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“Wait,” said Alicia, “You can’t leave us.”
“That’s right, little thief,” said Maria, “Abandon us, take my savings with you.”
Anda stopped and rubbed her forehead, “Follow, if you want. But it will be easier to hide if we are separated.”
“Yes, you with my fortune, me with nothing. Separate? I think not. We will stay close to you,” said Maria.
“Come, then,” Anda said, and she started for the town lights.
***
Bobby Mata came out of the Matador Lounge, working on the fit of his new western hat, a five-hundred dollar Resistol. He pulled the front brim down a little to make sure it was right. It looked good, he knew. The black hat, red shirt, starched Wranglers and black Roper boots, all set off by his big sterling silver belt buckle looked damn good, at least that’s what Carmen told him at the bar. Good enough to eat, she’d said. Bobby grinned and felt the thickness in his money belt. Twenty-six thousand dollars, all in hundreds. Not bad for two weeks work. Stealing tractors, combines and other farm equipment from dealerships in Texas and New Mexico and selling them in Mexico sure beat sitting on one and plowing for four dollars an hour. He drank the last of his rum-and-coke and handed the doorman the glass and a twenty. The doorman almost broke his neck opening the outer door and calling over a valet to recover Senor Bobby’s vehicle.
Bobby enjoyed the evening breeze through the drivers’ window as he cruised the pavement. He flipped on the radio and tuned in a Mexican station just in time to hear the number one song in Latin America, El Lobo Y La Tejana.
That must be a thousand times in the last week he’d heard it, Jesus. Bobby reached to turn it off when a motion caught his attention as three figures, females - two tall and one short – darted across the road so far in front of him that the headlights barely picked them up. He slowed down as he drove by their crossing place, but didn’t see them again. That little one could have been Anda Tumecas, right here under his nose. He would bet money on it. There was a place ahead to turn around, so he u-turned and went back, going slow and peering hard into the darkness. A mongrel dog sniffed at the refuse littering the area but nothing else was visible, not even lingering dust
in the air. Bobby spent another half-hour searching every place in the vicinity, but found nothing.
Maybe tomorrow, He thought. With some daylight, it would have to be better than all this blind groping around. Yeah, it was time to call it a night and start over when the sun comes up. He turned the vehicle around and drove for the international bridge. Should he call Kincaid? What could he say, that maybe he caught a glimpse of Anda? Nah, better to wait and make sure.
Bobby wasn’t paying attention to his rear view mirror as a convoy of military vehicles roared up and around, almost running him off the road. Bobby recognized the slender man standing in the last jeep, posing like General Patton. Colonel Felipe Godoy passed without giving him a glance. So, Bobby thought, The Angel is in town. It was said that, in the history of Mexico only Rodolfo Fierro, Pancho Villa’s bloody assassin, had killed more men with a pistol than Godoy. But no one was faster. Felipe Godoy’s speed was as quick as thought, some said. And Bobby believed it. Once, in Chihuahua City Bobby crashed a very large party and stood as a bystander while one of the Generals needled Godoy about his ability with a firearm.
Felipe told the General that he could put a coin on the back of his hand, hold it at shoulder height, then draw his pistol with the same hand and the coin would hit the top of the barrel as it fell.
Godoy did it three times in a row, and the coin fell no more than a foot before his pistol was there. The General poo-pooed that, so Felipe told him to hold an apple and drop it when he saw Felipe move his hand from under the coin. Bobby remembered the General was drunk and didn’t see the look in Felipe’s eyes. The General laughed and said Yes, and sent for an apple. Felipe balanced the coin and asked the General if he was ready. When the General said he was, Felipe dropped his hand and drew. He shot the apple to bits and blew two of the General’s fingers off, then the coin hit the top of his pistol.
Bobby had watched Godoy smile as he re-holstered his pistol while looking at the General, who held the mangled hand to his chest and screamed and screamed.
Yeah, Bobby thought, if the Angel is in town, someone’s going to die.
***
The next morning Bobby grabbed a piece of cold toast and was out the door, driving across the border again and into Ojinaga, OJ, to look for the little Tarahumara. He parked near the plaza and walked the areas where he thought she might be. No luck.
When he came out of the third hotel, the Barbosas were across the street with several soldiers, Felipe Godoy among them. Bobby turned to go down the street, but Jesse saw him and pointed him out to the others. The Colonel motioned for him to come across the street, and Bobby pointed at himself, like, who, me? Felipe nodded, so Bobby crossed.
Bobby said in English, “Johnny, looks like those burns are getting infected.”
You smart-ass bastard,” Johnny said.
Felipe said, “I know you.”
“I don’t think so, Colonel.”
“Oh yes. Bobby Mata. I know of your tractors coming south and your uncut stones going north.”
“It’s hell to be famous.”
Johnny said, “You’re a funny man. Well, we got plans for you, mister smartass ponytail-”
He reached for Bobby’s hair and Mata knocked his hand away.
“Mata,” Godoy said. “Do you know where the women are?”
“You mean the ones that barbequed these two? Nahh, last time I saw them was before they left town with the Brisket Brothers here.”
Godoy held up a hand to stop Jesse and Johnny. “I could let them hurt you.”
