by Pat Jones
At first Jake Reed thought the figure stumbling down the side of the road was a bum, or maybe a mirage; he didn't bother to put the flashers on his truck as he pulled a quick U-turn and went back to check on the stranger. Everyone in these parts knew he was the Sheriff, and those who didn't learned quick enough.
"Howdy," Jake said. "What'cha doin' out here?"
"Walking," the young boy said, squinting as he looked up at the large man with the mirrored sunglasses. "How far to the nearest town?"
Jake took a moment to size up the stranger before answering. The boy was wearing jeans, plaid shirt, and nice boots. He was a little skinny, with a high-pitched voice, probably a runaway. "Too far to walk in this heat. Where ya heading?"
"To the next town. Do you have any water in that truck?"
"Maybe. What's yer name and what y'all doing in my desert?"
"Didn't know it was your desert, Mister. My name's Jamie, and if you're going to rob me you're too late. Been there, done that."
"Ya got any ID, Jamie?"
Jamie looked up at Jake like he was the dumbest man in the world. "Duh? Robbed? Remember? Took everything. No phone, no money. They left me a water bottle, but that's almost dry. Like I said, I got nothing to rob, Mister, so if you can give me some water I'll be on my way."
"What makes ya think I want to rob you?"
"The gun on your hip and the gun rack in back. Is there a war I don't know about?"
"It's called the drug war, son," Jake replied, opening his worn leather jacket to reveal his Sheriff's star. "I'm not here to rob you. I just wanna understand what's goin' on."
Jamie bristled at 'son' but decided to let it go. She had cut her hair short and dressed boyishly because she knew men had less trouble traveling alone. The two men who stole her truck might have done far worse if they'd known she was a woman in her twenties.
Jamie didn't like Jake's bossy tone, mirrored glasses, or the way he peered down on her from his battered old pickup like it was the throne of judgment. But she sure could use some help, and if she could play this yokel's confusion to her advantage that was fine by her.
"If you could give me some water or a ride into town..."
"Need some answers first, son. Where were you robbed?"
"About twenty minutes after I left my hotel. It was the Lone Star Inn. I got a flat. Two Mexicans stopped to help me fix it, then took my truck and everything in it - money, phone, everything."
"Not likely. That's over in Howard County. How'd y'all get out here?"
"I walked all night."
"Well, ya got guts if not brains. How'd ya know they were Mexicans?'
"Because they spoke Spanish, and they had Mexican plates on their truck. I'm sorry, is that not politically correct? We can pretend they were Swedish if it makes you feel better."
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