Denice opened the door, jumped out, and blocked the woman’s path. “K-onda, niña? Are you okay, Grandmother?”
The old woman’s tears were immediate and torrential. The words came like automatic gunfire. Denice reached out to her and they embraced. The old woman sobbed and wailed before looking up and rattling off 1,000 rapid-fire words in Spanish.
Neither understood the other, nor needed to. The sound of suffering is universal. You didn’t need to speak Spanish to know this person had been through hell.
“Get in.” Denice motioned to the open door, but the woman just stood there, trying to decide if this was a good idea.
Charlie comforted her. “It’s okay, señora,” wishing he could say something to ease her fear. There’s something else that’s universal, and that’s a smile. Charlie flashed his best Burt Reynolds, Smokey and the Bandit smile that he saved for just this kind of occasion. It worked like a dream. The old woman managed a bashful smile back, full of crooked teeth, which could barely be seen behind her thankful grin. No anger. No malice. Just relief at the thought that her nightmare might be over. Every wrinkle on her face went up towards her forehead just like a Cabbage Patch doll. The effect was startling.
“Come on ladies. Let’s go before we get run over.”
Denice helped the old woman into the backseat and closed the door. She then jumped in the front seat and said, “Let’s go back to the cabin. We’ll find Valentino and have him talk to her.”
“Okay.” Then looking back Charlie added, “Looks like she could use a warm fire and some rest.”
“I can’t believe she was out like that in this weather.”
It was just a few short blocks back to the cabin. The three hustled inside, Charlie with an armload of wood. Once inside the cabin, the old woman reached into the front pocket of her dress and pulled out a soaking wet piece of paper. There was a smudged phone number on it. She said something in Spanish and pointed to the slip of paper.
“I think she wants us to call this number, it has a Los Angeles County prefix.”
“Starting to get the picture here. I’ll bet she couldn’t keep up with some coyote.”
There were many organizations and many coyotes. Most coyotes were brutal when it came to stragglers. Wiley would not have tried to run grandma here through the gauntlet. She wouldn’t stand half a chance. Ramona would have classified her as a VIP and made other arrangements.
Denice dialed the number, “It’s ringing.”
Charlie and the woman were silent. Waiting.
“Hi. My name’s Denice, my husband and I are calling from Campo, California. We found a woman who we believe is named Isabelle.”
She was cut off by ecstatic voices in Spanish accents. “You found Grandmother? Thank you, Jesus. I can’t believe it. Hey, Carlos, it’s your mother. They found your mother.”
A man’s voice came on the line, and Denice put it on speaker. The three amigos clustered around the phone. In Spanish they spoke to her, “Mother, are you okay?”
“Yes, mijo, I’m not dead yet.”
“Where are you?”
The grandmother replied, “I don’t know, but I have been walking for two days. I found a road and this nice couple picked me up. They took me here.”
“Where is here, Mother?”
“I don’t know. But there is a fire in the fireplace and it’s very warm.”
“They can hear you,” the grandmother replied.
In English, came a deep baritone voice, “My name is Carlos. Whom am I speaking with?”
“I’m Denice.”
“Are you the police?”
“Not hardly, sir.”
“My mother. Is she okay? She is, how do you say, very hardheaded.”
Charlie said quietly to himself, “Duh, she’s a woman.”
“I think she’s a sweetie and she’s okay.” Denice told the man, giving Charlie a stern look.
“She is a diabetic,” Carlos informed them, “and has lymphoma. We’ve been trying to get her here to spend some time with her grandchildren before...um...She will need to eat, can you give her a banana, and maybe some orange juice.”
“Today’s your lucky day,” exclaimed Charlie. “This is what we do for a living. We move people from here on the mountain to L.A. Mom goes as a VIP. And you know what? It’s friggin’ raining. That makes it a piece of cake. So hang in there, Carlos, we’ll get Mom to you before the sun goes down. Gar-ron-teed.”
“Thank you so much, sir, we will pay whatever you ask.”
“Right now it’s not about the money. It’s about your mom.”
That’s another universal truth: Motherly love and the emotion it invokes, like a son’s need to protect and love her, regardless of the risks. There is no fire that burns hotter in a man’s heart than that which concerns his mother. Wars have been waged around a slight to a mother’s love, honor thy mother is a commandment from God. For some it is not easy to do. But for Charlie, a mother’s love was the queen of his heart. Many times he saw divine intervention in the relationships with the women in his life. Charlie was passionate about certain things, and getting Isabelle home to her family now topped the list.
Denice asked Carlos for his address and promised to update their progress later that day. They ended the conversation with,
“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands. Call if you need to. But less is better. See you soon.”
When she hung up the phone, Grandma smiled and closed her eyes, she then let the exhaustion envelop her. She snored quietly, and both thought it was the cutest sound they’d heard since their girls were babies.
Denice said quietly, “I’ll go back to the store to get some juice and fill the gas tank. We’ll put some blankets and a pillow in the backseat and she can sleep on the way to L.A.”
This run was in the hands of God, as sure as the sun sets in the west. It was nearly snowing. The checkpoint was closed. Having fed granny, they loaded Izzie (as Charlie called her) into the car. She slept peacefully in the back. They drove straight to Monrovia, and found the address easily. Charlie called Carlos, about an hour ahead of their arrival. It was a Saturday afternoon and the driveway was packed with several cars, and more parked on the street.
When the Nissan pulled up, the old woman was sitting upright in the back. Kids came pouring out of the house, big and small. Everyone hugged and kissed Charlie and Denice, showering them with a true hero’s welcome. On the patio and inside the house, there were balloons and a banner proclaiming, Welcome Home in Spanish, obviously painted by the children.
Charlie and Denice were offered Coronas all day long. There was carne asada and burgers smoking on the 55-gallon drum barbecue. The old folks played bocce ball. The youngest child came and climbed up on Grandma Izzie’s lap, like the old lady was a jungle gym. Someone passed around a baseball cap, and it was brimming with one-hundred-dollar bills and fifty-dollar bills. When Izzie’s son, Carlos, approached Charlie with the hat, Charlie refused the money.
“We will light a candle in your honor, Charlie. You and your wife are a blessing to this family,” said Carlos, holding back tears.
When it was time to leave, the emotions ran even higher. It had been a wonderful day. A kind of validation, maybe balancing out all that illegal activity. Charlie and Denice struggled with that aspect. But any doubt about their current mission went out the window when Grandma Izzie held Denice’s face in her tiny fragile hands, then kissing her forehead told her through Carlos’ translation, “You are my angel, my saving grace. I’ll see you in heaven.” She then kissed Charlie gently on both cheeks, and said, “You are my knight in shining armor today, señor. Bless you and thank you.”
As Izzie walked away, she was saying something in Spanish. Carlos pulled her back saying, “Mind your tongue, Mother.” Carlos looked at Charlie, and said quietly, �
�She said if she was 40 years younger, she’d give your wife a run for her money.”
Izzie had left the rear window down on the Maxima. As Charlie and Denice pulled out, a young boy about 10 or so, ran up and threw the hatful of money into the open rear window, and the bills scattered all over the rear seat. The young boy stuck out his tongue at Charlie, and blew him a raspberry. Then he ran back to his father, Carlos. As the boy clutched his daddy’s leg, the two waved as Charlie and Denice drove away.
“You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” said Denice, and the appreciative family disappeared from view.
“I’d rather you call me, Chuck.”
LOVE IS NOT A SUICIDE PACT
Chapter 14
Charlie and Denise headed back to home base to check off things on Denice’s to-do list, an arbitrary event that took place at random intervals.
Something inside her would all of the sudden start to itch, causing a tick on her right eyelid. At this point, she would just have to organize something quickly. When they were first married it was the living room furniture. Later, it was the girls’ rooms or the Tupperware drawer.
Sometimes when the urge became overwhelming, Charlie would find her in his garage in the late hours of the night. Their garage was the Taj Mahal of overhaul, a place for the organizing of nuts and bolts. She categorized gaskets, lined up spray paint cans, and so on.
Charlie did not oppose this behavior, for fear that Denice might implode. Now that they mostly lived in hotel suites, mountain cabins and SUVs, it was all about the to-do list, car washes and laundromats. Love is all about understanding and compromise. Charlie would take her to the Beer & Bubbles coin-op laundry. Denice would give him clean underwear. That was another California first; drink yourself stupid while watching the dryer go round and round. Charlie always accompanied Denice to the laundromat.
First on the to-do list was to see their grandson Brandt and shower him with colorful, plastic toys, most of them with wheels. Second was a conversation with Renea (Brandt’s mom) about having her help them run babies across the border. Third was to swing by Timmy One-Hit’s house, and give big Mama Slumlord a butt-load of money. The rent is high and always due, not unlike with Captain Ugly Pants.
Charlie and Denice sat down to have a conversation with Nea-Nea. But then suddenly, on the TV blaring in the background, they heard Johnny Rotten’s name (Larry’s dim bulb brother-in-law). San Diego’s Channel 39 News Alive cameras were focused on an intersection in Alpine. Police were involved in a standoff with two suspects in an AMC Pacer.
“Holy shit, Denice. Look, it’s Johnny standing next to the car.”
“That looks like Shelley on the passenger side,” confirmed Denice. “Oh my God. He’s got a gun. What’s he doing?”
“Puttin’ it in his freaking mouth!” shouted Charlie in disbelief.
“It seems this man is holding himself hostage,” the anchor on TV reported.
Charlie said to Denice, “Can you do that? I mean, hold yourself hostage?”
The local newsman continued, “You saw it here first. Channel 39 News Alive at five. The suspect is pulling the trigger and...Oh, my! The gun has misfired and officers are moving in.”
“Look!” Denice exclaimed. “Shelley’s hitting the cop on the head. Oh my god. He hit her with his Billy Club” Denice and her daughter winced.
“What a dumb-ass,” Nea-Nea concluded.
“Wow, laying there like that, she kinda looks like Larry.” Charlie was laughing so hard, he thought he had wet his pants. The image of Johnny Rotten trying to smoke the business end of Charlie’s old snub-nose was hilarious.
“I’m calling Larry,” declared Charlie.
“The hell you are, Charlie DeVille,” Denice interjected.
“Aw, come on, honey.”
“This is not funny,” she said, as she tried to hold back a smile.
“Bullshit. You can’t even say that with a straight face.”
“He’s got a point, Mom,” Nea chimed in. And then turned her attention back to the TV. “Trailer park comedy at its finest.”
-- -- --
Nea-Nea drove an IROC Camaro. Being as tall as her father, along with her need to carry around a bunch of baby crap, a small economy car just would not do it. Nea was a very attractive woman, with long brown hair that could be any shade between black and dark red, depending on her love interest, financial situation, or phase of the moon.
She was also a very spiritual woman, with a charming sense of good-conquers-evil. Physically, she was very strong and well-endowed with an ample bosom, just like her mother. That, of course, brought with it the challenge of fending off jerks, which certainly, she was up for. Try some bogus pickup line that included the word tits, and you would see how fast you were introduced to the floor. Nea-Nea did not hit like a girl.
Just ask Larry.
-- -- --
Driving through the rural back streets of Jacumba with her mom and dad, looking for a car she’d loaned to a friend named Richard, Nea-Nea spotted a mobile home. It was a single-wide with a large piece of its skirt missing.
“Dad, stop the car.”
“Why?” replied Charlie, screeching to a halt.
“What is that?” asked Renae, shielding her eyes from the sun. She got out and walked over to the mobile home, stood in the front yard, then bent down to look beneath the missing mobile home skirt. To her horror, she saw a group of people lying in various positions with only inches to spare. It was at least 95° in the shade.
A woman motioned to her mouth and whispered something in a raspy voice, but no sound came out.
Nea-Nea angrily ran back to the car. “We need water. Now.” she commanded.
Charlie knew Larry used this mobile home to store his people, now that he didn’t work for Ramona anymore. Denice looked at Charlie. This was a tricky situation.
If they could see these people, so could the rest of the neighborhood. It’s one of the basic moral dilemmas of the business. Is the Border Patrol watching and baiting them? There’s no way to know. Is it better to grab these poor people and try to run? Or do you leave them to possibly dehydrate and die. Or do you turn them in to the authorities and let the law take its course?
That’s the conundrum.
“Take me to Larry’s,” said Nea-Nea angrily.
“Honey, not a good plan,” Denice replied.
“Let’s find your car first,” added Charlie.
“Fuck the car.”
Uh-oh, Charlie thought. There is the F-bomb, not a good sign. When Nea got a thorn in her paw, look out, GAR-RON-TEED. He turned to his oldest daughter and said, “Look, baby girl, I can fix this. Let me make a couple calls.”
“I’m fixing it right fucking now, Daddy. Take me to Larry’s.”
When any of Charlie’s girls, including his wife, called him Daddy or Papa, he turned to mush. He could not find no in his vocabulary anytime the request started or ended with, Daddy.
When they arrived at Larry’s, his Mustang was in the driveway. As soon as he’d stopped the car, Nea was out and through the gate. Charlie thought to himself, Dammit, here it comes.
Nea pushed the doorbell and Larry answered. He opened the door wide, with a big smile. The pervert probably thought she was there to flash him. Nea drew back her closed fist, stood firmly on Larry’s left foot, aimed for the back of his head, and punched him right in the face. Daddy smiled. He taught her the foot thing. Denice just put her head in her hands.
Captain Ugly Pants dropped like a dirt clod. His head bounced once on the linoleum. He made a kind of gurgling noise right before his eyes rolled up into his skull. Nea bent down, grabbed the front of his shirt, and started a one-way conversation, “You will get those people out from under that single-wide. You will feed them and bring them water.”
Larry o
pened one eye and looked up from his prone position in the entryway. “Bring them water NOW,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “And they had better be in L.A. by morning, asshole.”
Larry blinked his one good eye, which Nea took as a yes. She moved his arm out of the way with her foot as she reached inside the entryway, grabbed the doorknob, and closed the door.
Returning to the car she wore a smile of satisfaction for a job well done. Nea jumped in back of the Maxima and sweetly said, “Mom? Dad? Let’s go find my car.”
-- -- --
A guy named Richard Elrod, now known as ”Dick Rod,” since he’d not returned Nea’s car nor her calls, had borrowed Nea’s car. Had Dick Rod been able to see Larry at the moment, he probably would’ve been waxing the car right now in her driveway.
Dick Rod and Captain Ugly Pants were now partners. They were the exact opposite of cool in Nea’s mind. More like dumb and dumber. But it was about to get worse. Unbeknownst to the DeVille family, the reason Dick Rod had Nea’s car was because he was modifying his van to run people. Not for Ramona, but for her competition.
However, that competition didn’t include the same quality of service, or professional personnel. Some of these smugglers combined their trades. In other words, they’d offer a free ride to L.A. if you’d carry a backpack full of coke.
The backpack seemed to always arrive in San Diego. That was the easy part. However, the unsuspecting villager didn’t always make it to the Promised Land. These smugglers were ruthless and barbaric at times, so Larry and Dick Rod fit right in. Larry had stashed the group under the house and had taken the backpacks, while Dick Rod dropped them off at Duffle Bag Man’s house, near the spa.
Nea-Nea’s car was presently nextdoor at Wanda’s house. Wanda was a neighbor of Larry’s and a friend with benefits to Dick.
Dick was 5’10” with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was handsome in a Nordic sort of way. Not quite a Viking, but maybe an inbred Norseman with a little Viking blood as a result of some downhome raping and pillaging. He had a powerfully built upper torso, but he had very un-sexy bird legs. Dick always donned faded jeans and too-tight tee shirts.
Jacumba Connection Page 11