“Oh man. He’d better walk around with his hands up or we’ll be carting another body to the coroner, and it won’t be Hunter.”
“I just heard the other day about the shootout in Mexico. Not a lot of that info getting out.”
“Everybody who likes Hunter wants to protect her, so they’re not talking. She rescued some kids down there, if I heard right.”
“That’s what I heard, too, and a lot of bodies at the scene. Beautiful, lethal, and a good dance partner, plus she brings her own bottle to the dances.”
“What was that whiskey she brought to the last dance?”
“Devil’s River Whiskey. Made from Devil’s River spring water. Purest water in Texas, they say. That was some good stuff.”
Bobby chuckled, “That’s why we drank all hers.”
“That’s why we left in a hurry, too, when she came back to the table.”
“She’s funny as hell, too.”
“Yes, she is. But not today.”
They continued on in silence, their minds returning to the body in back.
Chapter 11
Two hundred yards from the road, Adan watched from a ridge that was all sharp edges and rough spikes interspersed in the fissures with thorny tasajillo, sotol, and nopal. He made a small noise as Hunter and the others left with Dario’s body. He watched Hunter longest, wishing he was with her. Adan cried for a while, thinking of his dead friend. An hour passed, and the only sound was the wind, softly soughing among the creosote and cactus.
He retraced some of the tracks and found the place where his friend was shot. Using a flat limestone rock shaped like the blade of a small shovel, Adan scraped dirt over the dark area of blood-soaked earth. It was all Adan could do to breathe, his grief was so strong. He stopped several times, then continued until all the evidence was gone and he didn’t have to see it any more.
There was nothing left to do but walk. The distance from Elephant Mountain to Terlingua was over forty miles. He thought about it, and since the direction to the town was almost parallel with road 118, if he felt like he couldn’t make it, he could go to the pavement and wait to be picked up by someone, maybe the Sheriff, or Highway Patrol, or the Border Patrol. There was enough traffic that he would encounter someone if that became necessary.
As long as he kept a sharp eye out for Ellis and RL.
Thanks to his mother’s teaching, he found meager nourishment on the way eating certain plants, and he knew where two of the wildlife watering systems were, the ones that caught the scarce desert rainwater and kept it in shallow, covered areas like cisterns. He’d heard the guardabosques, the game wardens, call them guzzlers. Adan was sure there would be a bit of water in them since there had been recent rain.
Adan took a deep breath, looked out across the harsh, desolate land, and said a small prayer before taking the first steps toward Terlingua. He hadn’t walked fifty feet before spotting an arrowhead in the game trail. He picked it up, admiring the delicate flaking to shape it, and the sharpness of the edges. It was small, less than two inches long. He wiped it with the edge of his shirt to polish the stone, and put it in his pocket. It was a sign of good luck, he thought.
**
Ellis watched the flashy Cartel leader as he drove up to park beside them in his black Land Rover. The black man with him, John Factor, exited the passenger side before the vehicle came to a complete stop, stepping gracefully to the ground and trotting for several steps before stopping at the same time as the vehicle.
The black man reminded RL of the actor Don Cheadle, except for the deadly looking pistol with the eight-inch silencer in his shoulder holster. He did not smile as his dark eyes took in Ellis and RL.
The Cartel leader opened the driver’s door and stepped to the ground. Flavio Valdez stood five-eight, a bit stocky and carried the weight in his barrel chest and stomach. He had short, dyed blond hair. RL remembered that he considered himself a gourmet chef equal to Guy Fieri and Bobby Flay, and liked to cook, often for others. But RL knew that neither Guy or Bobby had killed forty men, so there was that, too.
Flavio said, “You two eaten yet?”
“No,” Ellis said.
“Good, I’ve got stuff coming, I cooked it earlier.” As he finished talking, a van pulled up and opened the sliding side doors, emitting mouth-watering smells of Mexican food. Trays and bowls of all types and sizes covered the shelves, each one filled with food and condiments.
Two men in white server jackets put up tables with tablecloths, and added several bottles of wine. They continued to set the table with plates and silverware.
Flavio motioned to it, “You boys sit.” Ellis and RL did so. Flavio joined them, and the white-jacketed men served them. “I fixed chicken mole with adobo sauce, tatema, grilled tomatillos and onions, guacamole, tortillas, and flan for dessert. Then as a little treat for you, an excellent drink I learned to make in Ecuador. Canelazo. A wonderful mix of aguardiente, cinnamon, anise, sugar, and other spices. Delicious.”
Ellis knew to flatter him, “You made all this, today?”
“I did. It’s fresh, I guarantee.”
RL’s mouth watered. Flavio said, “Dig in.”