by Jim Heskett
I dragged Omar’s vibrating body onto the ground, and his eyelids fluttered at me. I hadn’t ever seen this before, and had no idea what to do. I didn’t think taking him to a hospital was a good idea, because that would only confirm to IntelliCraft that he was with me, if they didn’t know already. Even though they probably did.
But if I did nothing and he died out here, how could I let that sit on my conscience? Wasn’t the whole point to keep Omar alive and safe?
I ran back into the diner and threw the door open. “Is there a doctor here?”
A dozen customers and waitstaff turned their heads to me, blinking, not speaking. No one stood and answered my question.
“What about a paramedic or EMT? A veterinarian, for fuck’s sake?”
A couple of them shook their heads, but they mostly just stared. Some country music about Jesus and cattle blared from the speakers.
“Is something wrong, dear?” a waitress said. “Do I need to call you an ambulance?”
I dashed back out of the diner, but when I rounded the corner, Omar was gone.
“Oh, no, shit, no. Where the hell did he go?” I yelled his name. No answer.
I blindly ran into the darkness beyond the motel. With my phone out, I turned on the flashlight app, which barely lit fifteen feet in front of me. Nothing but gravel parking lot and then dirt and weeds trampled under my feet.
But I kept running and shouting Omar’s name every few seconds. He couldn’t have gone anywhere, could he? More likely, he’d been snatched. I’d left him alone, and they’d come back and taken him.
Snatched, and now gone forever.
Then I heard a grunt, like an animal, to my right. I flicked the flashlight in that direction and saw a figure huddled against a barbed wire fence, with one hand grasping the wire. Saw his chest heaving.
“Omar?”
He raised his head, panting. “What happened?”
“I think you had a seizure.”
He fell forward and crawled toward me. I ran to him, took him by the hand, and helped him to his feet.
“Yes,” he said, “I remember now. I felt it when it began.”
“Tell me what to do. Do we need to go to the hospital?”
He shook his head. “No. Just some water, please. I have some medication in my bag. Can you get it for me?”
I helped him to the motel and sat him down on the bed. I made sure he was comfortable, then went to the car, retrieved his suitcase, and dug out a collection of pill bottles. Got him a glass of water from the bathroom sink.
He downed his pills and laid back on the bed. “Thank you.”
“Do you get those seizures often?”
“From time to time. It is worse when I am under a lot of stress. I try to stay calm as much as possible.”
Well, maybe I shouldn't have kidnapped him from his quiet life in Austin and made him go on a suicidal and poorly-planned road trip with me to Mexico. But it was a little late for that.
“Who did they send from the company?”
“The CEO, a guy named Edgar.”
Omar mused on this for a few seconds. “I do not know that name. Are you sure he was with IntelliCraft?”
“He had a guy with him that I know for sure is one of them.”
“This is bad,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s an understatement. What are we supposed to do? They can somehow track our every move. I don’t know how we’re going to keep you safe out here if we can’t go around unnoticed.”
Omar finished the rest of his water and coughed for a few seconds. “I have an idea, but it may be a poor one.”
I laughed, a little nervous titter. “One poor idea is better than the zero brilliant ideas I have right now.”
“Can you trust me?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Then I know a place we can go, to the south of here. I know some people, and they are not what you might deem good people, but they may be willing to help us. It will not be easy, and there could be some danger. But if this is all we have, then this is what we must do.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I couldn’t sleep. The motel bed was too soft, and my body kept bending at weird angles. With Omar snoring softly in the other bed, I slipped out and went into the motel courtyard. A covered pool sat in the middle, so I went into the fenced-in area and sat on a lawn chair.
A long time ago, my mom and my dad and I had taken a trip to Myrtle Beach, and for some reason, I’d preferred the hotel pool to the beach. The beach was only a few blocks away, but I just wanted to swim in the chlorine and hang out on the pool chairs. I couldn’t have been more than twelve.
That was the last year I’d spend with Heath Candle. The last time I saw him was only a few months after that, at my sixth-grade science fair. He’d come to see my project at school that day, my poster board presentation about how volcano eruptions affect the atmosphere. I didn’t see him until the end, after I’d accepted my third-place ribbon, when I noticed him at the back of the room. He claimed he didn’t want to interrupt me, but I knew that was bullshit, even at that age. He’d come in late and thought he could pretend he’d been there the whole time.
That night, he and my mom fought, in their whisper-yelling they thought I couldn’t hear. But I heard all of it. The next morning, he was gone. Didn’t say goodbye.
And now he was dead, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
Naming me executor of his will must have meant something. Did it mean I was the only person in the world he still had, except for this Susan person? Why hadn’t he named her the executor, or his sister, my Aunt Judy?
I didn’t have any explanation. I was a thousand miles away from my wife, away from home, where I should have been. I never should have left Grace so soon after what she’d had gone through.
The task I’d come here to accomplish seemed to be hanging on by a thread. Omar and I weren’t exactly getting along well, we had no good way to get out from under IntelliCraft’s thumb, and I didn’t even know where to find Susan Palenti.
After a few minutes of staring at the cover of the pool and letting a few tears collect on my cheeks, my eyes started to droop. I’d have to give the too-soft bed another try.
I walked back up the concrete motel stairs to the second floor, then paused outside our room. Heard something.
I slid my key into the lock and opened the door quietly, then found Omar on the floor, on his knees, silently praying on a mat. With his hands up next to his head, he was whispering to himself, then he leaned forward, his head on the floor. He hadn’t seen me or was too involved to pay attention.
Who was this man traveling with me?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In the morning, Omar and I took a taxi east of town to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere. I called Grace and told her I’d had to change my flight because everything was taking longer than anticipated. She didn’t seem to have a problem with this, and said she was feeling better every day. A little more human, a little more normal. She’d been taking Dog for walks around the neighborhood, and he trotted along at her side, growling at any other dogs that came near her. I hadn’t expected the mutt to take to her so quickly.
I promised myself I was going to tell her the whole story at some point, but I didn’t want her to worry now. Plus, I felt guilty for not being there to help her. I should have been the one growling at other dogs who approached my wife.
The taxi left us near the little town of Adkins. I hadn’t wanted to leave the car behind, but anything we could do to throw off IntelliCraft seemed like the wise choice. But, as usual, I hadn’t seen anything suspicious while looking out the window of the cab en route.
We sat in the dirt beside a stretch of highway, little else besides barns and fences and mounds of dirt in all directions. The air was thick, full of pollen. I sniffled a few times, trying to adjust to taking shorter breaths.
Omar was plucking grass from a small patch by the road. He stuck two blades in his mouth like a cigarette, then
puffed out his cheeks as he expelled the air. After a few seconds, I realized he was trying to get the blades to whistle.
He tossed the blades of grass to the side and gave me a sheepish grin. “I have never been skilled at making that work.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I said. “This guy who’s coming to get us, he’s your friend?”
Omar wiped dusty hands on his shirt. “The woman coming to get us is. She has roommates, and as for the rest of them, I do not know them. But they will take us in, for now. I believe this is the best option.”
Or, the only option. If I’d thought there was a better way, I would have suggested it. The things Omar had told me about these people didn’t set me at ease. But going to Three Rivers also put us closer to the Mexican border.
A half an hour later, a beefy blue Dodge with red pinstripes and more than its fair share of body damage revved up beside us. Behind the wheel sat a woman with a biker bandanna and hints of a tattoo poking above her jacket collar. She nodded at Omar.
Omar opened the trunk and we both put our bags inside, then rounded the car. He got in the front, and I slid into the backseat.
The woman reached across the car and shook Omar’s hand. “Well, I’ll be god damned. It’s good to see you.”
“It has been too long,” Omar said. He turned to me. “Vanessa, this is Tucker Candle.”
I reached forward, but Vanessa turned away from me and kept her hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t know you, Tucker Candle. Me and Omar go way back, and he says you’re okay. But don’t take no offense if I want to find out for myself, get me?”
“Um, okay. I understand.” The impulse to bolt out the car door tugged at me, but I had to believe Omar knew what he was doing.
Then, a second thought: why in the world would I think Omar knew what he was doing? This was the same guy who had faked his way into a pseudo-escape from a group home.
Before I could do anything impulsive, Vanessa floored the gas, and we were off.
We spent a half hour on a two-lane highway before connecting with I-37. I craned my neck around every few minutes, looking for reappearing cars or anything that appeared to be too close. Maybe I was deluding myself that I could spot a tail.
For most of the trip, no one spoke. Vanessa played some horrific death metal, music so menacing and anxiety-producing that it made me long for dreadlocked Zeke’s jam-band stuff. At least that music was mellow. This stuff made me want to hurt somebody, and that didn’t seem to be the right kind of mental state for me to be in.
“How is your son?” Omar said above the grinding music.
“Doing good,” Vanessa said. “He’s living with his dad up in Denton right now, but I get up to see him every now and again. Sure as shit is hard being a long-distance mom, but I’m doing my best to make it work.”
Omar had told me he knew this woman but not how. She dropped a pinch of chewing tobacco in her cheek, and I got a look at a few gold teeth.
“I am glad to hear it,” Omar said. “I appreciated the Christmas card.”
Vanessa spit into an empty soda bottle. “I only had a couple dozen of them made. Just trying to stay in touch, you know?”
Christmas card? So odd.
A half hour later, we entered Three Rivers. Typical small-town Texas, with a dollar store, a Chinese buffet, and a host of Mexican restaurants lining the strip of the main street. Auto parts store. Gas stations at either end of town.
We blew through the town in about two minutes, then Vanessa turned onto a dirt road a couple miles past. We drove along a rutted track with disc-like cacti plants blurring on both sides, past dried-up ponds and random cows munching yellowing grass. Every time we hit a hole in the road and the car bounced, I had to take deep breaths to calm myself.
We bounced along the road for ten minutes, crossing some flatlands until we finally came to a half-unpainted house in the middle of a great big nothing. The property also contained a barn, a separate garage, and several cars littering the front yard. Besides a few rolling hills obscuring the view, I could see for miles in all directions.
Vanessa parked and got out, then popped the trunk. Omar gave me a look. “It is better if you do not ask too many questions. I will speak for us if need be.”
With our bags in hand, she jerked her head at me, and I got out of the car. On one side of the house, a cage built of chain link fencing housed a chubby black Labrador. The dog barked a rumbling howl; like the sound of an old car engine attempting to turn over. Its eyes were wide, tail curled, foam at the corners of its mouth.
“Okay, listen up,” she said. “You and Omar will be staying on the second floor, last door on the right. We ain’t got internet, but we got a house phone that we can make available to you. Talk to me or somebody before you use it.”
I slipped my phone out of my pocket. No service.
“Are you paying attention?” she said.
“Sorry.”
“As I was saying, no phone calls without checking in first. Whatever y’all need to take care of, work it out before you ask to use the phone. You’re free to wander the house or the barn, but the garage is off limits. Understand?”
I stared at the garage, which was covered in a patchwork of aluminum siding and exposed drywall. “Why?” I said, and the word had just slipped out, almost involuntarily.
Vanessa dropped the bags, crossed her arms, and got right in my face. “Because I said so, that’s why.”
***
The house was empty. From the main foyer, an archway led to a kitchen on the right, and there was also a living room with sagging couches and TV trays on the left. Stairs to the second floor straight ahead. Most of the walls were covered with a floral print wallpaper that was faded and peeling in spots. Some sections were exposed drywall, just like the garage outside. I try not to be a judgey kind of person, but this place was a dump. No other way to look at it.
Omar and I lugged our bags up a set of rickety stairs to find our sleeping quarters. Room at the end of the hall. No lock on the door. Twin beds inside, with creaky mattresses and blankets that smelled as if they’d never been washed.
I leaned up against the wall, trying to think what our next move should be. We were now carless and needed to push further south, as soon as possible.
Omar took a sheet of paper from a pad on the dresser, then sat on the bed, hunched over, and I couldn’t see what he was doing. He hummed a song to himself while he worked, his arms moving and swinging. In a minute, he spun, holding something in the palm of his hand. He’d twisted the paper into a shape.
“What is that?” I said.
“It is a crane. Can you not tell?”
I walked forward and accepted the little piece of origami.
“I had a Japanese friend at university. He taught me.”
I set the crane on the bed. “We can’t stay here long. I don’t like this place at all.”
“I understand,” Omar said, spreading the clothes from his suitcase along a dresser. “But Vanessa was very kind to take us in on short notice.”
Sure, I’d have to remember to send her one of my own Christmas cards next year. “We should talk about our next steps as soon as possible.”
“Yes,” he said. “But I am drained from all this travel. I need to rest for a day or two.”
Rest didn’t figure in well with my schedule. But we could talk about that later. “How do you even know that biker chick?”
“Vanessa and I have been friends for a few years. She may be gruff, but she is also kind, and fair. She is the sister of the man I used to room with in Austin.”
Ah, the pot-bellied redneck who tried to knock me out in the trailer park before I’d found Omar. “Yeah, I met him. Not a happy-go-lucky kind of guy.”
He cocked his head. “You met him?”
“It’s how I found you. He said you’d moved out because there was some kind of incident. Do you know what he was talking about?”
Omar averted his eyes. “I do not know.”
“Are you sure? He seemed pretty upset about it still.”
“Fine. Yes, I do know. He must have referred to when Kareem came to visit me.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Omar stared, then grunted a labored sigh. “I will tell you what happened.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Omar Qureshi opened the trailer door to a warm summer morning. By afternoon, the sun would bake the streets and sidewalks into something nearly unbearable, but mornings reminded him of home. Warm, dry, making the skin sting just enough to feel pleasant without bringing a sweat.
The screen door banged closed behind him, and his roommate cursed the noise. Still sleeping at nine o’clock, quite an American thing to do.
But Omar didn’t care about his roommate today because he was going to see his older brother, for the first time in nearly three years. He walked to the end of the trailer park and paused at the glass bin at the edge of the property to take a copy of the free Austin Chronicle magazine. Mostly, the magazine discussed concerts for bands he’d never heard of, but occasionally they reviewed restaurants. Sometimes, they even gave coupons. Omar liked to clip coupons.
He sat on the bench at the park across the street for an hour, drinking in the sun and flipping pages in the magazine. He watched some children playing, and he amused himself by trying to dissect the rules of their game.
When the taxi slowed on the street, Omar felt a nervous energy worm through his stomach. His brother leaned forward and passed the driver some bills, then exited the back of the cab, with a single rolling bag. This made Omar frown because he’d expected his brother to stay for a week or more.
Muhammed Qureshi—or Kareem Haddadi, as he was mostly known in this country—wore a sharp gray suit in the slim style that businessmen wore these days. As he smiled from the road, he fastened the bottom two buttons of his suit coat.
Kareem held open his arms. “Brother.”
Omar ran to him, letting the magazine flap to the ground. He threw his arms around Kareem and held his brother close for several seconds, until he could feel his big brother’s heartbeat.
