Deadly Journey by Declan Conner Read Free Book Online Page B

drug
agent from Texas didn’t seem the sensible thing to do; it might make her forget
the nursing. I struggled to find an alternative for a while before the words to
answer her finally arrived.
    ‘I need to contact the police. I’m a
tourist and I’ve been robbed. I don’t have any identification. They took it
all. I was heading for the border. I...’ Pausing, realization struck at what I
was saying and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I, I, freaking I. The
way I was speaking sounded unnatural and each sentence I’d uttered sounded like
the lie that it was.
    The woman smiled.
    ‘Sorry, what’s your name?’ I asked.
    ‘My name is Leila. We can talk later, but
first let’s get you out of these clothes and I’ll wash you, clean your wounds and
dress them. We don’t have a telephone, but my father will drive you to the
border.’
    She turned her back and placed the bowl on
a beat-up old dresser with two drawers missing. The walls in the bedroom and in
the living area, as I’d noticed on the way in, were bare brick. The ceiling was
open to the trusses and roof tiles. Wires strung along the wall, connected to
dangling electrical-plug sockets. Everything I had seen screamed poverty.
    Leila turned and came over to the bed. She
helped me take off my jeans and remove my T-shirt. Her silhouette brought a
vision of Mary dancing through my thoughts. Averting her gaze, she removed my
boxers and chatted away, saving me embarrassment before draping a towel over my
lower half. An anxious gut-ache gripped me; I was desperate to contact Mary to
let her know I was safe.
    ‘Is there a village nearby where I can get
to a telephone?’
    ‘No, there’s nothing between here and the
gas stations near the border.’
    She washed and dabbed at the wounds,
applying antiseptic cream to my feet before bandaging them.
    ‘Look, write down your address and when I
return home, I’ll send you some money for my keep and the gas.’
    ‘It’s not necessary.’
    The family’s kindness touched me.
    ‘How long did you live in Texas?’ I asked.
    ‘Two years. Ironic, isn’t it? My ancestors
lived in Texas until the Americans stole it along with the star on their flag.
Now they treat us like low-life dirt.’
    The words hit me like a barb sinking into
my flesh.
    She took a single cotton sheet from the
remaining drawer of the dresser and draped it over me. ‘I’ll get some of my
brother’s clothes ready for your journey. They should fit. Try and rest.’
    ‘Are you sure he won’t mind?’
    ‘Mind?’ She laughed. ‘He’s been dead four
years now.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘No need.’
    ‘How did he pass away?’
    ‘Gunned down by a rival gang.’
    The way she said it, it was as though it
was no big deal. She closed the door as she left, leaving me with my thoughts.
Looking around the room gave me the impression that their plight was
understandable. I began to wonder what I would have done, had I been born into
a similar position on the wrong side of the border. Would I have turned to the
safety of numbers in a gang and trafficked drugs to those who denied me
shelter? Or would I have tried to flee to America for a new life of always
looking over my shoulder? I prayed that in twenty-four hours, I would reach the
safety of the border. But not before I had taken down their name and address to
send them a big fat thank you through Western Union, to be collected at their
nearest depot.
    Ten minutes had gone by when Leila brought
a pile of clothes and some boots into the bedroom.
    ‘Try these for size.’ She placed the items
on a chair next to the bed and left the room.
    I hadn’t worn jockeys since I was a child,
but eagerly slipped them on. The T-shirt was okay, but the jeans were a little
on the short side and wide around the waist. At least they were clean. I took
the belt from my old jeans and buckled it around my waist. Easing myself from
the bed, I stood and took a few paces. The bandages were comfortable to walk
on, but I could