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“Nothing. Not always angels. Sometimes ordinary people can help. Like me.”
The pastor man wouldn’t want to help if he knew Benny had killed a man. A man who might have been his dad. “I don’t need help.” Benny pressed his lips hard together to keep from crying.
“It’s a standing offer. Do you know what that means?”
Benny peeked at the pastor man from the corner of his eye. He looked nice. Benny worked to stifle a sob. It wanted to come out so bad. “No.”
“It means the offer is always there, ready when you need it and are ready to accept it. God made sure of that when his son Jesus died on the cross. It’s hard to understand when you’re young, but just remember. You’re never alone.”
The pastor was silent for a moment, his eyes on the road. “Never,” he added, as if talking to himself. “Remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
The pastor glanced at Benny and smiled. “Such good manners. Well, I’ve got to stop and get gas up here at the Stop n Go. At least let me buy you a hot chocolate, child, before you pass out from exposure.”
Benny swallowed hard. He was in an awful hurry to get home. But hot sounded really good.
The pastor man eased the car toward the exit ramp. Seconds later they were in the parking lot.
“You can wait here while I pump the gas and we’ll go in together.” The pastor man opened the door.
“I have to go to the rest room,” Benny glanced around the parking lot. No Hummers. No cop cars. It seemed safe enough for a quick visit. “I can’t wait.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll be right in as soon as I pump the gas. Why don’t you wash your face and hands while you’re at it, get cleaned up a little?”
Benny staggered into the store and stumbled through the aisles, trying to find a sign that said rest rooms.
“You gonna buy something, kid?” The guy behind the counter didn’t look so friendly.
“I’m with the guy pumping the gas,” Benny jerked his head toward the front of the store. The clerk looked out. Benny followed his gaze.
The pastor man was talking on the cell phone, one hand fluttering in the air.
The police. He’d figured out Benny was on the run. He was calling the police. They would arrest him for delivering the crack and killing Mr. Juice. Benny shot out the door and raced toward the highway. He had to get to San Antonio. He had to get to Daniel.
Panting, his legs like jelly, Benny stumbled and glanced back, sure the pastor man was right behind him. The man still stood by his car, a look of surprise on his face. He dropped the phone on the hood of his car and started across the parking lot.
Benny darted across the highway, a cold rush of air in his face and a blaring horn telling him the bumper of a truck had just missed hitting him. More horns screamed. He ran faster, his legs pumping, arms reaching. Just a little bit farther, a little bit more. His muscles hurt so bad, they burned. He hit the ditch on the other side, fell, roll, and jumped to his feet. He climbed the other side and ran through a field toward a bunch of huge trees. He could hide in there.
Gasping for breath, he dared to look back.
The pastor man stood on the edge of the highway, cars and trucks making a speeding, continuous fence between them. He waved his arms. His lips moved, but Benny couldn’t hear him. He turned and kept running. The pastor man couldn’t be trusted.
No one could.
* * *
Without his baseball cap, Pedro Diaz looked much older. His bald head shone in the glare of the fluorescent light in the interview room. And smaller. Not the big man who tortured when with cigarettes. Daniel forced himself to remain still. He itched to rip into the man, but this was Samuel’s station, his jurisdiction.
Samuel opened the folder on the table that separated them and then leaned back in his chair, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Interesting reading,señorDiaz.” Samuel slapped his hand down on the paper and spread his long fingers wide. “Let’s see. In and out of juvie starting at age twelve. Graduated to adult fun at age eighteen. Auto theft, breaking and entering, possession of stolen goods, possession of drugs, possession with intent to sell. A nice progression.”
Diaz’s gaze flickered from Samuel to Daniel. Daniel kept his face blank. Samuel had to fight to get this interrogation. Narcotics wanted a piece of Diaz and so did the DEA. Daniel wanted to wrap his fingers around the guy’s neck and squeeze until his head exploded. But he didn’t. He couldn’t blow it before they got what they needed.
Narcotics hadn’t been able to get anything from the wounded man. He’d lawyered up at the hospital. Samuel leaned in toward Diaz. “You listen to me. This time you’re looking at hard time. Aggravated assault on Mari Morin. Possession of illegal firearms. Murder. Kidnapping. Did you know killing someone in the course of committing a felony such as kidnapping is capital murder in the state of Texas?”
“Murder? I didn’t kill nobody and I didn’t kidnap nobody. Morin crashed the car and killed himself. The kid was gone.”
