Jacumba Connection
Page 21
“I do.” Ramona told her.
“You do?”
“Venice Beach.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting a marriage license.”
“A real one?” asked Denice with a grin.
“He’s got some friend who has a little beach house near the boardwalk. He’s close to Ventura and Esperanza’s uncle’s house.”
“I’ll call him in a couple of days and leave a message,” said Denice.
“I can work with that,” confirmed Ramona with a smile.
Everyone gathered in the living room, taking turns giving Eskimo kisses to the baby. Handshakes all around, and hugs for the ladies with a promise of phone calls and updates.
Jorge looked at Charlie, extended his right hand, and said, “We’re cool?”
“Definitely cool,” replied Charlie.
“Just doing my job, señor.”
“Right. Just doin’ your job.”
“See you, gringo,” said Jorge with a smile.
“Back at ya, vato,” replied Charlie with his own smirk.
In this business respect is rarely given by proxy. It’s earned the old-fashioned way. But it seems Santino’s telling of the events of the last 24 hours left an impression on the toughest of the tough, that being a fifty-year-old Latin King.
-- -- --
Rolling down Interstate 15 South, Charlie and Denice were uncharacteristically quiet. Each processing the events of the last forty-eight hours. Maybe a little shell shocked from bringing a new life into the world and a new family to L.A. Proud but tired.
Denice smiled at her husband. “Let’s check into the new Hotel at Pala Casino. Give it the once over.”
“Take room service for a test drive?”
“I’m exhausted. It’s been a brutal couple of days.”
“I kinda got my second wind, honey,” said Charlie playfully.
“Yeah, I don’t know...”
“What? No slap and tickle?”
“No slap. For sure no tickle.”
-- -- --
The Pala Indian Hotel Resort and Casino is in a beautiful little valley, green and lush. Small lakes join the edge of the road, and the actual reservation itself could be easily missed, but not the 10-story, gold, glass hotel and spa. Dee checked in while Charlie valet parked and supervised the bellman. God help them both should her comfy pillows or a piece of luggage get misplaced.
They went straight to their room, then straight to the shower, then straight to bed. And amazingly, then straight to sleep.
-- -- --
Bright white sunshine cut through the heavy curtains, and reflected off of the flat screen TV. Charlie looked at the digital clock next to the phone. It was 11 a.m. the next day. They had slept for 18 hours. “Baby, you awake?” asked Charlie.
“I am now.”
“It’s tomorrow.”
Dee rose right up out of bed, and said, “What?”
“Remember, we were going to nap, then hit the casino?”
“I remember.”
“Well. It’s the next day,” explained Charlie, as he opened the curtains.
“No way!” said Denice in disbelief. “I’m starving. Let’s go to the café.”
“No. Room service,” Charlie countered.
“I’m hungry now.” Denice insisted.
Of course, Dee won out, so they got dressed. Charlie put on his signature black Justin pointed-toe boots, black boot-cut Levi’s, and black leather belt below a sleeveless shirt that read, Get more ass than a toilet seat.
When Denice saw his shirt her face fell. “Dammit Charlie, take that off.”
“Why?”
“Because people will think I’m a tramp, it’s just gross.”
Charlie smiled and asked, “How’s the shoe?”
“Couldn’t find it with both hands and a compass right now. I’m in a coma. My husband looks like an idiot. I think I’m going to cry.”
Needless to say, Charlie was wearing Hugo Boss with a silk undershirt by the time they walked into the café. After having eggs benedict they were ready to lose every freakin’ penny they earned in the last 48 hours. And did. It was like stubbing your toe a hundred times on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. You get pissed off with every step, but you still have to pee.
A Byzantine Roman named Petronius once said, “Moderation, in all things including moderation.”
But an even smarter fellow, Charlie’s dad, once said to Charlie, “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Charlie considered his ass whooped as he stared at the ATM screen. He looked at Dee. “Spent all our cash. If we hit that button we’re going backwards.”
“The shoe’s pooped,” Denice said.
Charlie replied, “Good one, baby-cakes.”
“I miss Kenny Rogers.”
“He’s hard to miss, what with all that cosmetic surgery, and all.” Charlie was ever the smartass, even when the chips were down.
“No, I mean I’m comfy there.”
Denice said the word ‘comfy’ with her bottom lip pouted out, looking at her man underneath her left eyebrow, head slightly cocked to one side.
After three lowball, five-dollar tips they were done and on the run. Pulling into Platinum Club Valet, Denice looked at Charlie with a smile. “I need a shower. A steak. A beer and my blankee, in that exact order.”
BEEN FOOLED OR JUST BEING ONE?
Chapter 26
“Woodmeister, what the hell ya doin?” Charlie said into the phone. “Where you at, young man?”
“After close examination, I believe I’m in the lobby. Couldn’t find you down in VIP,” replied Elwood.
“We’re in room 401, come on up.”
Elwood was at the door in his 501s and t-shirt, sleeves rolled up. Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Charlie mused. “Are you hungry?”
“Always.”
“Me, too. Hungry like a hostage.”
“Should I call down and order some club sandwiches?” asked Denice.
“Yeah and some sweet tea,” replied Elwood.
Charlie chimed in, “This ain’t Alabama, cuz.”
“It’s just sugar, man. What? Ya-all don’t put sugar in your tea?”
“We don’t drink tea. Next you’ll want a Mint Julep or some sissy drink like that. Christ.”
“That’d be awesome,” Elwood mused.
Denice asked as she pulled a six-pack out of the mini-fridge, “How bout some Rolling Rock pale ale?”
“Good call, babe. When we want a Mint Julep we’ll send Junior here to Disneyland.”
Elwood’s eyes beamed. “That would be so cool, maybe for my honeymoon.”
“Yeah. What’s the deal with that?”
Denice set the phone down after ordering three clubs, six beers, and potato salad, and asked, “Set a date yet, hon?”
“Naw.” Elwood took a beer from Denice and twisted the cap off the bottle. “Need to make some money and Espy’s got to be in school. Her uncle’s a pretty stubborn man.”
“Sounds like he’s smart,” Denice replied.
Looking uncharacteristically serious, Elwood took a swig of beer as he shifted awkwardly in his chair. Then thought, screw it. He smiled hugely and looking at both of them announced, “I got a freakin’ brilliant idea I want to run past you.”
Charlie smiled, “I knew I smelled something burning.”
“Got a friend who works at a nursery. Delivers trees in a box truck, takes the truck home on the weekends.” Excited now, trying to talk with a mouth full of Rolling Rock, he choked, swallowed, banged a closed fist on his chest, belched like a sailor and continued. “Got a big graphic thing on the side, you know. Like Shmoz Tree Farm, or some shit.”<
br />
“Go on. I’m listening.”
“Anyway. When you roll up the big door all you can see is trees and bushes. Man, you could hide a gang of people back there as big as Tijuana, they’d have to unload a ton of trees just to get to them.”
Charlie and Denice glanced at each other, then she smiled at Woody. The young man could tell his mentors were impressed. He stuck out his chest with pride.
“Genius,” proclaimed Charlie.
Elwood agreed, “Yup.”
“I’m thinking, T-shirts and cargo shorts. The Full Monty,” said Denice
Elwood added, “Full Monty. Don’t that mean naked?”
“He’s right, hon. We should wear pants.”
Denice mused, “Speak for yourselves.” But her mind was reeling with ideas for disguises, right down to the gloves. Going for the feng shui feel of it. She could visualize the whole scenario. The idea had a certain Je ne sais quoi to it.
Charlie disrupted her train of thought. “Smells like a money-maker, little brother.”
“Don’t it, though?” agreed Elwood.
“Is there any problem using that truck over the weekend?”
“Hell, no. Nothing a couple hundred dollars won’t fix.”
“Where’s this guy live?”
“El Cajon.”
“Perfect.”
After a while in this business, you develop a void where your adrenaline glands used to be. It’s a bonus, because Border Patrol Agents are trained to recognize any kind of nervousness, prone to be displayed on people’s faces when they’re doing something illegal. If they don’t perceive guilt, you don’t show guilt. If your ‘give a shit’ is broke, you’re probably good to go.
-- -- --
Ramona answered the phone on the third ring. Knowing it was Denice, she picked up and said, “Good afternoon, girlfriend. All rested up?”
“I believe so.”
“What’s the good word?”
“Six to eight.”
“Excellent. I’ll call you.”
“Bye, now.”
-- -- --
Camacho’s phone rang. “Bar and grill,” he slurred.
“It’s me,” said Ramona. “How’s it going there?”
“Hot. Sandy. Pokey. Itchy and poisonous.”
“How’s Pelón?”
“Half blind and all the way bald,” said Camacho without missing a beat.
Ramona rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Eight for the great white hope.”
“Eight?”
“Si.”
“They must have some crazy shit planned.”
“Two days?” asked Ramona.
“Yeah, I think so. Let me check with Lon Chaney behind the bar.”
-- -- --
Denice bought cargo shorts and beige golf shirts at Banana Republic. Charlie waited on a bench in the mall, pretending like he was not looking at all the beautiful California girls. He tried to hold up the pretense that he was not a sexist pig. Which he was not. But he wasn’t dead either.
“Let’s go down to the T-Shirt Hut and get these lettered,” Denice said to Charlie.
“You need a bodyguard and escort? Lots of beautiful people around.”
“You noticed?”
“Part of my job, ma’am,” kidded Charlie. “Vigilance.”
“Really. Your zipper’s down, hotshot.”
“Dammit!” Charlie scrambled to pull it up.
After “West Coast Landscapes” was applied to the shirts and shorts, Dee promptly made some additional modifications to her uniform. She made the shorts shorter and the shirt a little tighter. Big chest, small sweater creates illusion, delusion, and BP confusion.
-- -- --
Elwood waited at Nea’s house. “Mom and Dad should be here for dinner,” Nea told him.
“Okay, I just came a little early to hang with the little guy,” Elwood said, referring to Brandt.
“He’ll love that.”
Elwood. Uncle Woody. Male influence extraordinaire – he had no problem driving Tonka trucks through mud puddles, as he (Uncle Woody, that is) had no problem sitting right in the middle of mud puddles. He also loved pushing Brandt all over the place on the toddler’s Big Wheel while making stupid motorcycle noises, and basically spitting all over the back of Brandt’s head. When Woody was done hanging out with the little guy, everybody needed a bath.
The sun had gone down, and crickets and katydids competed in the chaotic night air. Insects buzzed around the meticulously placed streetlights. Summer was around the corner, but only just.
Inside the Live Oak Inn Restaurant, the mood was jovial. It was a good crowd for Thursday night. Word was starting to get around downtown San Diego about Ron and Lily’s little resort and restaurant.
That evening the din of conversation, clinking of glasses, and the occasional laughter warmed Denice’s heart. “This is nice,” she said to no one in particular, even though Charlie was sitting next to her.
“Good to see things are busy,” Charlie added.
“Not too busy. I like the solitude of weekdays,” Denice confessed.
Lily sauntered up to the table with a twinkle in her eye. “So. You went legitimate?” she asked, referring to the landscaping business uniforms.
Charlie replied, “Too legit to quit.”
“Landscaping? Please.” Lily wasn’t buying it.
“You think I don’t have a license to drive a shovel?”
“Let me see your fingernails?” asked Lily wryly.
“No,” replied Charlie hiding his hands.
She looked at Denice and pointed to Charlie. “What a wuss.”
“Remind me to dig a hole, Dee,” said Charlie with a straight face.
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” To Lily, he added, “Thanks, sweetheart. Your little jab probably kept me out of jail.”
The little things. Yes, it’s the little things that trained eyes don’t miss, like landscapers with manicured nails.
Dumb-ass.
-- -- --
Wiley had eight men under the Bridge of Sighs just outside Jacumba. The bridge hides many things at night, not just humans. It sighs in frustration, because so many have become “Shadow People” as the Kumeyaay Shamans used to describe them. Walking shadows. Shine a light, and they disappear. Move the light away, and they’re back. At the Border Patrol shift change, Wiley would move these particular shadows to his cousin’s house.
-- -- --
“This is the most gutless piece of shit I’ve ever encountered in all my days.” Charlie was foot-to-the-floor, pedal-to-the-metal in an Isuzu tilt-cab diesel box truck. Pulling a little six-foot trailer with a lawnmower, a weed-wacker, and miscellaneous “landscaping equipment.”
The two had stopped at Nursery Land and spent about $300 on six-foot bushes, three of which were in cedar containers that looked extremely heavy. But in actuality they were not too heavy to move aside.
“God help us if we need to outrun somebody,” said Charlie as they climbed the steep grade to Nea’s house.
“You mean like a tortoise?” Denice added.
“Hey, babe, since we have all this time on our hands, call Elwood for me, would ya?”
“Okay.” Denice rummaged around for her phone in her purse that doubled as a small bedroom closet. “It’s in here somewhere.”
“Love your uniform,” complimented Charlie.
“You do?” she eagerly replied with a coy little smile.
“Those shorts would give a dead man an erection.”
Shoulder-deep into the black hole of a purse she replied, “Thank you. I think.”
“No. Thank you.” He leered. “I have an idea. Let’s pull off the road, and
jump in the bushes.” Charlie pointed with his thumb behind him.
“Look! Found it!” she said, holding up her phone.
“So?” he said as he stared at her cleavage.
“You said you wanted to call Woody.”
“Oh, yeah. You were digging around in that sack of a purse for so long I can’t remember why I wanted to talk to him.”
“Probably to tell him to pick us up at the Acorn? And that you’re going to park in the truck stop.”
“Oh. Right. And then the bushes?” Charlie asked.
“No!” she said annoyed. But then demurely added a second later, “Well, maybe...”
-- -- --
It was almost dark when they crawled out of the bushes and jumped back into the cab of the truck. Charlie thought Denice would look good in a pith helmet right about now. He chuckled at the idea of big-game hunting in a small truck.
Denice was in the front seat looking in the side mirror, pulling leaves and debris out of her hair.
“You’re an animal, Mr. DeVille,” she chided playfully.
“You are what you eat.”
“Speaking of which, are you going to buy a girl dinner, maybe a drink? Our little safari has left me famished.”
“Yes, I believe that’s a bushman’s custom. Or so I’m told.”
Charlie handed her a cigarette and flick-click-flame, she had a lit Marlboro Red in no time, all while brushing leaves out of the back of Dee’s hair with his left hand. “You know how much I love you?”
“Right back at you, big fella,” said Denice with a smile of gratitude.
“Adventure keeps love alive.”
“And my man satisfied.”
“There’s a song in there somewhere.”
They got out of the truck and hand-in-hand strode to the side entrance of the Acorn, where he held the door for her. “Do you know where we could find a pith helmet?”
“A what?”
-- -- --
Inside Charlie talked to Elwood on the courtesy phone, so their conversation had to remain fairly generic and cryptic.
“Elwood.”
“Hey, boss.”
“Look, I’m calling from the Acorn so listen up. Keep both phones on [which means the radio too], and we’ll be done here around 11:30 [in other words, ready to roll at the BP shift change]. Dee will check in by phone about the grandkid – so stay put until you hear from us and we’re ready to roll.”