When he rolled the car he didn't have his seat belt on but he was chained to the steering wheel. So there he was trapped in an 83 Camaro with enough heroin in the trunk to keep the entire nation of Canada satisfied for a couple of weeks.
A wheat rancher showed up first with a water truck. He'd lost eight hundred acres to a burning car once, and he didn't want it to happen again.
``Well, well what have we here?'' he said as he peered through the window.
The car had rolled itself right side up and the driver was wedged under the steering wheel, smeared with blood and mayonnaise, his hands still chained to the wheel. The interior of the car was coated with mayonnaise and urine. Baloney, Coke bottles and white bread slices were strewn all over. Gallon milk jugs that had held urine were upended on the floor.
He didn't say a word.
There was no ID on him. The car's plates were stolen. He understood no English. They thought he might be Mexican or he might be Russian, but he gave no sign of understanding any language they tried on him.
``You'd have to call him an involuntary drug runner,'' the DA said.
``If you let him go he'll go right back to them - if he knows where they are,'' said the sheriff.
``That's close to a million bucks he cost them, they'll kill him.''
``No loss,'' said the DA.
He was still John Doe when they released him.
He could hardly believe he was free. He had no money, spoke no English. There were people who would want to kill him. He looked up and down the road, selected a direction and started to walk.