One Step Over the Border (29 page)

While Rosa slipped back into her grubby shirt, Hap unhitched the trailer. Her hair mussed up and cheeks smudged, she motioned
to him. “What do you think?”

“That should do it. But there’s a certain kind of beauty that cain’t be hid. Are you sure your name is Rosa?”

“You confusing me with a boyhood dream?”

“Do you mind?”

She leaned over and kissed his ear. “No.”

Hap steered the truck around the block, then roared into the parking lot with squealing brakes. Dozens of reporters and cameras
converged on them. Hap ushered Rosa to the back of the truck. He straddled the side rail while she tried to calm the media
frenzy and answer questions.

“How many people have been killed?”

“None.”

“Is the FBI involved?”

“No.”

“Are children being abused in the compound?”

“Of course not. There aren’t any children. There is just a cabin. No compound. Why would you even think to ask that?”

“Is it true all of you agreed to a suicide pact, if the government decides to move in?”

“Pact? I’m the only one there.”

“Is it true your surface-to-air rockets brought down an army helicopter?”

“That’s absurd.”

“What about the rumor that a Colombian drug cartel uses the Rodríguez Ranch for a drop zone?”

“Look, give me a chance to explain…”

“Then, it is true?”

“NO!” she shouted.

“What about the charge that you’re one of the wives of a radical Mormon fundamentalist?”

Hap stood up and raised his hands. “Quiet,” he shouted. “Rosa came here to make a statement. Give her a chance. Then you can
ask questions.”

“Are you her husband?”

“Her brother?”

“Her lover?”

Hap reached over the side of the truck, grabbed the man by the tie and yanked him straight up. “I will turn this man loose
when you remain silent long enough to listen to Rosa.”

Twenty-two minutes later, everyone had dispersed except Hap and Rosa. The only vehicles in the parking lot were his pickup
and the delivery kid’s red Mustang.

Rosa plopped down on the rail next to Hap. “That went well. Normally, it takes me an hour to chase off reporters.”

“They were lookin’ for somethin’ else.”

“You said to tell them the truth. Didn’t they believe me?”

“Oh, they believe you. That’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“The truth bored them.”

“Did you hear what that one idiot said?”

“You mean, ‘As soon as someone gets shot and dies, then it will become a story’?”

Rosa sighed. “A rather cynical view of people’s interest levels.”

“They didn’t seem impressed with a sabotaged vegetable garden and broken windows.” Hap pulled off his hat. “Papers want to
sell copies. Stations need increased ratings. Reporters seek fame. Ever’one wants somethin’.”

“They didn’t even care about my documents.”

“When they got word of the president’s dog barfing on the prime minister of Japan’s lap, they all raced off to Crawford.”

“Hey, we got an unclaimed Canadian bacon and pineapple,” the kid shouted from the front door. “The boss says you can have
it for free.”

Hap shoved on his hat. “That’s good. The trip’s not a complete waste. Come on… we need pizza and a truck stop.”

“You need fuel?”

“That and a few other things. Did you know most truck stops now offer an internet café, so truckers can check their email?”

“Do you need to check email?”

“Nope… but you do. You told me so. How many groups have you been active in over the past five years?”

“Hundreds.”

“Email them and call in your chips.”

“What?”

“Ask them for a favor.”

“What favor?”

“Tell them to email everyone on their list with a simple message, ‘Ponder Rosa. What are they doing to Rosa Rodríguez Tryor
at Big Bend National Park, Texas?’”

“That’s it?”

“That’s the rally cry,” Hap declared. “Ponder Rosa.”

“It’s silly… and simple.”

“So is ‘Just Do It.’ But it works.”

“But Erika already did the internet thing,” Rosa said.

“No, she contacted the media, who expected a melodrama or violence or ratings or glory. Now it’s time to stir up the average
person, the internet activist… we want them to ‘Ponder Rosa.’”

Rosa hunkered down in the smoky drivers’ lounge at the 4-Corners Truck Stop. She hammered computer keys with a message to
fifty-three activist groups and all 106 individual email addresses on her personal Hotmail account.

When she finally wandered back outside, she found Hap sorting through several cardboard boxes. “What did you buy?”

“I found an all-night grocery. Besides more food, I bought a staple gun and all the plastic signs they had in stock.”

“What kind of signs?”

“For Sale. For Rent. Garage Sale. Keep Out
… you know, those kinds of signs.”

“That’s a mixed message.”

“The backs are all blank. We’re making our own signs. I’ve got some big marking pens and on every one we’ll write
PONDER ROSA
. We’ Stockton and on telephone poles all the way down to the park. We’ll start a grass-roots movement. Isn’t this the way
you do it?”

“I suppose. Hap, why are you doing this?”

“You think it’s just because you’re a beautiful, desirable woman.”

“I never once thought you were doing it for that reason. I do not consider myself to have either of those qualities.”

“I’m doin’ this because I think you’re gettin’ a raw deal. And… I’m doin’ it because you remind me of someone.”

“Your Juanita?”

“Funny, ain’t it? All these years I’ve tried to imagine what she would be like at twenty… or twenty-five… or thirty. When
I find her, I’m sure she will be exactly like you.”

By nine the next morning, they had stapled the last of the signs at a Highway 385 rest stop. “Now, back to the park,” Hap
declared.

“Do you think a few small signs will generate interest?”

“Two-hundred-forty-one signs add up to more than a few. Besides, it’s the repetition, not the size. Just ask Wall Drug in
South Dakota.”

“Perhaps we should have advertised free drinks of spring water.”

“Now you’re thinkin’,” he said.

“How are you going to smuggle me back in? There’s too much daylight.”

“No smugglin’. This time we drive right through.”

“But if Davenport sees me, he’ll radio for them to bulldoze the cabin before we reach it.”

“Were you determined to save the cabin, no matter what?”

“Not really. As you saw, it’s about to collapse from old age.”

“Then let them tear it up. That will make a good photo op for the blogs. It will demonstrate Davenport’s evil intent.”

“But where will I stay?”

“In the truck. Me and Laramie can sleep outside. Let’s force them to do somethin’. Survivin’ is reactionary. It allows others
to control the scene.”

“Are you sure this will work?”

“No, but it’s not what they expect. When you fight giants, you have to catch them off guard.” He reached over and touched
her knee.

Rosa stared at his fingers. “You know what, cowboy? You’ve made me think of things I haven’t thought about in years.”

“It feels good, don’t it?”

“Yes, very good,” she murmured.

Erika greeted them at the entrance gate.

Hap rolled down his window. “What are you doin’ on the mornin’ shift? Don’t you ever sleep?”

“I switched with Tiff. I wanted to see if you’d come back. I stayed up most of the night checking the net for some splashy
story. But all I found was this. About 2:00
A.M
., this message popped up everywhere.” She handed him a printout.

Hap took the note: “Ponder Rosa. What are they doing to Rosa Rodríguez Tryor at Big Bend National Park, Texas?’ Say, that’s
kind of catchy, ain’t it?”

“I also got roundabout word that the regional superintendent is headed down here. That could be revealing.”

“Does Davenport know?”

“No one is supposed to know.”

“Good. Now, call Davenport… tell him one of those cowboys and Rosa Rodríguez just drove through the gate. Tell him you heard
them say they’re headed back to the Rodríguez Ranch.”

“But he might do something dumb.”

“We’re countin’ on it. Then, let the other park service people know what’s goin’ on, so we can drive straight to the Rodríguez
Ranch. We’d appreciate it if they don’t try to stop us. We’re forcin’ Davenport to show his hole cards.”

Rosa leaned forward to look at Erika. “Tell the tourists to be sure and visit the historic Rodríguez Ranch on Panther Mountain.
I think we might need witnesses.”

“What’s so historic about it?” Erika quizzed.

“Tell them it’s rumored to be one of the places Pancho Villa hid out while on the run from both the Mexican and American authorities.”

“Ain’t that somethin’. I heard that same rumor myself… jist today, in fact,” Hap said.

“Oh! So did I,” Erika added. “By the way, while I surfed the internet last night, I Googled Out West Development Corporation.
They own casinos in Atlantic City and Vegas, plus a riverboat near St. Louis.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Rosa said. “They aren’t going to put a casino up here on Panther Mountain.”

Erika shrugged. “All I know is that the names of their board of directors reads like the cast of
The Sopranos
.”