The Slob Monster of Skipper-Stone Creek

Written by, Vonda Norwood

The public may read the first three chapters of this crime drama.

I am shopping around for a place to publish this novel, that can be written as a series.

The story is for mature audiences, due to language and violence.

Follow me on X to be notified of the story’s release.

Happy Creating,

@vondanorwood

Chapter One

In the early spring of 2002, on a country highway in Kansas, twin headlights from a Greyhound bus carved a narrow path through a moonless night. While stars shone on the windows, casting ghost-like reflections of half-seen faces, the massive coach surged forward, its tires hummed rhythmically against the asphalt.

Inside, and at the very back of that bus, the engine’s steady growl vibrated through the floorboards, settling deep into Maria’s bones. The smell of fast-food wrappers and diesel fuel mingled in the air. “The back seat is bouncier,” she agreed, but kept that thought to herself. Maria pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “Don’t admit it to him.”

Under a weak, yellow haze from overhead lights, passengers slumped against high-back seats. Some slept with slack faces, while others gazed ahead with hollow eyes. Maria sat stiff with her fingers gripping dark-gray, vinyl armrests and she stared directly across the aisle. There, a young woman hugged an infant to her chest. The mother’s eyes were closed, her breathing slow and deep, while the baby’s bald head bounced softly beneath her chin.

Ruben held the window seat next to Maria. He leaned against his wife’s shoulder. His breath warmed the back of her neck as he whispered in Spanish, “Have you gone broody?”

Maria rotated right, pointing her knee toward the crisp ridge that she had ironed into his dark-wash Wrangler Riggars just yesterday. She matched his quiet tone. “Why did I marry a crazy Charro?”

Ruben grinned. He wore a starched western shirt in a deep, wine-red hue that featured bright-white pearl snaps down the front and matching V-shaped yokes across his shoulders. The fabric was tailored tightly to his chest, with the long sleeves neatly rolled back twice at the wrists, which revealed a pair of heavy, calloused hands. He rested his forehead on her temple. “Twenty-three years later, you have to know the truth, it’s what crazy farm girls do. Stop staring.” His sweaty brow warmed her skin and sent a chill racing down her spine.

“I’m—” She shivered.

“You need to rest.” Ruben reared his head and gazed down into her brown eyes. “This is a long trip, Baby. If you don’t rest, I don’t rest.”

Maria glanced around quickly, then brought her lips to his ear. “There are a lot of weird people on this bus.”

He cupped her cold hands. “Everyone is sleeping. You’re the only one I see acting like a weirdo.”

“What?” She pulled from his clutch. “I’m just watching out f—”

Directly behind them, the bathroom door snapped open. A lanky man burst into the aisle, exuding an acrid stench of urine and motor oil. He’d been in there for so long that Maria forgot anyone had gone into the latrine. She winced and turned to look over the headrest. The towering, skeletal figure yanked the door handle until it closed with a sharp, final click.

Maria’s eyes watered. She bowed her head and blinked rapidly. Beside her, Ruben leaned forward and held his breath.

That violator of the senses coughed. He stepped toward the aisle and stumbled into the side of Maria’s chair. Then he bounced into the seat where the young mother and her baby slept. The baby’s head popped up. Her mother gasped, she pulled the infant closer and then leaned toward the empty window seat beside her.

Maria rotated denim, skirt-covered knees toward the aisle. No matter how hard she blinked, the yellow haze masked the full view of that stranger’s face. Still coughing, he paused and stretched a grimy, red-freckled hand toward the pink blanket draped over the young mother’s shoulder. Maria’s eyes grew wide and her nostrils flared. She placed an open palm between the stranger’s dirty fingers and the woman’s back.

Ruben bounced out of his seat. His boots clicked sharply against the floorboard. In English, he shouted, “Man, what are you doing?” Passengers flinched in unison.

The cougher’s hand recoiled, he whipped around and stumbled up the aisle. A sharp, piercing cry from the baby cut through many grumbles and groans.

The intruder blended into the haze. Ruben lowered himself to his seat. Maria frowned and she turned to her husband who nodded and pointed back and forth, motioning for her to trade places with him.

***

After settling into his wife’s original seat, Ruben gazed across the aisle. The young woman swayed with her quieted baby to the steady, rhythmic jolts of the bus. A faint, powdery scent of milk replaced the foul stench that had choked their small space. When the mother glanced up, Ruben smiled softly. She clutched her infant tighter, then turned to stare into the darkness outside her window.

Ruben shifted to face forward and he cleared his throat.

Maria reached over and patted his knee. She whispered in Spanish, “I told you.”

***

The next morning, the bus rolled into Elk City, Oklahoma nine minutes ahead of schedule. A few people snickered, wondering aloud if they had time to visit the casino up the road. Others stretched, cleared their throats, and mumbled about needing coffee from the massive travel plaza. Their driver stood outside the open door surrounded by the smell of diesel, oil and asphalt. He wore a broad smile and nodded politely to passengers as they exited, and he greeted new travelers who climbed aboard.

Ruben stepped out with the crowd, on a mission to retrieve coffee and a healthy breakfast for two. That sprawling pit stop served as their terminal, doubling as a tourist trap with a few slot machines. It was also packed with restaurants, clothing boutiques, pottery shops, and jewelry stores.

Inside, Maria reclaimed her original seat, and formally introduced herself to Mrs. Arla Mitchell and her daughter, Bonnie from across the aisle. The two were on their way to El Paso, Texas, where a new tank commander named Heath Mitchell would be waiting to welcome them to their next, temporary home.

Maria yawned and then dropped her hand to her lap where she brushed away imaginary crumbs from a pair of light-blue sweat pants that she’d put on while in the latrine that she promised herself to never go into again. “From Nebraska to El Paso with a five-month old can be a long trip.”

“I know…” Arla sighed and shifted the baby to her right knee, allowing Bonnie’s pink, sock-covered feet to dangle near the aisle. “This is our third move,” Arla’s dark-blue eyes grew wide. “and we’ve only been married for a year and a half.”

Maria gazed down into the baby’s bright blue eyes. “Oh wow… Military life.” She smiled. Bonnie smiled back and delivered a soft coo.

Arla nodded. “Oh yeah, military life, exactly.”

“How old are you and your husband? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Arla held on to Bonnie with one hand, while she grabbed loose baby items from the seat next to her and placed them into a diaper bag on the same seat. “I’m twenty and Heath’s twenty-one.”

“You three have a long and happy life to look forward to.”

“Yeah, that’s how we see it.” Arla chuckled then she kissed the top of Bonnie’s head. “Some people just don’t get it.”

“Good news!” shouted a woman who leaped from the steps to beside the driver’s chair, capturing Maria, Arla and Bonnie’s full attention. The woman held a red, paper bag filled with popcorn. “This is Stinky’s stop. So, he will not be back!” A few passengers, including Maria and Arla cheered. The woman slapped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She turned to the seat behind the driver’s. “Move over Johnny.” She used her forearm to wipe at her mouth as popcorn dropped from it while she spoke. “I’m sitting there.”

“Give me some popcorn first.”

Arla and Maria watched as the woman kicked at the man’s leg. She clutched the bag to her chest. “Go get your own.”

Johnny stomped his foot on the floorboard. “Damn it, Tammy!” He stood, and as she maneuvered around him, he sneered, “I’ll get me something better than that for breakfast.”

 Tammy dropped to the chair. “They ain’t got nothing better than this in there.”

Johnny hopped down the steps and out of the bus.

Maria’s eyes grew wide. Arla giggled. Bonnie sucked on her pink fist and as her mother giggled, so did she. “I’ve been through here a couple of times, Maria. They got good food in some of the restaurants.” Arla leaned toward the aisle. “That popcorn does smell good.”

Maria smiled at her new friends. “Bonnie’s a sweetie.”

“She acts like she’s ready to nurse again.”

Maria shrugged. “Maybe she’s teething.”

“I hope so, because if she eats too much, she’ll sleep too much.”

Maria reached across the aisle, took hold of Bonnie’s free hand and caressed soft, tiny knuckles with her thumb. “She’ll sleep too much?”

“Miss Bonnie Blue slept all night last night. Which means she might not sleep much tonight.”

A shadow cast upon Maria’s arm. “I’ll babysit,” said a man who plopped a faded, navy-blue backpack onto the seat in front of Maria. The empty top half folded over like a deflated balloon.

“Uh,” Arla leaned back and looked up.

Maria released the baby’s hand, and she studied the stranger. He was average in height, too thin. As he spoke, she saw at least three missing teeth, one in front and two on the bottom right. Too weird, he’s only about thirty. Unless he rides bulls. The man wore a snow-white crewneck T-shirt that hugged his boney shoulders, paired with faded, light-blue jeans. On his feet were a pair of scuffed, brown leather work boots, their surfaces were cracked and the heels were flat.

Henry introduced himself and moved his blue sack over to the seat next to the window. He sat with his legs in the aisle. “I’m the oldest of seven boys. It’d sure be nice to care for a little girl for once.”

Maria frowned, and she questioned, “Do you ride bulls?”

“No. I’m not crazy.”

The middle-aged latina bit her tongue and stared wide-eyed at Arla who appeared mesmerized by the friendly newcomer who continued to speak fast.

“I know what it’s like. My momma always had her hands full, but I never did mind helpin’ out.”

 A rhythmic clack-clack-clack vibrated through the floorboards as Ruben, wearing  a pair of square-toe, caiman-belly leather boots, in a rich cognac color, approached Henry’s legs.

Henry gazed up noticing a thick, hand-tooled, brown leather belt which circled Ruben’s waist. It was secured by an oversized, polished silver buckle depicting a bucking bronco. “Excuse me,” said Ruben, who balanced a coffee carrier with two cups in one hand and a lumpy, grease stained, white sack in the other.

The aroma of fresh roasted coffee and melted cheese mixed with spicy chorizo filled the air around the women. Maria inhaled deeply and she smiled. Henry removed his legs from the aisle. In Spanish, Ruben asked Maria, “You okay?” He stepped up, handing the carrier to her.

Maria replied in English. “Yeah, hi.” She accepted the carrier. “Um, that’s Henry. The oldest of seven boys.”

Ruben studied Maria’s blank expression as he sidestepped in front of her knees. “Nice to meet you, Henry.”

No reply came from Henry. Arla watched his fingers move over a cell phone, wondering if the wanna-be babysitter was reading or writing.

Ruben pulled a foil-wrapped breakfast burrito from the sack.

“Why’s it so fat?” Maria’s nostrils flared. “What’s in it?”

“Everything heavenly, I mean, healthy.” Ruben chuckled. “Just like you told me to get.”

Maria sniffed the air. “I smell bacon and sausage…”

“Spinach is in there too.”

Arla stood with Bonnie cradled, sitting up in her left arm. Maria and Ruben went silent. “We’re going to do some stretching before the bus leaves.”

Henry flipped the phone shut then shoved it into his front pocket. “I’ll go with you.”

Maria rushed the coffee to Ruben’s lap. He steadied it using the burrito that he tried handing off to her. She sprang into the aisle behind Arla and Bonnie. Henry frowned. Ruben gazed over the headrests. “I need to stretch too.” Maria explained as she patted the top of Henry’s shoulder, “You relax, you just got on. I’ll go with them.”

“I guess,” Henry said and he glanced back at Ruben who grinned.

Arla cheered, “Oh nice… just us girls.” The ladies moved forward.

“I need to stretch my legs. I’ve been sitting way too long on those bouncy back seats.” Maria told Arla as they approached the driver. “That back seat is so much bouncier than the others.”

Ruben nodded, and in Spanish, he mumbled, “I tried to tell her.”

Chapter Two

The airbrakes released with a sharp heavy hiss and the bus launched forward, pulling away from the curb on its way to the interstate and their next stop in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

Inside the cabin, multiple conversations hummed along with a low and steady vibration from the engine. Still surrounded by the aroma of chorizo and bacon, Ruben peeled an orange, dropping the outer layer into a greasy, white bag. He stared at his wife whose eyes bounced back and forth, following the conversation between Henry and Arla.

“You have no idea where I live,” Henry told her.

Bonnie slept in Arla’s lap with her head resting on her mother’s arm. “I’ve been to many small towns between Oklahoma and Nebraska. What’s the name of your town?”

“It’s got all of five people left there.”

Arl laughed. “Five people ain’t a town.”

In Spanish, Ruben said quietly, “You have to share this orange with me.”

Without taking her eyes off the conversation, Maria reached in Ruben’s direction. He pulled the orange apart and placed half onto her palm.

“Heard of Skipper-Stone Creek?” Henry peered around the chair at Maria who shoved an orange slice into her mouth.

“No…I don’t think so.” Arla pondered, “Skipper-Stone, the smooth rocks…Five people left? Is it really that tiny?”

“Na, just seems like it. Everyone lives in the hills far from each other, or on farms right off Post Oak.”

“The highway?”

“Yep.”

Now, I do know Post Oak Highway. It’s got that scary drop right off a mountain.”

“It’s not a mountain.”

“It’s a very steep hill. And scary.” She looked at Maria. “They don’t even have any guardrails.”

Maria shook her head. “Wow, sounds terrifying.”

“It is.”

Henry shrugged. “That’s exactly where I live.”

“There’s a town there?”

“Right where the drop is.”

“You live down the drop?”

“Nothing’s down that hill.”

“Post Oak ends not too far from Elk City, right?”

“Between Muscogee and Elk.” Henry stood. He turned and knelt on the seat. “You do know your highways. You’re intelligent. I like that.”

“My daddy drove us all over the country when we were little. My sister and I hated that patch of highway.” Arla’s hands trembled as she remembered. “We would just cling to each other every time the car rounded the corner.”

“A year and a half isn’t very long to be married,” Henry insisted.

Maria glanced over at Ruben whose eyebrows raised.

Arla smiled. “We’re still on our honeymoon.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Henry told her.

“What?”

“Well, being apart so much, you sure you guys are actually married at all?”

Maria gasped then coughed and choked.

“Of course we are.”

Ruben patted Maria’s back until an orange slice dislodged from her throat. She inhaled long and hard.

“Are you okay, honey?” Arla reached across the aisle and patted her shoulder.

Maria rubbed tears from her eyes. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Henry squinted in Ruben’s direction. “What are you, a Mexican cowboy?”

“Yes. He is.” Maria replied through a cough before Ruben could open his mouth. “He trains horses.”

“Sweet,” said Arla. “Are you guys on your way back to Mexico?”

A high-pitched electronic shriek of microphone feedback jarred everyone’s attention to the front of the bus. In the sudden silence that followed, the driver’s voice boomed over the speaker: “You in the back, kneeling in the seat is not permitted. Please return to sitting properly.”

Bonnie, who’d been stirring since the squeal of the microphone, rolled over and faced her mother.

Henry snarled, “Asshole.” He turned and dropped to the seat.

The driver gave a quick nod. “Thank you.”

Ruben said outloud, but in Spanish, “This driver has the patience of a Saint.”

“So,” Arla questioned Maria, “are you guys migrant workers on your way back to Mexico?”

“No. We’re citizens. We live and work on a ranch in Montana. We’re going to El Paso to see our first grandchild.”

“Oh…that’s so wonderful. Congratulations. Is it a boy or girl?”

Maria shrugged. “We don’t know yet. We hope to be there for the birth.”

“Nice…that’s so—”

“Hey,” Henry said, kicking his legs out into the aisle. “Do you want snacks when we get to Oklahoma City?”

The man sitting opposite him folded his arms and rolled his eyes.

Henry gazed at Arla.  “I’ll buy you anything you want. The baby too.”

“That’s very kind of you, Henry,” Arla pointed to the diaper bag. “but we have tons of snacks.”

Henry peered down at the fruit in Maria’s hand. She offered, “Orange?” He turned and faced forward.

The man across the aisle chuckled.

Henry scowled, “What the fuck’s your problem, Mister?”

Ruben motioned for Maria to switch seats with him.

***

Chapter Three

Heavy brakes hissed, releasing a cloud of hot diesel exhaust onto the cracked asphalt of the Oklahoma City bus station. Though it was only early spring, the morning sun was already intense, baking the concrete and sending up waves of humid, heavy heat that shimmered against the side of the bus.

Inside, a line of chatty passengers filled the aisle. Maria stood behind Arla in the back. She traded coos with Bonnie as the baby peered over her mother’s shoulder. Maria pretended to not notice that Henry’s dark and deep V-shaped brow, his clenched jaw and burning brown eyes were the result of her volunteering to accompany Arla to a convenience store across the street from the bus station, while she explained to her husband, Maria stared at Bonnie’s blond ponytail, which sat at the crown of her head, “You know I never get the chance to have a Fruity Juicy-Juice.”

Ruben remained in the seat, He chewed on a toothpick and nodded politely up at his wife who stood beside him.

“There aren’t many of these little stores left,” Arla insisted.

“I can’t wait to get one.” Maria giggled like a school girl, all the while thinking, That weirdo’s not going to be alone with them. Not while I’m around.”

Henry grunted, he gazed up at Arla who stood beside his chair. “Does she always have to go everywhere with you?”

“My baby?”

“No.” His eyes darted to Maria. “Her.”

“Maria’s my new best friend.”

“We’re best pals.” Maria smiled at the ponytail.

Henry peered around the headrest and caught Ruben grinning at him. He snapped back and pulled a cellphone from his front pocket.

Passengers raised their voices, questioning why the door hadn’t opened. The door’s seal broke with a sharp, metallic screech. Warm air from the Oklahoma City morning rushed into the cabin. “Here we go,” yelled Tammy, who was first in line.

The line shuffled forward, trailing behind Tammy one by one until Maria stepped out, her sneakers hitting the gritty, sun-baked concrete of the sidewalk. Arla spun around to face her. “We gotta hurry,” she squealed, her fingers gripped Maria’s arm as she yanked her toward the front of the bus. Bonnie giggled while her mother cried out, “We only have seventeen minutes.”

Inside the bus, Henry heard Maria yell out, “Woo!” He stretched his spine to see over the heads of those who stayed behind. The women rushed around the front of the bus. He stood and then bent forward to look out a window. They trotted toward a light at the intersection. When he saw the light turn green, he dashed up the aisle.

In the very back of the bus, Ruben drew in a slow, deep breath. He stood and then clacked his way toward the exit.

Just a few yards from the idling bus, Henry squatted behind a metal signal post. His backpack dangled from his shoulder. The early spring sun was warm, drawing a faint scent of damp asphalt mixed with sweet morning dew from the street. A light and lazy trickle of commuter traffic hummed in the distance, the occasional car tires clicked over the seams in the road. He watched Arla and Maria cross the street, their sneakers scuffed against the sidewalk. Bonnie bounced in her mother’s arms, and she giggled as they passed a tire shop, a small opening to an alley and then into a convenience store.

The moment the door closed behind them, Henry bolted across the street. He vanished into the opening of a narrow passage between two brick buildings that was barely wide enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder without brushing against the walls. Overfilled plastic trash bins leaned against the bricks, their lids propped open by bulging black garbage bags that spilled crumpled fast food wrappers and plastic bottles onto the ground.

At the edge of the entrance to that alley, Henry faced the sidewalk and he leaned his left shoulder against the wall. His heart hammered against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of his heavy breathing as he unzipped the blue backpack. He reached deep into the main compartment, his fingers fumbled through a tangled mess of T-shirts until they wrapped around cold steel. He pulled out a heavy switchblade knife, dropped the pack behind him, and with his right thumb, he clicked the blade open.

Henry lowered the weapon to his side, but not a second later, a blur of movement stripped the knife cleanly from his grip. A giant hand gripped the back of his neck and it squeezed as it spun him around. Henry tried but couldn’t struggle from being pulled forward until his throat pressed flush against the edge of his own blade.

The Mexican Cowboy was about three inches shorter than the scrawny, white man that he held using one hand, but he was nearly twice the width of that obviously drug addicted, vile person.

Henry’s breath hitched into a wet groan. His lips parted to speak, but the cold sting of steel cut him short. Ruben leaned into the blade, pressing until the metal bit through the surface, drawing a thin line of blood across his skin.

In a heavy Spanish accent, Ruben told him, “Shut up. Or you’ll lose your head.”

Henry closed his eyes and held his breath.

“You got one chance to live because I don’t want my wife to accidentally see your gutted corpse.” Ruben slid the blade about an inch to the right, slicing skin. Blood spilled from the cut and rolled toward Henry’s white shirt. “You will not get back on the bus. You will run to the road behind me, and keep going. Agree now, or die.”

At the entrance to the alley behind Ruben, a car screeched to a halt. He dropped his hand from the back of Henry’s neck.

The slender figure stumbled to the opposite wall, coughing and rubbing his throat. Henry squinted down at Ruben’s sock-covered feet. “We just wanted the fucking baby, man.” He spat on the ground. His voice trembled. “What’s your problem, Wetback?” He grabbed the backpack then sprinted toward the idling car.

Ruben watched him open the passenger door, he caught a glimpse of the driver, who appeared to be hispanic, right before Henry slammed the door shut. The tan Honda Accord with tinted windows sped away.

The sound of women speaking cheerfully came from a few feet behind where Ruben stood holding a bloody knife. He dropped behind a plastic trash can. With a flip of his wrist, he closed the switchblade.

Arla and Maria stopped in front of the store’s closed glass door. “It’s too cold, baby. Mommy can’t share this with you. She keeps trying to grab it.”

“I’ll hold your drink, you hold your girl. Let’s hurry.”

The women dashed by. Ruben then scrambled around the alley trying to recall where he had left his noisy boots.

***

About four minutes after Maria returned to her seat, wondering where Ruben went, he jogged up the steps, sipping on an over-sized, red, Fruity Juicy-Juice.

Arla laughed and pointed her extra-large, blue drink in Ruben’s direction. “We should have guessed! Everybody loves these.”

Meanwhile…

Complaining about the ambush in the alley, Henry’s furious cursing filled the cabin while the Honda circled the block. The driver cut across traffic, steering behind the gas station opposite the Greyhound parking lot. He angled the car into the shadows between the brick wall and a massive trash bin, killing the engine and blocking in front of a parked, white Ford Taurus.

Upon seeing the Taurus, Henry cried out, “No! Not yet.” His gaze locked onto the window. “I can still get on the bus!” His spine slammed straight against the back of the seat. His heels dug into the floorboard, and his breath caught hard in his throat.

From the driver came a heavy fist that collided with the side of Henry’s head. The impact struck with a dull thud. The sheer force snapped his head sideways and rattled his jaw. A burst of blinding white light exploded across his vision, instantly followed by a high-pitched, deafening ring that swallowed all other sound.

Henry’s body went limp, his head slid down the window toward the door handle. A moment later, he sprung up to the sound of the driver demanding, “Where the fuck is the baby?” Then another blow to the side of his head sent Henry into a temporary sleep. His head and shoulders pressed into the door.

As Henry became aware of his situation, he heard the driver growl, “You said you’d have an infant here. A girl with blue eyes. I want my share of a hundred thousand dollars, Henry! Where is she?”

He shook his head then lifted himself off the door. Henry slumped in his seat with his chin resting on his chest. “A fucking Mexican cowboy almost killed me, Marco.”

Marco drew back his arm, his knuckles were white and locked for another strike. The doors of the Taurus swung open. He froze in mid-swing. Two women in their mid-forties stepped out, their midi dresses catching the light of the late morning sunshine. They closed the doors gently, met at the front bumper, and strolled together toward the Accord. The dark-haired woman, from the passenger side, wore a light-green shade that shimmered, while the redhead beside her stood out in vibrant, warm yellow. Their matching strappy sandals clicked against the pavement in unison.

Watching the women approach, Henry stretched the sore muscles in his neck by tilting his head side to side. He sat straight in the seat, almost at attention. Marco relaxed his hand and lowered his arm.

The red-head pulled Henry’s door open wide. The women looked him over. “Get cleaned up,” said the dark-haired woman. “Hurry, and don’t open the trunk until you get paid.”

“He’ll sleep for many hours,” said the red-head. She bent forward and frowned at Marco. “You’re expected in Nogales by tomorrow morning.”

Henry caressed the left side of his face. “It’s a he?”

Marco grabbed the backpack and tossed it out onto the sidewalk in front of the women’s shoes. “Shut the fuck up.”

Henry nodded.

“Get your junkie ass out of my car.”

Henry rolled out of the car. Behind the women and across the street, he saw the Greyhound bus drive away. “I was so close, but that fucker almost killed me.”

“Deliver our package without incident, and we’ll spare your life,” said the woman in the green dress as she sat in the passenger seat.

The red-head added, “It’s the only chance you have.”

Henry messaged the left side of his face and nodded.

***

Inside the bus, Ruben leaned close to Maria. The massive vehicle shuddered as it barreled down the highway, the tires hummed in a low, hypnotic drone against the asphalt. Speaking in Spanish over the rattle of the plastic windows, Ruben implored his wife to tell Arla, “Keep the baby close, and never let a stranger near her. There are a lot of weirdos on this bus.”

“I told you.”