Tossing the Colt Anaconda wasn’t the end of his sadness because he still had the bullets to deal with. He had unloaded the remaining bullets and the brass, and then he had the extra ones from Francis’s pocket. He didn’t want to toss them into the dumpster with the gun, so he walked over two blocks and found a sewage drain and dumped them down the grate.

  Widow walked to the bus station and bought a ticket. Then he spent the next forty-five minutes waiting for his bus to Laredo. He waited on the bench farthest from the police station’s line of sight. He knew there was no real chance of anyone pinning him as a suspect for shooting two people only the night before. Despite that, he was going to feel a lot more comfortable when he was far from the city.

  Widow had the bus ticket in his back pocket. It was flattened out in his latest paperback book. He felt a little restless and a little hungry. He was ready to get on the road. Widow got up to walk around the station for a few minutes and stretch his legs. He walked around to the other side of the station’s hutch and stopped by a water fountain. Widow took a swig and then looked above the fountain at a map of the roads of South Texas. He studied it and recalled in his head the conversation with Leon.

  She had said that to reach Romanth, he would need something with four-wheel drive.

  Widow had an idea. He looked down the street and saw one of those old mechanic shops that had been open for decades—a dying breed. He forgot about taking the bus and walked across the street to the mechanic. The sign out front said "Torrocel’s." Widow walked in, and a bell above the door chimed his arrival.

  He waited in front of a counter for someone to come out of the back. Behind the counter was a bookshelf with used auto books. He could see pages torn and folded, and spines creased. A long moment passed, and he thought about calling out, but then a little old man came from out of the shadows. He wore a green collared shirt and a pair of gray slacks. He was wiping his hands, which were greased up from working on a car, Widow figured. The guy must’ve been a pretty good mechanic because his clothes were clean. Then again, maybe he was just the front desk guy or the owner, and someone else lower down the food chain was the one who did the actual labor.

  The guy reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and slipped them on. He said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

  Widow said, “How are you today?”

  “Fine. Doing fine.”

  “That’s good. I need to inquire about your lot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw around the back that you got a lot of cars back there.”

  The guy said, “Yeah. What of it?”

  “Are they all customers’ cars?”

  “Not all. Two of them are employees. What’s this about, son?”

  “See, I’m in desperate need of wheels.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m wondering if you got any old trucks lying around that you wouldn’t mind parting with?”

  The guy cocked his head up and stared at Widow’s face. He said, “This isn’t a car dealership.”

  “I realize that, sir. But I figured a bunch of those junkier rides were yours.”

  The guy continued to stare into Widow’s face.

  Widow said, “I figure you use them for spare parts.”

  The guy said, “Well, if I use them for spare parts, don’t you think that none of them would work, right?”

  “Isn’t there something back there that runs?”

  “So let me get this straight. You want to buy one of my old junk vehicles?”

  “That’s right. I need a truck. With four-wheel drive. Nothing fancy. Just reliable.”

  The guy paused a long moment, and then he said, “You don’t care about any luxuries?” Widow stayed quiet, and the guy came back with, “What I mean is, it don’t need AC?”

  Widow said, “I don’t care if it has doors on it.”

  The guy nodded and said, “Wait right here.” And he removed his glasses, turned, and walked back through a door into the shadows.

  Widow stood near the counter and waited. He looked at the clock on the wall and recalled the map from the bus station in his head. He had about a two-hour drive down to Laredo, and then another hour northwest.

  The guy returned without his glasses and had an employee following behind him.

  He wore mechanic’s overalls and was covered in grease—a real mechanic.

  The guy said, “Yes, sir. You looking to buy something with four-wheel drive?”

  Widow nodded.

  “You got cash?”

  “I got a debit card.”

  The guy thought for a moment, and he turned to the old man, who must’ve been the owner, Torrecel, and whispered something to him. They spoke in low voices, and then he turned back and said, “Good enough. Come on back.”

  Widow followed the two of them through the shadows and out a door. They walked into a small three-slot garage. All three slots were occupied with cars up on the lifts. There was another guy there, all greased up and working underneath one car.

  Widow followed the mechanic past the work area and out through one of the open garages. They walked into a small parking lot that was jam-packed with cars. They walked beyond what Widow assumed were customers’ cars waiting to be worked on and then through some cars that looked more like scrap metal and then over to a wooded area where three vehicles were parked.

  The guy walked up to a 1990s Jeep Wrangler. It was lifted with big tires, and painted Army green. The Wrangler might as well have had an Army star slapped on the side door. It had no top on it, and no visible top anywhere. There were half doors, and a winch on the front, and a spare tire on the back. It was well kept, but there wasn’t much to say about the exterior. It looked like the bones of a daily driver, as a work in progress.

  The guy said, “I got this Jeep. I need to sell it. It runs good. The wife is having our second, and I need to get rid of it.”

  Widow looked it over and asked, “Any engine problems?”

  “What you think?”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  “I work in a garage. I keep it running good. Solid engine.”

  “The four-wheel-drive work?”

  “You know it does. That’s the whole reason to have one. Take it for a drive if you want and try it out.”

  Widow said, “Nah. No need. I trust you. How much you want for it?”

  The guy said, “How much you want to pay?”

  Widow asked, “What’s the value?”

  “The book value on these things is around six thousand.”

  Widow said, “Steep. I’ll give you four.”

  The guy was silent, and then he looked at his boss and back to Widow. He said, “Make it forty-five hundred.”

  Widow thought for a moment and said, “Done.”

  They shook hands and returned to the shop. The mechanic had convinced his boss to sell the Jeep as if it were a part of his own inventory to Widow. Which meant Widow paid the boss, and the boss gave the mechanic straight cash-money. They followed this procedure so that they could swipe Widow’s debit card.

  After swiping Widow’s card, they made Widow watch as the boss counted $4,500 out of a safe. He wasn’t sure why they made him wait. Finally, the mechanic reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring with over a dozen different keys on it. He slipped out the Jeep key and handed it to Widow.

  He said, “It’s got a full tank. Take good care of her. She’s been with me for years.”

  Widow nodded and checked the clock one last time as he walked out the door. He figured he could get Jemma back by nightfall if he was lucky.

  14

  Driving down Thirty-Five, Widow put the Wrangler in fifth gear and decided he had to recalculate the time it would take him to get to Romanth because it turned out that the older Jeep wasn't built for speed. It topped out at fifty-five miles per hour as long as he stayed flat and not going up hills. It was not a fast-moving vehicle.

  He drove for over an hour and guessed he would be in Romanth within two-and-a-half hours. He enjoyed driving with the top gone. It was nice, even though the hot sun beat down on him. He figured the best-case scenario was being at risk of getting a farmer's tan, and the worst-case scenario was getting burned.

  The Wrangler drove well, just like the mechanic had said. The tires were balanced and straight. Widow felt every rock on the road underneath, but it was in a good way. He was really impressed with his new Jeep. He was even considering keeping it. Widow liked the life he had chosen of owning nothing and wandering the landscape, free of possessions. But there was something tantalizing about riding in a Jeep. He imagined it was the same for guys who rode hogs across the country. He could understand the motorcycle appeal, the life of a rebel.

  Just then, the cell phone he had taken from the woman vibrated and buzzed and made a dinging sound he had heard from other people's phones before. It was the latest iPhone sound. It was weak and said, Hello. You have a text. It wasn't a sound he would choose for a phone—if he owned a phone. It was too soft.

  He reached down and picked the iPhone off of the passenger seat and checked it. There was a text from one number programmed into the phone.

  It read, "Where r u? Y haven't you checked in?"

  Widow thought about responding, but what for? He could've called both numbers and talked to the bad guys on the other line, but what was the good in that? He had the advantage.

  The two people who had been following him were trying to find out where he was going. That's why they had been following him. They didn't know where Hood was, and they didn't know where he was headed, and he wanted to keep it that way. Once he had Jemma safe and sound, then he could ask Hood about what was going on. Then he could deal with Hood's trouble.

  John Glock called the Principal and said, "I can't get hold of them."

  Silence fell over the line, and a nervous voice came on and said, "Have you called?"

  "No."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "I texted. We don't call on the phone. They were supposed to check-in, and they didn't. So I texted."

  The Principal sounded nervous. He asked, "And?"

  "And nothing. They didn't respond."

  Silence fell over the line, and the Principal came on and said, "You know what's at stake here?"

  "I know."

  "I've spent the last fifteen months preparing for this. We've invested millions."

  Glock said, "I know."

  "We can't have Hood out there. We need to know what he told the Feds."

  Glock said, "If he told them anything."

  "You don't think he did?"

  "I think if he had spoken to them, they'd have come down on us already."

  "So why the hell is he out?"

  "I think he told them something, but I don't think he gave them proof."

  The Principal said, "So they let him out as a sign of good faith?"

  Glock said, "Exactly. Maybe to go and say goodbye to his family. Or maybe they let him out, and he ditched them. Whatever happened, I guarantee they aren't on to us. We'd have seen them already."

  The Principal said, "So what do we do?"

  Glock asked, "Where are you?"

  "I'm in Austin."

  "Campaigning?"

  "Yes."

  "Is our candidate there?"

  "No. He left. He's got a debate coming up."

  Glock asked, "How did it go for him?"

  "The crowd loved him."

  "What about the negotiation?"

  The Principal said, "Don't worry about that. It's not time yet."

  "You know we have to get those contracts!"

  "Your job is cleanup. Don't tell me how to do mine. Now find Hood and put a bullet in him!"

  "What about the family? You still want them dead?"

  The line was silent for a long moment again, and Glock could hear the Principal breathing heavily on the other end of the line.

  Glock had no intention of letting anyone in the Hood family live. The dying wife. The girl. They were all going to die. That was how he operated. But he wanted to make sure the Principal had the stomach for it.

  The Principal said, "Do it."

  Glock smiled.

  "Ask him what they know first."

  "Don't worry. I'll have a good conversation with him before I put him down."

  The Principal asked, "Where's the last place you heard from the others?"

  "South Texas. Don't worry—I'll find out what's going on."

  "Call them. I don't care about protocol."

  Glock said, "I'm going to when we hang up."

  The Principal said, "Good."

  "This may take until nighttime. Where you gonna be?"

  "I'll be home after five."

  "Good. I'll call you when it's done," Glock said and hung up the phone. He looked at his watch and then at his phone. He called a number for his contact at the Jericho Men.

  The phone rang, and then he heard a click, and a voice came on.

  Glock said, "Danny, it's me."

  The voice on the other line said, "What's up?"

  "I need you to track a phone."

  There was a short moment of silence on the other line, and then the guy named Danny said, "What's the number?"

  Glock relayed the number to him and said, "It's one of our burners. We lost an asset."

  Danny said, "No explanation required. But I'll need them to answer the phone so I can get a ping on it."

  "Understood. How long do I need to talk with them?"

  "There's no minimum. Just get them to turn it on. Once it's on, then I can track it."

  "I'm going to call them now," Glock said, and clicked off the phone. He searched his phone for the woman's name. Glock found it and hit the Call button. He waited for it to ring.

  Widow drove the Wrangler and had no problems. The engine ran well. Wind blew in hard as he barreled down the highway. It was hard to hear the woman's phone when it rang, but he had it in the cup holder and saw it light up.

  Widow pulled over to the side of the road, slow. The tires spit gravel up in the air, and the dust settled around him. He put the gear into neutral and jerked up the emergency brake. It clicked.

  He picked up the phone and hit the button to answer. He put the receiver up to his ear and said nothing, just listened.

  A horrible voice that sounded like a guy trying to swallow a whole pigeon said, "Hello. Where are you?"

  Widow stayed quiet.

  The voice said, "Jane? Answer! Where are you?"

  "Wrong person. Jane won't be coming to the phone. Ever again."

  The voice on the other end said, "Who the hell is this?"

  "I'm the guy who killed your friends."

  "They're dead?"

  "As doornails."

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm nobody."

  "You're the stranger. The guy who talked to the old bird before she croaked."

  "And you're the asshole who hired two amateurs to follow a poor defenseless old lady."

  Glock said, "They weren't amateurs. They were experienced professionals."

  Widow said, "Whatever. They're dead now."

  "You must be good to have killed them both."

  "I didn't kill them both. Your friend Jane killed the other guy."

  "I'm sure you gave her no choice."

  Widow said, "What are you? The boss?"

  "Something like that."

  "What the hell's wrong with your voice? Did you bite your tongue off?"

  There was a pause on the line, and then Glock said, "I was stabbed. In prison."

  Widow waited a long second and then said, "Is that supposed to scare me?"

  Glock said nothing back.

  Widow asked, "Somebody tried to kill you?"

  "And they failed."

  "Too bad. You better hope nothing happens to Hood and that little girl. Or I'll finish the job."

  Widow hung the phone up. No reason to continue. Nothing left to say. He tossed the iPhone back onto the seat next to him and looked back at the oncoming cars. Widow waited for an opening and threw the gear into first and released the emergency brake. He hit the gas, the Wrangler bounced, the tires kicked up dirt, and he was back on the road.

  Glock called Danny again and said, "Tell me you located the phone."

  "Of course. No problem. He's headed south on Thirty-Five toward Laredo. Is he coming to us?"

  "No. This isn't one of our guys. This is a meddler. A guy sticking his nose where it don't belong."

  "I see. You want me to get the boys together? We can cut him off."

  "No. I'll handle it personally. Get everyone in. Stay at the compound."

  Danny asked, "What's this about?"

  "We have a situation. A guy we worked with once before got himself arrested. He got ten years."

  "Who is it?"

  "James Hood."

  No recognition came from Danny.

  Glock said, "Doesn't matter. It was before your boys came on board. This guy got ten years. We let him live because he has family. People we can hurt."

  "I understand."

  "He got out yesterday. Didn't tell us. We want to know why."

  "You think he talked to the cops?"

  "Probably."

  "Now you need him silenced?"

  Glock said, "Right."

  "So is that the guy we're tracking?"

  "No. This guy is something different. A passerby."

  "You mean a Good Samaritan?"

  "Right."

  Danny asked, "Where do you think he's going? Think he wants to cross the border?"

  "No. This guy is after Hood. He thinks he can stop us from getting to him first."

  "So, he knows where this Hood guy is?"

  Glock said, "Yeah. Keep an eye on his phone. Tell me where he stops."

  "No problem."

  "And Danny?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Better gear up. We might need your guys tonight. This guy's already killed two of my guys."

  Danny said, "Got it."

  Glock hung up. He was already in his Tahoe and headed south. He was only a few hours behind this stranger.

  15

  The sun set over huge rock formations and rock shelves. Fiery reds swarmed across the sky. The last ten miles were rough on the long, winding dirt track that led to the town of Romanth. Red clay and empty river beds filled the landscape. The whole scene was majestic.