The Slob Monster of Skipper-Stone Creek

Written by, Vonda Norwood

The public may read the first three chapters of this crime drama. While I edit chapter 4 and beyond, I will continue to revise these chapters.

The Slob Monster of Skipper-Stone Creek

Written by Vonda Norwood

Chapter One

In 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 the passengers’ profiles, the massive coach surged forward and its tires hummed against the asphalt.

Inside, 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, and kept that thought to herself. Maria pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “Don’t ever admit it to him.”

Under a weak, yellow haze from the overhead lights, passengers slumped against high-back seats. Some slept with slack faces, while others stared ahead through hollow eyes. Maria sat stiff, her fingers gripped dark gray, vinyl armrests. An oversized, dark blue rebozo draped over her shoulders, cascading over her knee-length, jean skirt. She stared directly across the aisle, at a young woman who cradled an infant upon her breasts. The mother’s eyes were closed, her breathing slow and deep, while the baby’s bald head bounced softly beneath her mother’s chin.

In the seat nearest the window sat Ruben. He leaned toward Maria’s shoulder. His breath warmed the back of her neck as he whispered in Spanish, “Have you gone broody?”

Maria spun in the chair, her knee collided with the crisp ridge that she had ironed into his dark-washed, Wrangler Riggers just two days ago. She matched his quiet tone. “Why did I marry a crazy charro?”

Ruben grinned. He wore a heavily, 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 his wife’s temple. “Twenty-three years later, it’s time for you to know the truth.”

Maria lowered her chin and she glared toward the black floor. “There’s a truth?”

Ruben grit his teeth and held back a grin. “Yeah, beautiful, it’s because that’s what crazy farm girls do.”

She smiled.

Ruben quipped, “Stop staring.” His sweaty brow warmed her skin and sent a chill racing down her spine.

“I’m…” She shivered, pulled on her shawl and covered her neck while turning a her gaze toward him.

“You need to rest.” Ruben tilted his head back, the sudden shimmer in her brown eyes captured his attention for a moment. He smiled softly. “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.” Ruben chuckled under his breath.

“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 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 pinched his nose.

That violator of the senses coughed. He stepped toward the aisle then stumbled into the side of Maria’s chair and then he bounced against 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 leaned on top of the diaper bag that was on the window seat beside her.

Maria rotated 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 baby and the young mother’s shoulder. Maria’s eyes grew wide. 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 then stumbled up the aisle. A sharp, piercing cry from the baby cut through many grumbles and groans.

The intruder blended into the haze. Ruben returned to his chair. 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 scent of baby oil replaced the foul stench that had choked their small space. When the mother glanced up, Ruben smiled softly. She clutched her baby tighter then turned and stared into the darkness out the window.

Ruben faced forward and he cleared his throat.

Maria 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 enough time to visit a casino not too far up the road. Others stretched, they straightened their backs 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, one by one, dropped onto the sidewalk.

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 and it doubled as a tourist trap with a few slot machines. It was also packed with restaurants, clothing boutiques, pottery shops, and jewelry stores.

Inside the bus, Maria reclaimed her original seat, where she then formally introduced herself to Mrs. Arla Mitchell and her daughter Bonnie. The two were on their way to El Paso, Texas to meet up with a new tank commander by the name of Heath Mitchell, who would be waiting to welcome them to their next, temporary home.

Maria folded the shawl. It was the last item she stuffed into a bag before using the heel of her white sneaker to push it under her seat. She brushed away imaginary crumbs from the pair of light-blue sweatpants that she’d put on, along with a matching light-blue t-shirt, while in the latrine where she had promised herself and God to never again step inside. “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 looked down into the baby’s bright blue eyes. “Oh wow… Military life.” She smiled. Bonnie smiled back and she delivered a soft coo.

Arla nodded. “Yeah, military life.”

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

Arla held Bonnie with one hand while she collected loose baby items from and placed them into a diaper bag beside a small, white cooler on the seat next to her. “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 bus driver’s chair, capturing Maria, Arla and Bonnie’s full attention. The woman held a red, paper bag which overflowed with popcorn. “This is Stinky’s stop. 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. “Why you in my seat, Johnny? Move over.” She used her forearm to wipe at her mouth as popcorn dropped from it. “Move!”

“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 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 nothin’ 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. “Don’t worry, 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 sure is 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 who watched as the empty top of the bag folded over like a half-deflated balloon.

“Uh,” Arla leaned back and she looked up.

Maria released Bonnie’s hand. She studied the stranger. He was average in height, “Too thin.” As he spoke, she saw that at least three teeth were missing. “One in front and two on the bottom right. Too weird, he’s only about thirty and he don’t look like a buster, nor a bull rider.” The man wore a white, crewneck T-shirt that stuck to his boney shoulders like plastic wrap, and a pair of faded, light-blue jeans. On his feet were scuffed, brown leather, work boots, their surfaces were cracked and the heels were flat.

Henry introduced himself and he 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 him, “Do you bust horses, or ride bulls?”

“No, lady. I’m not crazy.”

The middle-aged Latina bit her tongue, and she 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’ with the little ones like you got there.”

 A rhythmic, metallic, 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.

Henry gazed up noticing a thick, hand-tooled, brown leather belt which encircled Ruben’s waist. The belt 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 then 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. She wondered if the wannabe babysitter was reading or writing.

Ruben sat and he 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.”

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

“Spinach is in there too.”

Arla stood with Bonnie cradled in her left arm. Maria and Ruben went silent. “We’re going to go 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’s long blond ponytail. “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 glanced back at Ruben, who grinned.

Arla cheered, “Oh nice.” The ladies moved forward.

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

Ruben nodded, and in Spanish, he mumbled, “Well, that’s exactly what I told you.”

Chapter Two

Airbrakes released with a sharp heavy hiss and the bus launched forward, pulling away from the curb and toward the interstate which would take them to 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 watched his wife, whose eyes bounced back and forth, as she followed the conversation between Henry and Arla.

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

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 conversationalists, 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… 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?”

“Yeah.”

“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. “There aren’t any guardrails.”

Maria shook her head. “Sounds dangerous.”

“It is.”

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

“There’s a town there?”

Henry nodded. “Right where that drop is.”

“Down the drop?” Arla frowned.

“Nothing’s down the hill. There are a few farmhouses and an old cafe right off the highway. I live in the little house connected to the café.”

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

“It runs between Muscogee and Elk.” Henry stood 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 stretch of highway.” Arla reached across the aisle and cupped Maria’s arm. “We would just cling to each other every time the car rounded the narrow corner on that stretch of highway.”

“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 a piece of orange dislodged from her throat. She inhaled long and hard.

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

Maria used her fingers to wipe tears from her eyes. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

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

“Yes. He’s a Mexican American cowboy.” Maria replied through a cough before Ruben could open his mouth. “He trains horses.”

“Sweet,” said Arla. She leaned into the aisle. “You’re dressed so fancy.”

Henry’s eyes rolled to the side. “A little too fancy for a bus ride.”

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 onto the seat.

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

Ruben said out loud and in Spanish, “This driver has the patience of a Saint.”

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

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

“Oh…that’s so wonderful. No wonder he’s all dressed up.”

Maria smiled. “He swears not to change his clothes until he holds the baby.”

“Congratulations. Is it a boy or girl?”

Maria shrugged. “We don’t know yet. We hope to be there for the birth. It’s a scheduled C section. Ruben won’t change until the baby arrives, because he thinks it’ll will him a grandson.”

“Oh…that’s so cute! And a little weird.”

“Yeah.”

The women giggled at Ruben’s expense. He raised his chin and shrugged.

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

The man sitting across the aisle from Henry folded his arms to his chest and he sighed.

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

“That’s very kind of you, Henry. I don’t mind a friendly chat, but I don’t accept anything from anyone who ain’t my husband.”

Henry squirmed and he nodded. “I respect that.” He then peered down at the fruit in Maria’s hand.

She offered, “Orange?”

He jerked around to face the front. The man in the chair opposite of him exhaled hard. Henry scowled, “What’s your stupid problem, Mister?”

Ruben motioned for Maria to switch seats with him.

Chapter Three

Heavy brakes hissed, releasing a cloud of hot diesel exhaust across the cracked asphalt of the Oklahoma City bus station. Though it was only early spring, the morning sun was already baking the concrete and sending up waves of humid, heavy air that shimmered against red, white, and blue stripes, along with the logo of a running dog on the side of the bus.

Inside, a line of chatty passengers filled the aisle. At the back, Maria stood behind Arla, trading coos with Bonnie as the baby peeked over her mother’s shoulder and pulled on her ponytail. Maria pretended not to notice that Henry’s dark and deep, V-shaped brow, his clenched jaw and his burning brown eyes were the result of her volunteering to accompany Arla to a convenience store across the street. She gently separated Bonnie’s tiny, but strong fingers from Arla’s hair, while she explained to her husband, “You know, I rarely get the chance to have a Fruity Juicy-Juice.”

Ruben chewed on a toothpick. He wore a dull expression and turned his attention to staring out the window.

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

“I can’t wait to get one.” Maria giggled like a schoolgirl, while thinking, “That weirdo’s not going to be alone with them for one second.”

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 out of his front pocket.

Passengers raised their voices, demanding that the door be opened. The door’s seal broke with a sharp, metallic screech. Warm air rushed into the cabin. “Here we go,” yelled Tammy, who was first in line.

Trailing Tammy, one by one passengers shuffled forward until Maria stepped out. Her white sneakers hit the sidewalk. Arla spun around, and Bonnie giggled as they faced her. “We gotta hurry,” Arla squealed. She gripped Maria’s arm and she yanked, pulling her toward the front of the bus.  “We only have seventeen minutes.”

Inside the bus, Henry stood bent over the headrest in front of him, stretching his neck to see over those who stayed behind. The women rushed around the front of the bus then trotted toward a light at an intersection only a few yards away from their bus stop. When he saw the light turn green, Henry dashed up the aisle.

Ruben pulled the cinnamon flavored toothpick from his mouth. He drew in a slow and deep breath. The charro stood and he clacked toward the exit.

***

At the intersection, Henry squatted behind a metal signal post. His backpack dangled from his shoulder. A light and lazy trickle of commuter traffic hummed in the distance and the occasional car tires clicked over seams in the road. He watched Arla and Maria cross the street. Their sneakers slapped against the sidewalk. Bonnie bounced in her mother’s arms, and she giggled as they jogged, passing a gas station, tire shop, a small opening to an alley and then as they arrived at the glass door of a convenience store.

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

Henry stood at the edge of the opening to that alley. He unzipped the backpack, his heart hammered against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of his heavy breathing as he reached deep into the main compartment. His fingers fumbled through a tangled mess of socks and a t-shirt until they wrapped around cold steel. He pulled out a heavy switchblade knife, dropped the pack beside 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. It squeezed and pushed, bending him forward and then spun him around. Henry tried but couldn’t struggle from being pulled upward then forward until he was standing stiff and 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 his shoulders were 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 Henry’s 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.

“I will give you 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.”

Behind Ruben, a car screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. He dropped his hand from the back of Henry’s neck.

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

Ruben watched Henry open the passenger door. He caught a glimpse of the driver, who appeared to be hispanic, right before Henry pulled the door shut. The tan Honda Accord 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, you’re too young.” Arla giggled. “She keeps trying to grab it.”

“I’ll hold your drink, you hold your girl, and 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 clacked 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 car 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 a brick wall and a massive trash bin, killing the engine and blocking a parked, white Ford Taurus.

Upon seeing the Taurus, Henry cried out, “No! Not yet. I can still get on the bus! We’re going to lose her.” 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 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 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. Where is she?”

Henry lifted himself off the door slowly. He remained slumped in his seat with his chin resting on his chest. “The mother got away with her, because a 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 where then they 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 black pavement in unison.

Watching the women approach, Henry tilted 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 lady. “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 ground in front of the women’s shoes. “Shut up.”

Henry nodded.

“Get your junkie ass out of my car.”

Henry rolled out of the car. Across the street from behind where the women stood, he saw the Greyhound bus drive away. “I was so close, but that wetback almost killed me.”

“The keys are in the car. Deliver our package without incident, and we’ll spare your life,” said the woman in the green dress. Henry faced her, she sat in the passenger seat. “It is your only chance.”

The woman in yellow added, “Get out of here.” She reached into a matching handbag and grabbed hold of a pistol. And as she did, Henry ran to the Taurus. “I’m going!”

The dark-haired woman shifted her attention to the Accord. She leaned on the car and watched Henry drive away.

***

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 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.”