grounds, cleaned the lodge, and cooked the food.
'Here's the menu,' John Ed said.
They sat at a dining table made of mesquite and set for lunch. Bode scanned the menu expecting to read his choice of entrees and desserts. Instead, he read 'Alpine Ibex?' Mandy said. 'For twenty thousand dollars? That's an expensive lunch.'
John Ed threw his head back and laughed.
'Where'd you find this gal, Bode? I like her.' He turned to Mandy. 'Honey, that ain't the lunch menu-that's the hunting menu.' John Ed read from the menu. 'Addax Antelope, six thousand… Dama Gazelle, ten thousand… Roan, twenty thousand… Bongo, thirty-five thousand… Cape Buffalo, fifty thousand…'
Bode scanned down the menu: American Bison, Arabian Oryx, Nubian Ibex, Sable, West Cauasian Tur, Wildebeest.
'You raised your price on the wildebeest since I bagged mine,' Bode said.
'Yep,' John Ed said. 'Course, it didn't cost you nothing then, and it ain't gonna cost you nothing now.'
'Appreciate that, John Ed.'
'Least I can do for good government.'
Jim Bob held up his iPhone.
'John Ed, you still don't have cell phone coverage out here?'
'Hell, Professor, there ain't no cell towers from here to El Paso.'
Hank's eyes lit up when a pretty young Latina wearing a colorful peasant dress and carrying a serving tray entered through swinging double doors. She placed platters of beef-and-cheese enchiladas, refried beans, tortillas, and guacamole on the table then returned with cold bottles of Dos Equis beer. When she leaned over the table, John Ed swatted her bottom. Bode caught her grimacing on the way out, and a disturbing thought shot through his mind: Did Mandy grimace when he wasn't looking? But he quickly drowned that thought with a long drink of the Dos Equis.
'Rosita, she's a fine little cook,' John Ed said. 'Found her down in Lajitas, working in a little cantina. Figured she was too pretty to waste away there, so I brought her up here. She's a cute little gal, just turned twenty-one.' He lowered his voice and leaned into Bode. 'She'll even do room service.'
He winked.
The thought of a seventy-one-year-old man with a twenty-one-year-old mistress made Bode a bit nauseous. Then he thought of himself, a forty-seven-year-old man with a twenty-seven-year-old mistress. Was the only difference between John Ed Johnson and Bode Bonner twenty-four years and five billion dollars?
Four hundred miles down the border, Lindsay Bonner cradled the newborn child. She had given birth once and assisted in many emergency childbirths and had never ceased to be amazed by the miracle of life.
'?Esperanza es americana? ' Alma the mother said.
'Yes, she is an American citizen,' the doctor said in Spanish. 'I will sign the birth certificate to prove it.'
Alma smiled through her pain.
'You did a wonderful job, Doctor,' Lindsay said.
He wiped sweat from his face.
'I could not have done it without you, Mrs. Bonner.'
They regarded each other a long moment, until the clinic door burst open, and three brown and armed men entered. One was bald; they were dressed in black outfits, like soldiers. Their expressions were hard.
'Turn away, quickly,' the doctor whispered, 'so they do not see your face.'
She sat on the stool next to the examining table and faced the wall. In the mirror, she saw another man enter the clinic. His expression was not hard. He carried himself in a manner that combined elegance and personal authority; from the way the others regarded him, he was an important person here on the border, perhaps a politician. He was tall and handsome with a goatee and jet-black hair even though he appeared middle-aged. He wore a loose shirt and slacks that draped like silk. His cologne scented the clinic. He recoiled at the sight of the blood on the doctor's lab coat and gloves.
'What happened?' he asked in Spanish.
'Breech birth.'
The doctor apparently knew the man, but he kept his distance. He removed the latex gloves and tossed them into the trash basket.
'Are they okay, mother and child?' the man asked.
'Yes.'
' Bueno. I have a girl and two boys. Born in the USA. Houston. The poor gringos, they come south to Mexico because they cannot afford American doctors. Rich Mexicanos, we go north to America for better healthcare. Odd, is it not?' He seemed to have amused himself. 'So, Dr. Rincon, I have heard much about you. It is an honor to finally meet you. You went to Harvard?'
'Yes.'
'Go Crimson.' He smiled; his teeth were perfect and white. 'I grew up poor and dreamed of escaping poverty by playing American beisbol, but I could not hit the curveball. So I went to Harvard on a minority scholarship. I am no longer poor.'
'What brings you to my clinic?'
'To thank you.'
'For what?'
'For saving my son's life.'
'Your son? ' The doctor frowned. 'The boy? A month ago, with the gunshot?'
' Si. My first-born, Jesus.' He shrugged. 'The boy was careless.'
'How is he?'
'Oh, he is fine. I sent him away.' He gestured to the north. 'To Tejas. To become a man.'
'No complications?'
'No. I had nurses with him twenty-four/seven. He is a strong boy. He recovered quickly. I have been shot three times myself. We are a hardy breed, Mexicanos.'
'Then what do you need from me?'
' Nada. It is what you need from me.'
'And what is that?'
The man held a hand out to his men; the bald soldier slapped an envelope into his hand, which he then held out to the doctor. He took the envelope, opened it, and removed a stack of green bills.
'One hundred thousand dollars,' the man said. 'Is that a fair compensation?'
The doctor stared at the money, then sighed and handed it back to the man.
'You know I cannot take your money.'
The man's expression seemed pained, almost as if his feelings had been hurt.
'I understand, Doctor. Perhaps you will accept these gifts.'
He snapped his fingers. The armed men went back outside and returned moments later with their arms full of large boxes. They stacked the boxes on the floor and returned for more. After several trips, a dozen boxes sat on the floor of the clinic.
'What is all this?' the doctor asked.
The important man pulled a switchblade from his back pocket and released the blade. He cut the tape sealing a box and opened the top. The doctor looked inside then reached in and held up a stethoscope.
'Supplies, surgical instruments…'
'Medicine.'
The man sliced open more boxes. The doctor pulled out cartons of medicine.
'Penicillin, amoxicillin, tetracycline… Botox? '
The man shrugged.
'How did you acquire all this?' the doctor said.
'That is of no concern, Doctor. This is payment for my son's life. Gracias. '
In the mirror, Lindsay saw him turn to her. She ducked her head.
'And thank you, Nurse. Jesus said you treated him with much kindness. I will not forget.'
She did not acknowledge him. But she looked into the mirror in time to catch the man winking at the doctor.
