Anniversary
Copyright© 2026 by Vonalt
Chapter 9: Betrayal and Moving On
I still wasn’t ready to expose my location to anyone, including Ginny. There were too many people out there who wanted to collect on the bounty that had been put on my head, if not the bounty, then at least the reward offered by the FBI. It was still going to be a while before I revealed my location to Ginny. I thought that I could trust her; it was the people to whom she might accidentally reveal where I was hiding that worried me.
I went to St. George on Saturday and found a quiet, shady place in a park to make my call to Ginny. I planned to speak with her for only an hour. I thought that our conversation was going well. Ginny was telling me about her week and school. It had only been half an hour into our weekly call when I noticed several St. George police patrol cars in the immediate area. One had a motorcycle pulled over, and another officer was patting the motorcyclist down while his partner kept the rider covered. There were what looked to me like federal Crown Vics whose occupants were observing and not participating in the activities.
That made me quickly realize two things; someone had possibly informed the authorities about Ginny and me, and second, that I had been too lax in following my own rules. If the FBI knew that I was in the area, then Jorge Ramos would too.
I ended the call in mid-sentence, and turned the phone off in a panic. I started the truck with the phone on the seat beside me, and nervously drove out of the park as carefully as I could watching to see if I was being followed. I turned once out of the park, and drove in the opposite direction from the one that I would normally take to head back to the ranch.
There was a closed-down grocery store a few blocks from the park entrance, and a white van with all sorts of antennae on its roof sat in its parking lot, along with several black Ford Crown Vics with the telltale basic hubcaps and a spotlight mounted over the driver’s door side mirror.
Even a blind man could see that this was an impromptu Fed command post hoping to box me in and take me into ‘Protective Custody’, which I didn’t trust after what happened to Andrea in jail. I kept driving north and west, not paying attention to where I was heading, but keeping my eyes on the side and rearview mirrors, watching for black Crown Vics tailing me. Relieved when I didn’t see any, I kept driving north and west and soon spotted a Super Walmart Center just ahead.
I reasoned that it would be the perfect place to dump the phone until I remembered all the cameras that Walmart had covering their parking lots. It definitely wasn’t a good place to get rid of the phone, so I continued up the street.
A discount furniture store that had a chain-link fence between it and the auto dealer next door was two blocks up the road. The fence line was a jungle-like mess of briars, brush, and scrub trees, with the rest of the narrow strip covered in tall weeds. I couldn’t think of a better place to dispose of a phone. I pulled into the parking lot and slowly drove along the fence row, then chucked the phone into the brush. I made my way toward I-15 after I exited the parking lot.
I drove south toward Las Vegas once on I-15. I watched my speed and traveled with one eye on the rearview mirror. I wasn’t giving the Highway Patrol any reasons to stop me.
I made my way off the interstate in Las Vegas two and a half hours later, and stopped at the first fast-food joint whose name I recognised. I sat and tried to relax after ordering and eating a quick meal.
That had been a close call. Driving generally relaxed me and gave me time to think, and that is what I did on an unplanned trip to and from Las Vegas. I thought about the morning’s near catastrophe and how lucky I was to have gotten away. The biggest question was who ratted me out.
It had been my own fault for getting lazy and not following my own rules. That would be my only slip-up. The FBI and Ramos would be better prepared next time.
It was after midnight when I pulled into the ranch’s shed and parked the truck for the night. Lying in bed, I replayed what had gone wrong and searched for a way to keep it from happening again. I soon fell asleep, but my rest was broken by repeated dreams of the FBI stopping me, with Ramos always coming from behind. It wasn’t one of my better night’s sleep.
I asked Cletus for a couple of days off that week at breakfast the next morning. I gave the excuse that I needed the time to take care of a few things. Cletus didn’t even ask why I wanted the time off, and said that it would be fine as long as I was back to start the next camp session on Sunday.
I let the different work crews know Monday morning that I was taking a couple of days off to take care of some personal business and that Cletus would be the one they should report to if there were any issues that they couldn’t resolve themselves. I then asked them not to let me down, as I had come to respect their work since I had been placed in charge.
I had one of the hands give me a ride to the bus station in town Tuesday morning. There was a mid-morning bus to Las Vegas, so I took it. I was there a little over two hours later. It was only my second time in Las Vegas, and I didn’t want to stay any longer than I had to. Las Vegas wasn’t my kind of town.
I was on a bus heading for Los Angeles, California, few hours later, and I couldn’t say that the people on the bus were any better than the ones I had seen in the bus station. I made sure to stay awake during the almost six-hour ride from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. My fellow passengers were a sketchy lot.
Nothing happened, but I kept my eyes open, alert for any nearby movement. Call me paranoid, but I was being cautious. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a Greyhound passenger had been knifed by another and had their things stolen. I promised myself that it would be me behind the wheel the next time I traveled.
My arrival at the Los Angeles bus station was late in the afternoon. The station didn’t encourage people to loiter on its property. You were essentially herded off as soon as you had your bags. The street outside was exactly what you’d expect; pimps, druggies, the homeless, and lowlifes waiting for some innocent young girl from Kansas coming to Hollywood, hoping to make it big. Many would unfortunately, end up in porn, prostitution, or dead from a drug overdose within a year. Welcome to the big city.
No one fortunately was interested in a thirty-something white male dressed in cowboy clothes. I walked down the gauntlet made up of prostitutes, pushers, and other general slimeballs until they lost interest in me, big enough that I wasn’t seen as potential prey. It could have been my deeply tanned complexion or the way that I carried myself, and I didn’t give off a vibe that I was an easy target. Whoever was foolish enough to try to mug me would have a tough time of it. I simply wasn’t worth the trouble.
I knew roughly where I was in Los Angeles and approximately where I wanted to go, the only problem was figuring out how to get there. A kindly bus driver gave me a map of all the routes in LA and suggested which ones I would need to take. It took close to two hours to make the journey on the Los Angeles public transit system, costing me less than five dollars. I was happy, and I got to see most of the city. It was as big as people said, and I was glad that I was only visiting. There was no way I could live here.
I reached my destination three hours after arriving in LA. I was on Manhattan Beach, and tomorrow was the start of a holiday weekend. There would be over a million people out enjoying themselves on the sand all along the end to end city beaches. Good luck trying to find me.
I stayed in an overpriced motel just off the beach where the commercials promised to leave the lights on for me that night. It wasn’t bad, but I’d stayed in nicer places for a lot less money. Supper that night was convenience-store gourmet entrées, and I was also able to purchase another disposable phone and some time. I planned to call Ginny the next day, and then leave town shortly thereafter.
I checked out of the motel the next morning, and grabbed a convenience-store gourmet breakfast of bottled orange juice and a breakfast sandwich. Not great again, but not bad. At least it was fresh and warm.
The beach was already crowded with people staking out their spots by eight AM, and surfers were working the morning tide. The braver ones dangerously rode the waves through the pilings supporting the boardwalk. I’d have to say that the surfers who did that were incredibly brave, stupid, or some combination of both. It made an interesting sight to watch as I ate.
I pulled the throwaway phone I’d bought the night before out when I finished eating, and called Ginny. It took four rings for her to answer. Not sure who was calling, she cautiously answered “Hello.”
“Hello, Ginny,” I said. “Sorry that I so abruptly ended the call last time, but I had some unwanted visitors and had to cut it short.”
“I was wondering what happened,” Ginny said, her voice uneasy.
“So which was it, Ginny, the FBI’s reward or the bounty Ramos offered that got to you?” I asked, hoping to catch her off guard. “Or was it a combination of both? What made you betray me?”
Ginny started crying over the phone, realizing that she’d been caught. “You don’t understand. The grant money wouldn’t have been enough. That five thousand dollars would have covered what the grant didn’t.”
I finished it for her, “And the blood money Ramos offered would have gone a long way toward helping others in your tribe get a college degree or training at a trade school. I hope that you can live with yourself, but you made that choice when you gave me up. You’ll get neither now because I know about your betrayal. Have a nice life, and I hope that you’ll be more loyal to the next person who shows interest in you, Ginny.”
I didn’t even bother to say goodbye. I ended the call, gathered my things, and tossed the phone in the trash before walking away. What was clear was that I was done with Ginny. What was I thinking? It wouldn’t have worked out anyway, I thought.
I couldn’t feel anger. I’m sure that she did it out of desperation. She would be the one who had to live with the guilt, knowing that she’d blown any chance she might have had at happiness. I was disappointed in her. I understood why she did it, but it didn’t soften the hurt I felt. Ginny was my Judas, and betrayal always hurts. I was amazed that I took it so well. Maybe this whole mess with my cheating wife had left me numb, no longer caring.
Now wasn’t the time to feel sorry for myself. It was time to clear out before the Feds or Ramos’s henchmen showed up.
There was a fish taco stand down the road from where I had made my call, and I walked to it, hoping to ask around about how I could get back to the Los Angeles bus station, knowing that I could get back to the ranch from there.
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