Lucky and Bo stepped outside and into the open. Nestor’s Mercedes idled a few feet away from the dilapidated warehouse that hid the tunnel entrance on the Mexican end. Two dark SUVs sat off to the side. Nestor ignored them like they were part of the landscape. His, then. His driver jumped out of the front of the car and opened the back door. Lucky and Bo slipped in after Nestor. An SUV took point, and the other fell in behind them. “Graciela is planning a celebration the likes of which you’ve never seen.” Nestor leaned in toward Lucky. “Many Mexican families don’t celebrate the American day of thanks, but her family does, as do I. I became rather fond of the holiday during my time in the States. She’s prepared cabrito, my favorite.” “Young goat,” Bo replied, when Lucky shot a glance his way. “It’s a delicacy.” “Yes it is,” Nestor agreed. The Lucklighters kept goats. Wouldn’t be the first time Lucky ate one. Under the cover of darkness, he placed his leg against Bo’s to absorb whatever comfort he could.
