“Which one is Reuben?” Leanna had been thinking of the guys in terms of her nicknames.
“Reuben is the fat one,” Patricia said. “Juan is the guy with the goatee, and Ivan is the bald one.”
In other words, Pimply Toad was Reuben, Scabby Goatee was Juan, and Blue Skull was Ivan.
“Is Ivan part Russian?”
“Maybe.” Patricia giggled. “You’ll see a lot of internationals here. It’s a regular global superhighway. Chinese, Haitians, South Americans, Africans, Muslims, and Eastern Europeans. Everyone comes to Mexico to enjoy the journey.”
“Then they better have good reviews.” Leanna gave Patricia a thumbs-up. “I know everyone’s on social media.”
“Yep, these days, it’s word of mouth, texting, and posting pictures on FacePlant.”
“I wish I had my phone,” Leanna said. “I was following my sister’s FacePlant. She’s in a caravan ahead of us.”
“We might catch up,” Patricia said. “Those who can’t pay much get left with the caravans. Juan, Ivan, and Reuben are supposed to be the Cadillac of coyotes.”
“You call that stinky van a Cadillac?” Leanna rolled her eyes.
Patricia covered her mouth and giggled again. “Okay, showtime.”
“First, let the boys get their gas, and then we demand to go to a diner.” Leanna opened the door and strutted out.
“Oh, Ivan, dear,” she said in Blue Skull’s direction. “Can you get me a supersize coffee and a breakfast burrito?”
“Reuben, honey.” Patricia patted the pudgy guy’s arm. “That sure was a long night of driving. Think we can visit a cantina for breakfast?”
“What about her?” Leanna pointed at Maria, who was still zonked out. “Juan, you really should get your girl under control.”
The man and woman at the counter laughed, elbowing each other as they watched Scabby Juan try to wake Maria up.
Leanna smiled to herself as Ivan bought coffee and stale churros.
“They don’t have breakfast burritos here,” he said. “What do you think this is, a Seven-Eleven?”
“Why, thank you for the coffee, sweetheart.” Leanna tipped a kiss on Ivan’s cross tattoo, which was located on his cheekbone. “I was really hoping for a breakfast burrito.”
“Maybe we should stop at a cantina.” Reuben rubbed his prodigious belly. “I’m starving, too.”
“You’re always starving.” Juan nudged Maria. “Come on, wake up. You didn’t have that much drugs, did you? Wake up.”
“Need any help with her?” Ivan asked in a snarky tone.
“I’ve got this.” Juan put his spindly arms underneath Maria’s armpits and tried to lift her—to no avail. He pulled and tugged, but Maria’s head lolled, and she was about as cooperative as a sack of buckwheat.
“Hey, give me a hand here,” Juan called out to Ivan.
“It’s his girlfriend,” Leanna whispered in Ivan’s ear. “Let him deal with it. Shouldn’t we gas up the van and leave?”
“Reuben, get the van gassed up,” Ivan said, not lifting a finger to help with Maria. Instead, he hooked his thumbs in his beltloops. He laughed as Juan took hold of Maria’s feet and dragged her across the convenience store floor.
“Hold my coffee,” Leanna said to Ivan. She pointed Patricia’s phone and took a picture of Juan struggling with his load of womanhood. “I have to post this on FacePlant. It’s so funny.”
She showed Ivan, and he laughed. “I told that guy to lift weights. His arms are like chopsticks.”
“Hey, let’s call him Chopsticks. That’s a great nickname.” Leanna turned the phone to selfie mode and hooked her arm around Ivan’s biceps. “I love your blue skulls.”
Snap. Snap. Snap.
