Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [30]
“If the men are hungry, have them break into the rations. We can restock in Rubio.”
Before long we have the trucks leaving the city, turning onto a road that winds up and around the mountains. Esperanza is driving one vehicle, while one of the hired hands pilots the other.
The airport is situated near the outskirts of the city and so I don’t see much of it before both the mountains and the jungle, in a way that’s uniquely South American, swallow us up.
“Have you ever been to Rubio?”
“No,” she says. “My cousin is stationed at the army base near there and he says it’s not much to look at.”
“It’s a nice little town. Quiet.”
“Like Ellen, North Carolina?”
“Ouch.”
She shrugs. “Sorry. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”
“Are you going to do that for the whole time we’re out here?”
“I’m not sure. Depends on how much of a jerk you are.”
“I can always ride in the other truck.”
She doesn’t offer a response and I get the feeling the banter is a bit more than she can take right now. For all that she is making light of it, this has to be hard on her.
If I didn’t know better, I would think her mood was affecting her driving. It seems to me that she’s approaching reckless mode. These mountain roads are narrow and there are no guardrails. And with blind curves being the norm, as she navigates our way around each one, often the SUV is hugging the wrong side of the road. I stare ahead, cringing at the prospect of another vehicle careening toward us from the opposite direction. No amount of time spent in this region can make me more comfortable about the driving.
I glance behind me at the two men in the backseat. One looks like he’s sleeping, his hat pulled down over his eyes. The other watches the jungle passing beyond the window. If he has heard or understood our exchange, he gives no sign of it. I take a cue from his friend and pull my own hat down, settling back against the seat. It’s a good hour to Rubio and I haven’t slept in a while. If I don’t conserve energy when I can, weariness will find me when I can least afford it. I have a sudden fear of Esperanza catching me in some heated exchange when I can barely keep my eyes open. The thought frightens me enough that, as I drift off to a bumpy sleep, I give serious consideration to changing trucks once we reach Rubio.
El Oso Durmiente, the sign says. The Sleeping Bear. It’s one of several brown brick buildings in this section of Rubio. Tin-roofed homes dot the outer ring of the town—single-family dwellings of dirt and clay. Most of the houses closer to the center of town are a stucco of some sort, many of them painted in a collection of bright and garish colors.
As I get out of the SUV, I try to steady my legs. Toward the end of the ride—that last little whip around the mountain— Esperanza punched it. I think that even the guys in the back were nervous. I reach for one of Duckey’s cigars and clip off its end, then hold a match to it until it catches. Espy makes a face and walks inside. The others follow while I linger, leaning against the truck and regaining my equilibrium. A thought hits me and I pull out my cell phone and hit one of the speed-dial options.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ducks.”
“That you, Jack?” There’s a burst of static. “I’m not getting a great signal.”
“It’s me. I’m just here enjoying one of the fine cigars you gave me. Thanks, by the way.”
“Don’t mention it. How’s your vacation? No, don’t answer. Let me guess. It’s about one p.m. in your part of the world, so I’m betting you’re in the recliner, in your underwear, and you’re eating a bowl of Honeycomb.” A pause. “And you smell horrible.”
“I’ll give you the part about the smell, so you’re not completely wrong.”
“Okay, so you broke into Angie’s. Sort of an interapartment vacation.”
“Strike two, my friend.”
“Listen, Jack, my brain’s on idle for the next several days, so don’t toy with me. It pains me to have to unsheathe my razor wit.”
I can hear family-type noises coming from Duckey’s side of