King of Her Desire

9

"I won't have her cleaning the house or anything like that," Elliott said.

And then she stuck her head back out of the window just like dogs do, when they're in a car. She'd been doing that the whole time since we cleared the checkpoint at Lukeville, this tiny little town on the border between Arizona and Mexico.

There's smooth sailing once you get through the border. Wide open spaces for a long time. In fact, there's a long stretch of absolutely nothing on the way to the border, too. On the Mexican side.

Really scary feeling, that long, almost totally straight two lane with nothing but the odd, very suspicious little shack now and then. Because you kind of know who uses those shacks and don't want to know what for.

So I made her keep her head in the car down there. Because there are also all these bad hombres who no longer make exceptions for gringos like they used to. They're "equal opportunity" bandits now. Who will shoot your white ass if you get on their nerves.

She put her head back in for a sec to ask, "Does that...wait...that sign...is this town really called Why, Arizona?"

"Oh, you saw that, huh?"

"That's a real place? Why, Arizona?"

"Kinda fits, doesn't it? I mean, some people think that about the whole state, right?"

She laughed and reached for the huge bottle of water she'd bought in a convenience store. She was all proud of herself when she stepped up to pay for it. The woman hadn't been on the road like that since...God knows when. We had to keep stopping to do shit like that. She loved it.

But I wanted to talk about Sochi. And let me tell you why it was on my mind so much, while we're at it.

Couple of things had happened. The first was the evening after that little verbal battle I'd had with those white guys who cornered her on the beach.

I'm out with the ladies at one of the markets in town—they're everywhere. Stalls full of touristy stuff. But Gerri wanted some of those peasant blouses they have, the embroidered ones that come in just about every color in the crayon box. Do not ask me why.

So, I'm feeding Elliott a raspado with a spoon because she's hopeless with street food, and this guy comes up, another white one, not one of the two that'd been messing with Sochi, and says, "You're that dude, right?"

So I go, "What dude?"

And he says, "They got locked up over all that shit! Couple of gang guys beat the shit out of 'em and then they got locked up. Cops just hauled them away before anybody could say anything."

So I look at Elliott and she says, "Double trouble." Cool as a cuke.

And I said, "You know about this?"

"I was asked about it. Police chief called to ask if I'd seen anything."

"What'd you say?" the guy bleated.

"Who are you?" she asked him.

"Look, lady, their parents are freaking out, okay? They get this call from a jail in Mexico—"

"And if they go to that jail in Mexico they will be able to take their stupid little boys back to the suburbs. So...shoo!"

And she flicks a hand at him, right? Like he's one of those hummingbird sized mosquitos I hate so much down there.