There was no choice because getting to familiar surroundings would be to his advantage. Safety was there, too, in the one bedroom rental apartment above the Lerma’s garage. Holland didn’t know about the apartment, and neither did any of Holland’s group. He’d made sure of that. Sometimes a man needs a private place, a sanctuary.
Riffey figured it was two or three days walking to get there. Then some rest, a change of clothes, and a long, hot shower. After that, he would get the hidden cash and buy some food before returning to the apartment and the bottle of tequila in the cupboard. The first drink would be to celebrate being alive, and the second for his murdered friends in La Sombra. After that, he would drink to forget, and to remember.
The daydreams were so strong about getting there that he almost stepped on a diamondback curled at the edge of the road. The snake buzzed its rattles, scaring Riffey so much that he hurried to the center stripe. Still shaking from the snake encounter, he decided to walk the center stripe all the way to Presidio, but at that moment a ranch hand in a pickup stopped and asked him if he wanted a ride.
Riffey said, “I sure would.”
The cowboy said, “Name’s Mario, hop in.” As Riffey settled in the passenger seat, Mario looked him over and said, “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look kind of haggard, and I’m not talkin’ about Merle, either.” He smiled with the little joke.
“It’s sure been a hell of a few days. I’m Floyd, by the way, Floyd Riffey.”
Mario glanced toward the Rio Grande. “You in Mexico?”
“Yeah, not having fun either.”
“It wasn’t hard to tell that you crossed.” He nodded at the dried, brown water stains on Riffey’s pants and shirt. “And seeing as how you’re an American, I’m guessing you had some folks on your tail.”
Riffey told a small lie. “They were, but not now. I’m back in Texas.”
Mario nodded, “I’ve crossed through the Rio a time or two myself.” He reached across the cab in front of Riffey, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a pint of Canadian Hunter whiskey. He offered it, “Help yourself. I’d say you could use it.”
Riffey took the slender bottle, unscrewed the cap and said, “Here’s to you,” and took a long swallow. The burn made his eyes water. He wiped the mouth of the bottle with the sleeve of his shirt and handed it to Mario. The two men drank the pint dry before reaching Presidio’s city limits. Riffey lied about where he lived and had Mario drop him off two blocks from the apartment. He walked the two blocks with his head on a swivel, looking for Holland or Guereca, the fear still that great in him.
When he stepped inside his little room and closed the door, there was a tremendous sense of relief. Leaning his back against the door, Riffey closed
his eyes and let his breath and his pulse gradually slow to normal. In this small place he felt safe. No, that was not it; he felt hidden.
***
Hunter drove through Valentine while listening to an audiobook of a John Sandford novel when her cell rang. She paused the story and looked at the phone: Mike Turk. She answered, “Hey Mike.”
“Hunter, I just flew Raymond to the hospital in Alpine. He had a heart attack.”
Hunter felt a lump of ice form in her stomach, “Is he all right?”
“He’s not good. He was unconscious for the flight. They had to do CPR twice on him after we got there.”
Hunter’s mind raced, “Has anybody told Connie?”
“Yes, she’s on her way to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“What it was, Raymond parked his car at the mouth of Capote Creek and started following a group, but then had the heart attack. From the sign, somebody carried him out of the mountains and brought him back to the vehicle, then called on the radio for help. I was near Presidio and picked up one of their SRT guys who had a medic’s kit and we flew to Capote.”
Hunter knew there was a lot more that Turk was leaving out so he could keep the conversation short. “Who was it that called it in?”
“We don’t know. He wouldn’t give his name, and wasn’t there when we took Raymond. His tracks led into the brush.”
“Was he Mexican?”
“Nope, sounded like a gringo. Whoever he was, he kept Raymond alive. He even got into the vehicle’s first aid kit and gave Raymond an aspirin and some water, which I’m hearing from the Alpine hospital people was a big plus.”
Hunter glanced at her odometer and saw she was doing ninety-five. She eased off to ninety. “Thanks for telling me, Mike.”
“You bet.”
Hunter drove above the speed limit all the way to Alpine, and lucked out at the hospital when she found a parking space near the entrance. She talked to the woman at the desk, whose name plaque read: Norma Gonzales. “I’m here to see Raymond Flores. He was flown in earlier.”