Chapter Thirteen

Gradually Eli began to look better. When the outskirts of Ciudad Juárez lined the road, and it became paved, I pulled over. "How much money you got?" I asked. Eli dug in his pockets. He'd been sane enough to get the money Paulina had had on her, too, though he'd looked disgusted with himself as he did. Like Paulina would need it. I figured it would get us through a week of eating and lodging, if we were careful. We. Wait. "Do you want me to just get lost?" I said. He stared at me. "What do you mean?" "I didn't keep Paulina alive," I said. "I can get home on my own." It wouldn't be easy. I stiffened my spine. "How old are you?" The question was right out of the blue. "Nineteen," I said. He looked at me for a long, long time. "Lizbeth, I need you to stay with me," he said. Maybe he wanted to keep me by his side to make sure I wouldn't betray him. Or maybe he really needed me to help him. Or maybe he'd figured out who I was. All of these ideas had pluses and minuses. And my age had nothing to do with it. I couldn't figure him out. "Okay," I said. "How long do you think it'll take you to find Sergei?" He closed his eyes. He was sending his tracking sense outward, or something like that, I guessed. "There are a lot of people here," he said. "Maybe I can find him in a few hours. May take another day. Or two." That was better than I'd hoped. "Here are some choices," I began. I'd been thinking during our long, quiet drive. "We can dump the car—it'll be gone in hours—or we can sell it to a dealer. If we sell it, whoever's after you might see it in the lot and try to find out who sold it, where they went. Or we can sell it to some random person on the street. We won't get much, but something. Or we can try to hide it for a while and try to drive it back. Maybe we can find a garage to rent, something like that." Eli said, "Which do you think is best? We have papers for the car." He dug them out of the glove compartment. The papers were made out to Esai González. "This helps a lot," I said with relief. "Since we have a Mexican name on the papers, I think you could sell to a car dealer pretty easily. But you'd need to wear a disguise, or spell yourself to look different." I had a hideous flash of the thing that had looked like a pretty woman, the thing that had looked like Eli's brother Peter. "Or we could hire a go-between." "Is your Spanish good enough to do it yourself? Can you be taken for a native?" I was even more relieved to see that Eli was back on track. "No." "Only if I keep my mouth shut." Like I did this all the time. "I'll look around and ask questions," I said. "While you keep out of sight." That was easier said than done. We drove into a busy area, not downtown Juárez, but maybe a bustling lower-class neighborhood. Eli waited with the car, parked out of sight behind the Espinoza Speedy Gas Station, after we got Señora Espinoza's permission and gave her some money. Eli stretched out his legs in the car and seemed ready to sleep some more when I left, leaving my guns behind as simply too conspicuous. Going by the women I'd noticed in the streets, an armed woman wearing pants would stand out enough to attract more attention than I wanted. I wandered around the open-air market. I bought a skirt, a blue blouse, and a hair kerchief, bigger and cleaner than my filthy bandanna. I bargained for the items hard as I could, in the interest of fitting in. It seemed to work. No one challenged me in any way. No one seemed to realize I was on the run with a terrible wizard in quest of blood. No one tried to shoot me. I enjoyed that. I went back to the car to change. I shucked my pants and strapped a Colt to my left thigh. Uncomfortable, but being armed made me feel like myself. Then I put a knife in the conveniently deep right pocket of the skirt. I pulled off the shirt I'd worn for more hours than I cared to remember. There was a pump in the yard, and I ran some water to rinse myself off. It helped, a little. Then I pulled on the blouse. I turned to Eli in time to see him take a deep breath and look away. "Can you tie this in back for me?" I waved the kerchief at him. "I want to look like I'm hiding a lot of hair." Eli nodded. I handed him the black-and-blue square, folded in a right triangle. It felt funny, his fingers on my neck. "Take this with you," he said, handing me a rock. "Easier to handle than a weapon you have to draw from, ah, under your clothes. And just as potent." "Why?" It was just a rock. It didn't sparkle or shine, it didn't feel different from any other rock I'd ever held. It was small, about the size of a marble. "If you need to fight someone quickly and quietly, just throw it at them. For when you can't shoot because the noise would attract attention," Eli explained. "Do I have to hit them with it?" "That would be ideal, yes," he said with a faint smile. "At their feet would be good, too. Oh, and be as far away as you can." I left Eli in charge of the car, which held my bag of weapons and our personal things. I started to order him not to move from the car, but I held my tongue. "Be back as soon as I can," I said. I was proud my voice came out so steady. Off I went to pick out a go-between from all the people moving up and down the streets. Since I didn't know exactly what kind of person I was looking for, it took me longer than I wanted. There were plenty of idle people who had nothing to do, and all of them needed money. But most of these idlers would disappear without actually helping me, and some of them would try to kill me to take any other money I might have on me. A very few of them would go to the police. Finally I spotted a thin man in his sixties. His clothes were just short of ragged. There were plenty of people in the same condition, but what stood out about this man was his straight back. He had dignity. And he was clean. He didn't have his hand out to beg. He had nothing to do but be in that spot. "Señor, por favor," I said, and he turned to face me. He had only one good eye. His left eye was covered with a patch made out of someone's patterned shirt. "Señorita," he said, nodding politely. I told him a story about family disasters: My Mexican father had died suddenly, here. My Texoman mother was ill, and I had to return to her to take care of my little brothers. I had to sell my father's car. But I was not wise in the ways of selling large vehicles, and I was a stranger in town. Without my father's guidance, I was afraid I'd be taken advantage of. I would be so grateful if he would assist me. I was afraid (more fear) the car dealer would cheat me if I was not accompanied by a man. Whether or not José Reyas believed my whole story, he knew I was in trouble and frightened (and that was for damn sure). Señor Reyas agreed to help me for a percentage of the sales price of the car. We would have to go to a dealership where he was unknown, he pointed out, since he had to be Esai González. "Then we will do that," I said in my careful Spanish, wondering how many car dealerships knew who Señor José Reyas was. "If you have some idea where such a place might be?" After a moment's thought Señor Reyas nodded. "Then I can meet you two blocks north of here in the automobile," I said. "You can drive, señorita?" He looked taken aback. I nodded. "My father taught me. My mother is too scatterbrained." I was sure glad my mother couldn't hear me say that. "You are a very composed young woman," Señor Reyas said, not entirely with approval. "Life is hard, señor," I said. Like he needed reminding. "So here is the percentage of the price of the car I will give you if we sell it successfully. . . ." I returned to the gas station to retrieve the car, and found Eli sitting on a wooden chair in the shade in the little courtyard behind the garage. He had a cold soda to drink, and he'd picked up a broken piece of pottery and was turning it in his fingers. He seemed . . . distant, but calm. Wasn't expecting that. I told him what was happening. Seemed he was not in the mood for talk. I unloaded our belongings from the car and left them at Eli's feet. Though I was not completely sure Señor Reyas would show up at the designated spot, he did. He got into the car with some misgiving but gave me clear directions on how to get to the car dealer. We didn't talk much on the way. I'd figured the older man for a conversational person, but I'd been wrong. When we got out of the Tourer, and Tomás of Hermosa's New and Used Vehicles came out of his little shack, I found out why Señor Reyas had been quiet. He'd been prepping for his amazing performance as Esai González. The old man explained to Tomás—I never heard his proper last name—that since his accident (he gestured toward his eye patch), he'd had great difficulty driving the car. Even to come to the dealership, his lowly granddaughter had had to help him. Though Señor Esai González was very reluctant to part with the car, González's wife had persuaded him the money would be more useful now that he could not work at his chosen trade. My new grandfather made it clear to Tomás that this was a preliminary visit only, so he could see how much money might be made. Señor González implied he had already visited several other dealerships. The owner nodded furiously, said that made great sense, and the haggling commenced. I think Señor Reyas, in his new identity, had a pretty good time. He had thrown himself into his new role. And he had an incentive to drive up the price as much as he could, which helped. During the negotiations, when a certain level was reached, my new friend turned to me with his good eye and raised an eyebrow. I nodded, keeping it a very small gesture. I approved the deal. Soon after that the car was sold. Trying not to smile with pleasure, Señor González and I walked away with beautiful Mexican cash. When we had taken a seat in the corner of a cantina, we divided the money in as secret a manner as possible. After it was done, Señor Reyas said, "I thought you would kill me after the bargain was reached." Yet he'd gone forward with the plan. Sitting, the old man and I were almost the same height, so I could look into his eye. I couldn't think of anything to say. If I'd thought he'd run to the police or the enemy grigoris, or if I'd decided he'd sell the information about a half-gringo girl selling a car that didn't belong to her . . . I would have killed him. "Go enjoy the money," I told Señor Reyas, and he left without a word. I had no idea what he'd do with his profit. Was there a Señora Reyas? Grandchildren? Did he even have a home? Whatever he chose to do, I hoped it brought a smile to his face.