Chapter 3

"Tell me the truth, Diego! How did you get that short leg? Were you born with it?"

Amy was startled when Diego started snickering.

"What the hell you laughing at shit for brains?"

He just laughed harder almost snorting forcing Amy to pull over and ask him again what his problem was.

"Diego is so sorry, Mrs. Amy, I just always hear the translation of "short leg" as being my dick."

She chuckled a little seeing the humor in her poor choice of words.

"I don't have any interest in anything you got hiding down there, Mister. So don't get any funny ideas just because we are getting married."

He laughed softly now and looked over at her putting the SUV in gear and turning back out onto the almost deserted highway heading south to the real "Sin City". She didn't see him lick his lips with a devilish gleam in his eye.

"Si, si, yo comprendo senora, pero Diego gets to kiss the bride because it is in the marriage rules and all. You can't get married without a kiss. It is not official. At least, not in Mexico."

Amy was certain the sly young man was messing with her now.

"My leg, it got stepped on by a horse when I was the racer, how you say, the jockey, when I was only 18. All I ever wanted to be was a jockey but the doctors tell me no more horses and no more race tracks. It was the last race at Caliente and I was already winning 2 races with big purses."

It was a sad story, but Amy had a lot sadder one that she was not prepared to share with anyone.

They gassed up at a tiny shack with a sign that said,

"No more gas for another 55 miles."

It was enough of an argument to help her to decide to stop and take no chances.

The small shop had an assortment of snakeskin belts and boots and she saw Diego eyeing both with a greedy look in his eye. She shook her head "no" and he just smiled and walked back to the single gender restroom in the rear of the store.

The counter in front of the heavily bearded proprietor was filled with handguns of every description. She saw a nice little .22 Cal LR put out by Smith & Wesson that caught her eye. It looked like an ideal hideout gun for emergencies. The little tag on the trigger guard said,

"Sale $285 includes 2 free boxes ammo."

It looked like a good deal and she could tell the slide was operating fine and the magazines didn't have any nicked lips. She plunked down an extra $300 and told him,

"I'll take that as well."

There was no paperwork and no questions. She didn't figure there would be in Nevada. She stashed the gun with a loaded magazine inserted in her side pocket where it hung heavy and reassuringly on her hip hidden from view. Not exactly legal because she had no "carry permit" but that would only be enforced if she stupidly tried to pass through a metal detector or was forced to discharge it in public and unable to beat a fast retreat.

Most of the time that she was in captivity; Amy had managed to keep a blade of some type hidden in her clothing as a final desperate line of defense against the unimaginable. Fortunately, that had never happened but she had come close a few times.

They got back on the road with Diego humming some silly Mexican love song about waiting and hoping and sad, sad nights without his true love. She knew a lot of the words but she didn't really want to know what it meant because it might make her even more sad if that was humanly possible. The outer perimeter of defense around Las Vegas advertised "Well-stocked" whore houses ready to meet and greet any traveler with friendly companionship. One sign that she found particularly amusing was the one that added on the bottom of a picture of a line of female asses up high in the air that read,

"Couples Welcome!"

She saw Diego looking at her with a shit-eating grin on his silly face. She knew exactly what he had on his mind and figured it was probably better to get his "ashes hauled" than to risk him getting frisky in the motel she planned to stop at as soon as they hit North Las Vegas.

"OK, you little pervert. If it is $200 or less, I will treat you to a roll on top of one of these lovely young ladies. Keep your mouth shut and let me do all the talking. If the bitch tries to pump you for information, just pretend to not speak English. That shouldn't be too difficult, since it is pretty much close to the truth."

Amy pulled up in front of a building that looked like a web of connected double-wides with a long wooden porch around the outside. The gravel parking lot made so much noise with the tires that it must have acted like a warning bell to gather the merchandise in the greeting room inside the front door that was secured with bars on the glass and 2 double locks for insurance.

The older woman was in her 50s and still looked half-way decent even though it was mostly through the effort of a heavy helping of war-paint. She was heavy-chested and Amy could tell it was original equipment and not from some doctor's table. Poor Diego was close to drooling as he stood silently with his wide-brimmed hat in his hands.