Scratchgravel Road A Mystery - By Tricia Fields Page 0,1
now appeared to hide things inside their shadows.
“How will you find the truck with no lights?” she asked.
Enrico laughed. “You stick by me. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”
His hair was cut military style, short on the sides, longer on top, and he wore the loose jeans and tight shirt of guys who claimed gang status. She could feel the energy buzzing through his body, his grip on her hand so tight it hurt.
As he pulled her along she struggled to keep her bearings, beginning to feel anxious that she couldn’t find her way out on her own. Enrico had pulled off of Scratchgravel Road onto an arroyo that she hadn’t even known existed. He had put the truck into four-wheel drive and followed the arroyo heading east for close to a mile before stopping. There were a half-dozen trucks and Jeeps parked behind the tail end of a small mountain range that appeared to have been chopped into pieces. It made good cover for the vehicles and the Hollow that lay somewhere on the other side.
Enrico laid his arm over her shoulder and it felt heavy. He was built thick and worked out obsessively. She struggled to keep up with him, worrying she would trip over a cactus, leaving cuts that she would struggle to explain to her mother the next day.
She smelled the sweet musky smoke before she saw the faint light from the bonfire in the distance. Enrico put a finger to his lips and they listened to hushed laughter, maybe fifty feet in front of them. She couldn’t tell if the voices’ owners were walking or were inside a vehicle. After a few seconds the sounds faded into the distance.
With no city lights the stars and moon lit the desert floor a soft gray. The ground appeared to be reflecting back the absorbed light from the sun’s afternoon glare. The light from the fire, still partially hidden behind a large boulder, appeared bright suddenly.
“It’s a half-mile walk from here. You cool?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Watch for the long skinny cactus. They rip into your skin like a fishing hook. Hurts like hell to pull them out.”
Enrico stopped suddenly and Teresa ran into his side. He pointed to his left, toward the road, in the direction of an approaching vehicle. “Hold up. Truck’s coming.”
They stood and watched the yellow parking lights of a dark-colored, full-size pickup as it drove slowly forward, just to the north of them. Without a word, they both crouched in the sand and watched the truck slow to a crawl, then circle behind a large thick grove of bushes roughly thirty feet in front of them.
“Don’t you know all these people?” she whispered.
“Nobody comes to the Hollow off Scratchgravel like that,” he said, pointing in the direction of the truck. “Got to be safe.”
She wondered what he meant. Safe from the cops?
The truck stopped. The driver exited, slammed the door, and walked to the back end.
“What the hell’s this guy doing?” Enrico said.
Teresa could feel his arm tense against hers like he was ready to take off after the guy in the truck. Enrico had an intensity that she respected, like he could handle anything.
The man laid the tailgate down and dragged something forward. They heard him grunt, obviously struggling with the load. Teresa wondered if they were watching a drug exchange. The Rio Grande, the border to Mexico, was less than a mile away, and crossing it in the middle of nowhere was no big deal. The Border Patrol rarely made it to Artemis. With two thousand miles of international border their little town barely got noticed, and drug mules and coyotes transporting illegals were part of life.
The man at the back of the truck continued to struggle for another minute, and then they heard a heavy thud as the load hit the ground. The man bent and worked for several seconds arranging something, then stood abruptly, shut the tailgate, and walked back to the driver’s side. They listened as he shoved the truck into gear and drove slowly away, around the bushes and back the same way he came, straight back out to the road.
Enrico stood and Teresa grabbed ahold of the back of his shirt. “Maybe we should turn back. If that’s a load of weed we should get out of here.”
Instead, he walked forward, toward the dark mass lying on the ground. Teresa followed a few feet behind him.
Enrico stopped suddenly and threw his arm out to stop her. “Son of