Page 44 of Saving Bonnie

A few seconds pass then the whooping starts as the group scatters. “Correle,” the coyote yells, signaling them to run left.

One, two, three... Seconds tick by as the other agent is lured away. Sitting up, I step onto the bank. Once I reach solid ground, I go in at a crouch, my feet landing where the others have already cleared the way.

“Transported to a holding facility until which time…”

Half the group is kneeling, their hands on their heads, patiently listening to the border patrol agent.

I stop two steps behind him, leaning in one direction and another to get a better view of him. So this is Saul, the man who left Bonnie without a dime. I’m not impressed.

The guy continues giving them the rundown on what happens now that they’ve been captured, sparking a guffaw, a chuckle, and a couple of snorts, along with their laughter.

“We good,jefe?”

“Once my partner—” Saul stops mid-sentence, realizing the question wasn’t for him. His shoulders jerk, and his breath hitches. Did it dawn on him someone else may be nearby? There’s a slight tremble to his head as he cranes his neck to glance over his right shoulder while I shift my weight, swiveling to the left. He switches, searching to his left. I pivot, going right.

Laughter erupts from the group. Ignoring them, I reach out, jerking his arm behind him and pull the gun from his grasp in one fluid move. Now that I disarmed him, I aim my boot high on his calf and his legs buckle, landing him on his knees. The whole thing happened in less than two seconds, too fast for him to react.

He tries to look behind him. “What the hell?” His voice goes up at the end.

“Saul Mares,” I state, waiting for confirmation. Meanwhile, the guys get up out of the dirt, giving us their full attention.

“Shit,” Saul says under his breath.

“I’m here to talk finances.” My voice is loud enough so every guy hears me. I stash his gun at my waist then slap a pack of bills on his left shoulder.

Saul jerks, leaning to his right, until my hold pinches enough to stop him. Turning his head, he glances over to see what’s landed on him.

“Ay guey.” One of the guys utters while a couple elbow one another before taking off. Meanwhile,Robalopulls latex gloves from a pocket of his cargo pants.

“Shit-shit-shit,” Saul continues in a chant. He’s obviously expecting the worst, and damn if I’m not starting to enjoy this.

I put the money away before handing off the gun to Robalo, who proceeds to empty it out. He gives Saul a thorough inspection, confiscating all the ammo he’s carrying. Taking a handkerchief, he wipes the weapon and holsters it on him then disappears into the night.

I tighten my hold on Saul’s forearm, adding pressure. “Settle down.” His answering grunt tells me I have his attention. “If you take in any of those men, they have instructions to report you being given a substantial bribe.”

The guy stops moving. Though he’s still on his knees, turned away from me, I can almost see the thoughts going through his head. “Apart from an investigation, every partner you have will wonder if you’re dirty.” I let him stew.

“What do you want?” he asks in a tight voice.

Satisfaction rolls through me. It didn’t take much to have him buckle. “Bonnie Bustos.”

“What?” he balks. “I’m not gonna let you hurt her.” His voice finally lost the note of weakness.

I slow my breathing, taking control before my temper comes into play. “The only one looking to get hurt is you, if you don’t tell me about her.”

“What-what are you looking for?” He shakes his head. “I haven’t talked to her in months.”

I clench my teeth, knowing the bastard is lying. I push him forward, giving him a taste of West Texas dirt. “You telling me if I check your phone, I won’t find a call from her?”

He turns his face, spitting. The air around us grows heavier as I wait for his answer. I nudge his arm, knowing I’m pulling at his shoulder muscles. “Ow-ahhh,” he complains. “She called me, man.” He goes from zero to frantic as I add pressure behind his elbow.

“And?”

“I didn’t call her back,” he admits. I release some of the tension in his arm. “I didn’t...I didn’t talk to her,” he says with a layer of guilt on the end of the sentence.

“Why?”

A sharp whistle cuts the air. We’re out of time, and this asshole hasn’t come clean. I crank up the tension, ready to start on the joints.

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