Left Behind Ch. 01

She asked herself: Should I just get away from here now? She wondered if surveillance cameras saw her in the alley. Probably not; this grubby area did not seem worth surveilling. She could think of no good reason to flee, other than a general sense of paranoia.

She got an idea. Into the car, around the block, and down the alley past the bar. Aha! The backpack was gone. No worries about evidence, then. RELAX! she told herself. Right - like that could happen. She mixed another tart drink.

What a fuck of a day! Sleep did not come easy.

*****

On The Road, Day 3 - from Pueblo, Colorado

*****

Rosa did not awaken refreshed. She was tired, twitchy, slightly hungover, and anxiously impatient. Her instincts screamed, RUN! Her stumbling mind cautioned, Take It Easy. Her weary, aching body told her, Pee And Eat. She compromised by surrendering to all those voices.

She had showered the night before, and washed her blouse in the sink, and hung it up to dry. Today she wore it over fresh, tight jeans - and she did not feel sexy, not at all. She felt pursued. Do the guilty flee when no man pursueth? Was her subconscious trying to lash her with guilt? Damn those Catholic schools!

My old life is a ghost I will have to live with, she thought. It will haunt me forever.

Rosa fueled herself with coffee and huevos rancheros and refueled the Ford with no-name unleaded. She set off westward, across azure mountains and shamrock valleys, over craggy Monarch Pass, past the Grand Canyon of the Gunnison. Beautiful vistas. No drama, no excitement, no pursuers. That helicopter overhead was not following her, was it? No, of course not...

She stopped in Grand Junction for a late lunch - Thai, for a change.

She opened her ThinkPad and hooked into the restaurant's WiFi feed. Googling her name brought up a few new hits. Aha! So the swine had finally noticed her absence! Poking into the family's site revealed even more. Roberto had hired a detective! A cheap one - she recognized his name. He could not find his ass with GPS. Still, she knew she had to keep a very low profile.

She also knew that she was letting herself go physically. She had not run for days! There will be time to remedy that in California, she thought.

Rosa rolled west through vast rocky Utah deserts to barren Green River, then northwest toward Salt Lake, across more valleys and mountains. The sun was down when she stopped in Provo. Today's long drive soothed her. So did her dinner of Szechuan chicken and rosé wine. And her call to Serena.

"Hola, prima! How are things there in chicken-land?"

"Not bad. Nice weather, what passes for autumn here. A good job that's not too dull. A boyfriend who's not too bothersome. How's the road today? Can you talk about it?"

"Yeah, nothing much happened. I only drove a shitload of miles, that's all. Well, some antelope ran across the freeway in front of me; and a helicopter maybe followed me; and I saw a guy walking down the road with two porcupines on leashes; and Bobo has a moron of a detective after me now. Other than that, nothing much."

"Wow, that's a whole bunch of pricks! Porcupines, for real? You're not shitting me?"

"Porcupines, for real. They were beside the road in some small town here in Utah. I had to slow down to look at them; I thought at first they were big weird dogs. The guy leading them was little and weird. Glad I don't live around there."

"In-ter-est-ing... So what about Roberto? And a detective, no shit? You think they called for a helicopter?"

"Naw, choppers are expensive and Bobo is cheap. As for the dick, he's not much to fret over. I googled him, and I read Roberto's emails, and Bobo's being as cheap as usual. He doesn't want to spend more than I've already cost him. Still, I've got to be careful and not make it easy for them. The cabrón will be a slight annoyance, is all."

The cousins talked as the clock advanced. The restaurant's wait staff looked annoyed. Closing time! Rosa rang off. Before leaving, she stopped in the restroom for biological necessities and to scrub herself. This is my version of a sponge bath, she thought.

She felt strange. Not alarmed, but something... some inner voice told her not to get a room tonight. Just in case someone was looking at motels...

She wondered: where would be a safe place around here? Not parking between RVs at a WalMart - something better than that. Maybe the Brigham Young University campus. Sure, those Mormon students should be harmless. She drove to a dormitory parking lot and hid the driveaway Ford between others much like it. She changed into shorts and a tee and took refuge in her sleeping bag.

Students may have been harmless; private security guards were not.

A flashing orange light and sharp rapping on her window dragged Rosa from sleep. More rapping, and a demanding voice: "You in there - open up. Security patrol, open up." More rapping.

Rosa rolled down the backseat window. "Huh? What? ¿Que es...?" The glaring flashlight blinded her.

"Sleeping in the parking lot is against the rules, lady. Are you a student here at BYU? Or faculty? You shouldn't be here. Let's see some I.D. now."

Rosa pulled her passport and license from her daypack's outer pocket and passed them over.

"What, no university identification? And you're Mexican? You're in trouble, lady. Unauthorized entry to campus, trespassing, probably vagrancy; and I could think of some other charges to tell the cops, easy. Yeah, you're in trouble. Unless..."

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. I'm in trouble unless I make you feel good. You want a blowjob, right? Okay, hombre - if I blow you, can I stay till morning? Is that what it takes?

The flashlight in her eyes angled down to illuminate her bra-less breasts pressing against the loose tee. "Yeah, a B.J. will do, but I want to fuck your nice tits too. Get that shirt off and get out here."

Not again, Rosa thought. And he wants my boobs? ¡Caramba! What a turd! But I cannot deal with cops. She shrugged her shoulders, and shrugged off her tee, and sat in the opened door.

The nameless security thug stood in front of her and dropped his trousers. His uncircumcised cock dangled before her eyes. "Suck it, bitch, get me nice and wet and stiff, okay?" Rosa sighed and complied.

His unimpressive erection slid between her squeezed-together saliva-slicked breasts, but not for very long. His bleach-tasting semen sluiced into her mouth less than a minute after he started. He was immediately limp. A real Don Juan, she thought, Juan and he's Don. She did not giggle.

A two-way radio cackled. The rent-a-cop answered in a low voice. "Ten here. Yeah, yeah. I'm at lot seventeen now... What, way the hell over there? Well shit... I mean, sure thing, I'm on my way. Out." He turned to Rosa. "Too bad I can't stay for more fun. Okay, the next shift comes on at 7:00 A.M. You better be gone by then." He slapped her face for emphasis. Not real hard, but hard enough to burn. Fucking pendejo, she thought.

The thug left, probably to search for more unattended women to molest. Rosa sighed again, and swigged more mouthwash, and settled down to doze fitfully.

*****

On The Road, Day 4 - from Provo, Utah

*****

Rosa did not awaken refreshed. Once again, she was weary, and crinky, and smelly, and she felt betrayed by her instincts. Obey the messages from her inner voices? After they brought her to this? Nada mas, no more.

She drove to a truck stop on the south edge of Provo. A hot shower, fresh jeans and blouse, hot coffee and huevos Mexicanos, and she was almost ready to rejoin humanity. Just to be safe, she fired-up her ThinkPad and googled herself again. No news; good. She peered at Roberto's emails; the detective had nothing but boasts to report. Muy bien,, very good.

She saw one interesting news item. A young vagrant woman named Allison McGraw had been arrested near Colorado Springs for suspected involvement with multiple carjackings. Witnesses had identified her in a video lineup. Ms McGraw refused to make any statements and was being represented by a Legal Aid lawyer. Rosa made a mental note to track her case.

She shook herself together and climbed back into the silver SUV.

Rosa had re-checked her maps and re-affirmed her routing decision. The only real trouble she'd had on this drive came on an Interstate freeway. She would continue to avoid those when possible. She spun south and west onto old Highway Fifty, the self-styled Loneliest Road in America. (Or so local booster proclaimed. Highway Six had a better claim to that title. The two highways shared their route for a couple hundred miles, so why quibble?)

Less traffic means less possible trouble, she thought. And no hitchhilkers!

Western Utah was a flat dry desert. Nevada welcomed her with the snowy mountains of Great Basin National Park and an infinity of slot machines. She made her way across the west's Basin-And-Range province: up and down barren angle-of-repose slopes and across great playas, dry lake beds. Rare scattered mining towns dotted the road. Puffy white clouds sailed overhead.

Onward and onward. Mountain ranges like the skeletal backbones of great antediluvian beasts, fringed with evergreens. Sand dunes like discolored sugar. Dust devils like anorexic funnels on the playas. Occasional highway traffic; military aircraft overhead, dancing around cotton-balls of clouds. No cops visible on the road.

She had all day to think without serious distraction. She mentally reviewed her new course and decided that yes, striking off on her own was the right thing, the best thing for her life and sanity. With that, she closed a door. No more gripes and recriminations, no more complaints. Now, a new life.

Put it all behind me, she thought. Re-invent myself, like Teresa said.

Money? She had enough for the moment, enough to keep her going till she found a clear path. Friends? Those back in Guadalajara were family friends, Bobo's friends; she would not miss them. Love? She'd had damn little love lately, and none from men; Bobo selfishly screwing her or demanding a B.J. was not exactly love. Would she look for love, look for other men?

She felt herself at a crossroads. Go straight ahead, loop around the planet in a great circle, and she would end up back in Guadalajara with all those shitheads. Take a turn-off, and who knows?

Was she really ready for new directions? Yes; the old path of her life was a dead-end street. What was she willing to do? Where was she willing to point her life? Had she really given up on Bobo? Yes - but that led to the next question: was she ready for another man? Or a woman?

Rosa could not see herself living only with a woman. She liked men too much - not those who forced themselves on her, no; but the ones she encountered at some level of near-equality, yes. She loved a good, well-applied cock.

She had never cheated on Bobo with another man, not even when he obviously spent nights and weekends with his girlfriends. Was she ready to start now? Not exactly; if she left Robo and got a divorce, then a new man would not be cheating. And if she found a man before she divorced Bobo, then it would only be a just retribution, turning the tables on her soon-to-be ex-husband.

She felt justified, and determined, and relaxed. The future is mine!

Rosa neared Nevada's capitol. She stopped at a cheap motel in the eastern suburb of Moundhouse, downhill from Mark Twain's legendary Virginia City. This motel catered to budget-minded seniors, not by-the-hour girls. No need for that here; Moundhouse was famous for its legal brothels.

Rosa had pursued a long-running quest for a most perfect wor wonton soup. The motel's adjacent Mandarin restaurant served a close contender for the championship. Rosa happily slurped down the gingery stew and ordered an extra pot of green tea. Her ThinkPad browsing uncovered interesting new information. She called Serena.

"Hi cousin! How are you, and where are you, and where will you be tomorrow, and when?"

"I'm pretty good today. Well, I am now, anyway. The map shows I'm in Nevada below Lake Tahoe. That puts me, what, five-six hours from Oakland? I'll take it easy tomorrow but I can be there whenever it's convenient for you."

"I'm taking the afternoon off. I can be in the East Bay any time after two. You texted me the address, right? Yeah, I have it here - it's just off Jack London Square, easy to find. Give me a call from Sacramento so I can make sure we're coordinated and everything. Now, what's this shit about 'pretty good, for now anyway'? Did some not-so-good shit happen? C'mon, talk!"

"Could be worse. I felt weird last night so I slept in the car outside a college dorm. A security guard rousted me early this morning; I had to give him a tit-job and a blow-job. Lucky for me he didn't last long and couldn't hang around. And to even get this driveaway back in Texas, I had to give TWO blowjobs. I think this fucking Ford is cursed."

"That's pretty sick, even if you WERE once La Reina de las Chupadas, the B.J. Queen, right? I mean, before Bobo snagged you, you had quite a reputation. Are you still any good? Did you make it worthwhile for those guys?" Serena giggled.

"Not funny, girl! Not to me, anyway. But I'm glad I didn't have to fuck these losers." She did not mention her recent interactions with women. "Other than that, I'm fine. No excitement. Not even porcupines. Well, dust devils came close a couple times, but they didn't scratch the car."

"I've wondered, Rosa. You were a gorgeous girl, smart and sexy. Maybe you still are. So how come Bobo won't be a man for you? What, he hardly ever fucks you? Did you turn him off?"

"Bobo really only likes to fuck people dumber than him. I don't qualify." That puta Ally would have been just right for him, she thought.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Hey, did you find anything more about Roberto's detective? And what's your slimy husband up to?"

"Bobo is undoubtedly screwing one or more of his little girlfriends. His private dick is sleuthing around aimlessly, bragging about the progress he's making, but he's off totally in the wrong direction. He seems to think I've been kidnapped by rednecks and taken to Florida. Go figure."

Serena giggled again. "Oh, that's good! Maybe you can send some emails that seem to come from around there. Really throw them off your trail!"

Rosa laughed along. "Good idea! I'll see if I can tweak the anonymizer to give a phony server address. Bobo can have fucking Disney World searched if he wants, and good luck to him."

"Yeah, that would be fun to see! So what are you doing right now?"

"I'm finishing a pot of tea and digesting Chinese food. Really good wor wonton soup here! In a few minutes I'll walk next door to the motel. No more sleeping in the damn car! But I'll keep the sleeping bag, just in case."

"A sleeping bag, and what else? You got much luggage? My car isn't huge, just an old Celica. The trunk and back seat are tiny."

"No, not much luggage. Just my daypack, a duffel bag and sleeping bag, and my suit on a hanger. I'll toss out the mess-kit and a few other small things before I turn in the car. I hope I won't need mouthwash there." She did not want to think about yet more coerced blowjobs.

"Sounds like an easy fit. And I'll be there at the agency when you arrive, so you'll have a witness if you need one."

"That'll be great. How about three o'clock? That way I won't have to rush, and neither will you."

The conversation meandered and brightened and flickered and died away. Good-byes were exchanged. ¡Hasta pronto! See you soon!

Rosa leaned back in bed with the ThinkPad open in her lap. Yeah, she could spoof a Florida mail-server's address. She forwarded a few meaningless jokes to her family site's INFO account. Those should occupy the private dick for a few days. Hmmm, maybe she should leave a false trail for the near future, keep everyone nicely distracted.

She visualized an old Scooby-Doo cartoon with scores of characters running madly up and down stairs, along and across hallways, with slamming doors and pounding footsteps and surprised shouts. Plug Roberto into that scene. Yeah, Bobo and Scooby, a matched set, except Scooby behaved better.

She fell asleep smiling. Tomorrow would be a better day.

*****

On The Road, Day 5 - from Carson City, Nevada

*****

Rosa was well-rested for a change when she crawled out of bed and opened the room's curtains. The emergent morning sun lit the crests of the Sierra Nevadas looming behind nevada's capitol. "As beautiful as a wedding cake but without the complications," as Mark Twain did not say. They looked glorious. A bright start to a bright day, yes.

She would look business-like today, she promised herself. Her usual careful cleaning and grooming; her freshly-pressed sapphire skirt-suit over a plain white blouse; proper subdued makeup. Yes, she looked good.

She tried a casino steak-and-eggs breakfast. Crap, never again! That so-called steak - she would not throw it to a dog. Shit, maybe it WAS dog meat! The coffee sucked too, almost as bad as Nescafé. Do people really consume this basura? She ate the eggs and half the potatoes. A thin sliver of mystery meat was all she could tolerate.

She took Highway Fifty's steep climb up the sheer eastern escarpment of the Sierras and along the southeast corner of Lake Tahoe. She HAD to stop to view the spectacle - like Lago de Atitlan in Guatemala, but without all the volcanoes and chicken buses and colorful traditionally-garbed Mayans.

This is a gem of a mountain lake, she thought; I have to return.

The highway crossed the Pacific Crest amid road construction delays and lane detours. Aspens silvered and dappled in autumn sunlight broke through the spicy evergreen forests beneath towering granite crags. Traffic was slow and tight. Drivers and riders had more than enough time to appreciate the scenic wonders around them.

The slowdown did not bother Rosa. I will get there when I get there, she thought. Everything will be fine as long as there are no three-hour delays - and impatient gringos do not put up with such holdups! This will move, soon enough.

Traffic threaded the construction barriers and orange-vested work crews. The highway widened; speeds increased; traffic quickly descended the long western slope into the Golden State and across its great Central Valley.

Rosa stopped for Indian buffet lunch at the valley's edge. The proprietor, a distinguished bearded man in a dark suit and a blue turban, offered totally unnecessary advice on the meal selections while he peered down her cleavage. She smiled as she enjoyed her chicken tikka masala and chai.

She relaxed in the fragrant little eatery and called Serena.

"Hey cousin, where you at? Around Sacramento maybe?"

"It looks like I'm about a half-hour from downtown. FOLSOM PRISON BLUES is the theme song here."

Serena laughed. "Okay, I know where you are, and you're right on time. I'm set to leave Petaluma. We should arrive in Oakland pretty close together. You had no more excitement, I hope."

"No thrills, just nice views and slow traffic, not too bad at all. I had to play dodge-ball games with some truckers, y'know how it goes. And the big pickups and campers hauling oversize boats - those guys are nuts! Is there something in the air or water here that turns men into suicidal-homicidal maniacs? Sure, they're probably just as bad in Texas. I just didn't run into so many when I drove there."

"Just be glad you're not down in the Southland. My friend Matías regularly drives between Oakland and Guatemala City. He says the most dangerous roads and drivers along the way are in Los Angeles. He jokes about them using guns for turn signals - at least, I think he was joking."