Born to Run by John M. Green Read Free Book Online Page B

the gringo at the other end of the line
seemed incapable of understanding him. He spoke slowly and loudly, the same way gringos often spoke down to him. “Name of other hombre has letter ‘z’, not ‘s’. So is
H-e-r-n-a-n-d-e-Z. He is no businessman too.”
    Carlos’s slow measured pace only riled Mike more, “Then you’ve got the wrong guy,” Mike screamed. “Wrong spelling and wrong job.”
    This wasn’t an attitude the two-hundred-pound Bolivian was used to. “You hear me, Señor Mike…”
    “You hear me , Carlos. Find my Hernandes, not some other Hernandez.” Mike was about to slam down the phone on him.
    “Señor Mike! I am find him. You fucking hear?”
    Mike was silent.
    “I find you fucking Hernandez, okay? He diplomático muy importante , but he no businessman. And he from Chile not Bolivia, but he live in Bolivia. He vanish exact year you
say. His wife… she from Bolivia; a paceños family… indigenous, you say. I got wedding announcement from friend in Santiago. Chile have good records. This diplomático Hernandez with ‘z’… he has one wedding party in La Paz and ’nother grande one in Chile. Later, un periódico … a
newspaper in Chile say there is trouble in Bolivia and he send his pregnant wife away, maybe to America. Then he vanish...”
    Carlos had to be on the wrong track, Mike was sure of it. “Carlos, you say you got the wedding announcement… what’s the name of the wife of this Hernandez-with-a-z.”
    “ Un momento … her name… Maria… Maria Rosa.”

    OFTEN when she was alone, Isabel hugged her father’s photograph while her mind played back that morning… She is fifteen … it’s the last
kiss she will ever give her mother …
    The terror of that afternoon attacked her whenever it wanted to.
    The shrink she’d seen briefly years ago told her that her preoccupation with that kiss, that morning, and with her father, was her brain desperately trying to supplant the horror of that
afternoon.
    Mostly it worked.
    Isabel knew that it was this momentary heaven set against the hell that had driven her to succeed, so that she would never again get close to that life, and could help others to avoid similar
fates.
    She replayed the morning over and over, seeking both comfort and pain from each tiny detail. It wasn’t pretty, but it had been her life.
    IT’S 7:15 AM and Isabel’s mami is flaked out, flabby and naked. Isabel is standing over her. Mami is beautiful, apart from her bruises. Her boyfriend is sprawled
out beside her and the yellowing sheet with pink flowers half covers the couple. He ’ s been mami’s boyfriend for two weeks. Isabel has chalked him up as staying twelve nights
straight. Suddenly, his arm moves and the snarling tattoo on his bicep, a wolf, disturbs her. Scares her.
    She runs to tidy up the mess from the adults’ party from last night. She tosses out soggy trays of half-eaten nachos and curling pizza, and using her fingers as stoppers manages to take
out six of the eight empty beer bottles in one trip and lays them like bricks on the wall she ’ s been building outside. She’s already folded the newspaper he’d brought home
with him from the plant. That was the only good thing about this one: twice a week he brought home the newspaper. Her mami never bought one, preferring to zone out in front of the TV.
    Last week Isabel gave a speech for the local Rotarians’ school citizenship contest and her teacher said she might win a prize. Her mami could sure use the money.
    After Isabel picks up and folds her mother’s clothes, she silently slides open the bedside table drawer and takes out her father’s photo, their only picture of him. Mami hides it
in there to avoid trouble with the boyfriend. Isabel loves how handsome he was; she strokes the glass protecting his movie-star hair. She holds it to her heart and turns her head to the
bed.
    She reviles this man with the wolf tattoo. If her father were here, he’d fix him. Isabel’s