The Rescue

43

The Volaris jet from Los Mochis lands Bettina and Strickland in Tijuana at noon the next day.

In baggage claim, they collect Felix, who peers hopefully from his battered plastic crate, a gift from El Gordo.

Charley Gibbon waits at the arrivals curb at the wheel of his new black 4Runner. He’s got bottled waters in the cup holders, a large bag of popcorn, and a mesh bag of tangerines to pass around. A coffee cup for Felix to drink from.

Bettina sits in the back, feeding her dog popcorn and watching out for the San Ysidro Port of Entry signs. She finds Felix’s vaccination papers from the Clínica Veterinarea San Francisco de Asís, stashed safely with her passport in the bottom of her bag.

When they get to the crossing, she sees by the line of cars that it’s going to be another excruciatingly long wait. But she’s never in her life been so happy to be almost home. She cups another handful of popcorn for Felix and scratches his ears.

They pull up into the lane and Gibbon kills the engine. Bettina sips the water and looks out at the hundreds of vehicles crossing north into the United States.

She realizes that she’s got everything in the world she wants right now. A little talent, a great job, a man who interests her and likes her for who she is, a nice apartment in a cool town, and a terrific dog. A surfboard, a good street bike.

A future free of Jason Graves.

And maybe most of all, she’s got the hard-won satisfaction that she’s stood up to Godoy and finally told the world about Keith’s unnecessary fate. Maybe his story will help to save a few of the thousands of people out there right now, craving just one more hit of relief as they blunder toward an early grave.

She also realizes that she’s been a bundle of frayed nerves the whole time she’s been following El Gordo’s unpredictable orders. She still hasn’t come down from her adrenaline-fueled reclaiming of Felix. She feels a deep exhaustion settling over her, knowing it will only increase the second they cross the border. It feels like her Olympic trials trap shoot, entire weekends of high-pressure matches in which one missed clay often made the difference between winners and losers.

“Hey, handsome,” she says, leaning forward, a hand on the back of Strickland’s seat.

“Ma’am?”

“Let’s take a road trip. Just you and me and my dog. I want to be somewhere beautiful and safe, like the desert or the mountains or the beach or maybe all three. Where we can walk and hike with the mutt and enjoy the outdoors. No men with guns. No looking over our shoulders. What do ya say?”

Strickland releases the seat belt shoulder restraint and turns to face her. His expression is that of a boy considering an important invitation. He looks suspicious but tempted.

“I’m in.”

“Can we go somewhere exotic and expensive? Just kidding. We can take my Jeep if you want. I just need one day at work to get the El Gordo story in the can, and edit the video again with Jean.”