Page 37 of Bad Rio

Leaving a small pile of hundred dollar bills on the bed, Rio guided Becca down the hall to slip from the house. They walked along a dirt road, keeping to the side. While much warmer and more humid than their snowy cabin near the Chihuahua foothills, heavy fog blanketed the area. Keeping a close watch around them, Rio kept hold of her arm. This early, there were no residents up and about, and they heard only a few dawn-crowing roosters. Within a mile or so, Becca smelled dank water, like that of a sitting pond.

Leaving the road, they wended through trees and close-growing plants, avoiding any of the structures or shacks they passed.

At last they stopped in a heavy thicket. “Nuevo Laredo is connected to the U.S. city of Laredo by four international bridges over the river. We’re near one at the end. They’re all closely monitored by border security. But people make illegal crossings every day. Either by water, or under the officials’ noses hidden in vehicles. A lot of drugs make their way into the U.S. that way.”

“That’s awful,” she said.

“It’s the way it is.”

Up on the bridge, early-rising souls drove cars in both directions. Their shapes were barely visible in the thick fog. The banks of the river were choked with brush and green bushes. Across the river, some seventy yards away, three white trucks were parked front end in, their bumpers almost to the water. Several uniformed border patrol agents stood around, chatting and smoking. Each man carried either a rifle or a handgun strapped to his hip.

Although she wasn’t cold, Becca shivered.

The dank smell was stronger now and filled her nostrils.

Anxious, she held Rio’s arm. “How in the world are we going to sneak by them?”

“We’ll have a little help later on. I’ve hired people to create a diversion. For now, I’m going to make us some ghillie suits.”

“Some gilly what?”

“Camouflage,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few.” He disappeared into the fog.

Within ten minutes he returned, his arms filled with cut ferns, green fronds, and long bunches of Bermuda grass. Taking a place beside her, he formed a long stalk into a circle and then wove different colored grasses and underbrush into a kind of crown.

Reaching over to pull off her knit cap, he placed the crown of leaves and fronds on top of her head. “The cap stays here,” he told her. “That black color isn’t found much in nature.”

She touched the long clumps of grass sticking out from her head. She felt as though she were wearing a huge-brimmed, Kentucky Derby Panama style made of natural materials. “Wow,” she said, filled with wonder at his ingenuity. “Will these really hide us from the authorities?”

“If we move slow, keep our bodies beneath the water, and you do everything I tell you.”

She nodded vigorously. “Will do!”

Rio smiled. He leaned over his half-made straw hat and dropped a kiss on her lips. “You’re adorable.”

Becca wasn’t sure about that. Her hair hadn’t been washed in ten days, she’d had no shower in all that time, she wore no makeup and she’d been sick. “Do I smell?”

“You smell like buttercups.”

She doubted that.

Finishing his own, larger hat, he set them both aside. “Let’s have breakfast.”

From his pouch, he took out their last two granola bars and handed her one. In silence, they ate.

“Rio,” she said finally, “What if something truly horrible is going on at my father’s business?”

“Horrible? That’s an odd word. I’m thinking more along the lines of illegal.”

“What if—” She swallowed the last of her granola bar with difficulty. “What if there are chopped up dead bodies in those shipping boxes?”

He did a double take, and grinned at her. “Little chance of that. Not much money to be made in dead body parts.”

“So,” she fiddled with her hat, “you think whatever is going on, it’s all about money?”

“It always is.” He sighed and glanced toward the river. The sun was just beginning to send searing rays through the fog and heat the air. “Time to go.” He instructed her to take off her sweatshirt and leave on just her white button-down shirt. He took her loafers and his boots and tied them together using pliant reeds, and slung them to his shoulder. He still had his pouch.

“We’ll sneak down to water’s edge,” he said quietly. “Step in my footprints in the mud. If I pause, you pause. If I sink down, you do it. No fast moves, no talking. Got that?”

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