"I left two men in the water tower in case they change their minds," Flaco said with a heavy accent. "But I wouldn't hang around if I was you, either. They got a lot more where those gringos came from."

Casey led Isodora with her baby down the length of the motel, helping them into the back of the Mercedes, the child finally growing quiet. Jose leaned into the backseat and spoke Spanish back and forth with Isodora before he shut the door.

"Is she okay?" Casey asked, nodding at Isodora.

"You bet,'' Jose said, smiling.

"Are you?" Casey asked, nodding at his elbow.

Jose looked down at his arm. "I said it's a scratch. You want me to cry?"

Casey touched his cheek, then climbed into the driver's seat.

Flaco leaned in through her open window.

"Next exit down," Flaco said, pointing out at the highway. "I got two trucks with men to make sure you get to the border."

"Thank you," Casey said, nodding and starting up the old Mercedes.

Casey backed out.

"No more markers," Flaco said, walking alongside the car and talking through the window to Jose. "Not even for a friend."

"We're clear," Jose said.

Casey looked over at Jose. He winked at her and she put the car into drive and stepped on the gas, leaving the desert motel behind them in a swirl of dust.

EPILOGUE

SENATOR CHASE STEPPED OUT OF THE GLASS SHOWER AT THE Westin Riverwalk in San Antonio, wrapped his waist in a fluffy white towel, and swiped some steam off the mirror. He turned sideways and sucked in his gut, poking at the doughy roll well hidden by the thick silver fur on his belly. He looked briefly at his manhood, knowing the cold water had made it retreat, nothing that a few blue pills couldn't cure.

On the sink, curled at the corners, rested his speech to the ultraconservative Council for National Pride. They'd be kicking a two-hundred-thousand-dollar check his way and their early endorsement. With the CNP coming out, other conservative groups would follow soon, and then he'd have the party's base. He leaned across the speech and poked his tongue into his cheek, examining a tiny pimple and judging whether it could be overcome with makeup or if he should try to pop it.

He closed his eyes to summon up the special prayer he'd given a few weeks ago to the Texas Safari Club. It was a blessing of wealth and success to those who believe in Him.

When he opened his eyes, he jumped at the unexpected figure appearing behind him in the mirror. Chase spun around, heart racing.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, snarling. "I haven't ordered anything."

The man, a Mexican dressed in hotel livery, offered a gruesome and yellow-toothed smile. A purple scar zigzagged its way across his forehead, highlighted in the center by a concave dot. His thick eyebrows rested in relaxed arcs over the top of intense brown eyes. His smile contorted itself into a sneer.

"But I got something for you," the man said in a thick accent.

"Well, put it down and get the hell out," Chase said, tightening his grip on the towel and pointing toward the other end of the suite.

"Something from my brother," the man said.

Chase saw the tattoo of a hooded skull on the man's neck and he swallowed.

"My brother, Elijandro."

Tim Green