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« on: December 31, 2008, 11:53:05 AM »
XV.
Having just passed through Tucson, Danny barreled down HWY 19. Hitting the eject button on the stereo, Danny pulled the Temptations disk out and placed it on the passenger's seat. With about 45 more minutes or so remaining before hitting the Safeway, he deliberately thumbed through his CD book searching for theme music to help him roll into Nogales.
"Funky is the order" he mused, and slid the Sly and the Family Stone disk into the dash, and as the beat jumped out the speakers, he thought..."Just what the Dr. ordered."
Reaching into the center console storage bin, Danny fumbled for a crumpled brown lunch sack, grasping it, he placed it onto his lap. He started to slow the Rover, at first without braking, and pulled off the road, coming to a stop on the soft dirt of the unpaved desert floor. He shifted into park, and checked his rear view to gauge the volume of passing traffic. As it had been on the 10 earlier, the 19 was eerily empty, and Danny couldn't see any cars approaching from the north.
Danny opened the bag and pulled a small glass jar from the bottom. Marked "tobac", the jar had been carried by Danny, from one end of the earth to the other, for nearly 10 years. He unscrewed the top and the aroma of his multi-colored smoking blend wafted underneath his nostrils. With the precision of a surgeon, Danny rolled himself another cigarette, licking the edge of the paper to seal it, and placing it between his lips. He recapped the jar, placed it into the bag, thrust it to the bottom of the storage bin, and shut the center console.
The gravel shot out from under the spinning tires of the Rover as it drove back onto the pavement. Danny accelerated to 65 and pushed the button on the cruise control, setting his cruising speed. He grabbed the Bic from the dash and lit the cigarette. Drawing in the smoke, his eyes closed briefly and goose bumps traveled up the back of his neck.
"45 more minutes." Danny thought to himself.
XVI.
Paul pulled the BMW in between the faded white lines of a parking space located at the rear of the Safeway. Twisting the key counterclockwise with his right hand, the engine came to rest. He reached over his lap, unfastened his seat belt, and then pulled the lever on the driver's side door. Stepping out of the car and stretching his legs, he pushed the car door shut with a solid 'thud'. He scanned the lot for Danny and his Rover. Nothing.
Nogales, Arizona, the sister city of Nogales, Mexico, sat right on the border splitting the two cities, a split of geography and nation sure, but certainly not of ethnicity nor community. Paul had been through here hundreds of times, stopping at this Safeway damn near every time. Many of store staff knew Paul by name and often superficially chatted him up when he would come in, but none of them really knew Paul beyond his face and the meaningless chit-chat. In fact, most assumed he lived in Nogales, a curious assumption given the sophistication of his speech and dress, and more obviously, the CA plates on his BMW.
Although his ego lusted for that shallow recognition he could expect when walking through the doors of the Safeway, Paul hadn't any intentions of leaving the confines of the parking lot. He paced about 20 yards from the car to the sidewalk, and then back again, stopping briefly to pick up a peso that had found itself propped against the wall of a shallow pothole.
Danny had arrived but tired of waiting and decided to visit a recommended massage parlor closer to the heart of downtown Nogales, on the US side. He would arrive shortly, but that was the furthest thing from Paul's mind as he paced the parking lot.......
He was trying to decide whether or not to make the call.