In Desperation

But when Tilly saw the gun behind his back, she thought, “Oh no, he’s going to shoot the guy at the door, then kill me, too.” She got so scared she peed a little.

Ruiz gave the angry guy money and he went away.

Then-bam! They moved so fast.

They didn’t even put on the phony cop uniforms, staying in their jeans and T-shirts as they collected all their stuff in travel bags. Then they unlocked the chain from her leg, cut the tape on her wrists, making her get dressed, go to the bathroom with the door open, all the while barking: “Hurry up! Faster!” Then Alfredo tightened her gag and retaped her wrists. But he didn’t notice how she’d held them apart slightly, getting some play that allowed her to wriggle them a little.

Then she was forced back inside the big black suitcase.

My coffin.

They zipped it shut, rolled her to their car, hefted her into the trunk and drove. Tilly couldn’t make sense of her nightmare. Why were they doing this to her? She didn’t really understand why they were so mad at Lyle. He was nice to her, he worked so hard at his business and her mom was in love with him.

Tilly liked Lyle a lot and hoped that one day they’d be a real family.

Why can’t they just leave us alone?

Tilly missed her mom so much. She loved her so much and wanted to be home with her now, so much.

What if the creeps kill me?

What if I never see Mom again?

Tilly tasted the salt of her tears seeping into her gag and held her breath when she felt the car slow down. As the highway noise decreased she heard the muffled voices of the creeps. They were fighting. The car continued slowing until it stopped dead and the motor shut off.

Tilly heard a door open and the car dipped with the weight shift of someone getting out. She heard more arguing in Spanish. Then a small noise at the side of the car, the squeak of something twisting, the knock of metal against metal, the rush of liquid and smell of…they’d stopped for gas.

Yell. Scream. Make noise! Someone would hear and call police!

No!

What if no one heard? They were already angry.

Tilly did not move, except to brush her tears. That’s when she discovered that her sweat had dissolved some of the adhesiveness of the tape. She wriggled her wrists and felt her bindings slip ever so slightly.

She worked her wrists a bit more.

The tape remained secure, but little by little Tilly could feel her bindings loosening.

32

Black Canyon City, Arizona

Some forty miles north of Phoenix, the white Ford sedan with Tilly Martin captive in the trunk exited Interstate 17.

Dangerously low on fuel, Tilly’s captors had driven into Black Canyon City, looking for a service station. Ruiz was behind the wheel, concentrating on scanners and radio news reports, while Alfredo nagged him about their predicament.

“I don’t like this,” Alfredo said. “We should call the bosses, end it now.”

“Shut up.”

“But it’s not good, Ruiz.”

“You are like an old woman. Do you have any balls?”

Ruiz questioned the wisdom of the bosses in Mexico who’d selected Alfredo for this job. He lacked the ability to think quickly on his feet. If the jackass came within a hair of becoming a liability, Ruiz would remove him without hesitation, probably with the Glock-20 he had under his seat.

Black Canyon City sat in a valley carved out before the Bradshaw Mountains foothills. It used to be a stagecoach station. All seemed peaceful in the night as sleepy frontier storefronts flowed by. Ruiz focused on the scanners and radio news. Hearing nothing on their motel, he resumed analyzing what had happened in Phoenix. Yes, they’d been caught off guard but Ruiz had kept his cool. Reading the unease in the stinking motel manager’s face, he’d seized their only option.

Leave.

Ruiz was lucky Alfredo hadn’t gone to the door. Alfredo would have shot the manager, because Alfredo was stupid. The jackass had left the tank empty. He’d shown his lack of professionalism by ignoring Ruiz’s specific instructions to keep the car’s tank full when he picked up take-out food, so they would be ready for emergencies like this.

Shaking his head, Ruiz pushed back his growing anger until he spotted a gas station, a one-story cinder block building with a towering cactus on either side. It had a small cafe, and a flickering neon sign that offered “Curios” and an invitation to See Our Rattlesnake Display!

Ruiz parked by one of the four pumps designated for self-serve, got out, twisted off the fuel cap, put it on the roof and began filling the tank.

As the gas flowed, he gazed toward the mountains silhouetted against the evening sky and tried not to think of the small human in his trunk. She was a product, nothing more. This was a job, but unlike the others, this one was going to give a brutal message.

Time was almost up.

Soon the sicario would be brought in and it would be over.

Like that.

Ruiz glanced at the pump’s counter. A chill rattled up his spine when a blue-and-white patrol car for the Arizona Department of Public Safety with two DPS Highway Patrol officers eased up to the store. Ruiz cursed under his breath but continued filling the tank, thankful he’d told Alfredo to tighten the gag on the girl.

The officer who was driving opened his door.

Police radio chatter spilled from the car as he got out. He was a tall, well-built white boy, about thirty, trimmed moustache. He adjusted his utility belt, nodding at Ruiz. Ruiz returned his nod, then watched the officer head into the store.

The second officer was in the passenger seat, flipping through pages on a clipboard and checking the car’s small computer.

At that moment Alfredo got out and began cleaning the front and rear windshields. Talking low in Spanish to Ruiz, he asked: “What do we do?”

“Pay for the gas and leave.” Ruiz had finished. “Get back in the car.”

Ruiz replaced the nozzle and followed the officer into the store to pay.

Alfredo watched the officer in the car. He was older, tense with his paperwork, writing, making notes, checking. Alfredo glanced into the store. Ruiz was taking a long time. The officer in the car halted his work and turned his face to the computer. Something grabbed his attention and he spoke into his shoulder microphone.

Inside the store, Ruiz was standing behind the tall officer waiting his turn to pay when the radio bleated: “Dan, you know that thing we were talking about with the girl in Phoenix? Something’s up. They may have them.”

“Really?” the tall officer said. “Guess you owe me ten bucks. I told you that would pop.”

“They just sent a statewide.”

“Well, if your piece of crap unit hadn’t blown the rad, you might have been up for some OT. Now, are you sure you don’t want anything? Last chance.”

“Yeah, an orange soda and some of those spicy chips.”

The officer went to browse the chip rack and the thin, wrinkled man standing at the cash looked at Ruiz.

“Sir, I can serve you. Just the gas?”

Ruiz nodded.

“Thirty-five dollars.”