Desert Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

to have police nosing around for any reason. Well, she was sorry. She was nothing but trouble.
    When he returned, Ramón was serious but not unfriendly. He opened her door and gave her a hand out. “Looks clear,” he said, sweeping the area to the northwest. “I was him, I’d probably search la iglesia , then cruise Dillon to see if somebody let you out. After that, whatever. He don’t want policía , right?”
    For the first time Angel wanted to tell. He killed my mom. But then what? What could this man do? Telling would just drag him in deeper. His wife would hate that. “No,” she said. “You saw him there in the camo truck?”
    Ramón nodded.
    “He’s kind of outside the law. In lots of ways. And … he’s mean. And dangerous. Really dangerous.”
    Ramón held the front door for her. When she stopped inside the entry hall, he led her into a shadowy living room. Old-fashioned furniture, mostly dark green, cushy, matching couch and big chair with one of those things you put your feet on. Old-timey lamps turned down dim, a low table, and some other soft chairs like the fancy ones at Salvation Army.
    His wife walked in with a pitcher of gray stuff, looked like lemonade. Said, “Sit.”
    It had lemon in it but it was different somehow, sweet, tangy, and Angel felt like she could drink a gallon without stopping. She made herself put down her nearly empty glass. She wanted to take off the oversized shirt and pants but knew she would feel weird doing that in front of them.
    His wife seemed to sense what she was thinking. “Bathroom’s in there,” she said, pointing to a hall.
    Angel got up and left, came back barefoot carrying the borrowed clothes. “Tonight if you could take me to the bus station I’ll get out of your hair,” she said. “You don’t want to get mixed up with Scotty.”
    “I was him, I’d have an eye on the bus station,” Ramón said.
    His wife glared at him, like, Let her go .
    “He can’t be everywhere,” Angel said.
    “He smart, though, right?”
    Angel nodded.
    “So what’s he gonna do? After cruising around hoping to get lucky.”
    Angel knew but she didn’t want to say.
    Ramón looked at her. Steady.
    Reminded her of the way Abuela looked at her.
    “So he’d go back to the Gomez place?… Make them talk?”
    Angel nodded.
    “Good thing they ain’t going to be there.” He got up from the big chair. “Reminds me. I got to call Hector. Get him to water their stock.”
    “Let me use your phone.” Angel was up and walking toward him.
    “No.” Ramón’s wife. “No phone.”
    “She’s right, uh, what’s your name?”
    “Angel, but I won’t tell them about you or the Gomas family. I’ll have them meet me on the road.”
    “Gomez, but you use this phone, 9-1-1, they come here. That’s the way it works. They track the caller. Always. We don’t want blues around here asking questions. Don’t want INS checking people that help us.” He turned back to the phone. “Sit for a minute, let me do the animals and then we’ll figure this out.”
    Ramón’s wife had gone back to the kitchen. Angel could hear pots or skillets clank and silverware rattle. Her stomach growled.
    Ramón returned and pulled the ottoman close to her chair. “Bus station’s a bad idea.”
    “So take me to the police.”
    “I could take you close by. Drop you off. But I don’t know that that’s so good. You got to think it through.”
    Angel hadn’t thought it through. Hadn’t thought anything through. She just ran and hid. That’s what she was good at.
    “Do it. I’ll go help Carmen. Be back in a couple of minutes.”
    Angel was a little stunned. No grown-up had ever told her to think.
    *   *   *
     
    T HE WALLS HAD PICTURES . A photograph of Ramón younger and thinner, in a uniform. A painting of a tall black mountain rising out of a desert plain. Over the serving board, a photo of cactus blooming. There were shelves with books and plates standing up so you could see colored