“No kidding. Me, too — I’ve been trying to convince people that…wait, pull over there. See that place?”
“The hotel?”
“Exactly. Pull in. It’s time for breakfast.”
“Then you’re paying.”
“Nobody is paying.”
“What are you talking about?”
“General,” Avery said as he looked at his driver seriously. “This is my kind of mission. I know what I’m doing. Get your men up.”
“Like, I’m up!” Ziggy said as he crawled out of the bus stairwell. “Are we there yet?”
“Shut up,” Avery and the General said in unison.
“Bummer, angry dudes.” Ziggy curled up on the top step.
“Where the hell did you find this hippy, anyway?” the General asked.
“Have you ever been to Austin?”
“No, but question answered.” The General cupped his hand over his mouth. “Can we drop him off somewhere?”
“No, he’s strangely useful to me. Kind of like a slinky. He doesn’t really bring much value to the universe, but it still makes me laugh when I push him down a flight of stairs. Pull in there.” Avery pointed.
“Okay.”
“Get the men up.”
“Why? The border is less than forty minutes away.”
“I’m hungry, and we’re going to eat.”
“Whatever you say.” The bus pulled into the parking lot of an extended-stay business hotel.
“General, what time do you have?”
“Nine hundred hours.”
“Perfect. The business-class rush hour is over, and the selection should still be good. Follow me. Act natural. If anyone approaches us, I’ll do the talking.”
“All right, men. Fall in!” The members of STRAC-BOM wiped the sleep from their eyes and followed Avery across the parking lot. Ziggy brought up the rear. He danced along as he hummed a Grateful Dead song to himself. At the door to the hotel, Avery turned and addressed the men.
“Follow me closely, and try to act inconspicuous. Don’t make eye contact with any hotel staff. If harassed by an employee, take hostages.” Avery turned and entered the hotel. The rest of the men followed and attempted to avoid attention, but when a group of nine grown men, six wearing camouflage fatigues, one in a vintage WWII tanker’s uniform, one in a yellow tracksuit, and one wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and baggy shorts, try to sneak across a busy hotel lobby, it’s pretty conspicuous. Avery led the procession of men around the perimeter of the lobby, using large potted plants for cover when possible. “In there.” Avery pointed. The men hustled into the breakfast lobby of the hotel and launched themselves at the buffet. Eggs, cereal, pastries — the group cleaned them out. Avery noticed they were missing someone. He went and peeked into the lobby. Ziggy was at the front desk, filling out a reward program application with the manager. Avery whistled and waved Ziggy over to him. Ziggy shook the manager’s hand and joined the group.
“Like, forty nights, man, and I’m like, Platinum.” Ziggy smiled as Avery dragged him toward the buffet. Avery stacked his plate with everything he could find. Ziggy just grabbed a banana. Joining the other men at a table, Avery began to stuff his face indiscriminately with food.
“Hurry up,” Avery implored through open mouthfuls. “We’ve only got a few minutes before someone gets suspicious.” The group gorged themselves. Avery stuffed spare jelly doughnuts into his tracksuit as the hotel manager approached their table.
“Excuse me,” the manager said with a frown. “The breakfast buffet is only for hotel guests.”
“We are guests.” Avery choked down a box of dry cereal.
“May I see your room key?”
“Don’t have one yet.” Avery shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth, a good portion of them sticking in his unruly beard. “Our check-in was delayed.”
“Delayed?”
“Yes, we’re with the Donner party. Here for the wedding.”
“Wedding? We don’t have any weddings on the books for at least a week.”
“That’s unfortunate, Mr. Smith,” Avery said as he glanced at the hotel manager’s name badge. “If that is your real name. The bride is going to be very disappointed. She’s coming all the way from Russia. Never upset a Russian bride. She’ll cut out your liver and feed it to you wrapped in her garter belt. It’s an old tradition, but one definitely not to be trifled with. By the way, do you have an omelet station?”
“No! And leave now, or I’m calling the authorities.”
“Are you in anyway related to the El Paso Smiths?”
“No. Now all of you, out!”
“Good, they’re serial killers, but wonderful cooks. By the way, who’s in first place in the American League East?”
“That’s it — I’m calling security and the police.”
“Every man for himself!” Avery cried as he barreled toward the front door, grabbing a complimentary newspaper on the way. The rest of the men scrambled behind him, the General bringing up the rear as he grabbed some extra bacon from the buffet. Just outside the front entrance, Avery pulled a smoke bomb from his fanny pack and lit it. Stinky purple smoke erupted from the small, round pyrotechnic. He threw it inside and ran toward the parked bus. Avery collapsed into a seat on the bus, completely out of breath. He pulled a doughnut from his tracksuit and shoved it into his mouth as the rest of the men piled into their long, yellow getaway vehicle. The General climbed aboard last, tearing up a parking ticket for leaving the bus in a fire zone.
“Well-executed operation, Mr. Pendleton,” the General said as he pulled back onto the highway access road. “I like your style.”
“It’s a gift,” Avery replied as he looked for the baseball standings. “Where’s the lizard?”
“The what?”
“Ziggy?”
“Never leave a man behind!” General X-Ray cried as he pulled the bus into a sharp U-turn and headed back to the hotel. They found Ziggy playing hacky sack in the middle of the parking lot and eating a banana. Fire alarms inside the hotel were blaring. Businessmen and -women were stumbling out of the front doors. The sounds of sirens were building from down the street.
“Like, thanks, dudes.” Ziggy stepped into the bus and sat in his preferred spot in the stairwell, tucking his knees under his chin. “Like, where are we going, anyway?”
Loud dance music pulsed away in the club. The sun was long up, and the rest of the drunken customers were all gone, but the girls kept dancing for El Carnicero, and he definitely kept watching them. Empty champagne bottles littered the table in front of his couch. The room was dark, but lights from the stage bounced off the mirrored walls and disco ball overhead. A woman wearing almost nothing approached him.
“Why so sad?” She sat down beside him.
“Busy.”
“With what?” She rubbed his chest.
“Get off me.” He pushed her hand away.
“You can tell me,” she purred.
“Guns. Moving guns for the Padre.” He drained the last of his champagne glass and pushed her off. She leaned back over and unzipped his pants.
“By my estimation,” the General said, “the drought has lowered the level of the Rio Grande to a point where we can use it to our advantage.” The dust-covered school bus bounced down a rutted road, bucking and weaving as it swerved back and forth to avoid rocks and potholes. “They won’t be expecting us out here.”
“Like, where is here, man?” Ziggy asked as he ate the rest of his banana.
“The middle of nowhere.” The General checked his mirrors. “The border fence doesn’t run all the way out
