LITMIR.BIZ

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map in his back pocket and struck out on foot. The desert was like an oven this time of day, and his shirt and hair were soon soaked with sweat.

      He could feel the hot pavement burning through his boots, and the sight of a rattler sunning itself on the side of the road didn’t exactly improve his mood, nor did the circling buzzards overhead. He ignored the vultures and gave the snoozing snake a wide berth as he kept on walking.

      By the time he arrived in San Miguel, a grimy little settlement of crumbling brick buildings and faded adobe houses, the blistering heat had sapped his energy and his bum knee felt as if someone had punched red-hot needles through the muscles.

      As he hobbled down the baking sidewalk, Cage took note of the businesses—a pawn shop, a pool hall, a boarded-up gas station, two churches and up ahead, a post office, judging by the flags waving overhead. But no garage.

      The main thoroughfare through town was paved, but dust swirled up like a cyclone as a black SUV with tinted windows sped by him. It was a late-model vehicle and expensive. Cage wondered what it was doing way out here in the middle of nowhere. But then, whoever was behind those tinted windows could be thinking the same thing about him.

      An old red pickup truck pulled to the curb in front of the post office, and an attractive blonde in tight jeans and a pink T-shirt hopped out of the cab. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting her smooth, tanned complexion and the shimmering lip gloss that was the exact shade of her shirt.

      She was young, but not so young that her lingering glance made Cage uneasy. She was probably in her early to midtwenties. Fair game if he’d been in the mood.

      “Excuse me,” he said as he limped toward her.

      “Well, hello.” She planted a hand on her blue-jeaned hip as she gave him an interested perusal. “Where did you come from, mister? We don’t get many strangers around here.”

      “Just walked in from the desert,” Cage said, and tried to muster up a halfway friendly smile.

      “I can believe that. No offense, hon, but you look like five miles of bad road. Better move into the shade before you keel over from heatstroke.”

      He stepped under the awning that hung over the post office entrance. “I’ll be fine as soon as I find a phone,” he said. “Or a garage. Or preferably both.”

      “Well, you’re in luck,” she said as she lifted her arms to straighten her ponytail. The action tightened the thin cotton of her shirt across her breasts, which Cage was pretty sure she was well aware of. “Most any business along Main Street will let you use their phone and we happen to have a pretty good mechanic in town. And if you flash those dimples again…” She gave him a wink. “Somebody might even rustle you up a drink. You look like you could use one.”

      “I wouldn’t say no to a cold beer.”

      “I just bet you wouldn’t.” She gave him a knowing smile. “Well, then, you just head on up to Lester’s garage. You can’t miss it. It’ll be on your left, just past the beauty shop. Once you’re done there, have him point you in the direction of Del Fuego’s. Coldest beer in town.”

      “Thanks.”

      “You bet.”

      She hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for another response. When Cage merely nodded, she shrugged. “See you around, stranger.” Then she headed into the post office without a backward glance.

      Five minutes later, Cage stood in front of a dilapidated building with a dirt parking lot and a faded sign out front with moveable letters that had once spelled GARAGE. Now it read G RAGE.

      It had occurred to Cage about two seconds after the blonde disappeared into the post office that she’d been angling for an invitation to join him for a drink. In another time, another place, he might have made the effort to set something up with her, but right now he had more pressing matters on his mind than taking a beautiful woman to bed.

      Which just went to show how pathetically desperate he really was.

      The smell of rubber and motor oil permeated the air as he walked up to the open bay and rang the bell mounted on the side of the wall.

      After a few moments, a young man in greasy coveralls appeared in the doorway. “Help you?”

      As Cage briefly explained the situation, the mechanic took off his cap and mopped the back of his neck with the same filthy rag he’d used to wipe his hands.

      “Sounds like a busted radiator hose all right,” he said when Cage was finished.

      Cage glanced at the car inside the garage. “I can probably fix it myself if you’re all tied up. All I need is a new hose.”

      “I won’t have anything in stock that’ll fit that make and model. You’ll have to get it from the parts store.”

      “Okay. Where’s that?”

      “Nearest one is in Redford. That’s twenty miles east of here. I’m heading over there first thing in the morning for some brake pads. I can pick up a hose for you then if you want me to.”

      “That won’t do me much good,” Cage said. “I need to be in El Paso no later than five o’clock today.”

      Lester shook his head. “Sorry, mister, but you won’t be going anywhere with that busted radiator hose.”

      He was right about that.

      Mentally, Cage tallied up the cash he had on hand. “How much will it take to persuade you to make that trip to Redford today instead of in the morning?”

      Lester seemed to consider the proposition for a moment, then shook his head. “I’d like to help you out, but I’m right in the middle of a transmission overhaul.”

      “Fifty dollars,” Cage said. “That’ll pay your gas and then some for a trip you’re going to have to make anyway.”

      “Like I said, I’d like to help you out and all, but I just don’t see how—”

      “A hundred bucks.” That would take a big bite out of his wallet, but Cage didn’t see any other way around it. Besides, he had a company credit card he could always fall back on.

      “All right. You got yourself a deal.” Lester tossed the rag into a rusted-out barrel and waited patiently while Cage counted out the money.

      “Fifty now, fifty when you get back,” he said. “That okay with you?”

      “Fair enough, I guess.” Lester stuffed the money in the back pocket of his coveralls. “Where can I find you when I get back?”

      “You know of a place called Del Fuego’s?”

      “Just down the street a ways. Not much to look at, but the beer’s always cold.”

      “That’s what I hear,” Cage said.

      

      BUT DEL FUEGO’S WENT well beyond not much to look at.

      Hole in the wall was Cage’s first impression. The squat building with a flat roof and sagging wooden door reminded him of the places in Saigon his old man used to talk about.

      Walk in for a drink, lucky you didn’t leave with your damn throat slit.

      For all Cage knew, that story was just a load of crap like all the rest of the lies the old man used to spew. He probably hadn’t even left stateside during the Vietnam era.

      Cage might have wondered if his father had actually been in the service, but he’d seen pictures of him in uniform. A handsome, smiling guy with sparkling white teeth and a full head of hair.

      The man in those photographs bore little resemblance to the washed-up drunk who’d deserted his family when Cage was barely thirteen.

      After a while, his mother had put away all those old pictures, but Cage had once heard her tell her sister that she still sometimes dreamed about his father,

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