He spotted Raymond, then signaled him to come to the building by using hurry motions using his hands. He disappeared into the building and Raymond crouched as he ran through the low creosote and small mesquite bushes, working to stay out of sight of the gunmen.
When he was thirty yards from the building, the man appeared again and said, “Andalé, hurry, they’re coming this way.” He didn’t yell, but his voice carried the urgency of the moment.
Raymond scurried as low and quick as he dared, all the while watching the armed men moving toward him, but not aware he was there.
He circled behind the dozer and made it inside. The man motioned him further into the shadows and said, “They’re after you in Mexico? What did you do?”
“They have a little boy and my partner in there, and are going to kill them.”
“Is your partner the woman, Kincaid? We know of her down here.”
“Yes.”
“What can I do to help?”
“You have any rifles?”
“This is Mexico, Flores, we are not allowed to have weapons.”
Raymond looked at him, “And this is La Linda.”
The man let a fleeting ghost of a smile show, then said, “I might have one.”
“Can I use it, and some ammo?”
He walked to the inside corner of the building and moved a tool box, revealing a hidden cabinet. He opened it and took out an AK-47 with a thirty-round clip, walked to Raymond and handed it to him. He said, “There are two spare clips inside, if you want them.”
Raymond said, “Thanks.” He got the two extra clips and slid them into his cargo pants pockets.
“Flores, how about this dozer? It can do some damage, you know.”
“That would help. One other thing, stop calling me Flores. My first name is Raymond.”
“I can do that. Do you want me to drive so you can shoot?”
“I may not have to shoot.”
“Amigo, you are Patrulla, and one of those hunted. I believe you will have no other choice.”
Raymond didn’t argue. He said, “We don’t want to shoot people, but when they shoot at us, we defend ourselves.”
The man nodded in understanding, “Yes, I believe you. You two are not sicarios, like those murderers with the cartels. But still, you have killed people, I believe.”
“Who are you?”
“Joaquin Robles. I used to live in Marfa, not far from your home. My wife sold tamales to your wife, Connie.”
“I remember you. What are you doing down here?”
“My wife died five years ago. I was born here, so I came back.”
Raymond said, “You sure you want to help me? It’ll get dicey.”
I was in the Hundred and First Airborne in nineteen-seventy in Vietnam. Had action at Fire Base Ripcord and a few other places, so I’m no stranger to it. Do you have a plan?”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
Joaquin thought a moment, “They in the church?”