Page 15 of Her Wolf

A little psycho

The echo of his shoes was as rhythmic as his heart beat and Zachary West lost himself in the sound. Around him, the tunnel connecting his two plots became a haze of clay, studded with the occasional glow of a bare light bulb.

The construction had almost been complete, merely cosmetic. Putting cages around the light bulbs, for instance. Laying flooring over the dirt. There was already drainage and air circulation in place; for his purposes, the tunnel was functional.

It was a conduit built for one purpose, and one purpose only—to bring enough cocaine into the United States to make it snow like Christmas morning.

As soon as he had established his supply chain, his world would be right again. The floor under his feet would no longer tilt like the deck of a ship in rough seas.

He didn’t need the tunnel to be pretty.

Life wasn’t pretty. This bare passage with its gritty floor was proof enough of that.

His final few steps up the ramp didn’t echo. He emerged into the cool night air, hands clasped behind his back as he tipped his head up and drew a long breath through his nose.

The air smelled delicious this side of the border—fresh and unspoilt. The first stars of the night poked through the satin sheet of twilight, and the Rio Grande gurgled somewhere in the distance behind him.

Maybe it smelled different here because there wasn’t a hint of char in the air.

It was quiet on this side of the river. Deathly so.

Perhaps, by the time he’d returned to his farm, the screams would have died down.

A bird sang out, and he took it as a signal to return home.

There was much for him to do, now that there was no longer anyone to help him.

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