No Contest

“You know what ticks me off even more? Say some day you do get hooked up with some guy, what then? I’m still screwed. Because no matter how good he is, I still have to keep an eye on you. And you’re still going to be insinuating yourself.”

“Maybe I’ll marry a man from Ulan Bator.”

Winner laughed harshly. “It won’t help, Freya,” he said, mocking his own helplessness. “Somehow, you’ll still be a pest. I’m not sure how you’ll do it, but you’ll find a way.”

Freya considered it “Who was it that sent the thing to spy on us?”

Winner didn’t answer that.

“It was people working for Daddy or against Daddy,” she continued. “Tell me that much at least.”

“For,” Winner admitted.

“Smith. The unhealthy old man who talks to Daddy on the phone. Is he the boss or is Junior the boss?”

Dammit. She basically knew everything, didn’t she?

“Junior?” Winner laughed. “He’s just some gofer. Smith sent him out here because Remo wouldn’t return his phone calls. Hey, maybe you ought to marry Junior. Did you see the way he lost his marbles when he spotted you?”

“No,” Freya said, but her face pinkened.

“Liar.” Not too long before, Remo had been spending time in the reservation when various efforts were made to communicate with him. Mysterious phone calls began coming in to the reservation from callers who refused to identify themselves. Not that Winner Smith didn’t know the voice of Harold W. Smith.

Remo didn’t want to talk to Smith, and his continued refusal to communicate had finally required Smith to send his assistant out to the reservation to fetch their father. The man was the infamous Junior—known to the Sunny Joe Roam household as the Smith sidekick whenever Remo called the office.

Junior, whose name turned out to be Mark, had taken the scenic route from Yuma to the reservation. No stranger to the desert was capable of following the unmarked and unimproved system of roads that led to the reservation without wandering around the vast wasteland for hours at a time. That’s what the Sun On Joe people called the scenic route. Mark had gone only four hours out of his way, which wasn’t bad, actually.

When he had convinced Remo Williams to depart with him in the middle of the night, Freya had come to the door of Sunny Joe Roam’s house to say goodbye.

“You could see Junior’s IQ go down ten points every second he stood there looking at you.”

“Thanks for letting some guy check me out, big brother.” She was on the defensive.

“He wasn’t even really checking you out,” Winner said. “I mean, he couldn’t even see you. I think it was love at first sight.”

“Get off it.”

“I mean it.”

They walked in silence for another twenty minutes, the village receding behind them. “Would it make you worry less if I married Junior?” she asked finally, but there was no playfulness in her voice.

“Maybe,” Winner admitted.

“Would that stop them from trying to spy on us?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re after.”

“Whatever they’re after, Win, I can deal with it.”

Winner swallowed. He wasn’t thirsty, but there was something painful in his throat. “Maybe not.”

Freya said, “Sure, I can.”

“Freya, maybe not. You don’t know what these men can do. There’s nothing more ruthless than intelligence assholes with power and too much self-importance. Whatever you’ve been through and no matter how good you are, you don’t know these people.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “Where’ve -I heard that before.”

Winner stopped and took her hand, and the young woman with the golden hair couldn’t remember him ever doing anything like that before. He looked afraid.

“Remo knows and I know. You trust the world more than you should, and that might get you in trouble. That’s a good reason to protect you from Remo’s boss. All I’m asking is that you be a little more careful and let me be your big brother.”

When they started walking again, Freya looked at the horizon and picked up the pace. Winner squinted and finally saw the tiny splotches of darkness swimming out of the heat waves a few miles ahead. The desert sped beneath their feet until they reached a small band of dying immigrants.

There were twenty of them, who had gotten this far into United States despite the enhanced security systems designed to keep illegal aliens from making the dangerous crossing. There were always people desperate and foolish enough to make the attempts. There were always men heartless enough to take their money and lead the way. It wasn’t unusual for the band of aliens to be abandoned halfway through the march by their guides, who would leave them to die or find their own way.

Freya trickled water onto the broken lips of the men and women. She never came into the desert without a canteen and a mobile phone. They stayed with the band of aliens until help was due to arrive. A small train of ambulance SUVs raised a dust cloud in the slanting shadows of the late-afternoon sun, never noticing the pair that strolled casually away from the scene.