To say Nea had a bad picker, as Charlie called it, was an understatement. If she thought a guy was cute, he probably had a wart on his penis. If he was close to the Lord, chances are he read “Mein Kampf” in his spare time and probably had a swastika tattoo somewhere. Charlie and Denice constantly worried about this unexplainable phenomenon, so it was not a surprise she had gone on a date with Richard, and allowed him to borrow her car under false pretenses. She knew nothing about him, except that his parents lived in Jacumba and seemed to be nice.
Dick Rod was not so nice.
When the family found Nea’s IROC at Wanda’s, Nea was surprisingly calm. She kissed her mom on the cheek as she exited the car, turned and poked her head inside and said, “Love you guys.”
Denice said back, “Love you too, sweetie.”
Concerned, Charlie asked his daughter, “You all right, honey?”
“I’m good, Dad. Don’t trip.”
She had just knocked out a 230-pound grown man and located her stolen car. Don’t trip just didn’t cut it as far as reassurance. That was why they did not just drop her off and split. They turned the corner, stopped and made a U-turn.
As Nea’s watchful parents hung back, to her credit Nea did not even go to the door. She just jumped in her car and smoked the tires to the rims, right in front of the house. Charlie looked at Denice and said, “So I guess there won’t be a second date?”
“Ah, no. Not likely, I’m proud of her, though.”
“Right. Me, too. She knocked him smooth out. Even remembered the toe thing I showed her.”
“Jesus, Charlie, that’s not what I’m talking about. She chose not to confront him. She’s making better choices,” explained Denice.
“Hmm. Maybe. Or maybe her hand hurt,” reasoned Charlie.
“What in the hell does that have to do with choices, Charlie?”
“Well, she’s not real good with her left hand, and there’s two of them. She probably chose to wait until the swelling in her right hand went down.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me, Charlie DeVille?”
“God, you look sexy right now. Let me kiss you, sugar lips. I want you so bad right now. Take off your pants, woman.”
“Charlie, you are so full of shit.”
“Yes. No last name. Almost there.”
“You are the problem with these girls, you’re never serious. Always with the jokes.”
“Your brown eyes are so sexy with a flash of anger. Please. Take your pants off.”
“No,” defied Denice. She looked out the window, so Charlie couldn’t see her that her will was weakening. Damn you, Charlie DeVille! You really know how to charm the pants off a woman!
“My Little Lamby-Chop...Come on. Pleeeez?”
Well, that did it, the pants came off. Maybe not in the car. But for sure in the next 20 minutes, as the cabin was only 10 minutes away. Zero to hero in seconds flat.
Humor. The ultimate anger management tool.
WANDA WORLD
Chapter 15
Wanda was a whore, a smuggler, a drug dealer, and a pain in the ass. Especially to her husband, who lived and worked in Mexico. Some folks say, Dealing with Wanda is like jacking off with sandpaper.
Her M.O. was to hide people in bushes, in other people’s sheds and yards, at Larry’s place, anywhere but her house. She would do anything or anyone for money. Cash was king in Wanda’s world, and her give-a-shit switch was never engaged.
Jacumba is like any other small town USA, where gossip abounds. But unlike other places, Jacumba’s gossip does not mutate. The basic information stays the same, no matter how many times the story is told. This comes from the importance of the gossip: Who’s working for whom, who has people, guns or drugs. The Network. Everyone depends on the Network. It’s completely underground, the same today as it was 100 years ago.
In the holiday months everyone in the Cortez Cartel goes home to Mexico City. But that does not stop others who are not so organized. That means lots of opportunity for wide-open commerce, using the rumor mill to find people, snatching them with or without the knowledge of the broker. Once a coyote releases interest in the immigrants, if they are not in the protective custody of a runner or a broker, this snatch calls their family. He makes the deal, does the run and collects the cash. Life’s a Cabaret. Let’s party.
Charlie and Denice loved the party.
They were on the way to Barona Casino from Enterprise Car Rental. They stopped at home base to remove and store the back seats. They disguised the back of the SUV as a camping area, a place for them to sleep on the way to L.A. Pulling into the valet at Barona, Charlie showed his platinum card.
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. DeVille.”
The young valet did not need the card to know Charlie and Denice. He parked them in VIP, right in front. Right next to BMWs, Jaguars, and the occasional Bentley. Charlie and Denice went directly to the concierge at VIP and acquired a complimentary suite. Then on to the platinum cashier and bought $1,000 in twenty-dollar bills, with the Blazing Sevens in mind.
“What’s the horseshoe’s status?”
“It tickles right now.”
Charlie was vexed, he didn’t know if he should rush her to the Blazin’ Seven carousel or to the room. So he did the only thing that came to mind. He squeezed her ass with his right hand and blew in her ear.
“Forget it, Charlie, not now.”
Decision made. He gently guided her to the Progressive Sevens. And a good decision it was. It took less than 10 minutes of Charlie running buckets of gold coins to the cashier cage before she hit.
“Look, baby. Three flamers.”
Charlie looked up at the progressive amount that’s on top of every machine on the carousel; $1,887.
“Atta girl, baby. My little jackpot queen. Only took you six to do it. We’re way ahead.”
“As soon as the cashier pays me, let’s go up to the room. I need a shower.
“Me, too,” said Charlie.
“And room service.”
“Me, too.”
“And a massage.”
“Me, too.”
“From you,” Denice clarified.
“Oh. Oh, yeah. I’m there for you, baby.” Charlie reassured. He laced his fingers together and turned his palms out, cracking his knuckles like a boxer. “I got this.”
Denice snuggled up beside her man. “You sure do, handsome.”
-- -- --
The next morning, they woke to the sound of the hotel phone with the wake-up call. After a breakfast of Denver omelets with sourdough toast and mocha coffees, they rose to greet the day. For most people, the day was almost over at 3:45 in the afternoon. Check-out is at it 11:00 a.m., unless you’re VIP platinum, in which case check-out is when you leave. You leave in your car, with your luggage, and usually having lost all your money. Charlie and Denice left in their car with their luggage, but to their credit they made their exit with an extra thousand in cash.
By the time they reached the mountain it was almost dark. They knew in advance that Wanda had stashed two Mexican sisters in a bush on the outer edge of the town proper. Locating them turned out to be easy. Turns out the girls were afraid of the dark, so when the occasional car would go by, they would step out of the bushes.
“I think that’s them.”
“Gee, I wonder,” Charlie quipped. “Ya think? They’re covered in mud.” Charlie pulled up next to them. He stopped and they jumped right in. No “hello,” no “Are you a rapist?” No fear. They just jumped into the van. Who knows how long they had been there, it must have been a while.
Denice questioned them, “Hello, do you speak English?”
Nothing. Not even a peep.
Charlie looked over his shoulder and said, “Wanda?”
The girls nodded their heads.
“You want to see Wanda?”
They both shook their heads no. They looked over at the van door like they were going to bolt straight out of it.
Denice said, “Peg-Legs’ house is two blocks up and left. Let’s go by and see if he’s home.”
“I don’t know, babe.”
“He speaks Spanish. The checkpoint’s open anyway. At least they can clean up.”
“Okay’” Charlie agreed reluctantly “I need to call Elwood and get things queued up to run.”
“The Maxima is at the Acorn, maybe he could bring up the Ryder truck and park it in the truck parking. That way we can use it later?”
“Sounds like a plan, Pumkin, hope he answers his phone.”
“Look. Peg-Legs is home. His front door is open.”
At the sound of the van pulling in the driveway, Peg-Legs came out of the house, looking like Festis of Gunsmoke, with a straggly brown beard and longish hair. He had a pock-marked face that scared small children. His legs bowed outwards. He moseyed over to the passenger window, “Wa-wa what’s up g-g-guys?”
“Hey, Bobby. How are ya, hon?” Denice asked him. She didn’t call him Peg-Legs to his face.
“Bu-b-b-broke.”
“Well. Maybe we can fix that. We need to store these two ladies here. Can you find out where they are going and make a deal?”
“DAMMIT-dammit-Wanda’s??”
“Yup.”
“F-f-Figures. C-c-come on in.”
Have you ever heard someone stutter in Spanish? It’s damn hilarious. If you don’t understand the language, it’s even funnier. He sounded like a cockatiel with Tourette Syndrome. You needed time and patience to have a conversation with Bobby Peg Legs.
Denice always did the talking because Charlie could not keep his catalog of jokes to himself, and it’s not acceptable to make fun of the handicapped. Denice would not buy Charlie’s sophomoric logic, and neither would Nea-Nea or any other female, for that matter. Apparently, making fun of the mentally or physically challenged is a guy thing.
“I wonder. Did he stutter before they broke his legs?”
“Still not cool, Charlie DeVille.”
“Sorry.”
Bobby Peg-Legs made the call and somehow he stuttered through the deal: Three thousand dollars for both. That was a steal, since probably no money had exchanged hands yet. Most deals were C.O.D., but since they had been snatched, it’s whatever the market will bear. So Denice gave Bobby Peg-Legs a hundred-dollar bill for food and storage.
“We will be back tomorrow, hon,” she promised.
“K-k-kay, guys.”
Charlie backed out of the driveway. It was dark now and spooky. As shadows moved between the houses, and the ink-black desert swallowed up the highway ahead.
“Back to the room?” Charlie asked his wife.
“Okay.”
“Need to call Elwood, let him know to be ready to roll. We need to pick up the Maxima.”
Denice got the phone number out of her purse and dialed Elwood’s number.
Elwood answered, “Yo. Boss.”
“What ya doin’, Elwood?” asked Denice.
“Shaving my cat.” Elwood grooms his cat so that it looks like a poodle.
“That is so mean, Woody,” Denice replied, sympathetic to the cat.
“Naw. She digs it,” Elwood responded in all seriousness.
“I really doubt that, hon.”
“Hey, did you know that wherever the fur changes color, so does the skin? Puter looks like a ice-cream sandwich.” Elwood thought his cat could count, because it tapped its paw on the floor. So he called her Puter, short for Computer. But in reality the cat’s foot-tapping was probably just its spastic response to being shaved. Crazy.
Denice said to Elwood, “Stop shaving your Puter and get ready to run.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Denice looked over at her husband and said softly, “Poor Puter.”
-- -- --
Words of Wisdom by Charlie’s Dad: “Son, wisdom is what comes from making a shit-load of mistakes. Everyone makes them. However, if you make the same one twice you’re stupid.”
Don’t be stupid. Although it is hard to keep fur clean when your puppy plays in the mud.
GHOSTS AND THE CALIFORNIA HIGHWAY PATROL
Chapter 16
The sisters got to Los Angeles safe and sound, via the long way down the backside of the mountain. Elwood did a stellar job of running point to the checkpoint. He was coming from the old Desert Inn and Travel Lodge, where he had registered under Dean Martin, Tropicana Hotel, Las Vegas, Nevada. License plate number, PSY LUVR.
Charlie and Denice were on the way to Jacumba to pay Bobby Peg-Legs his cut. Being it was a moonless and cold mid-December night, the air was clear and crisp, which can make the night all that darker. Cruising slowly through this haunted murkiness, they came upon La Posta Road, located in the little town of La Posta.
La Posta Road runs parallel to old Highway 8, and is a frequented detour for runners. The town was fashioned in the style of the Alamo: white stucco dwellings, two-stories mostly. It’s one and only old hotel sported a hitching post out front, a second-story, and a Promenade-type walkway. Throw in some old rocking chairs and it looked like something from a John Wayne movie.
As they passed the hotel, Denice turned to Charlie, “Did you see that light?”
Charlie rarely missed anything these days. “Sure the hell did. What was that?”
“It looked like a ghost.”
Through the window, the bluish hue inside the room left a residual imprint on the inside of their eyelids.
“Turn around baby.”
“Already doing it.” Charlie made a U-turn. They slowly drove by the hotel again. “Okay. It looked like it came from the second window from the left.”
As they passed by a second time, the mysterious white light left a blue glow in all four windows. They were nervous and on edge anyway, just by being on the mountain after dark. That, mixed with all the stories and legends, makes the mind wander.
Denice was spooked. “That was a ghost, Charlie. Had to be.”
“Holy crap. No. Come on. It can’t be,” Charlie replied.
They made a U-turn again. The town was absolutely pitch-black. Going past the hotel, the same thing happened.
Charlie pulled the van over. “I’m checking it out.”
“You’re not leaving me alone here.”
“Come on then. Stay close.”
They slowly climbed the stairway on the side of the building. Then they rose to the veranda, very slowly and very quietly. Charlie cautiously looked around the sill of the second window to the left, when...FLASH. The light was so bright, it left a huge dot in front of his vision, around that dot, was a tripod with a motion activated 35mm Nikon.
“Shit! We gotta go!” Charlie and Denice practically jumped off the veranda and into their car. They squealed away, leaving the single eye of the camera to record history.
In this business, there are no experts, just varying degrees of ignorance. Don’t be ignorant. Don’t give the Border Patrol a face shot to match the vehicle license number.
That’s just common sense.
-- -- --
If that was not enough excitement for one night, just before the Kitchen Creek Road turn off, Charlie and Denice were pulled over by Barney Fife, of the California Highway Patrol. There is just no other way to describe this law enforcement officer. Bottom line? He was a dick in a uniform. He wore a tie around his neck to keep his uncircumcised foreskin from flying up and covering his face. This penis with feet was actually wearing his mirror aviator sunglasses at night.
“License and registration please.”
Charlie and Denice just sat there. You could not tell who he was talking to with the mirrored glasses. He slid them on his head with a two-finger gesture, reminiscent of Poncharello from the 1970’s TV show C.H.I.P.S., only this guy was white. He also had missing teeth in a rather large head. His beady little eyes burned into Charlie.
“Now, sir, identification and registration, please.”
“Zieg heil,” replied Charlie in his best German accent.
“Oh, a funnyman.”
“You are what you eat. And this woman next to me is funny as hell,” said Charlie, as he handed the officer his license and registration. Denice shot Charlie a Not now! look.
The guy glanced at Charlie’s documents. “Mr. DeVille, cut the crap. This here mountain is buzzing with assholes like you smuggling illegals. Where are your rear seats?”
“I don’t appreciate the inference, officer. My wife and I were just having a dalliance in the woods. Surely you understand.”
Barney Fife was trying to figure out what dalliance meant. “You need to rent a van for that?”
“Yes,” replied Charlie straight-faced.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Mr. Smarty Pants, I’m calling the rental company to advise them that you are smuggling aliens in their equipment.”
Charlie’s mind almost blew a breaker. While Barney dialed his cell, Charlie quietly said to his wife, “First off, my name is not, and never will be, Smarty Pants. Second, what kind of grown man uses the term Smarty Pants? Third, it’s 9:00 p.m., the rental place is closed. And there is not one alien in the back. And fourth, this is not equipment; it’s a family van. Do you see a backhoe attachment anywhere on this? That son-of-a-bitch.”
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