Liberty At Last (The Liberty Series) (8 page)

It was a lot of firepower. They must have hit them quickly, because the lights started to veer crazily from side to side and the shooting stopped. I peeked up and saw the car’s headlights beaming over towards the side of the road, the car stopped, the people most certainly dead.

“We’ll have to dump the guns now. Pity,” John said. He turned back and sat down in the seat. He pulled me up and then Catherine, trying to settle her limp body comfortably. The other guys scrambled back to their seats. “I was kind of liking this one,” he said, inspecting the gun in his hands. Then he turned around and tossed it Corey, who threw it out the back window.

I watched it sail out the window into the darkness. A chill went through me.
Here we go again,
I thought, wondering how I was ever going to extricate John from his explosive lifestyle.

We were back near town and the Brownsville border was close. Too close. Catherine was still passed out, sweating more now that the back window was gone, and the fabric John had secured around her foot was a sticky, wet red. John seemed more calm. He was holding my hand like it belonged to him; when he reached up to absentmindedly scratch his nose, he brought my hand with his.

“Pull over,” he told Sean, right before we got to the markets. We pulled up next to an empty lot with garbage strewn across it; there was what looked like a mostly empty
cantina
with wilted sombreros tacked to the wall outside next door. There were people on the street. They took one look at the Hummer and abruptly changed direction without missing a beat, heading towards the crowded streets of the market.

Matthew hopped out and scanned the surroundings. John followed, squeezing my hand. “Be careful,” I mumbled. We’d been back together for one hour and I’d already worried about him getting killed about ten times. Which might be a new record for us.

He went to the back of the SUV and Sean and Corey started handing him guns. He tossed two to Matthew as an older man came out to the front of the restaurant. He was thin except for the beer belly protruding under his Hawaiian shirt. He stuck his cigarette into his mouth and started waiving his hands at the large, camouflaged gringos trying to hand him assault weapons. “No,” he said, the cigarette staying in between his lips while he shook his head, his hands, his voice at them. “
De ninguna manera.
”

“No one’s behind us,” John said, holding a rifle out to him. “Not this second, anyway.”

“Turn ‘em in, if you want to,” Matthew said. “Or you could be smart and go put these in your walk-in, right now. Give a couple to your sister. Or your mom. Or sell ‘em. Seems like these come in handy around here.”

The man stopped swearing, flicked the ash off his cigarette and crossed himself quickly while he looked up and down the street. The he took the guns that they were handing to him and moved inside, more quickly than I’d thought him capable of.

He made a couple of trips back and forth, taking all the guns, and then we were off. I could see the lights near the bridge, the one that crossed the
Rio de Janeiro
. I’d read that Mexican migrants had to pay the cartels a hundred dollars for the privilege of being allowed to try and swim across the river to get to America. There was no guarantee. They just paid for the chance to stand in a secluded spot and jump in.
Los Morales
were also notorious for kidnapping migrants, beating them and holding them for ransom. It was a booming side business. Sometimes they kept the hostages and put them to work. Sometimes they shot them all and dumped them in a mass grave.

That’s your boyfriend,
I thought, looking at Catherine.
That’s who you love.
I wanted to slap some sense into her, so she could see what I saw.

“Pull through that one,” John said, pointing to a checkpoint on the right. “Corey, Sean, get your passports out and come and sit up here with us.” They squished in next to us and he turned to me. “You need to close your eyes and act like you’re asleep, too,” he said, brushing my greasy hair off my face. “It’s part of my deal with him.”

“What — he wants to think that you’re kidnapping women, drugging them and bringing them over the border?” I asked.

John laughed. “He’d probably love that idea, but no. He doesn’t want to have any interaction with anyone undocumented. So, pretend you’re passed out and he’ll ignore you — or I’ll have to stuff you and Catherine into the back, under some jackets, or something.”

He bent over and kissed me. I kept my lips tightly clamped: I hadn’t brushed my teeth in forever. He smiled down at me. “Macaroni and cheese, Liberty. As soon as we cross the border. And maybe a shower.”

“Shower first,” I said, and obediently closed my eyes. “And maybe a steak instead of mac and cheese. I’m freaking starving.”

“Whatever you want,” John said. He squeezed my shoulders and I could feel his strong muscles.
Mmmmm…
I couldn’t wait to take a shower so I could let myself touch him again, without being petrified of scaring him away with my smell.

We pulled up into the line. I peeked once: there weren’t that many cars in line to cross into Brownsville. But even at this time of night there were a quite a few people in line to walk across the bridge, wearing heavy backpacks and carrying gallon jugs of water. They looked hot and tense.

We idled in line for a few minutes. Then it was our turn.

“Hello there,” called the customs officer.

“Hello,” said Ethan. I squinted and peeked again. The officer looked slick and eel-like under the lights; he was thin and had greasy black hair, worn too long and combed back; bright green eyes that slanted down at the corners and sallow, oily olive skin.
The poor prostitutes,
I thought, and then shut my eyes tightly again.

The officer stepped out of his station and approached the Hummer. “These new wheels?” he asked, walking around towards the back.

“New to us,” John called, through the missing trunk window.

“Looks like you ran into some trouble,” the officer said, inspecting the back.

“Nah, just some kids throwing rocks,” John said. “Big rocks.” He seemed perfectly, ridiculously calm.

“Good evening,” he said, when he walked around to Matthew’s window.

“Richard,” said Matthew. “Always nice to see you.”

Richard sighed. “You guys,” he said, keeping his voice low and aiming it towards John in the backseat, “this is not what we talked about. This is totally fucked up.”

“Totally,” Matthew said.

“Totally,” John said, and I could feel him nodding his assent beside me. “So I arranged something extra special. To make it up to you.”

“It’d have to be pretty fucking great,” Richard said.

“Oh, it is,” John said. “Sofia. For a
week
. She’s gonna stay with you. And she’s hooked up, big time.”

Richard didn’t say anything. The silence dragged on.

Richard looked at John hopefully. “Sofia?” he asked. “For real?”

“For a whole week,” John said. “And when I say she’s hooked up, I mean with really good shit. A whole week of party, on me. And if you do good this time, Richard, there’s more coming. Much more. We’re going big time.”

My heart sank at this.
No, we’re not, John. We’re going home.

“I’m in,” Richard said. “Let’s see your passports. I’m stamping them.”

“Poor Sofia,” I said, once we’d pulled away. “That guy is gross.”

“Mmmmm,” John said. “Sofia’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

“And Richard,” Matthew said and laughed.

John laughed, too. “Yes, she has very strict instructions about our little friend Richard.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Richard’s not going home to get coked up and party with Sofia. He’ll be going to his final home.” John looked straight ahead when he said this, knowing I wouldn’t approve.

“You mean…” I said, trailing off. His intention was clear, but I wanted him to say it.

“I mean, Sofia’s under my clear instructions to terminate him,”John said. I pulled away a little and looked out the window.

“Liberty,” he said. “Look at me.” I turned and looked at him.

“As soon as Richard’s shift is over, he’ll go home to see Sofia and get high. Then he’d be on his way to alert the Morales clan about their car, and us, and Catherine,” he said. “He doesn’t even have a choice. Then they’ll kill him for letting us go. So
we
have to kill him first.”

I just sat there and looked at him. He stroked my hand. “Honey, he’s dead either way,” he said.

“But now he’s dead
our
way,” I said.

“I love it when you say
our
,” John whispered and smiled at me. I didn’t smile back.

“I’m sorry about Richard. And I’m sorry about all the guards — I know that they’re stuck with the cartel, they don’t have a choice. But I had to get you. I had to get you and Catherine out. Do you understand?”

I looked up at him. I wasn’t going to say yes.

“This is personal, and if I have to choose between saving someone I love and hurting someone else, the other person loses. Every time,” he said. “Can you live with that?”

“Let’s try to get away from having to save people. How about that?” I asked.

“How about that,” he said, and kissed my cheek. He leaned over and tenderly brushed Catherine’s hair out of her face.

“I love you,” I said, not caring if the guys heard me. They’d heard it all before, of course.

He pulled me closer to him.

I needed to take a shower. Fast.

A little while later, just as the sun was coming up, we pulled into what looked like an industrial building’s parking lot. “One of yours?” I asked, gesturing to the building. It reminded me of the place we took Ray to in Eugene. I shivered.

“No, but I researched it,” John said. He turned and scanned the parking lot, as did Sean and Matthew. “Looks clean. For now. Let’s go.”

Ethan pulled the Hummer over next to an empty dumpster, out of sight of the main road. He took the keys out and tossed them into the dumpster; they made a loud, dull clang. The guys all hopped out and went around back, getting their packs. They headed over towards a new-looking white van.

“That’s us,” said John, nodding at the van. I wrinkled my nose at it.

“That doesn’t look like it has a shower in it,” I said, missing John’s enormous tour bus.

“The bus is in Rhode Island,” John said, reading my mind. “It would’ve called too much attention to us. We’re going to drive as far as we can today and stay at a hotel tonight. So a shower is only a few hours away. And we’re going to stop and get you some food as soon as we can.” He pulled me out of the car and held me, running his hands down my sides. “My poor baby,” he whispered, frowning as he felt my ribs.

“It was my own dumb-ass fault,” I said, looking up at him, relishing having his arms around me. “I had to try to be a hero.”

“But you did it. You brought her back to me,” John said.
I looked over at Catherine. She twitched and mumbled restlessly, like she was about to wake up. I was quite happy she was still unconscious. John touched my face tenderly and brushed his lips tenderly mine. Fire shot through me as parts of my body I hadn’t felt in forever clenched and unclenched.