Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Baseball grinned, showing two silver teeth and many blackened ones. “It’s okay, my friends, no problem here. We don’t want trouble. Maybe just talk, then we all go on our way.” He spoke in Spanish and licked his lips between every couple of words, glancing back and forth between Chayo and Neva. In the mirrors of his sunglasses, their image wavered back and forth. Appearing, disappearing. “We can help you. We can guide you. We’ve done this many times. It’s dangerous here without true friends. Bandits, Border Patrol, snakes.”
Chayo shook his head. “No.”
Tatuaje took a step closer, his hand stroking the length of the naked machete at his waist. He laughed at something and nothing at all.
Baseball sighed, looking at the ground at their feet. “You do not understand. Walking here is like breaking into a man’s home. It is a beautiful home, filled with pretty things. All that you see is owned by this man, so you must knock to enter. You must be invited, or you must pay for the privilege, and you do not look like you have much money.” He turned slowly to Neva. “But there are other ways to pay.” He waved the gun up and down her body. “We are the ones who guard the house for this man, for Fox Uno. Are you here to take Fox Uno’s pretty things?”
“I do not know what you’re talking about. We have nothing,” Chayo said. These men were not simple coyotes; either they were real narcos like they said, working for this Fox Uno that Chayo had heard of, that everyone in Ojinaga had heard of, or they were even worse: bajadores, those who preyed on both human and drug smugglers—stealing their drugs, taking the money the immigrants had saved for years to start their new lives, assaulting the women. Both had backpacks and canteens, they were unwashed and unkempt. Chayo could smell them, and they had been in the desert for a while. They probably had a camp on each side of the river.
They were right; they were the ones who guarded the house.
Tatuaje spoke up, laughing and smiling wider. “There’s always something . . .”
“He is right,” Baseball agreed, scratching his nose with the gun’s barrel. “It is simple. We are not bad men. We will give you food, some water, and point you the safest way to go. For this we will take ten minutes with your girl. She is ugly, but she will do. Ten minutes for the rest of your life? That is nothing, my friend. Nothing at all.”
“No,” Chayo said. He raised the rifle higher, slowly, praying it did not split in half. “No. It is too much. It is everything we have.” It sounded like begging, and he was.