by L T Ryan
"Don't worry. She'll get us there. That light usually gets me about thirty miles. Ernesto's is only about twenty miles from here. Eight miles beyond that is a small crop town with a gas station. I can fill it up after we get young Letty settled in."
They drove on for the next twenty miles and the Nissan held up. And as Ayala said, they'd come upon the turn off to Ernesto's home. He turned right off the main road, exchanging it for an unfinished road that led to a small house with a rickety front porch and a tin roof. The exterior walls of the house were a deep burgundy, and in the dark, Hatch couldn't tell if the color was from paint or rust. A railing extended along a short front porch that had several folding chairs scattered around a small table with a chess board in play. A hand-carved mahogany queen had the opposing king in checkmate.
An older man walked out of the front door of the house and stood beside a decorative wooden rocking chair waving happily. A strange sight to see after waking the older man who looked to be in his late seventies or early eighties. Most would be annoyed or at the very least groggy at the intrusion. But not Ernesto Cruz. He seemed as happy to greet this unexpected arrival as if it had been a planned dinner date.
Ayala approached, and the two men embraced in a quick and friendly hug, a gentleman's bro hug. Hatch reached into the backseat and laid a gentle hand on the sleeping teen. She felt the tension in the girl's muscles twitch, even before fully bringing the contact into her conscious mind. The girl's experience left her with the residual scars a lifetime of therapy couldn't erase, but at least she was alive.
Letty startled and launched herself up into a seated position while gasping. Hatch gave the teen a moment to adjust to her new and unfamiliar surroundings. Letty settled in and calmed at seeing Hatch's face.
"It's okay. That man over there is going to help you get home, back to your family. Do you understand? He's a good guy. Now let's get you inside and cleaned up." Hatch exited the Nissan and the girl followed. The air, even in the dead of night, was still staggeringly warm, but comparatively cooler than the daytime.
"Daphne, I want to introduce you to an old friend of mine. Ernesto Cruz, meet Daphne Nighthawk."
Hatch, following Ayala's energized introduction, gave a slight bow of her head and extended her hand to the man. Who in turn, disregarded it, pulling her in for a hug. "I'm sorry, Ms. Nighthawk. I'm a hugger."
He delivered his feigned apology in clearly understandable English. The words rolled off his tongue, making Cruz sound like Ricardo Montalban welcoming a guest to Fantasy Island. Hatch awkwardly accepted the man's welcoming. After the quick embrace, Cruz looked to where Letty was shrinking herself behind Hatch.
"This is Letty," Hatch brought the girl under her arm. Letty nuzzled in closer, accepting Hatch's kindness. "But she may not be up for any hugs anytime soon. This tough girl has been through a rough time."
"Of course."
Josefina Cruz stepped into view. Her English was not as good as her husband's, but it was easy enough to understand and Hatch was grateful. "Don't just stand there all night. Get in here and get something in your bellies. You've got to be starving."
Ernesto led them inside to the quaint surroundings. The entire house itself couldn't have been bigger than six hundred square feet, and even that was generous. The living room, and what appeared to be what doubled as an office, connected to a kitchen with a card table. Four chairs matched the table in color and design. A fifth chair, a metal folding chair, like the ones from the front porch, was wedged in. The out-of-place chair had a blue porcelain plate in front of it, as did all the other chairs encircling the table.
The smell of cooking onions alongside chopped potatoes and ham greeted Hatch’s nostrils. Josefina went about cracking several eggs into the black cast iron skillet on the other burner. Hatch's stomach was having a conversation with Letty's. The incessant gurgling was starting to sound more like an argument.
"It sounds like we need to get somebody something to eat," Ernesto boomed.
"My friend, you didn't have to go through all this trouble. We're fine. I actually just gave Ms. Nighthawk some of my wife's bread," Ayala offered.
Ernesto cocked an eyebrow at Hatch and paired it with a quirky grin. "Did you try to get the recipe?" Without giving Hatch time to respond, he continued. "Nope? Even if you'd tried, he wouldn't tell. He never does. My wife's been asking for Rosa’s cornbread secret for years. I think we'll move on to the next life before he tells. And he never comes around enough for me to get my fill."
Ayala jogged back to his Nissan and returned a moment later holding a brown box stamped with a rose and the words Rosa's Café on top.
"I said I wanted the recipe."
"You said, you wanted the recipe because I never come around enough to keep up with demand. Consider this box the first of many personal deliveries. It has been too long." Ayala's chuckle was joined by Cruz and his booming laugh which shook the tin in the roof above.
Cruz opened the box and inhaled deeply. Hatch found herself leaning in for another sniff of the sweet cake bread. Letty just stared into the kitchen at the sizzling food on the stove top. "I'll take this as a temporary concession. And only under one condition." Ernesto said.
"And what's that?" Ayala asked.
"You stop chewing on the end of that cigar."
"Now why would I go and do something like that?" Hatch watched the men in their strange yet familiar banter.
"Because your lips are going to fall off with cancer. I've told you this a thousand times."
"You smoke."
"That's different."
"How so?"
Cruz pawed his chin. "Because it's in and out of my mouth. Doesn't just hang off my lip like a wet dog turd."
"Ernesto Cruz! A child is present," Josefina barked from the kitchen.
"I said turd. Not shit." Cruz winked at Letty. A weak but genuine smile broke the girl's placidity.
Cruz chuckled and offered his closing remarks. "But you breathe it into your lungs."
"True."
Hatch watched the stalemate unfold before her eyes in what proved to be one of the most bizarre debates she'd seen in a while. Each man kind-heartedly at odds with the other.
"It is good to have you in my home again friend. And Josefina and I are overjoyed at the company you've brought." Cruz walked the group further into his quaint home.
"Enough of your talking. Ernesto will have you standing there all day. Now, grab yourself a seat. The food will be ready shortly."
Hatch pulled out the folding chair and sat. Letty took up next to her, staying on her right and keeping herself close enough that the hairs of her arm tickled the scar tissue of Hatch's. The girl was latched to Hatch like a newborn puppy to its mother. The contact didn't last. As soon as huevos rancheros hit her plate, Hatch went to work devouring the meal. She finished her plate quickly and washed it down with freshly brewed coffee made by Josefina. The air still held the hint of the fresh grinds used to make it, although the scent of the recently cooked breakfast overwhelmed it.
With bellies full, the conversation shifted to Letty and her circumstances. Letty ate slowly and quietly. By the time Hatch finished her plate, Letty still had barely eaten four, maybe five bites. Whatever drug they'd been giving her had begun to wear off and she was starting to feel the effects of its withdrawal.
Ayala began, "Ernesto here kind of runs what you call an underground railroad of sorts. He, and many like him, have formed a pact, an alliance, to work together, to use their skills and the resources at their disposal, to help victims ravaged by the cartels.
“Young girls like Letty aren't the only ones forced into servitude. Older men and women are used as mules to bring drugs across the border, oftentimes inside their bodies, hoping that their age and infirmity cause inspectors and border agents to pass a blind eye over them. At least those agents who haven’t already been bought and paid for.
“Whole families were often brought in to work their drug labs, often in some type of repayment f
or ferrying another family member across the border, their lives spent working off a debt they'll never be able to pay off.
“You see, slavery is still alive and well here, although people don't see it. All they see is the drugs and the money and the shootings. We fight against an enemy who is as powerful as it is extensive, but we do not stop.
“And every man, woman and child, like young Letty here, that we can return back to their family gives me hope that someday we can beat back the cartels, and take back Mexico, bring it back to the strong and vibrant country it once was, so that the strengths of its good people outshine the darkness of the few."
"How will you find her parents? She said her family's house was burned down. She was taken from one of the shelters where they displaced her. She doesn't know where her family went from there, and that was three years ago." Hatch asked.
Ernesto did not direct his answer toward Hatch, but instead toward Letty. "My dear, we are very capable of finding people. I don't want to bore you with what I did in my previous life, but don't let these frail old man's hands fool you. I used to be able to run with the best of them." Ernesto gave a playful wink. Hatch only guessed at the man's inference, maybe a reference to some type of military or paramilitary organization. Not relevant. What was, was his ability to get Letty home. "I can find anybody, given enough time. Speaking of time, I know you all have been on the go for a quite a while now. How about you get cleaned up and off to bed for a bit?" Ernesto said to Letty.
"If you go down that short hallway there, one door will lead you to a bathroom with a small shower. I've set out a stack of towels and a change of clothes. We keep a stockpile of clothes. You should find something that fits." Josefina eyed the clothes hanging off the younger, smaller girl's body, and then looked over at Hatch. "There should be something for you as well, if you need."
Hatch took stock of her Club de Fuego shirt and matching cargo pants, the benefit of its wearer’s unwilling donation. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm fine."
She felt the girl beside her tense up. Hatch leaned closer and said in a voice only Letty could her. "If it would make you feel safer, I can stand outside the door while you shower and change. Is that something you want?"
"You don't have to stand outside. I'll be fine." Her voice was even lower than Hatch's, a whisper of a whisper. "Thank you--for everything."
Letty pushed her seat back and stood. Just before making the short trip to the bathroom she turned back toward Hatch. "I know where she is."
Silverware stopped banging against the blue porcelain plates where the last scraps of food were being scooped into awaiting mouths, which hung open as the girl's softly spoken words grabbed the attention of everybody at the table. "I heard you talking before I fell asleep. I listened to what you said about a redheaded girl. You thought I was her. You came for her, but you got me instead."
Hatch said, taking the girl's hand in hers, "you're right. I was looking for someone else when I found you. And I'm glad that I did find you. But you know where Angela Rothman is?"
"The other day, she was with me and a bunch of other girls. We all got shipped off in different directions, but when they took her away, I heard them say where they were sending her."
"Where?" Hatch edged forward in her seat.
"They said they were taking her to The Last Stop."
"Is that a place? Like a restaurant?" Hatch surveyed the rest of the group's faces and saw no sign of recognition.
"It's not a restaurant. It's a juice factory. These people move us around all over the place. Some of them get nicknames. The Last Stop is what we call the Solarus Orange Juice factory."
"You mean my favorite juice, the one with the wacky orange walrus as the mascot? Really? The cartel takes everything I love. My wife never lets me have it often because it's got too much sugar. Now it'll never touch my lips again." Ayala looked as though he was going to burst at the seams.
"The two taking her away were talking about it. They didn't know I heard, but I did."
"Just like in the car," Hatch whispered. Letty smiled. "But I still don't understand. They move girls out of the juice factory?"
"You could say that. I've never been there myself. If I had, I wouldn't be here with you now. They call it The Last Stop for a reason. It's the last place they put us before we are sold to an outsider. Girls who go there are never seen again."
"What do you mean?" Hatch said. "Will they kill them?"
"It's less than two hours from here." Ayala popped his head up from his phone with a determined look on his face. He turned the phone to show them. Sure enough, just off Highway 2, south of Juarez by about thirty miles, was the Solarus Juice Company. A digital pushpin pointed to the location. "There's only two factory plants in the country and the other one is three hundred miles south. I'm guessing a Juarez cartel would want to use a Juarez juice factory."
"Then we better get a move on," Hatch took Letty's hands in hers. "These good people are going to take care of you now. Trust them and do what they say, and you'll be home before you know it."
A tear cleared a path down the girl's dirty face as she locked her arms around Hatch's neck and hugged tightly. Hatch held Letty until she released her grip. It felt good. Although much older, holding the small girl's frame in hers reminded Hatch of her niece, Daphne.
"Thank you," Letty whispered before she walked to the bathroom.
Hatch watched the waif of a girl slip inside the bathroom and close the door before turning her attention back to her hosts. "I can't thank you two enough for your hospitality." Hatch took her empty plate over to Josefina, who’d already finished rinsing the two heavy cast iron pans and was toweling off one of them. "And for the amazing food."
"I hate to eat and run, old friend," Ayala said. "But it looks as though Daphne and I have somewhere to be.
"Just make sure you don't take so long in between your next visit. We miss seeing your face."
"I think you miss my wife's cornbread."
The two old friends embraced in a goodbye hug. Hatch, more prepared this time, accepted hers as Cruz pulled her in, and after getting to know the man, accepted it far less awkwardly than she had when first arriving.
Josefina had packed a couple water bottles and some fruit into a paper sack and handed it to them. As they said their final goodbyes and turned toward the door, headlights penetrated through the curtains. The light was accompanied by the crunching of tires over the unfinished roadway leading to the front of Ernesto's house was followed by the sound of brakes.
"Ms. Nighthawk, you're too pretty a lady to be out here causing this kind of trouble." The voice of Nogales Police Lieutenant Eduardo Munoz broke the silence of the heavy night air.
Twenty-Three
Hatch had peered through a slit in the curtains and saw that the light coming through was generated by two vehicles. Both of the older model Crown Victoria Interceptors fanned out in front of the Cruz residence bore the emblem of the Nogales Municipal Police.
"Is there a safe space we could shelter, aside from the bedroom and bathroom in the back?" Hatch looked across the table at Ernesto.
Letty changed into the better-fitting clothing that Josefina had provided, bypassing the shower, and was now standing in the hallway. Josefina ushered the girl to their version of a safe room, a trapdoor in the floor of the hallway covered by a musty throw rug. Wood stairs led down to a poured concrete basement with canned goods lining the walls. It was a food pantry, but in a pinch, it would have to do.
"I'll let you know when it's safe to come out." Hatch offered a hand to Ernesto who began his descent into the cooler space below.
"You're not getting in?" Ernesto asked. Josefina and Letty were nestling themselves into the far corner. Josefina offering a motherly embrace to the terrified teen.
"Somebody's got to put the rug back over." Hatch winked.
"I can do it," Ayala stopped with one foot in the steps going down into the cellar.
"And then what?" Hatch said. "Wait for
them to enter? So they can torture you until they get what they want?"
"What's your plan, then?"
"One that doesn't involve any of the things I just said."
"That wasn't an answer." Ayala, the wordsmith, countered.
"I can tell you this, you're a lot more valuable to me down there. You're going to be the last line of defense."
Ayala accepted his new role and descended the wobbly steps to the uneven basement floor below.
"Any other way out? Windows, doors, anything besides what I can see?" Hatch called down.
Cruz rubbed the scruff at the bottom of his chin. "If you're talking about them getting in, then the front door is the only way. If you're talking about getting out, then that bathroom window might work. It's going to be tight, but I think you'll fit. But I beg of you to stay with us, down here, where it's safe."
"Nothing's safe unless I can stop those men outside from entering." Hatch lifted the hinged door in the floor and prepared to close it.
"Be careful when you get out the window. My bicycle is beneath. It's a broken heap that I've been meaning to fix. Just be careful to avoid it. Otherwise, you're likely to make a lot of noise."
No further protest was made. Hatch closed the door to the cellar and covered it with the rug, ensuring that the dirt line on the floor matched the carpet. If she was compromised, she wanted to give them the best chance of survival.
Hatch moved quickly using the toilet seat to access the small window and Ernesto was right. It was a very tight fit. So tight in fact that she had to take both pistols out of the small of her back and then Superman her way out of the window holding both guns in front of her.
She wriggled herself forward to her midline using her back and core muscles to hold herself as erect as possible before lowering herself. Hatch folded down, bringing the guns in her hands closer to the ground so she could drop them while minimizing the noise.