Border Town Girl Read Online Free Page B

You’ve got three hours.”
    Felicia rattled off a machine-gun burst of Spanish.
    The stranger grinned. He said, “She says you can’t go until she washes your clothes. It’s okay by me if you don’t get there until ten.”
    He stood up and as he ducked for the low doorway, he said, “Just follow orders and chances are by tomorrow afternoon you can be on your own way with a little dough to boot.”
    He was gone. Sanson’s head was aching again. He rubbed the stubble on his chin.
    “He is not a nice man, no?” Felicia said.
    “He is not a nice man, yes,” answered Lane. “It is a bad thing that you should bring him here.”
    “That shows what you know. It was all planned by them for you to be taken by the police for the murder yesterday. Children saw you sleeping here yesterday. In the market a thing is soon made known all over town. But for me you could be in prison for murder.” Her eyes flashed.
    “I am truly sorry, chica.”
    Her anger left and her smile was warm. “It is nothing.”
    He pushed the bill toward her. “Here. This is yours.”
    “No, it is much. It is more than four hundred pesos. You see, I know the value of dollares. What could I do with it? If I try to change it, the police will have me. Better you should give me some of your pesos if you wish to make a gift to me.”
    The sun was beginning to climb a hot blue sky. She insisted that he hand over his shirt and underwear for cleaning. He kept the blanket over him as he slipped them off. She laughed at him and left with them in her hand. She came back in an hour to cook for them and to tell him that his things were drying in the sun. She heated the tin of water over the charcoal fire and brought him his dry clothes. His suit was badly wrinkled. He called to her and she came in. He handed her his pesos.
    She took them without looking up into his face. She seemed suddenly shy.
    “Muchas gracias, Felicia.”
    “It is nothing, señor.”
    He touched her cheek, slipped his hand under her chin and lifted her face until he could look into the deep wild gleam of the black eyes.
    “Truly a daughter of many great kings,” he whispered.
    She took his hand and kissed it. “Go with God, Señor Lane.”
     
    After lunch he walked back to the garage where he had left the car. A small man with large sores at the corners of his mouth charged him ten pesos for the work on the car. To get to the bridge he had to circle the zocolo with its bandstand in the center, with its paths and rows of iron benches. Curio shops, churches and public buildings faced the square. As he turned the corner to head along the fourth and last side he saw two uniformed policemen armed with rifles standing on the walk. A crowd had gathered but they stayed well back from the policemen, staring avidly at the crumpled form on the walk. Others came running up to join the crowd.
    As Sanson drove slowly by he saw the body of the stranger who had come to Felicia’s shack. His cheek rested in a spreading pool of blood and the blue flies buzzed in a cloud around his face. The skull was subtly distorted by the impact of slugs against the brain tissue. Sanson set his jaw, clamped his hands on the wheel and resisted the impulse to tramp hard on the gas.
    At the Mexican end of the bridge he surrendered the tourist card which he had renewed three times during the two years in Mexico. He signed it in the presence of the guard and was waved on. In the middle of the bridge he paid the fifty-centavo toll.
    At the American end a brisk man in khaki stepped forward and said, “American citizen? Where are you coming from? Please bring your luggage inside for customs inspection.”
    Lane made himself grin. “I wish I could. I did too much celebrating the other night. Somebody broke into my car and took everything. All they left was the car itself.”
    The man stared at him. “Have an accident?”
    “Fell and hit my head.”
    “Have you got proof of citizenship?”
    Lane dug out his birth