There was no sunset into which we rode off, but there was more, much more. This was just the beginning. We drove far from Venado and stopped in a town many miles away. I wanted to put the town far behind us. The further we were, the safer I felt. We rented a small room for the night. It was wise to stay off the streets at night for fear of Los Zetas, or anyone else looking for the gringo, el Loco, meaning me. I was a wanted man; popular again, but for the wrong reasons.
Madeline was already asleep when I lay staring up at the ceiling. How would I get us out of Mexico? A white man leaving Mexico would get a lot of attention, especially one wanted by Los Zetas. I couldn’t go through Nuevo Laredo unless I wanted to be in a body bag. Which did I fear more: Los Zetas or Dr. Nicholson’s lengthy
