The Successor Read Online Free PDF

front legs. The animal’s head smashed against the hood with a sickening thud, spraying blood across the windshield, and then he was flying into a three-foot ditch carved out of the ground by the tropical squalls that soaked the island almost every afternoon in the summer. The left front fender hit the far side of the gully and ground into the soft soil with a terrible grinding noise. The crumpled car came to an abrupt halt on its side.
    For a few moments Padilla lay against the door thanking God he’d buckled his seat belt—he rarely did—slowly coming back to full consciousness. Coming to his senses, to the smell of burning rubber and oil. To the sounds of the engine revving and the crippled cow bellowing pitifully as it thrashed about in the ditch on the other side of the road. Padilla’s left temple had struck the door window, and he was vaguely aware of a throbbing pain in his head and drops of blood trickling down his face.
    The passenger door wrenched open.
    “You all right?”
a stranger shouted, reaching across the seat and shaking him.
“Hey, you all right?”
    Padilla grimaced and held up his hands. “Yes,” he groaned, signaling for the man to stop shaking him, “I’m all right.”
    “The cow, she got out of the pasture. Must have found a hole in the fence somewhere.” The stranger was speaking fast. “I’m sorry about your car. It’s taken a bit of a hit, I’m afraid.”
    As had his second career, Padilla thought to himself, turning off the engine and climbing across the seat, his head pounding.
    “I’m Gustavo Cruz,” the stranger said, pulling Padilla out of the car and up to the side of the road. “The ranch I handle is just up the road. Who are you?”
    “Nelson Padilla.” Padilla sank to one knee, overcome by dizziness.
    “I’ve got to go to town and get the police.” Cruz winced, noticing the blood on Padilla’s face. “And you a doctor.”
    “I
am
a doctor. I just need a few minutes.” Only one in twelve homes in Cuba had phone service, Padilla knew. Apparently Cruz’s wasn’t one of them. “Go ahead to town. I’ll be fine.”
    “It’s about three miles from here. I shouldn’t be long.”
    Padilla glanced over at the cow, still kicking around in the brush every few moments. “Do you have something that could pull my car out of the ditch?” He motioned back over his shoulder toward the Chrysler. Hopefully, it was drivable. At least the engine still worked. “A tractor maybe?” He dabbed at the cut on his head. It was small, a few centimeters long. It wouldn’t need stitches. He grabbed a couple of leaves off a bush and pressed them hard against the wound. “Something you can hook a chain to and drag me out.”
    “The ranch has a tractor, but the transmission is shot. I’ve been waiting on parts for a few weeks.”
    Padilla sighed. Typical. It seemed as if everything on the island were broken. Cruz would be lucky if he got the parts in a few
months,
let alone a few weeks.
    “I’m going back to my place and get my car,” Cruz explained. “You stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    “Yeah, okay.”
    As Padilla watched Cruz hurry away, the sound of a loud motor reached his ears and then a truck slowly rumbled around the bend. “Hey!” he called after Cruz. “Wait!”
    The truck skidded to a stop fifty feet past Padilla and the accident scene. He watched Cruz climb up on the running board and speak excitedly to the driver, then jump down as the driver slammed the truck into gear and roared off.
    “It’s good,” said Cruz, making it back to where Padilla was kneeling as the truck’s lights disappeared around the next bend. “The driver says he knows a guy who has a tow truck and lives a few towns up. Says he’ll stop in and see the guy after he talks to the police. Says he’s pretty sure the guy will come and help, especially since you’re a doctor.”
    Which meant the man who had the tow truck would want medical services in return for the tow