She lowered her sunglasses and peered over them. I had her attention. “Carrying what?”
“Arms.”
“With serials or not?”
“Without.”
She nodded once.
Taking a sharp turn onto another route, I watched her not lose her cool.
“We need to get them to San Diego.”
She was listening.
“But there’s a block.” I described the fictional scenario of a road closure. “And there are two agents who are tailing us.” I added on more feasible but made-up details of obstacles. “The deadline for the handoff is in two hours but the site that the buyer has chosen is watched by rogue defectors of one of Colombia’s new gangs.”
“Then you stop here, reroute down to Route 2D, and give up making it any further on Route 8.”
Just like that. She gave her reply without hesitation.
“What about a block at the border again?” I asked, driving just to cruise and have her out of the house where the temptation to fuck her would be too strong.
“Request a decoy caravan to go ahead and cause a diversion.” She shrugged. “Or have them go together with weights and swap the plates. Feds in Tecate are easily bought off.”
“And what about the block they’d hit on 94?” I asked.
She scoffed. “A block?” She shook her head. “If it’s something that happened before the run began, avoid it. Stick with 2D to the west. Pay off the pass at Tijuana.”
“What about the patrollers on 805?”
She shook her head. “Stayoff805.” Adding more to it, she laid out not one, not two, but three different routes that runners could use in a pinch. She even added the pros and cons to each option.
I listened to her, giving her the freedom and clearance to speak her mind, and as I headed back to the house, I had to wonder if that was Arturo’s actual mistake.
Never listening to his sister.
Not giving her a chance to express strategy like this.
All while she gave me another lecturing, yet concise, answer about what to do in these scenarios, I grew more curious about how she’d come to be this smart. This aware. It was like she memorized maps. She referred to routes and directions, not just using landmarks to convey a path.
I’d taken her out on this “test”, this bogus scenario as an example to see whether she could solve a problem on her feet, to determine if she could be a problem-solver like me. I’d specifically asked her these questions with a deadline to determine how well she’d figure out something without any prep, any papers or maps.
And she had.
By the time we’d gotten back to the house after that cruise on the highway, she’d proven how adept she was at solving a problem.
Flawlessly.
Without hesitation.
I parked and faced her, studying the careful composure on her face.
“Did I ‘pass’?” she asked coolly.
Damn her.
Damn that attitude.
