left.

  That was a close one, I thought as I started breathing again.

  But then the police car cut over at an angle in front of the bus, blocking its path.

  It was too late to run, but I thought about it anyway. I remembered what Kate said, about how I was considered armed and dangerous and what that meant, but I thought about it anyway. I gripped the seat back in front of me and began to get up, wondering if I could somehow jump out the window without being seen. No way. It was too late.

  The bus door opened and one of the cops stepped inside.

  “La Migra,” I heard a few people whisper.

  Maybe they were here looking for people without papers. I felt stupidly relieved for a moment, thinking that it didn’t concern me, before quickly realizing that it totally concerned me. I was one of those people. But this wasn’t an immigration cop. This was El Paso PD and they weren’t looking for undocumented workers.

  They were looking for me.

  “Just wanted to give you a heads up,” I heard the cop say to the driver. “There’s an accident up on I-10 just before Anthony. A tanker truck lost it and spilled its load. It’s going to be a few hours before they get it cleared. We’re setting up a detour but you may just want to avoid the area altogether and take the 54 over to the 404.”

  He looked toward the back of the bus. I adjusted my cap a little lower.

  “I ’ppreciate it, officer,” the driver said.