But most of all on Godoy and all his histrionic self-revelation.
Godoy’s last words on camera: “I take and I give, in the eternal way of the Sierra Madre. I will leave this world a better place. If I have ridden with the devil, it was only to survive. God is my judge.”
Bettina: “How many men have you killed?”
Godoy: “Only those who tried to kill me. This I swear, Bettina Blazak.”
Bettina: “Are you afraid of the God who will judge you?”
Godoy: “I fear nothing.”
Her rough edit now complete, all Bettina can do is pray that Godoy signs off on his story.
And that she can go home with Felix.
Godoy sits at one end of a long leather sofa in his living room, watching Bettina’s Coastal Eddy video on her laptop, propped open on the old streamer trunk before him.
Bettina sits at the opposite end, nervously appreciating the artisan crafts and paintings on the walls, the handwoven Indigenous rugs and brilliant Huichol yarn art — an extravagant exhibition of color.
Strickland stands in front of the fire, eyeing her unhappily, silent. He’s got the pistol jammed into his belt where everyone can see it, as he has pretty much all day. Godoy didn’t seem to mind, which made Bettina wonder why El Gordo would trust the gringo Strickland enough to pack a gun in his presence. But more than half the men she saw today were armed with automatic weapons, so maybe a gringo with a pistol was small potatoes.
Godoy’s man, Miguel, surly and still as an Olmec statue, faces Strickland from across the big room with a tactical shotgun slung over his shoulder.
Bettina is hopeful but worried. Going on scared. If El Gordo doesn’t like both the story and the video, she’ll have to try again tomorrow. And if he still can’t accept the El Gordo that she has created, she may never see Felix again. Or worse.
Godoy has already read the article and offered Bettina only a long blank look, saying nothing about the piece.
Now Bettina hears the Coastal Eddy music outro, and hears herself signing off from Sinaloa, Mexico.
Godoy looks over the trunk at her.
“Excuse me,” he says, standing. “I have some business to do.”
Bettina looks in mounting panic to Strickland, then back at Godoy as he strides across the hardwood floor in his shiny black boots, his new western shirt with the big turquoise bolo tie, and his black blazer.
Then out the front door.
The thud of that heavy door sounds final to Bettina in a dreadful, numbing way. She tries to conjure her spark, the old Blazak spark, but right now her feet and fingers are cold with more than the freezing mountain night. She feels stripped of everything she knows, a visitor in a hostile world.
Strickland and Villareal still face each across the room, motionless but intensely attached.
“You guys ought to lighten up,” she says, her voice flimsy. “We could play a board game or something.”
She rises and goes to the fire and rubs her hands together in the orange glow. Strickland doesn’t look at her.
She’s back on the sofa when she hears muffled commotion outside, coming her way. She stands on wobbly knees.
The door opens and Felix flies into the room, Godoy behind him, slamming the door against the cold.
“Señorita Blazak, I deliver to you your dog!”
Bettina runs to Felix, catches him midair, and wrestles him to the floor.
Then he’s off for Strickland, who takes a knee and spreads his arms as the dog launches into him.
43
The Volaris jet from Los Mochis lands Bettina and Strickland in Tijuana at noon the next day.
In baggage claim, they collect Felix, who peers hopefully from his battered plastic crate, a gift from El Gordo.
Charley Gibbon waits at the arrivals curb at the wheel of his new black 4Runner. He’s got bottled waters in the cup holders, a large bag of popcorn, and a mesh bag of tangerines to pass around. A coffee cup for Felix to drink from.
Bettina sits in the back, feeding her dog popcorn and watching out for the San Ysidro Port of Entry signs. She finds Felix’s vaccination papers from the Clínica Veterinarea San Francisco de Asís, stashed safely with her passport in the bottom of her bag.
When they get to the crossing, she sees by the line of cars that it’s going to be another excruciatingly long wait. But she’s never in her life been so happy to be almost home. She cups another handful of popcorn for Felix and scratches his ears.
They pull up into the lane and Gibbon kills the engine. Bettina sips the water and looks out at the hundreds of vehicles crossing north into the United States.
She realizes that she’s got everything in the world she wants right now. A little talent, a great job, a man who interests her and likes her for who she is, a nice apartment in a cool town, and a terrific dog. A surfboard, a good street bike.
A future free of Jason Graves.
And maybe most of all, she’s got the hard-won satisfaction that she’s stood up to Godoy and finally told the world about Keith’s unnecessary fate. Maybe his story will help to save a few of the thousands of people out there right now, craving just one more hit of relief as they blunder toward an early grave.
She also realizes that she’s been a bundle of frayed nerves the whole time she’s been following El Gordo’s unpredictable orders. She still hasn’t come down from her adrenaline-fueled reclaiming of Felix. She feels a deep exhaustion settling over her, knowing it will only increase the second they cross the border. It feels like her Olympic trials trap shoot, entire weekends of high-pressure matches in which one missed clay often made the difference between winners and losers.
“Hey, handsome,” she says, leaning forward, a hand on the back of Strickland’s seat.
“Ma’am?”
“Let’s take a road trip. Just you and me and my dog. I want to be somewhere beautiful and safe, like the desert or the mountains or the beach or maybe all three. Where we can walk and hike with the mutt and enjoy the outdoors. No men with guns. No looking over our shoulders. What do ya say?”
Strickland releases the seat belt shoulder restraint and turns to face her. His expression is that of a boy considering an important invitation. He looks suspicious but tempted.
“I’m in.”
“Can we go somewhere exotic and expensive? Just kidding. We can take my Jeep if you want. I just need one day at work to get the El Gordo story in the can, and edit the video again with Jean.”
44
Jean Rose takes a seat in Bettina’s cubicle. She’s beaming.
“Bettina, I love the El Gordo video. And I love your print story even more. They portray a murderous man in a complex manner. The way you work in Keith is extremely strong. I didn’t know, Bettina, other than... well, I’m so sorry. Our readers will be moved. Your fear of being there in those cold mountains, and of asking hard questions of a dangerous criminal, come through very clearly. Our readers and viewers will like that too. This is a story that matters, as you like to say.”
Relief floods through Bettina like a strong warm river. She’s done it. She’s written a good story and filmed a good video. She’s gotten Felix back.
Bettina looks at Felix on his pad in the corner, head resting on his front paws, his face furrowed and his eyes alert.
Jean Rose’s expression confirms she has no idea that the Coastal Eddy stories were Bettina’s ransom for a dog.
“I’m happy for you, Bettina,” she says. “I know you had high hopes for those stories. Thank you. I’ve slotted in the Rod Foster piece for next week, so we can go with El Gordo in tomorrow’s edition.”