Winning Texas (7 page)

He tried not to worry as the moment approached. His faked passport and identification papers, including a driver
’
s license in the name of a deceased shopkeeper from Laredo, were impeccable. He
’
d paid a premium through his underground sources and changed identities often during his four years on the run.

His stomach lurched as he reached the checkpoint between Ojinaga, Mexico and Presidio, Texas, but when he stopped at the roadside cubicle, the Customs officer waved him through. Once again, it was a smooth passage into the interchangeable arid lands on the United States side of the border. He could feel his body slacken as he swallowed the last of a lukewarm can of Coke.

He stopped at a gas station, got out of the car, took out a new cell phone and called a number about sixty miles away. Tom Marr answered.

“
Howdy, cowpoke,
”
Marr said, using the clich
é
d-by-design code words they
’
d agreed upon earlier.
“
Coming to the ranch today?
”

“
On my way. Should be there in a couple of hours.
”

“
We
’
ll have lunch by the pool. Staying the night?
”

“
Probably not. See you later.
”

He clicked off, noticing a malnourished, gray-striped cat rubbing against his pants leg. He guessed the animal had emerged from the tall weeds that surrounded the station. By God, he hated cats, always begging for food or attention, especially mongrels like this one with a torn ear and patchy fur. He wondered if the creature had mange.

“
Get away from me,
”
he said in a low but audible voice, stepping aside quickly so the ugly creature wouldn
’
t deposit any fleas in his pants cuff.

“
Sorry, mister.
”

A stubbly young guy in a short-sleeved plaid shirt that failed to hide a hideous full-arm tattoo picked up the cat and chucked it under the chin. The tattoo, complete with dragons and shamrocks, apparently was a paean to Ireland.

“
She kind of lives here. Hasn
’
t got a home.
”

“
You should keep it away from paying customers,
”
Riggins said, climbing into his car before he
’
d be forced into more inane conversation. He drove through the godforsaken town of Presidio, still shuddering from his encounter with the cat. Part of his dislike of cats came from his certainty that they brought bad luck, a superstition he
’
d picked up from his father, a hard man who
’
d trusted neither man nor beast.

At least a few times a year Presidio made the news as the hottest place in the country. Temperatures of 104 degrees or higher weren
’
t uncommon. Today, the thermometer in Dan Riggins
’
s car registered a mere 99. Riggins lived on the outskirts of Ojinaga, a sluggish Mexican city of 22,000 across the border, his most stable address in the last four years. He
’
d fled Texas to avoid the federal indictment accusing him and three others of drug trafficking and plotting two murders. He
’
d gone first to Peru, where Alicia Perez joined him after he
’
d engineered her escape. They
’
d spent two years in Peru, but the lure of West Texas and the remnants of their secessionist cause had proved irresistible. They
’
d moved to Ojinaga, where they could slip across the border.

Karen Riggins, his estranged wife in San Antonio, had divorced him and he
’
d lost contact with his grown twin sons, but he was philosophical. When the time was right, he
’
d reconnect with them. Alicia and the Texas secessionist movement still ruled his life and he was deeply worried about both.

He drove past Presidio, thinking how much it depressed him. Most of West Texas was magnificent, but much of its beauty and charm depended upon its mystical emptiness. The craggy mountains of Big Bend National Park and the cloud-dappled skies of the scrublands revealed their splendor in their raw, natural state. What man touched in West Texas, he usually despoiled.

Presidio was the classic example. Its dusty streets were lined with clunky auto-repair businesses, battered retail stores and dilapidated government buildings. The residential areas weren
’
t much better. Houses of ancient stucco or weathered wood stood close together, yards laden with broken-down bicycles and discarded toys. He wondered how many of the town
’
s 5,000 residents, mostly working-class Hispanics, had pickup trucks. Old, rusting but dependably sturdy, they cluttered the streets.

He drove as fast as he dared and it didn
’
t take long before he hit the wide-open spaces. His spirits rose again with the sight of the brilliant sky and the shifting shapes of cottony clouds. Peru had majestic mountains and stunning scenery, but he never felt deeply connected to the land like he did here.

Riggins felt a rare burst of happiness. It had been four years since he
’
d seen his best friend. He was still ashamed of destroying Marr
’
s campaign for governor and ending his political life. The only thing he
’
d done right was to keep his friend insulated from the worst of the fallout. Marr hadn
’
t been indicted, but he
’
d been fined for campaign violations. He
’
d retreated into the quiet life of a rancher raising his daughter and sworn off the secessionist movement. He hadn
’
t been in contact, but Riggins had called him yesterday. The upshot was today
’
s clandestine reunion at Marr
’
s ranch.

Riggins knocked on the door and Marr appeared. They leaned together, almost embracing. Riggins walked inside Marr
’
s stucco two-story home, past the living room with its upright piano and formal portraits, and the dining room with its faded Persian rug and sturdy wooden sideboard. He followed Marr into the pine-paneled den with its leather sofa and chairs and windows that stretched across the back of the house. Hell, he thought, the house looks and even smells the same. It was an ineffable old-house aroma that blended fireplace ashes, boot polish and solid walls baked by decades of dry heat.

Being in Marr
’
s house flooded him with memories. At odds with his own family in San Antonio, he
’
d come to the ranch with Marr on holidays from the University of Texas. The ranch was where they
’
d first hatched plans for Texas to secede. Knox Marr, Tom
’
s iconoclastic rancher father, would spend hours brainstorming with them. Riggins had loved the nights of political plotting and whiskey drinking, stoked by fires in the cozy den
’
s stone fireplace. Days were even better. He rode horses, branded cattle and helped with other ranch chores that were routine for Tom, but exotic for him.

Around the time of their senior year, Riggins
’
s visits tailed off because Marr
’
s campus romance with Elizabeth Barnard, a willowy philosophy major, had blossomed. He
’
d take her to the ranch often and they
’
d married on its patio one evening soon after they graduated. When Knox Marr died the following year, Riggins had helped the couple pack up their grad school apartment in Austin to return. Riggins came back for the christening of their first child, Betsy. Just four years later, Marr called him to come for Elizabeth
’
s funeral after breast cancer ended his young wife
’
s life.

Riggins joined Marr on the stone patio with its outdoor fireplace, pool and seclusion. He sat down across from Marr at a teak table shaded by a green-striped umbrella.

“
Tell me more about Alicia,
”
Marr said.
“
What happened?
”

As Riggins thought, he noticed how much thinner and older Marr looked than when he
’
d last seen him four years ago. The tall rancher always was deeply tanned, which contrasted with his light hair and pale blue eyes. But Riggins detected more weariness in Marr
’
s face.

“
Gone off the rails again,
”
Riggins said.
“
Disappeared early this week and isn
’
t answering her cell phone.
”

“
Did you have a fight?
”

“
No, but I think she got agitated after overhearing me talk about some problems and decided to take things into her own hands. Think she
’
s headed either to the Hill Country or to Houston.
”

“
That
’
s a lot of territory to cover,
”
Marr said.
“
Shouldn
’
t we wait a few days, see what happens?
”

“
Nothing else I can do. Long as I stay in West Texas, I
’
m pretty safe. Kind of dangerous for me to travel anywhere else.
”

“
You look a lot different than four years ago, Dan. So does Alicia. You might not be recognized.
”

Riggins could feel his friend staring at his shaved head, graying moustache and gaunt figure. He knew his aged appearance was probably as shocking to Marr as Marr
’
s was to him.

“
Her hair has turned completely white, good for disguise,
”
he told Marr.
“
But people have a way of remembering her.
”

Riggins smiled, thinking of Alicia. At 54, with her mane of thick hair, shapely body and ferocious energy, she was still youthful and sexy. But he
’
d suspected for a while that something terrible had gone wrong with her brain. In the last year, she
’
d become increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

“
She gets irrationally angry sometimes,
”
he said.
“
She always had a temper, but now it
’
s over things that shouldn
’
t matter. She was driving near our place in Ojinaga last month and shot holes in the tires of a driver who was going too slow.
”

“
I guess we
’
ve all wanted to do that,
”
Marr smiled.

“
It wasn
’
t funny,
”
Riggins said.
“
I had to pay the man off to keep him from going to the cops. Not the kind of thing you want when you
’
re in hiding.
”

“
Third time she
’
s disappeared, you said? Have you taken her to a doctor in Mexico?
”

“
She refuses to go, says she
’
s perfectly fine. And she is, most of the time.
”

“
What do you suppose is going on?
”

“
Best guess, a brain injury. Violence was a way of life in Peru. You know she was captured by the Shining Path when she was just 16. I think those damn thugs knocked her around.
”

Riggins changed the subject.
“
Tell me what
’
s going on with you. You said you
’
d explain when I got here.
”

“
I
’
m worried to death about Betsy.
”

“
The world
’
s sweetest kid?
”

“
Not so much lately. Since she turned sixteen, seems like I can
’
t do anything right. Now she
’
s gone.
”

“
Gone? When?
”

“
We found her room empty three days ago,
”
Marr said.
“
She left a note saying she wanted to be on her own for a while and not to follow her.
”

“
Does your housekeeper know anything?
”