flags pinned up on the wall.’
‘So, you’re at school here, then?’
But there was no good reason why a schoolgirl would be in the Corrington Road truckers’ diner looking for a ride down to Texas, particularly not a schoolgirl like her. A Mexican. She might well have had a job washing dishes here until two o’clock in the morning, of course, but there was no way she should’ve been this far south, sticking her thumb out by the highway. She tried to cover the total ignorance of what to say next by filling her mouth with more potato.
The clink of knives and forks around them seemed much louder than it had just a minute ago. Cindy’s cutlery was crossed perfectly on her plate. The woman said nothing more, apparently content to wait on an answer. When the silence became difficult to endure, Sofia spoke up again.
‘I said I went to school here,’ she muttered, unable to keep a petulant tone out of her voice.
‘That you did. That you did.’ Cindy smiled again and pushed the plate away. She’d finished the meal and was leaning back now, enjoying what was left of her drink. ‘But you didn’t say why you were travelling to Texas. And that’s what makes me think you’re in trouble.’
If Sofia had a guardian angel, he whispered into her ear at this point.
‘I’m not in trouble,’ she said in a flash of improvisation. ‘My sister is in trouble.’
She received a nod in acknowledgment for that. ‘I see, and just what sort of trouble is your sister in, down in Texas?’
‘Meth,’ she replied. ‘To begin with, anyway. Then she had to pay for the drugs.’
French regarded her with a blank face, as though she had yet to make up her mind about the story. ‘And how is she paying for it? A Mexican girl, down in Texas.’
Sofia wasn’t sure just how far to push the story. She hesitated to say anything. The woman seemed to take her reticence as a form of distress. Her face softened, becoming almost motherly.
‘Is she working in one of the government brothels down there, hon?’
Sofia hadn’t thought of that. Her imagination didn’t run to such things, but it sounded like a good story. She nodded uncertainly, her eyes darting around the dining room as if she was concerned someone might overhear.
‘And so, do you mind me asking, young lady … I don’t even know your name, by the way.’
‘My name is Sofia,’ she answered, instantly regretting it. She should’ve used a false name … If the police put out a bulletin, it could be picked up by the radio stations and then everybody would be looking for the little runaway Mexican girl called Sofia.
‘Thank you, Sofia. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you looking for your sister? You said you came here with your family. Surely it doesn’t fall to you to bring her home.’
She really did have to lie this time. But as she was learning, it was always easier to wrap a lie around a kernel of truth. ‘I am all she has left,’ she said. ‘Our father … died recently.’
She felt awful. It must surely have been a mortal sin to invoke her father’s name in such a fashion. And yet, she was doing this to avenge him, and all of the family. So no, she thought, rallying silently, she was not doing the wrong thing by using Papa’s memory in such a fashion. She was doing what needed to be done.
It was upsetting, however, and Cindy seemed to be attuned to her distress. The truck-driving lady suddenly looked older under the harsh, flat light inside the diner. She even reached across and squeezed Sofia’s hand. It was the sort of thing that would usually have caused the teenager to jerk away. She didn’t like people touching her. Yet oddly enough, she sat there, transfixed by Cindy’s warm, blue eyes.
‘Sorry, hon,’ she said. ‘I can be a pushy old hippie sometimes. I didn’t mean to pry. You are obviously carrying a world of hurt. I could see that as soon as I came in. I can also see those assholes Jasper and T Dawg sizing you up. It wouldn’t be the first time. Fuckers … Pardon my French.’
She finished the last of her Coke, sucking up a few final drops with a loud slurping sound before wiping her mouth with a napkin.
‘Tell you what, Sofia, I’m really not happy with the idea of you trying to haul ass all the way down to Texas on your own. You can ride with me, if you want. I can see, sitting here across from you, that there’s going to be no telling you otherwise. You won’t be talked out of this, will you?’
Sofia Pieraro shook her head.
Cindy smiled. ‘Too much like me. I can also see you got a few miles on you, kid, but you got some hard road ahead of you, too. And God knows what you intend to do when you get down there. I can’t imagine some fat government pimp in Fort Hood is going to stand for you waltzing into his bordello and carrying off your sister. Is she of age?’
Sofia’s face must have communicated her confusion.
‘I mean, is she over eighteen years old?’
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘She is only fourteen.’
That seemed to satisfy Cindy French. She nodded once.
‘Okay then. What you need to do when you get there is keep your head down, get your ass in to see the padre at the 58th Street chapel. You tell him your sister is underage and where she’s working. Father Michael will take care of it.’ She paused, as if remembering something important. ‘You are Catholic, aren’t you? I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions.’
Sofia sketched a tired smile and fluttered one hand at Cindy. ‘I am. We all are. Or were, anyway. I will talk to the priest. Thank you. I … I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to do this. I spoke to the government here, but they didn’t seem to care.’
The information, as false as it was, didn’t seem to surprise the truck driver. ‘Well, there’s a news flash,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry you had to waste your time barking up that tree. But I know from having to haul freight from Corpus Christi to Seattle that Blackstone and Kipper’s people don’t get along. The number of times I had to fill out one form for Texas and then exactly the same form for Seattle a-ways down the road … I tell you. If they’re not going to help, then I don’t see why the government can’t just get out of the way of people and let them get on with rebuilding their lives.’
It didn’t seem to be the sort of statement that required an answer, so Sofia kept her mouth shut. She had told so many lies in the last few minutes, she feared she’d begin to trip over them if she said any more. Cindy picked up the cheque that the waitress had left, squinted at it suspiciously, before pulling a couple of newbies out of her pocket and weighing them down on top of the bill with a salt shaker.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘There’s a few of us meeting up. We’re going to convoy down past Tulsa on I-35. It’s always safer when you can ride along with someone.’
Throwing a filthy look in the direction of Jasper and T Dawg as she followed Cindy out of the diner, Sofia could only agree.
19
KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
Cindy French’s semitrailer was pulled up a short walk away from the diner, in the parking bay of the Flying J truckstop. The rig was enormous and blue, matching her eyes. Indeed, Cindy was a study in blues: denim jeans, a blue hoodie under her Eddie Bauer blue winter coat, and a royal blue knitted scarf. Her outfit was topped off by a strange animal-like white hat, with cartoon eyes and tails that dropped down to her collar. Sofia couldn’t decide if the hat was a rat, a cat or some sort of bunny rabbit. In a crowd of fat, male truckers, Cindy French stood out. Short as she was, just the way she carried herself gave off a strong impression that it would be unwise to cross her. The .45 on her hip further reinforced that, for anyone fool enough to make rash judgments based on her size and gender alone.
She was smirking as she took in Sofia’s reaction to her striking fashion statement. Especially the hat. A
