As a metallic sound broke out behind them, almost like the chime of a thousand bells, Kyla and Ethan raised their feet at the same time. A quick breath. A final hesitation. They took a step forward and
Part IIIKICKING OUT THE FOOTLIGHTS
LEAVING
The motel is desolate, like seventy years have passed in a single night. Graffiti. Water stains. Rust. In room 5 they find a shattered mirror, a splintered wardrobe. Beneath the filthy mattress, they discover Kyla’s green backpack—the money still inside, the roll of film, all miraculously untouched by time. In Ethan’s room, they find his duffel bag, the one he took from Ellersby. Inside he finds an address in California, the combinations to four padlocks, and a note that reads,Good luck out there. I love you.
Beneath this, someone has added in a different hand,Y’all got this—R.P.
Ethan will never know how this note was placed in this bag.
Ethan and Kyla walk all the way to Turner. It’s not so far, now that the power of the ceremony isn’t stretching out the road. In Turner, they find the dregs of what must have been a very bad day. Lola’s Den, the fateful diner, is surrounded by police tape. The parking lot is a crime scene: trucks and SUVs are scattered everywhere. Broken windshields, shell casings. Blood.
An old farmer in bald overalls is surveying the violence with a pleasant smile. He gives Ethan and Kyla a polite nod. “Run out of gas?”
Ethan says, “How’d you know?”
The farmer is cheery as he drives. They’re in a rusted pickup truck that smells, not unpleasantly, of dog.
Ethan says, “You’re in a good mood.”
“Who wouldn’t be? Frank O’Shea is finally dead.”
Kyla turns from the window. “He’s what?”
“Apparently, the bastard and his goons turned up yesterday to that diner in Turner. Some thug who worked there also worked for Frank. He was a cook or something, but he was also a snitch; weall knew it. Anyway, he got his arm deep-fried. They’re saying the cartel did it.”
Ethan says nothing.
“Frank turned up at the diner a couple hours later, like I said, but then so does the cartel, along with every law agency you can think of. The rumor is that someone done killed a man that the cartel had planted on the inside of Frank’s operation, one of O’Shea’s top troops, but that’s a rumor, obviously.”
Kyla says nothing.
“Turns out, most of all the boys working for Frank were ready to move on. Half of them was working for the feds and the other half for the cartel. When the chips came down, they knew a lost cause when they saw it. O’Shea saw the writing on the wall. He tried to run. One of them UBP thugs shot him straight in the back.”
Ethan says, “What’s the UBP?”
“Didn’t you see the SUVs in the parking lot? The US Border Patrol, son. O’Shea was the captain around these parts. Crooked as the day is long. It’s how he got away with moving people like he did. Just picked them up trying to cross the border and sold them right down the river. Or so they say.”
Kyla says to Ethan, “You didn’t know?”
“As of four o’clock yesterday afternoon, Frank O’Shea stopped being captain of anything. Maybe they’ll let him boss some men around in hell.”
Four o’clock yesterday.By the time they’d reached the Brake Inn Motel, Frank O’Shea had been long dead.
The farmer scratches a spot on the seat, somehow releasing a fresh whiff of dog. “Some new son of a bitch will take over his spot sooner than later, I’m sure. But for now, at least we’ll have some calm. You wouldn’t believe the stories of what that man did.”
“No,” Kyla says. “I bet we wouldn’t.”
The farmer lets them off at the intersection of two highways. North will eventually lead to I-10, which rolls all the way to California. South leads straight to the border. The farmer keeps heading west, presumably back to the dog.
In his duffel bag, Ethan has two bands of cash each worth ten thousand dollars. Kyla wanted to give him more, but this will get an old car up and moving.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Ethan says. “You can head to Mexico from California. There’s money waiting for me. A lot, by the sounds of it. Plenty to share.”
Kyla shakes her head. “I’ll catch up with you later. The border will be chaos today with Frank dead. There won’t be a better chance to slip over without being stopped.”
“If Frank’s dead, the men from the cartel may not even want that camera film. They may not want to help Fernanda’s brother anymore.”
