Reeferpunk Shorts

by David Mark Brown

  Chancho cleared his throat while he got to his feet. Behind him he could hear Ah Puch shifting his weight, preparing for a fight. He decided on a gravely voice, “Like hell it hasn’t. Get your lazy ass out of bed.”

  “Hey!” There was a sudden shifting in the darkness, followed by the sound of a pistol slipping from its holster. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Plan B,” Chancho mumbled as he leapt into action. Cocking his right leg toward the sound of the guard's voice he gripped his inner bootstrap and simultaneously pulled up as he extended the leg into a full kick. The kicking motion fell just short of the groggy guard’s face who flashed his pistol blindly in the dark. But the strap, upon extending into a two-foot-long pull cord, ignited a small explosion in the tip of Chancho’s boot. Sparks dissipated into the blackness while a cloud of fine powder burst into the guard’s face.

  “What in the—“ the pistol fired, whizzing past Chancho’s ear and ricocheting before digging into a wooden crate.

  “Chili!” Chancho warned Ah Puch as he crashed into some webbing and shielded his face from the spreading cloud.

  “Santa Maria! It burns!” Choking, the guard squeezed off another round before dropping his pistol to rub his eyes, grinding the chili dust further into his skin.

  “Torres? What the hell is going on? Ruiz?”

  Peeking out from under his sombrero Chancho could see the outline of Ah Puch crouched just a couple meters away, outside the effective range of the chili. He himself was just on the edge, and he felt the sudden urge to sneeze. The guard who had caught the brunt of it, Torres, continued to choke on every breath.

  “Intru—, intru—,” he coughed in between each attempt to sound the warning. Unable to string together three syllables without the powder triggering the reflex, he’d been completely incapacitated by the chili bomb.

  “Someone’s in here with us, sir.”

  “Ruiz? How the hell did someone get in between us?”

  “I… uh—“

  “Dammit, do you know who fired?”

  “It wasn’t me, sir.”

  Chancho knew the two guards would be forced to act soon, and he and Ah Puch were both exposed to opposite lines of site in their current positions. Torres was the problem. He occupied the only nook out of sight from the others, and his being at risk elevated the situation. Not only did the two friends need to not die, they had to convince the General that the whole thing was a friendly misunderstanding.

  p>

  Chancho tied a bandana around his nose and mouth, tipped his sombrero low over his eyes and bumped his way toward Torres. He needed to get the incapacitated guard to the front end of the car, where Ruiz had been sleeping, and away from Guzman, their commanding officer. This would keep the scales tipped to their advantage.

  Even through the bandana his throat itched with every breath. Locating Torres by his groaning, Chancho kicked the pistol out of the way and tugged him off his cot by both legs. The guard hit the ground with an “ooff.” As Chancho dragged him kicking and clawing, Ah Puch leaned in close to the guard’s ear. “Now go—that way if you want to live.” Both men pulled Torres up on his feet and shoved him toward Ruiz’s end of the car.

  “Torres, that you?”

  “Intruders!” Torres finally pronounced the word he had been struggling with for several seconds.

  “We figured that. Are you alright?”

  Having cleared the area of human threat, Ah Puch and Chancho leapt onto the cot and leaned against the outer wall of the freight car above the lingering chili dust. With crates stacked to the ceiling on both sides, they were finally out of sight. “He’ll be fine.” Chancho spoke loudly enough to address the guards. “Chili powder. It burns like hell, but nothing like your mother’s salsa the next morning. You know what I mean?”

  ~~~

  Chancho and Ah Puch held their breath while the urge to sneeze or cough settled along with the fine chili powder. The guards hesitated as well. Nothing came from Guzman’s end of the car while Torres’ muffled swearing drifted from the front. Growing impatient to resolve the situation and move the plan forward, Chancho addressed them. “My friends, this bashfulness is getting us nowhere. Guzman, it was Guzman, right? Of course. You cannot leave your post unattended to go and get help, and besides the next car contains nothing but cargo, correct?”

  Chancho paused briefly, but no response came. “And Ruiz, you also do not want to leave your post while Torres, ah, my sincerest apologies for the chili, is incapacitated. And besides you would need a command from our laryngitic Guzman. So, I’ll make you a deal. Send Torres to fetch the General and I promise my friend and I will remain quite still until he returns. Hmm?”

  He waited another moment. “We’re Rurales on special assignment to help you guys protect this precious cargo from nasty revolutionaries. All just a misunderstanding.” Finally movement echoed about the car. A gash of light and the rumbling of the rails spilled into the confined space as Torres presumably fumbled through the opened door and closed it behind him. “Ah, very good. Hopefully the poor guy can find his way.”

  Ah Puch placed his hand on Chancho’s shoulder and nodded toward the crate they were standing on. The two men stepped down and tested the air quality, finding it back to normal. Ah Puch rubbed his hand on the side of the box and whispered, “When the door was open, I caught a glimpse. Help me crack this open.”

  The two men worked quietly, jimmying their blades under the edge of the box all the way around three sides until the lid creaked open. “Mother Mary.” Even in the minimal lighting the luminescent ocean of gold cast an eerie glimmering on, climmerito their hands and faces. They allowed themselves a single smirk before replacing the lid and snugging it down. “It’s real now. It’s real, and we’re going to liberate it.” Chancho sat down on the crate and leaned back against the wall.

  “All the generations of my family put together have never seen so much wealth.” Ah Puch’s hoarse whisper grew ragged around the edges. “Only the smallest fraction of it would have provided a full life for my parents, a chance to start over—escape the hacienda where they died without two kernels of corn to rub together.”

  “I’m sorry, my friend. It should never have happened.” Chancho shook his head in the dark. “But we will ensure it never happens again.” He nudged his friend with his elbow. “What are you going to do with your share?”

  “We have not succeeded yet.”

  “Oh come on. I’ve waited this long to ask.”

  Ah Puch sat quietly for several seconds. “I’m going to buy the hacienda where my parents died, and distribute the land to the peons still enslaved there—legally. I’ll make sure no one takes it from them again.”

  “Will you stay there and farm?”

  Ah Puch snorted. “Me? I’m no farmer. I’ve been a bandit since I was a child. There’s nothing after the revolution for me.”

  “Nonsense. You could come with me to the orphanage. That’s what I’m going to do with my share. I still feel guilty for abandoning the sisters. Hey,” he nudged his friend again, “A bunch of nuns living in the wilderness. They could use some hired protection. You know, the sort an old bandit could provide?”

  Before Ah Puch could respond the door to the car slid open forcefully, flooding the space with light and the General’s thunderous voice, “Dammit! Why can’t you two stay out of trouble?”

  ~~~

  “Chili powder?” Standing in front of the open door to the armored freight car the General scrutinized the two Rurales anew.

  Chancho relaxed. If the General had intended to throw them underneath the moving train, he wouldn’t have dismissed everyone but Guzman. “Even the Gardia, despite our reputation, know when to kill,” he shrugged, “and when to simply spice things up.”

  Obregón barked out an abrupt, high-pitched laugh before swallowing it just as quickly. He shook his head and turned serious. “You still insist on petting your horses, or will you stay out of my way?”

  “General. You’ve
had time to discuss the matter with your officers. I’m positive they have not provided you with a satisfactory scenario for today’s events.”

  “I do not need my officers’—“

  Chancho continued, “What you need is a means to deliver your cargo to Corpus Christi. I can give you what you need.”

  “You two are chapping my hide. If I wanted Rurales to drive my train—” the General stopped himself.

  “Four Rurales will not help muchnteot help in a shoot out with Villa’s cavalry, not while we are sitting ducks. But there doesn’t need to be a shoot out.”

  Obregón nodded impatiently, “Go on.”

  “There is an alternate track, an abandoned rail running parallel for twenty kilometers. It is long enough to bypass the Villista ambush.”

  “Villa is not so stupid to choose a place that could so easily be—“

  “It accesses an old silver mine, abandoned over 15 years ago. Goes through some rough country. Most of Villa’s men were only children when it was in use. As you know, Villa grew up in Chihuahua. They don’t know it exists. Did you?”

  The General quipped back, “And you?”

  “I grew up here, and again, it is my job to know everything about Coahuila. We road the entire length of it only two months ago. It is old, but functional. You will barely need to slow down.”

  “Indeed.” Obregón rubbed the nub of his amputated arm, hidden high in his sleeve, through the dense material of his uniform.

  “You cannot continue as you are. Your train will be derailed and torn apart. You cannot go back and wait.”

  As if it were simply impossible for the General to consider advice from Rurales, he turned to the weary soldier standing beside Ah Puch. “Guzman?”

  “If these men are telling the truth about the alternate track, it would be our best option, sir. Plus,” he half-grinned, half-snarled, “it would humiliate Villa.”

  Chancho cursed himself silently for not thinking of that himself. Guzman had turned out to be helpful after all.

  The General nodded. “And if they are not telling the truth?”

  Guzman turned his gaze toward Chancho. “Then we use them as shields against Villa.”

  “Very well. While I appreciate the suggestion, I’m afraid they’re right about our options. If they are lying about the alternate track we will indeed kill them, but we will not fight Villa today. It will be inconvenient, but reinforcements could arrive by tomorrow morning at the latest.” Obregón turned toward Chancho. “Now tell me where to expect the signal for this alternate track and then Guzman will escort you to see your horses, where I will expect you to stay until you are called upon.”

  Chancho and Ah Puch both nodded.

  ~~~

  Wiser than most soldiers Ah Puch had encountered, Guzman followed him and Chancho at a safe distance. While remaining clear of any quick movements and gripping his knife tightly, he allowed the two men to saunter through the armored freight car on their way to the back of the train. With light coming through the door where Obregón had exited, Chancho used the opportunity to let his eyes wander about the cargo.

  Most of it seemed common: a dozen crates of coffee beans, an equal amount packed most likely with tequila but labeled ‘cerveza,’ and several dozen crates of vegetables to make the whole shipment appear as mundane as possible. But near alle. But the far end of the car, stashed in the shadows, Chancho strained to read the label on a dozen oversized metal boxes, “geological survey — Secretariat of the Interior.” But without further time to ponder its contents they reached the metal door, and Ah Puch tugged it open.

  With Guzman watching from inside the armored car they leapt across the coupling and waved goodbye from the neighboring car before shutting its door behind them. “Cheery fellow.”

  Ah Puch grunted. They staggered forward in the dark until Chancho bumped into bales of hay. The car echoed and rattled, revealing its relative emptiness. It’s smell informed them it contained mostly feed and grain. They bumped their way to the other end and heaved the door open to let in light. Their partners in crime, Jorge and Emilio, waved at them from the railing of an open-air livestock car containing several horses, their four included.

  Chancho gave them the thumbs up. “Any trouble with the caboose?” They shook their heads and smiled. Chancho breathed a sigh of relief and settled back on a bale of hay to map out their next steps.

  Ah Puch searched the shadows of the car, making sure they were alone, before joining his friend. “Things are going well,” he offered.

  “Hmmm? Oh, yes. Did you see those metal boxes?” Chancho scratched his chin.

  “Mining. I’ve seen them used before in mining.” Ah Puch stretched, touching his toes.

  “I wonder what’s inside them.”

  “Rocks, dirt, ore.” Ah Puch cracked his neck and shrugged. “There’ll be plenty of time to look later if this plan works.” The second half of the sentence came out sounding more negative than he had intended.

  “Oh it’ll work. What is there to go wrong now?”

  “What is there —“ Ah Puch shook his head. “Everything we’ve done up to this point has been easy.” He leaned forward. “This is not a game. There are over a hundred people on this train that will kill us if they find out what we are doing, several who will try to hunt us down and kill us if we succeed.”

  “No one will find out what we are doing. The four of us are together, we're in position, and besides only two people on this train have even seen our faces. They’ll be too busy losing a revolution to find us.”

  Ah Puch grunted and sat back. “One thing at a time.” He knew Chancho would be useless if he grew distracted or discouraged at this point. A sly grin crept across his face. “The boot bomb worked pretty well.”

  Chancho laughed. “Pretty well? It was incredible. Torres is wishing he could've been strapped naked to a cactus instead. The only problem is now I have a hole in my boot.” He held the tip of his boot up for Ah Puch to inspect.

  “Bah. It’s nothing. I could fix it in five minutes if I had my tools.”

  "I can't wait to try out the spurs.”

  ~~~

  Ah Puch settled onto his stool and adjusted the nob on the kerosene lantern for more light. He plucked an awl from hi“ awl frs lips. Gripping it with his nippers he worked it lightning fast along the seam running up the side of the boot. He stopped to check the placement of the magnetized plate sown into the back of the heel for the fourth time. Reaching inside the boot he straightened the ripcord for the chili bomb and continued stitching the seam. “By tomorrow you will own the best pair of boots in the world.”

  Chancho looked up from his work on a massive wall of gears, grease streaking his face and hands. “Better even than your own?”

  “Mine were the prototype. I have made improvements since.”

  “Incredible. I will keep them for life.” Chancho adjusted the positioning of a long, metal camshaft with a wrench until the teeth lined up with an even larger gear.

  “Damn right. And if your life is any less than fifty years I’m taking ‘em back.”

  “I’ll do my best, friend.” He put the wrench down and starting pounding the shaft further into the heart of the sprawling wall of machinery with a wooden mallet.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve put too much work into these boots to let you die now.” Ah Puch snickered at his own joke.

  “There!” Chancho tossed the mallet into the corner and snapped a leather belt with his fingers to test its tautness. “If this machine doesn’t chew me to death when we start it up, I’ll consider it a success.”

  Ah Puch put down his work and took in the entirety of the contraption. Chancho stood on a metal grate over forty feet long and ten feet wide with steel beams connecting it to the roof of the cave every four feet. Where Chancho had been working, a series of gears, pulleys and belts covered the entire far side of the cave and dipped below the grate out of view. “And this thing will lift a train?”

  “Well, not the wh
ole train,” he grinned. “But enough of it.”

  “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Says the man holding gadget boots in his hands?”

  “Sure, they have a few special additions, but they are just a pair of boots. This…” Ah Puch indicated the entirety of the room they were in. “This. None of this was even here two months ago.” His voice echoed off the chiseled rock walls. The light from the kerosene lamps fell short of the distant corners of the cave.

  “I’ll be happy when we don’t have to work in the belly of the whale any more."

  “The whale?” Ah Puch returned to his stitching.

  “Oh yes. I forget you are a very bad Catholic.”

  “I’m not a bad Catholic. I’m a good bandit. Although many of the Catholics I’ve know have been both.”

  “It’s too bad.” Chancho unscrewed a cap from a large tank half buried in the wall and sniffed its contents. “You should meet the Sisters someday. They would set you straight.” He hefted a fuel can from the floor and directed its funnel into the tank.

  “Oh I’m sure they would. But for now I’ve got no problem wi">

  ~~~

  Chancho cracked the heel of his boot hard on the coupling. Ah Puch steadied him as the train shimmied along the alternate track, the deteriorating railroad ties a blur beneath his feet. He lifted his foot high enough to twist the heel around 90 degrees, and with a quick yank, ripped it from the rest of the boot. A phosphorus and potassium covered fuse trailed from the detached heel, the friction of the tug sparking it to life. Chancho slapped the magnetized metal of the heel down on the coupling before Ah Puch pulled him onto the platform of the armored freight car.

  On cue Emilio and Jorge leapt from the top of the feed and grain car to the top of the armored car, clanking onto the metal roof loudly. With one last glance back at the burning fuse Chancho flicked his spurs from their usual resting place until they were underneath the soles of his boots, the sharp tips protruding now from the front. Quickly Emilio and Jorge positioned themselves on the roof, dangling their arms over the edge. Clasping at the wrists they heaved Ah Puch and Chancho up to join them, just in the nick of time.