Page 30 of Liar
“We’ll eat breakfast on the way,” he informs me as he saunters off.
“On the way to where?”
But he’s already gone.
I quickly dress, pulling on an old T-shirt, which I’ve cut off the neckline so it hangs loosely off one shoulder, figuring it’ll give me room to move. I pull on a pair of new camo shorts, brush my hair then sweep it up into a loose ponytail, wash the sleep from my face until my cheeks are pink, and apply deodorant—twice. Skipping my morning shower—no sense in taking one, the unseasonable heat and accompanying perspiration are unavoidable.
Diego stops me in the hallway.
“Here.” He hands me a pair of his old Doc Martens. By old, I mean he must have been ten years old when he last wore them. He tosses two pairs of tube socks at me. “Wear both pairs and the boots should fit.”
To his credit, they do.
I pack our lunches while he brews to-go coffees. It’s still pitch-black when we depart.
We leave Loreto behind like two thieves in the night. “Lobos have a private shooting range about an hour’s drive outside Loreto, but given the distance, few people use it. Still, it’s closed to outsiders so keep quiet about it.”
I give my brother a look. “Like Veronique and María have any interest in hearing about a dusty, desert firing range.” My two best friends wouldn’t be caught dead spending time in the desert. Though María, who’s infatuated with my brother, might have tempted fate just to join him.
“This was your idea.”
“I’m cut from a rougher cloth than Veronique and María.”
Diego laughs. “That you are.”
We drive across flat, ruddy-hued soil, heading northeast, the rising sun to our right. Wildlife stirs around us; a jackrabbit raising its long ears, three prairie dogs peeking their heads out of a hole, donkeys grazing on a farm off in the distance breaking up the otherwise barren terrain.
It’s beautiful out here. Quiet and tranquil. Peaceful in its desolation.
When was the last time we had a moment like this? Cartel business keeps him busy. My business, school final exams and practicing for Nacionalesoccupies my time. I’m suddenly thankful for asking for his help, and for stealing a little time for us.
We talk and tease each other until Diego announces we’re almost there. He turns onto a narrow road more suitable for donkey carts and motorcycles than a beastly pickup truck. Pothole after pothole has our teeth rattling. My brother thinks nothing of it and laughs at my moans.
Bumpy, hole-filled roads have dominated our lives. Either you learn to navigate them, twist and bend to survive, or be shattered by them. But we can always depend on each other to guide our way through them, can’t we?
“Hang on. It’s just up ahead.”
I see a small building, and as we pull in closer, a patch of hill behind it.
“¡Ay caramba! He said he was headed out of town.”
I recognize the Jeep parked in front of the adobe structure, and immediately search for its owner.
Diego pulls up next to the Jeep, then switches gears and begins to back up.
“What are you doing?”
“We’ll come back another day.”
I gasp. “Are you loco? We drove an hour to get here.”
“The range is occupied.”
“By whom?” I innocently ask, trying to hide my excitement. Because only one person could evoke this kind of reaction from my brother, and his Jeep is parked right next to us.
“My boss.”
“So, can’t we share the target? If not, we’ll scrape together two more.”
