Jacumba Connection
Page 9
“So, it’s true on both accounts,” Charlie said. Right over the poor kid’s head. It takes a sharp mind to spar insults with the head that wears the crown.
Denice interjected at this point, before a possible stare-down ensued. “We’re looking for a driver, somebody to run interference and scope out the road ahead of us.”
“I can do that.”
Denice continued, “We need somebody to attract attention should we get into a jam. Someone to pull the heat off us and basically sacrifice themselves and their driving record, should we have a problem. You won’t ever have people in your ride and we’ll provide the car. We’ll put sacks of cement in the trunk. So it looks like you’re driving dirty (as in carrying Mexicans or drugs). If we’re followed, or there’s Border Patrol in the bushes, they follow you instead of us. You get pulled over? They don’t find diddly. Easy money.”
“How much easy money?”
Charlie said, “Depends on the run, we’ll start with $250 a run. We’ll provide the vehicle, walkie-talkie, food and hotel, the complete package.”
Woody’s eyes grew large, a smile spreading across his young face. He then said, “I get a walkie-talkie. Fuckin’ A, I’m your man, dude. When do we roll? Do I get it now?”
Denice asked, “Do you get what now?”
“The radio, man! The breaker, breaker, Scout One to Papa Bear.” Woody beamed.
Charlie looked at Dee, “Holy shit.”
Denice laughed, “At least he’s enthusiastic.”
If Elwood made a perfect sacrificial lamb, then let’s talk about the wolves. The brave men and women of the United States Border Patrol have one of the most difficult jobs in law enforcement. After September 11th, the Feds finally gave them firearms. Prior to that, they could only yell real loud, “Stop in the name of the law.” Mostly, they just herded people into large buses.
In the early 2000s the Border Patrol’s job description expanded to zero tolerance with zero training. In the years leading up to and including Charlie and Denice’s time, prosecutors would not indict or prosecute a driver on an illegal immigration case until that person was (or persons were) arrested three times. Drugs or guns are completely different animals, perpetrated by a completely different group of smugglers and smuggling organizations. Bottom line, you get the least amount of prison time for illegal immigration, which means the lowest danger-to-dollar ratio.
That’s not to say it wasn’t or isn’t still dangerous. There are 100 ways to get killed, 1,000 ways to screw up, and one million things that can go wrong. But if you’re smooth, quick on the uptake, with an organized mind and a hole where the risk management part of your brain used to be, you can make a shit-load of money.
-- -- --
The call to Ramona was placed at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Arrangements were made to meet at the Viejas Casino, in the buffet for lunch. The dining room had the most spectacular fireplace and lodge pole seating area. The fireplace was made of Fieldstone masonry and was three stories tall. The fire pit area was as tall as a man and 10-feet wide. The food was better than at Barona casino. You could have prime rib and horseradish at 10:00 a.m. On a Friday or Saturday you’d have to wait two hours for a table. But on this midweek afternoon, Charlie and Denice walked right in, found a table and ordered two coffees. They explained to the server they were waiting on their other party.
The wait was short. Ramona and Julio walked in and up to the table. Ramona was dressed in a light blue pantsuit and sensible shoes with a small black clutch purse. She had black, shoulder length hair. Julio was wearing Levi 501s and a comfortable looking sport jacket over a black T-shirt, probably silk. Charlie noticed the ever-so-slight bulge under his jacket. This was not surprising, nor did it cause him alarm. He stood up smiling and extended his hand.
“Good to see you again, Julio,” as they shook hands.
“Likewise to you both.”
Charlie motioned towards the table and invited, “Please have a seat,” as he continued shaking Ramona’s hand. “Good afternoon, ma’am. This is my wife, Denice.”
Ramona spoke flawless English, having been obviously educated in the United States. (University of Southern California, they discovered later.)
“It’s nice to meet you both.”
Charlie inquired, “Business before pleasure? The food here is excellent and I wouldn’t want to spoil it by talking with my mouth full.”
“Sounds good, Mr. DeVille.”
“Please, call me Charlie.”
“Well, Charlie and Denice, we have much to discuss, and as always, best never over the phone. We transport family members. Our business is to reunite families. With citizenship taking five years, and the waiting lists, years to get a green card, we have a mostly exclusive niche market.”
Ramona’s eyes went back and forth from Charlie to Denice. She spoke earnestly and with conviction. Julio sat twisting his coffee, watching and surveying without moving his head, except to nod in agreement with Ramona’s words.
“It has come to my attention, through your success and compliments from our customers, our people,” she emphasized, “that you provide superior service. You seem to understand what we’re doing here and what we’re trying to provide.”
Denice interjected at this point, “You make it sound so corporate, almost legal.”
“This business is fifty percent illusion and fifty percent balls, to use a rather descriptive metaphor.”
Charlie joined, “I use that metaphor to describe mine, as well. We’re all adults here.”
Denice kicked Charlie under the table so hard in the shin that Charlie had to mutter, “Damn, honey, that hurt.”
“Be serious, Charlie. For once.”
Ramona interrupted the little love spat with a comment,
“No, Denice, Charlie’s right. If you’re smiling and laughing, no one expects you’re committing a crime. It is the shroud of deniability that creates the illusion of innocence.”
Charlie’s comedy was an invisible shield to protect the man inside the smuggler – a kind of a canvas cover over life’s moral compass. So of course it made complete sense to him. He looked his wife in the eye and brought his right hand up in the shape of a gun, cocked his thumb and made a clicking sound with his tongue, and said in his best Will Ferrell impersonation, “Stay classy, San Diego.”
Everyone chuckled and the mood became light and breezy.
Ramona continued, “We want the two of you to handle our specialty runs. Large orders, VIPs, and infants.” All the while, Ramona looked at Denice with a raised brow.
Denice replied, “Infants and children?”
“Yes, infants and very small children, they cannot be moved by coyotes.”
Julio chimed in, “Pelón is not good with children. His single eyeball would terrorize the poor niños.”
Charlie and Julio laughed, as Denice and Ramona shook their heads. In some way, they bonded at that moment.
The pace of the conversation accelerated as women are inclined to do when talking amongst themselves. Ramona said, “This requires you to drive into Tijuana with a car seat in your trunk, and drive the child across the border, back into the U.S. I understand you have a daughter and an infant grandson?”
“Yes, Renae is my oldest. But we call her Nae-Nae, or sometimes Nae for short. And my little grandson is a doll. His name is Brandt.”
Charlie interrupted her, “Jesus, don’t get her started. She’ll cover the table with pictures and talk your ear off.”
Ramona looked at him and explained, “There’s always time for family. And I love children. We are all about family, and that time will come. But for now my question is, can we work together and not let our arrangements become known to, shall we say, the Larry’s of Jacumba?”
Denice looked at Charlie. “Don’t even start with the Captain Ugly Pants s
tuff,” she warned.
“I’ve already forgotten who he was.” Charlie then looked at the Big Boss, and in a very serious tone said, “Let’s talk money.”
Julio took over at this point.
“Infants pay $1,000 cash, from the San Ysidro International border to Chula Vista. Two infants at a time pays $1,000 each. If your daughter decides to do the run, we can provide a dark skinned gentleman, a U.S. citizen, to play the father. He would authenticate the dark skin of the children. If you choose to run, you must do it alone. Charlie is too white.”
“Call me Casper the Friendly Ghost,” Charlie wisecracked.
Denice had stunning olive skin, given to her by her mother who was a beauty of Hispanic descent. Her family was from Mazatlan. She could pass as an older mom or a younger grandmother.
Julio was taken back to his old school days in the gang, where he had watched a member named Casper die from a bullet wound, bleeding to death in his arms as they waited for an ambulance. It was a senseless killing by a rival of the Latin Kings, just another reason to retire as O.G. (original gangster), respected as such for surviving the streets of L.A.
After a moment of silence, for the memory of his friend, Julio continued. “VIPs are just that. You do not need to know who’s who. There are some things you cannot question; you will not receive an answer. You’ll always be informed of the risk, and never will there be drugs, weapons, or felons fleeing Mexican justice. If extra precautions are needed, due to the rank of a family member, you will be notified and paid accordingly for these people, we’ll say $2,000 with a bonus. That means they ride alone and you will protect them at all times.”
Ramona asked for their phones and Denice slid them across the table to her. “This one is okay. But throw this one in the toilet,” she said, referring to Denice’s AT&T phone. Ramona pulled out a brand new iPhone and handed it to her. “This is programmed with the numbers you need. Use only this phone for company business. We will call you on only this phone, or paging phones at the Acorn or Viejas casinos, also the Pechanga and Morongo casinos. Should you get pulled over, drop it in your 48-ounce Thirst Buster. I have one in my cup-holder at all times.” Ramona gave a wink. “We will contact you tomorrow with the plans, that is if you agree?”
“Does the Pope wear funny hats?” Charlie asked rhetorically.
“As a matter of fact, he does,” replied Ramona with a hint of good-natured sass.
“Let’s eat,” concluded Julio with a grin. “I’m starving.”
LITTLE RUNNING SQUIRREL AND THE BIG YELLOW BUS
Chapter 12
Elwood moved out of his small one bedroom apartment on Mollison Avenue in El Cajon. He had rented an 18-foot Ryder moving truck for this purpose. It had a big, brand-new, diesel engine and an air-conditioned cab. Bells were bonging inside Charlie’s head one millisecond after seeing Elwood load it.
Charlie saw it as the ultimate people-moving machine. He imagined one up at the drop, loaded down.
“Earth to Charlie, Earth to Charlie,” Denice said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
“Look at it, honey, like Fort Knox on wheels. It’s like a big catering truck. Catering to immigrants, a bright yellow school bus. To school you on how to move a town of people.”
“Settle down, handsome. It’s just a moving truck.”
“I wonder what Elwood’s doing with it when he’s done?”
“Ask him.”
“Bet your cute little ass I will.”
They had to go to Elwood’s apartment because he wasn’t answering his phone, and to show him the Maxima they had bought from Big Chief Acorn, a.k.a. Corn Hole. After the meeting with Ramona and Julio, they went to find Larry to extend the rental on the green Suburban. In the interim, they ran into Big Chief Acorn in the casino parking lot.
“Hey, you guys. What’s shaking? What’re you doing at my casino?”
Big Chief Acorn was a deranged Kumeyaay Indian who took the whole Sovereign Nation thing a little too far. He loved to question white people as to their reasons for being in his country, on his land, breaking his laws, and all that. This did not mean much, as he was not the chief of the tribe. His erratic behavior was more related to that week’s drug of choice. Charlie started shying away from Corn Hole’s presence after he discharged a handgun out of Charlie’s passenger-side window.
Here’s how it went down: As Charlie gave Corn Hole a ride home one day, they came upon Corn Hole’s female cousin’s husband. Corn Hole believed the guy had gotten rough with Little Running Squirrel. “Why’d you smack Little Running Squirrel? You piece of shit,” the old Indian accused.
“I did not touch the bitch.” Ouch. Wrong answer.
Corn Hole pulled a Glock out of nowhere, pointed it out the window, and BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The window shattered and Charlie found himself in need of a clean pair of drawers.
So when Corn Hole asked if they wanted to buy a car, Charlie’s first instinct was to tell him, “Nope. No, thanks. We’re good. Thanks though. Nope, were broke.”
However, Denice interrupted with, “What kind?”
Charlie rolled his eyes.
“A Nissan Maxima, the white one right over there.” He pointed at a nice front wheel drive, luxury midsize four-door car.
“Nice. How much?” asked Denice.
“Six hundred dollars,” Corn Hole quickly replied.
“That’s all? Shit.” Charlie said excitedly.
Sticking out his chest, Corn Hole said, “My casino owns it. The Border Patrol arrested the owners right here. My country now owns it. Six hundred dollars.”
“Pay him, honey.” Denice said.
“Yeah, like you let me carry the money?” laughed Charlie.
“I meant, hand me my purse, babe.”
And because of that weird transaction, they were at Elwood’s old apartment in the new point car, the Maxima, equipped with a walkie-talkie on channel 14 and a Radio Shack bear scanner, which is a street name for a police band radio receiver. The plan was to keep the big green SUV. But now that Charlie had laid eyes on the Ryder truck, yellow was his favorite color.
“Elwood, I came to give you a hand and show you your new Hooptie. Complete with police scanner and, wait for it, a walkie-talkie.”
“Far freakin’ OUT, dude.” Sitting in the car he checked out all the knobs and buttons, fiddling with this and that, questioning Charlie.
“Electric seats?” asked Elwood.
“Yeah,” Charlie smirked.
“Air-conditioning work?”
“Yup.”
“Radio?”
“Yuuup.”
“Sweet!”
“Yes. And all you’ve got to do is let me use that Ryder truck for a couple days after you’re done with it. I’ll even pay the bill.”
“Hell yeah, bro. It’s on my mom’s credit card anyway.”
Charlie winked at Denice and turned to Elwood, “Perfect, dude.”
They spent most of that afternoon into the early evening moving Elwood’s crap into storage and cleaning his bachelor pad.
“I can’t believe these assholes evicted me.”
“What for?” Charlie asked.
“Noise. A couple of parties. Um, my ex-girlfriend kinda freaked out.”
As they were leaving for the last time and walking across the pool area, Charlie noticed the light-weight patio furniture.
“You still got the key to the pool gate?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep it until tomorrow.”
They made the last trip to the storage unit and then traded vehicles. Charlie’s mind was awhirl with crazy ideas. Denice said, “I’m hungry, how about Los Ponchos?”
Charlie picked up the walkie-talkie.
“How about it Wood Man, you out there?”
“Meet me and the little woman at Los Ponchos on Second Street.”
“Ten-four, right at Highway 8 on-ramp.”
“That’s the one. Bring the pool key and we’ll buy you a burrito.”
“Roger that.”
Charlie spun his head quickly around and looked at Denice, “There, you see? Rodger that. I’m not the only one.”
“Yup. You and the Wood Man, Charlie,” she replied casually.
Charlie keyed the radio, “Over and out.”
“What, no Roger dodger?” asked Denice mockingly.
“Naw. His name is Elwood,” Charlie shot back.
Charlie and Elwood went back to the apartments on Mollison in the Ryder truck, while Denice took the Maxima to Sycuan Casino to exercise her horseshoe. The boys were on a mission of stealth and mischief, namely, stealing all the pool furniture; including the tables, umbrellas, and lounge chairs. They quietly loaded them into the Ryder truck, and then went directly to home base. Charlie and Elwood laid out the furniture in the back of the Ryder, using deck screws to attach the furniture to the wood deck of the box truck.
Standing back, inside home base, admiring their handiwork, Charlie knew Ramona would be impressed. The truck was now perfect. A roll-up backdoor, it also had a side door with pull out steps. The door was the size of an entry door in a house. The roof of the box was yellow fiberglass, which allowed the sun to shine in, hence, the umbrellas. Looking at the whole picture, if Charlie had two elbows on his right arm, he’d have patted himself on the back.
Denice was impressed, yet concerned, with the outcome of their mission. “I can’t believe you, Charlie. You actually stole the pool furniture?”
“Borrowed it.”
“I’ve never known you to steal anything.”
“Elwood did it.” As if that made it okay.
She stood back with her hands on her hips, staring into the back, there in the Sycuan Casino parking lot at 2:40 a.m.
“That is so damn cool. Oh my God. Brilliant. Crazy. But very cool.” She kissed him on the cheek and cooed, “That’s my man.”