KILLING SARAI(15)

CHAPTER SIX





Finally, I glimpse the faces of both men, relieved that they don’t look at all familiar. I start to believe they are just passing through. Getting a little claustrophobic, I take it upon myself to open the door the rest of the way. I inhale a deep breath to compose myself and then step out of the restroom as casually as any other customer who just got done using the toilet.

Victor is sitting back at our table reading the paper like he was before, when I make it around the corner.

He barely glances at me, enough to let only me know that he is not pleased.

“Are you ready?” I ask in English. “I certainly am. That restroom is disgusting,” I add, feigning displeasure of the facilities with the attitude of a snotty American girl.

I hope I’m convincing enough.

Victor stands up and takes me by the hand rather than the wrist this time, his fingers interlocking with mine. The gesture at first, surprises me. But I soon realize he’s only playing along.

The two customers and the store owner look right at me and somehow I get the feeling that my little tourist act is drawing more attention than deterring it. And maybe it’s because tourists never come to these parts.

Victor squeezes my hand with disapproval.

Seconds later, in a motion seemingly too fast for me to track, the two customers each take a single shot to the head and drop dead in front of me on the floor. I stumble backward into Victor’s chest, covering my ears in a delayed reaction to the suppressed sound of the shots. Victor releases my hand and grabs me around the waist, catching me with one arm, his gun clasped in his other hand.

I hear a door slam on the side of the store and I look up still pressed against Victor, using his body for support, to see the store owner through the glassless window running away to no telling where. Victor pushes me to the side and aims his gun at the man through the window. A single shot takes him down before he gets out of range, his body hitting the ground and dust flying up all around him before being carried off by the wind.

I push my way through the store, over the two bodies and toward Victor, my heart pounding erratically.

“What was that for?!”

He grabs my wrist again and drags me with him back to the bodies. I try pulling away, but his grip is too tight.

“They were harmless,” I say exasperatedly, feeling the tears burning the back of my throat again. “And the owner…what…why did you kill him?!”

We stop next to one of the bodies and Victor lets go of my wrist so that he can kneel down beside it. Reaching into the man’s back pocket on his jeans, he pulls out a wad of Mexican money. Sifting through the bills and finding nothing of note, he tosses the money on the dead man’s back and rummages the rest of his pockets, finding a gun hidden behind his belt. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that. He does the same to the other man, still not finding anything noteworthy except a set of keys that he decides to pocket.

“What are you looking for?”

“You should’ve stayed in the restroom like I told you.”

I’m surprised at the accusation in his voice; it’s so unlike him to show that much emotion, although it’s still not much.

“They weren’t Javier’s men,” I protest. “I was there long enough to remember every single one of them.”

Victor rises into a stand, seeming even taller than before, but I know it’s just my fear of him playing tricks on my eyes.

“You remember the ones you’ve seen,” he says. “But you’re a foolish girl if you think they are his only men.”

I sigh. “But they were only asking about car parts. Maybe they were having car troubles. I heard them talking.”

“You heard code,” he corrects me. “He asked the owner for a part that doesn’t belong on that truck.” He looks toward the front window of the store where another truck is parked out front. “When the store owner said that yes he had the part, he was telling them that you were here.”

Feeling foolish, I continue pretending, trying to come back from my moment of stupidity. “Then why didn’t they do anything?”

He shakes his head lightly at me.

“They were keeping tabs on us,” he says. “Or, they were going to try and stall us, long enough to get more men here. Now come on. We have to leave.”

When I don’t follow fast enough, he takes my hand and leads me out of the store and we head straight for the newer truck parked out front, still nothing but a hunk of old metal, but newer than that old rusty Ford that had to have belonged to the owner.

He opens the door on the passenger’s side.

“Get in,” he demands.

Confused, I just look at him, but the next thing I know, he’s lifting me from the ground and forcing me into the cab. Not daring to fight him on this, or waste anymore of what little time I know we have left, I wait until he gets his guns and bags from his car and shoves it all between us on the seat. He slams the heavy metal door once he gets in on the other side.

“What are we doing exactly?”

He finds the right key to start the engine on the first try and the truck rumbles and spits to life. He reaches up to the gear shift next to the steering wheel and slams the truck into gear, narrowly missing the rickety wooden awning covering the front of the store as he makes a close, wide turn and speeds away.