CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Just a little closer, she told herself. That’s the border up ahead. That’s America. It has to be. The alternative that she’d walked in stony darkness for an hour and had reached but a dead end was too horrible to contemplate. Rhythmically, she put one sandaled foot in front of the other.

 

For the past hour, she’d had nothing but a flashlight to guide her through the tomblike tunnels beneath the earth. She never stopped, slowed down, or paused to think about how many tons of earth lay between her and the gift of being able to breathe fresh air again. The tunnel was empty except for piles of discarded water bottles and clothing every half-mile or so. These strangely soothed her: People had been in here. People had gotten out.

 

For some time, she’d been able to feel the tunnel rising and the cool but musty air getting warmer as it leveled out closer to the surface. According to Tony, the Beeson patriarch had dug out this tunnel in the late nineties in order to smuggle drugs – and the occasional illegal immigrant – across the border. Its terminus was supposed to be in the root cellar of one of Aaron's business associates who owned a horse farm outside of San Diego. Tony had told her that there had been auxiliary tunnels added onto it over the years, but that as long as she went straight, she had no chance of getting lost. It would only take an hour or so, he said. She'd packed an Aquafina bottle and a bag of tortilla chips in her handbag, both of which she'd finished an hour ago.

 

All she was seeing now was two rotting two by fours holding up a ratty blue tarp that seemed to cover the semblance of a hole in the ceiling of the tunnel. But at least it was something. She scrambled to get a foothold, grabbing onto the crossbeam and hoisting herself up, clawing the ground, and shoving the tarp aside. But as she heaved it aside and clambered out into the fresh air to land on her knees in the dust, she knew instantly this was no farm; this didn't look like any part of America she'd ever seen.

 

Across the road, the skeletal remains of a gas station looked eerie in the pre-dawn moonlight. Parched looking saguaro cactuses dotted the landscape. It was straight out of a Wile E. Coyote cartoon, but this was no laughing matter. She sank down to sit in the dust, holding her head, trying to save her energy, determined not to panic. She could reenter the tunnel, but how would she know whether she was headed in the right direction now?

 

Was this even a highway? She hadn't seen a single car. She took out her cell phone, though she knew the battery was dead; she hadn't had a chance to charge it before she left, determined to give herself the longest possible head start before anyone woke up and noticed her missing.

 

She hadn't been far from the ocean at Aaron's place. She wondered if it would make sense to follow the sun to the ocean, using it as a guide to begin walking north. But for that to happen, she'd have to wait till morning. That was a long time to go without water. Plus, if she was still in Mexico, how was she supposed to get across the border without a passport? Panic nipped at her heels as she surveyed the emptiness surrounding her. Nobody knew she was here. For all she knew, nobody even knew about this part of the tunnel; the man who had built it was dead. Getting into Mexico is a lot easier than getting out. She felt her hands form fists. She should have been smart enough to know this would happen; it's exactly the kind of thing that always did. The Ruby Curse, she thought bitterly. Fuck Tony and his advice. Forget about being good, he'd said. But if she'd been good, she wouldn't be here, wherever here was.

 

Maybe she would just lie down for a little while, she thought, placing her handbag under head and closing her eyes. There was no use traveling under darkness anyway; she'd get lost and waste energy, roving around in a circle. And anyway, she was feeling a little dizzy. Overhead, a nighthawk screeched.

 

***

 

The tiny purse sitting primly in the lap of the woman at the bar table looked a bit silly next to her as a bowling ball.

 

Rita Chambers turned around and smiled her million-watt smile that lit up her dark skin – the one bright spot during his lost three days in the Contra Costa County lockup and perhaps the key to unraveling the truth about the Reapers. He approached her with caution. "Rita, are you sure you're not going to get in trouble for being here?” He asked, noticing the various Jockeys’ mugshots prominently displayed on the far wall. “This isn’t exactly the kind of place an officer of the law is usually spotted.”

 

She puffed out her chest. "I certainly am, honey. I don't work for corrections anymore. They made me work overtime one day too many. Social services has better hours, and less chance of getting shivved. But enough about me. That beautiful young lady who was here when I came in told me you're getting married," she said.

 

"That's what they tell me," he replied, changing the subject. “Did you find out something about Chad Carter?

 

"That little punk who stabbed you in the eye? I sure did. A few days after you got out, he scraped up the bail money all of a sudden. I thought it was a little odd, so I watched who he left with. He got picked up by some guy driving a BMW which struck me as even more odd, considering up till then, he didn't have seventy cents to buy a Snickers from the commissary."

 

Joe eagerly pulled up an empty chair, sitting with the rungs facing backwards. "Do you remember who it was? Or what the guy looked like?"

 

"Ooh, how could I forget? White dude with blond hair. He had this sort of flip on the top of his head. Sort of like that soccer player from England. Bend it like Beckett?"

 

He could practically see a brick wall tumbling down. "Rita, I love you," he said, preparing to rush off, and then stopped. "Wait a minute--where did you say you transferred to?"

 

"Social services. Why?"

 

He could feel a light bulb flickering on in his head. "I've got another favor to ask you," he said.

 

Rita looked behind her, pursing her lips. "Oh, honey, you're not in trouble again, are you?"

 

"It's not me this time." Rita rolled her eyes. "I swear. It's a friend of mine. And her baby. Don't worry, I'm not the father," he clarified quickly. "I'm not sure the world's quite ready for another generation of Ryans.” He swallowed and thought of Regan. “But he is family.”

 

Rita took on a sympathetic look; she seemed to recognize his sincerity. Still, she shook her head. "Honey, what did I tell you? Isn’t this how you got in trouble before? You can't save the world all on your own. You gotta fight your own battles."

 

"If I don’t fight, I’m not sure anyone will.”

 

Rita gave a crooked smile, her blinding white teeth lighting up the dimness of the bar. "This wouldn't involve anything illegal now, would it, honey?"

 

“Hey, we didn’t meet at choir practice.”

 

***

 

Joe briefly considered calling an emergency meeting of the Madelia charter, but immediately nixed the idea. Although Joe knew A.J. would be incensed not to be included in the loop, his vice president was only beginning to cool down after the meeting with Aaron. If he got an inkling that the tentative agreement they'd reached was built on lies, the consequences could lead to an all-out war. All deals would be off. Everybody would be fair game: Regan, her baby, and Ruby. He wouldn't be able to protect all of them, especially when his own actions in the days leading up to Kyle's death were almost certain to come out. No, the possibilities were too perilous. He had to continue to be diplomatic about this for as long diplomacy might still work. Of course, even if everything went his way, if he could prove that Fox was involved with the Reapers, or even Kyle's death, it wouldn't change the past. It wouldn't help him redeem himself in Ruby's eyes or convince her that she could actually have a future with the president of an outlaw motorcycle club. Even if he could somehow get rid of Lydia, winning Ruby back might already be beyond his reach. Would he be an idiot for trying? He thought as, after having safely escorted Rita back to her car, he returned to front door of the Thunderbird and came to face to face with one of the last people in the world he wanted to see – the president of the Jockeys’ Fresno charter.

 

Sean Donovan looked smoldering dressed in all-black, his long, stringy hair covering his face, and leaning casually against his Low Rider helmet dangling from between his fingers, looking very comfortable at the fact that Lydia was leaning against it, too, facing him. When he quickly looked up to see Joe standing there, he didn't seem the least surprised. He dropped the helmet and took a few easy strides forward.

 

"Hey, Joey. Seems like just a few days ago you and your new girlfriend left my place without so much as buying me dinner. What gives?"

 

"You know me. I like to make an exit," said Joe nonchalantly. He'd known Sean a long time, and he knew he was already as good as forgiven for their escape. True to his unorthodox nature, Sean was always willing to let bygones be bygones the instant he felt there was a shinier prize somewhere else. "No hard feelings, right?"

 

"Of course not. Likewise about that whole pulling-a-gun-on-you stunt. I just can't control myself when there's a beautiful woman involved." Sean exchanged a knowing glance with Lydia.

 

"You can't control yourself period," Joe replied. "I wasn't going to stick around and wait for you to bust out the ball gags."

 

"I've got some in here, if you're interested," said Sean, kicking the saddlebag of his bike. "You know me and my 'Pulp Fiction' fetish."

 

"Uh, next time," said Joe, not entirely sure he wasn't serious.

 

"Miss Lydia tells me you and her are back together. Pulling the Great Escape seems like a lot of trouble to go to just for a girl you're just going to send down south of the border."

 

Lydia just folded her arms smugly. Joe knew she didn't care that Joe had caught them flirting. There was nothing she loved more than being fought over, and the rivalry she had stirred up between Joe and Sean was a long-standing one. Joe wondered if Sean had heard she was back in town and had ridden over here just for that reason. "Seems your Ruby’s a slippery one. No sooner did you lose her, but Aaron Beeson did too."

 

"Don't--" Lydia bit her tongue.

 

"What do you mean, lose her?" Joe demanded.

 

"She didn’t waste much time saying hasta luego to Aaron and Brenda. I'm kind of impressed at how she escaped, to be honest. I'd be a little claustrophobic myself."

 

"What are you talking about?”

 

Sean spoke slowly, reveling in the attention and the upper hand it gave him. "It seems Aaron's sitting on one of the longest drug tunnels in North America. She was headed toward San Diego, but she must have taken a wrong turn, because Aaron called his guy with the horse farm on the other end, and he hasn't seen a glimpse of her," he shrugged. "I made the mistake of letting her out of my sight once, and you snuck off with her right under my nose. I wouldn't think you'd fuck up like I did. I was under the impression you kind of liked her."

 

"This isn't a joke, Sean," Joe grabbed him by the front of Sean's jacket and pulled him toward him, his heart pounding in his ears. What if it's too late, a voice was whispering somewhere in the back of his mind, and he gritted his teeth to drown it out. "Where is she?"

 

"Fifty thousand leagues under the Sonoran desert would be my best guess."

 

"Fuck." Joe clenched his fist and raised it, looking for something to punch that wasn't Sean's face, but he let it drop. Rita's news had just been swept out of his mind by the knowledge that Ruby might be in danger after all and all because he'd allowed Lydia to convince her to leave.

 

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. It would be half a day's worth of riding to get anywhere near her if he could even figure out where to start looking. The feeling of helplessness seemed to swell up within him. It was a feeling that had characterized his childhood, one that he'd been running from ever since. To think that there might be nothing he could to make sure Ruby was okay was crippling. He had one job; he had made one promise to Kyle. And it was what, he realized now, had been giving him purpose and made him feel like the man he'd fought most of his life to be. If there was anything he could do now, no matter how impractical, he had to try.

 

"Lydia, you grew up there. Where does that tunnel end up?"

 

"Like Sean said, a little outside San Diego,” said Lydia, crossing her arms “That's if she took the right one. I think my dad built some offshoots over the years, but only some of them are finished."

 

"What offshoots? How many? Where do they go?"

 

"I don't know," said Lydia, a whine creeping into her voice. "Three? Four?"

 

"Find out," Joe growled. "Now."

 

"Why the hell should I?" Lydia pouted. "If she went running off into a drug tunnel with some directions she got from that stupid meathead Tony, she deserves to get lost out there."

 

"No, what's stupid is your cousin thinking he could keep Ruby locked up in a fortified compound and not expect her to try to get out. What did you think she was going to do, just sit by the pool and drink margaritas for the rest of her life?"

 

Lydia's eyes flashed as she tossed a lock of hair off her face. "If she was smart, she would."

 

Joe turned away in disgust. There was the fundamental difference between the two women, one that only proved what a deluded idiot he'd been for having ever wanted to be with Lydia.

 

"Okay, okay," she said as he followed her back into the bar where she grabbed her phone from her handbag. "I know I have a map stored on here somewhere. I don't know how current it is,” she murmured, swiping through. “Ugh, god this is slow. I need a new phone. Anyway, what are you going to do, ride out into the desert to look for her?"

 

"That's exactly what I'm going to do,” he said, grabbing Lydia by the shoulders, watching as her eyes went wide as moons. “Part of the agreement with Aaron was that nothing happened to Ruby. If she dies in the middle of some godforsaken desert, that doesn't exactly fall under the category of 'nothing.' And not only that, I am going to figure out what the connection is between Fox Keene and the Reapers and how you and your cousin figure into it. This whole scheme of yours could start unraveling pretty damn quick if you're not careful. So you can either cooperate with me and come out smelling like a rose or the alternative, which is not quite as pretty. So find that fucking map and send it to me. Now."

 

When things didn't go Lydia's way, she didn’t look quite as pretty as she did when she knew she had the upper hand. The pupils of her eyes dilated, and she tended to clench her jaw too tightly, making her nostrils flare and the prominent veins in her forehead and neck stick out even more, and her high cheekbones looked less soft and more severe. Joe had noticed this before; it hadn't made much difference to him when they'd been dating and he was horny, turned on by the fact that scion of the most powerful drug dynasty in California wanted him. When Joe released his grip on her, she bit her wavering lip and ducked her head toward her phone, swiping diligently.

 

“Got it,” she murmured. Joe grabbed his helmet off the bar where he’d left it and strode out front and around the side of the bar to where the Jockeys’ bikes were parked. "Go ahead. Play hardball with Aaron and Fox," she said a little later as she followed him outside again, raising her voice to be heard as Joe kicked the motor into gear, the exhaust starting to choke off her vocal chords. "You won't be the first person to try."

 

"No," he agreed, just before he positioned his hands on the handlebars and fixed his gaze to the horizon. "I'll just be the first to win."

 

***

 

She didn’t know how long the frigatebirds had been hovering. They seemed to float, suspended from the sky as if on an invisible string, every so often giving a languid, lazy flap. But it seemed like she had been lying there on her back, watching them, for centuries -- not moving, not blinking, just watching. Sometimes she thought they were smiling at her or singing to her. Sometimes she thought she was one of them.

 

She spent the night in the tunnel, awaking from strange, fitful nightmares every ten to fifteen minutes. She clawed the dust beneath her, praying that being lost in this hellish hole had been a dream and she'd find herself awaking in her apartment back in Walnut Creek, or even in the spare room at the Curtises. That she would awake and float down the stairs, and Joe would take her into him, kiss her like cool water down her back, and peace would come.

 

Joe. She saw his face more than any other. When she closed her eyes, before falling asleep, and in that strange space between sleeping and waking, when she’d jerk back to consciousness, faced by the specter of her own imminent death. When this happened at home, she'd drag herself up off the couch to bed; or to the bathroom for a glass of water, but here there was no water, no bed, no place of comfort, except when she closed her eyes and Joe was there.

 

And she was thirsty; so thirsty. When day dawned, she knew she had to walk to get her bearings. Perhaps, she told herself, she was only minutes away from the nearest phone, from a gas station, from a bodega – from a telephone to call for help. But she'd walked in a circle for hours now, and seen nothing but low sagebrush, cacti, and animal bones. She resolved to walk an hour in every direction, going back to the entrance to the tunnel so as not to get lost. But she’d been walking for so long, she wasn’t sure where the tunnel was anymore.

 

She closed her eyes against the sun, though she could see it now even when she closed them, burned on the insides of her retinas. Her skin felt hardened as if cooked in an oven. She opened them again, resolved to look. That little mound of dirt looked familiar. Or maybe it was that one. She reeled; she had to sit down. Her feet felt as heavy as lead, painful, swollen, her sandals raking at her already-blistered heels.

 

She collapsed. Her limbs felt like popsicle sticks, her body like a brick. Little lizards darted under her feet, taking refuge from the sun. High above, the frigatebirds glided on air currents, their long, thin wings spread out like jets and their white tails out behind them like streamers, casting shadows over her. She watched them, and held up a hand in front of her, eyes dully staring as if she were drugged. It was as red as a fire engine and shaking.

 

I’m dehydrated. Better to lie down and save energy, she reasoned hazily, remembering back to the first aid class she'd had to take in in order to join the school safety patrol and wear that blaze-orange sash. Sleep burns fewer calories. Save water. Don't move. They'll find you. Who would find her? Aaron? Brenda? They wouldn't waste time looking for her. Hapless Tony would probably get lost himself. It had to be Joe, then.

 

Joe. The one time she'd woke up and felt healthy was when she dreamed she was in his arms out in back of the Thunderbird bar on that beautiful afternoon they'd spent together before everything collapsed. When he'd opened to her like a rose in bloom. Maybe if she closed her eyes now she could go back there, just for a little while. Far off, she heard a roar, a Harley's pipes, rumbling in her dreams like always, so she knew it couldn't be real. Soon, she could almost see him appear before her like a golden vision, blocking out the killing, scorching sun and replacing it with his own warmth. Kneeling down next to her, one strong hand supporting her neck, wrapping her in a cool cloth, pressing a bottle of water to the lips she could barely creak open, they were as dry as sandpaper. She opened her mouth to take him in, feeling him flow into her like cool water into her mouth, over her face and down her back.

 

"Ruby? Ruby? Can you hear me?" he pleaded, her eyes a blur meeting his wide golden ones, his blond hair falling over his face as he bowed his head toward her. "Please. Please be okay."

 

It was all so clear. Truly, she thought as she closed her eyes again, this was the sweetest dream yet.