I tighten my grip a little on the man in front of me. Evan told me his company would protect me, but I have no reason to believe him. Jesus told me once that he would fly me back to America in one of his own helicopters if I stayed with him for five years. But I finally ran away because his actions said otherwise.
The bike hits a bump in the craggy farm road and I head-butt Evan. For half a second, as my butt flies off the warm, leather seat, my hands loosen their grip on his waist. When I grab him again, I realize one of my hands is on his crotch.
I scramble to move it, but not before a pleasant burst of warmth kindles in my stomach. I turn my head so I'm looking out at fields and not at Evan, and I inhale deeply a few times, reminding myself that I don't want a man again. Not really. I'm like one of the Sisters. The physical attraction is there, of course, when the guy is hot like this one is, but my heart isn’t available.
Even so, I wonder, as we cut through a field at the edge of a trash dump site, what this man thinks of me.
Does he think that I'm a whore? That I had sex with the whole cartel? Does he think that I deserved what I got? He doesn't seem to know about the governor, so that's a point in my favor. I was a married man's mistress. Even though I was young and stupid and broke…it's not something I'm proud of. Not at all.
We're getting near the outskirts of Parral now. I know this area. The police in Parral could never be bought, and Jesus had some childish delight in travelling into their territory. Sometimes just to get an ice-cream cone.
If we can take little country roads around Parral and get to Camargo, we could stop for the night somewhere safe.
The sun is directly overhead now, meaning it’s taken us at least an hour or two longer than normal to travel the distance that we’ve traveled. Between the music and my rambling thoughts, it doesn’t feel like a long time, but I’ve gotten sunburned. I can feel it on my scalp and my forearms. Evan seems to be feeling the strain of our rough terrain and slow speed, too. His torso will twitch occasionally, the way muscles do when they’re about to give out, and I can feel him breathing hard sometimes. When we reach a small grove at the edge of our current field, I rub his back and lean close to his ear.
“STOP HERE FOR A MINUTE!”
We each guzzle bottles of water from Evan’s bag, and he offers me some beef jerky.
“Sorry I don’t have any sunscreen.” He’s got his hand out near my face, like he wants to touch it, but he doesn’t.
I just shrug.
Sometimes at the clinic we gave the poorer children tubes of sunscreen. I think about Sister Mary Carolina and my eyes sting.
In a matter of minutes, we’re back on the road. I spend the next two hours crying on and off, thinking about how much I’m going to miss the Sisters and my kids. Wondering who I’ll have to care about now. Praying they’re okay, that the cartel didn’t hurt them. I have to believe that they’re okay.
Through a series of elaborate elbow tugs and shouts, I direct Evan to a tiny dirt road. It’s been so long time since I’ve been here, I’m a little worried that my sense of direction is off, but then I see the little cemetery to my right and I know it won’t be too much longer. Maybe a mile, tops.
My scalp stings, and I have to squint into the afternoon sun. I see two enormous cacti a few feet to the left of the road, and my heart trips. I tug Evan's right arm and lean my lips up near his ear. “We're stopping up here! Take a right beside those rocks over there and follow the path through the weeds.”
Evan looks curious, and I nod at the rocks. “Trust me,” I tell him.
He nods once and speeds up.
The house we're going to should be a total secret. It's partway built under a dirt mound, with only small parts of stucco showing, and they blend in with the dirt.
This was one of Jesus's love nests. I know about it only because, in the months I spent as his beard, he took me here a few times for a long weekend—a weekend he really spent with his lover, David.
David Perez. He was a short guy, buff with a shaved head and a half-moon tattoo on his left arm. I liked him okay until the last week I was with Jesus. After that, I hated him.
As we round the corner and get to the house, Evan gasses the bike and I hold on tighter. Even if this is the most we’ll ever touch, it's nice to be close to a man this attractive for a little while.
I'm thinking lustful thoughts when we near the mound, and David steps out from behind a small tree and points a pistol at us.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Meredith's arms tighten around my waist, and she yells, “Go!” But it's too late.
We're going so slow that when I gas the bike, I can't maintain our balance and we fall to the right. I catch us with my leg and balance the weight of the bike and our bodies as I reach for the gun, then realize I can't hold the handlebar with my right hand and grab the gun.
Fuck!
“EVAN, GO!” she screams, and I want to go, I want to get her out of here so f**king bad, but I'm too late.
The bald dude with the gun is walking toward us as I try to push off with my leg and get us vertical enough that I can gas it without falling over. I try for half a second, which is as long as I need to know that I can't pull it off. I jerk my left hand out of its support system and yell, “Grab the handlebars!”
Meredith does, and I get my gun and fire a shot at homeboy's hip. It grazes him, and he shoots the bike's front tire.
“Shit!” Merri is off the bike, running, I assume until I feel her grabbing my left arm. “Come on!” she shrieks, and our friend shoots again. The bullet clears my blue jeans, then the tank, missing skin and bone by no more than an inch. I fumble off the bike and throw it in the direction of our friend with the gun.
He lets out a howl, and it's only then I realize that he doesn't look quite sane. His bald head, gleaming in the sun, is scraped and scratched: fingernail marks. I made the same ones on my own skin when I tried to kick the Dilaudid. His face is streaked with tears. He howls again and shoots at Merri, to my left.
“Fuck!” I yank her forward and lead her around the dirt mound, tugging her behind me, “Are you okay?” She must be, because she's running and I don't see blood.
Our would-be killer screams as he fires more shots. They’re wild, but I push Meredith in front of me just in case. We round the dirt mound, out of sight for a moment, but I can tell from his screams that he’s getting close.
Jesus, I’m so out of shape. Fucking accident. I was stupid. Can’t do this with one hand.
A close shot makes me jump; Meredith stumbles. She cries out as red blooms across her right shoulder. I rush her from behind, scooping her up with my right arm and throwing her over my shoulder, realizing belatedly that she's a sitting duck behind me, so I shift her to my front and hug her to me with my arm.