Shadows lengthened as Cait hurried back up Freeman Road and Old Spanish Trail to Saguaro National Park East. She trotted along the entrance road and turned down the lane that led to her brother’s quarters.
All she could think of was that truck. Almost being run over. How the driver and passenger had relished scaring her.
Tucson’s far east side was dotted with expensive homes on large parcels. Cait had assumed upscale meant safe. But earlier that day, she and Jack had been threatened by a gunman in the park, a man who was probably a poacher.
She thought about Estrella, who lived on Freeman Road and had cautioned Cait about “evil ones.” Did she mean the truck driver and his buddy?
At her brother’s place, she found Chris and Jack sipping beers on the front patio.
“That hike this morning not enough for you?” Chris raised his bottle at her. “You got a special energy tonic we should know about?”
“I had an interesting walk, to say the least.” She plopped into a chair and told them about meeting Estrella, as well as her run-in with the pickup.
Jack’s face hardened. “Are you hurt? I’d like to pay them a visit.”
“He scared me. I’d like to know more about what Estrella’s worried about. I think I’ll drop by her place.” Cait took a pull of Jack’s beer.
Chris looked shocked. “We should call the cops.”
“I’m fine. It’s my word against the driver’s. He could claim I exaggerated or made the whole thing up. I’d like to find out why Estrella thinks the park is dangerous, and what’s being stolen. She may know something you need to hear.” Cait looked at Chris.
“I don’t like the idea of guys driving around scaring women,” Jack said. “They need some of their own medicine.”
“Wonder if they’re renters or homeowners,” Cait said. “I didn’t think this part of Tucson was full of rednecks.”
“Could be stupid teenagers. Or drug dealers who can afford a nice neighborhood,” Chris said. “I heard about Pima County deputies raiding a house in an expensive area near the road up Mt. Lemmon. The place was full of guns and drugs.”
Jack’s phone warbled, and he tapped the screen. “Clark, what’s going on?”
He listened, rubbing his brow. “Want us to come over?”
Finally, he hung up and leaned forward, elbows on knees.
“Problem?” Cait asked.
“Big time. Clark’s mom gave a lot of money to someone to invest. He’s convinced she’s being taken. But she’s being stubborn.”
“I don’t know we can do anything.” Cait asked. “Is his mother competent to make decisions like that?”
“Yes and no,” Jack said. “Clark says she’s mostly coherent, but at times she seems to forget what she just said. She loses things and seems embarrassed to admit it. He thinks she’s having memory problems, and it’s more serious than an occasional senior moment. I told him we’d drop by in the morning.”
“How much did she invest?” Chris asked. “Can they get it back?”
Jack chewed on his lip. “$200,000. Clark’s had no luck getting hold of the alleged investment counselor. Say goodbye to that money.”
***
Jason came to as a siren caterwauled in the distance, the sound growing louder. His sedan had rolled a number of times, coming to rest on all four wheels at the bottom of an incline off Interstate 10.
The airbag and seat belt had kept him from going through the windshield or being ejected, but he was plenty banged up. His nose and lip were cut and his left shoulder felt wrenched from its socket. Bits of safety glass were everywhere. On his face, in his hair.
The front of the car looked like a wad of paper crumpled by a giant fist. Hissing sounds and wisps of smoke came from under the hood. He heard voices up on the freeway.
His first thought was amazement that he was alive. Then it all came back. Running from the dark SUV. The terrible grinding and screeching of metal.
He had to get away. His pursuers would come to finish him off. That might be them now, scrambling down the freeway embankment.
His right arm worked fine, so he undid the seat belt latch. Fished around for his cell phone, which had wound up under the passenger seat. He kicked open the driver’s door, stuck his legs outside and pawed the billowing air bag away.
A vehicle braked to a hard stop on the freeway above. He scrambled to his feet and headed for the brush. Stopped. Hurried back and grabbed his grandmother’s rosary beads from the broken rear view mirror.
He scuttled into the darkness, stopping when burning lungs and legs demanded rest. Red and blue lights strobed the sky as figures milled about the smashed car. An ambulance arrived, and more people descended the slope to the wreck.
Jason turned and pushed through the desert toward Blythe. He had no plan, other than avoiding the chasers in the SUV, as well as the police. Soon they would find the bloody tarp in the trunk. The vehicle was registered to him, so authorities would know who to look for.
“Ahh.” He kicked something hard with a toe and stumbled. Pain shot through his left shoulder and collarbone, traumatized by wrenching against the shoulder belt during the rollover.
Pausing to catch his breath, he patted his pockets, thankful he had his wallet and phone. One thing he wouldn’t do was call Alfredo or Mirabel. What if his phone was being tracked? He had put those two in enough danger already. The dead man’s accomplice might still give them trouble.
He reached a road that led past commercial buildings and sandy lots. Ahead he could see lighted signs announcing fast food joints and gas stations.
Limping along, he paralleled a tall chain-link fence that bordered a rental equipment business. A pair of mean-looking dogs on the other side of the wire mesh ran up and barked at him, teeth flashing like knives.
At last he reached fast food row. He studied the parking lot of a convenience store with gas pumps. Parked in front was a newer dark SUV, just like the one that had tailed him. Might be the same vehicle, might not. He walked on.
Jason cut through a Jack in the Box parking lot with only one car in the lot because of the late hour. He knew he looked like hell, bloody and battered, with a halting gait. All he wanted was food; he couldn’t help his appearance.
He entered the restaurant and stood at the counter. A twenty-something worker took his order and gave him change without blinking an eye.
Over a double bacon burger, coffee and two waters, he sat by a window and watched the street. A familiar dark SUV drove by. Slowly. It reappeared going the other way. His pursuers, he guessed.
He hurried outside. An older Honda sedan was parked in the back of the lot, probably an employee’s car. He knelt and prayed, felt around underneath the front grill. Luck was on his side as he retrieved a small magnetic box with spare key inside.
He unlocked the driver’s door and slid inside. The car started up but the engine ran rough and threatened to die.
He worried the car’s owner would hear the noise as he drove out of the lot and onto the main street. Sorry, man. I need it more than you do. He hit the headlights further down the road, cursed when his eyes dropped to the dash display. The gas tank gauge was less than half full, barely enough to make it to the periphery of Phoenix.
Back on the I-10, he sped into the night, entered Arizona and passed by the turnoff for Quartzsite, a few lights winking off the freeway. He steeled himself every time a vehicle came up behind him, relaxing only when it sped by.
In the wee hours he reached the outskirts of Phoenix. He bought gas at a truck stop near Buckeye and filled the tank with the engine running, afraid the car wouldn’t restart if he killed the ignition. Then it was on to New Mexico by way of Tucson.
Driving south on the freeway, he came up with a plot. In Albuquerque, he’d get in touch with a few guys in Los Brutos he thought he could trust. He’d known them way before they had all gotten mixed up with the gang.
Jason had heard Sonny Para was linked up with a drug cartel, but he knew nothing about the operation. He would learn as much as he could and find that Albuquerque detective who had tried to help him.
Traffic on the I-10 slowed as he reached the Tucson metro area. He exited at Speedway Boulevard to find breakfast. On the exit ramp, the engine light came on and the car lost power. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor and coaxed the dying vehicle onto Speedway. The car gave up the ghost as he drifted across the intersection. He coasted to the curb and left the vehicle there. A block away, he sat in a booth inside a brightly painted Rodrigobertos and ate a machaca burrito.
Afterward, he walked to a signaled intersection, stood on the corner and stuck his thumb out. His shoulder was killing him. He was so exhausted he just wanted to curl up and crash in an alley. Then he’d have to steal another car.
A vehicle slowed on Speedway, dived around the corner and stopped. The passenger window cracked down a few inches. A man called out. “Need a ride?”
Jason hobbled over. “To a cheap motel.”
“Hop in.”
Jason eased his aching body into the back seat of the Jeep. The driver, a pretty woman with turquoise earrings, glanced at him before U-turning and getting back on Speedway.
His brain buzzing with exhaustion, Jason was overjoyed to get a ride. At the same time, he realized the man looked familiar.
As they started down Speedway, the passenger turned around. “Small world, isn’t it? Didn’t think I’d see you again.”
Jason’s stomach flipped. He could run but he couldn’t hide.