A Cop and a Con

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

Alamo County, NM

Late November

Cold, so damn cold. Isaiah “Ike” Hernandez stumped along the side of the winding, two-lane highway, half blinded by the stinging mixture of windblown snow and sand that slashed at him. He’d long passed teeth chattering and shivering. Now he was just numb. He only knew when each foot hit the ground by the jolt that ran up his leg. The thin shoes they had given him provided little protection and no bounce.

With a near-frozen hand, he pressed the flimsy jacket closer to his chest and supported the dog curled against his body, the one spot almost warm. He’d found the half-starved mutt two days ago, on the third day of his journey northwest from a horrible prison in south Texas where he’d spent the past several years. Leaving the pen, his one thought had been to get home—even though it would not be the home he’d left.

While he’d been away, the town had been razed to make room for a new open-pit mine that now was nearly closed due to the economic problems and environmental issues. The town of Esperanza was no more, but where else could he go? He had to see for himself that it no longer existed before he could go anywhere else.

At first, he wasn’t sure if the pup’s matted hair covered a male or female. Now he knew the red scrap of canine was male, and he’d decided it was a mix of dachshund and Chihuahua—but with a shaggy ancestor somewhere in the past as well. He’d kicked himself for picking it up. He could hardly feed himself, much less a dog, but he couldn’t leave it crouched by a highway, whimpering, hungry, and cold.

Several hundred miles later, hitching, walking, and hoping, he was sure he’d made it back into New Mexico. Even so, his goal still seemed impossibly far away. This storm had swept in, an early but a vicious one. In prison, all he’d had was time. Now that he was free at last, it looked like time had run out.

Even his thoughts seemed gelid, ill formed and jumbled, mixing in his mind. Memory told him the ground was hard and cold. Despite that, it looked soft, comforting. He wanted to lie down, let the snow and dust drift over him while he went to sleep. He’d die. And probably the little red dog would, too. Ever dogged himself, he could not let that happen. At least he would not roll over and play dead until he really was. He put a foot forward one more time.