The Truck Comes on Thursday

by Sue Hardesty

  "Keep it up, and I'll sic Coco on you." Upstairs, she opened the door to a brown, wiggling, wooly mass that nearly knocked her down pushing at her. She calmed Coco down as they came back downstairs and wandered in to talk to her uncle. "How come you didn't farm this land?"

  Uncle Herm closed his ledger. "My dad said, 'Son, you're too small to pull a plow and too big to ride it. Not coordinated enough to be a cowboy. And you hate to dig. Best make your way somehow else with those aeroplanes you're so crazy about.' So when Pa died, he willed the ranch house and Taylor grazing to your dad and the section next to town to me. He gave Kirk the mining rights. That's all he wanted to do anyway. Did good, too, with the Haley mine."

  Loni added, "Made him rich enough to be a Butt Hiller."

  Her uncle nodded in agreement. "The old man left me enough money to build the runway and hangar. Found investors to build the airpark houses. Airfield fee pays for it. Built that loft over the offices for overnight stays when someone has to."

  "I don't remember most of this," Loni confessed.

  "Kids don't," he said reassuringly. "The old man always said nobody's worth a shit until they're at least thirty-five years old."

  Loni laughed. "Got a few years to go, but I'm working on it."

  "You grew up the hard way. It'll either help or harm. It helped you. Anyhow, you came home to care for family."

  "Hope I came soon enough. Shiichoo isn't good."

  "How come you're not living at home?"

  Loni paused. "Knew I'd be in and out at all hours. Shiichoo would do her best to keep up with me, and that's the last thing she needs. Between you and me? Even though I get lonely, I can use some down time."

  "I get that. Well, your granddad and I arranged it. Thank him. ‘Sides, keeps Mae's nephew, Junior, from asking to move in here all the time. I worry about kids wandering the hangar at all hours and the party mess up there."

  Loni smiled to herself. She'd picked up more than a few condoms and empty junk food packages cleaning up the place.

  "Anyway, I was planning on hiring security. You're it now." Uncle Herm hung his head. "Truth is, I wasn't able to give you a home when you were a kid, Mae sick and all. Least I can do is give you one now."

  At a loss for an answer, Loni said, "I don't remember you ever talking so much at one time."

  "What? Don't think I know how?"

  "Well, yes."

  Uncle Herm laughed. "You haven't been around that much to watch Mae train me. She talks all the time and makes me answer."

  "Do you really listen to her all the time?"

  "Well, I try." Ducking his head, he admitted, "It only matters if she thinks so."

  "No shit!" Loni laughed, grateful to be around her uncle again.

  * * *

  Upstairs, Coco tilted her head to one side and crossed her front legs as she watched Loni. After she fed Coco, Loni opened the fridge and grabbed a couple of tamales to eat while she read her grandfather Wagner's history, reminding herself once again to get to the library.

  My campfire is gettin' dimmer.

  I believe it is best for me my life started a quarter mile above the Caliente School and store in August of 1909. It was a year before the first railroad came in and three years before Arizona became a state. I'm sure that being born in territory inspired my life. I was my own king and jury, and for sure my own council.

  The wild horse will be remembered by the few and he is becoming the few more and more. The dust we saw made by them from miles off has mostly settled. I say with reverence that a few of us that have rode upon a ridge to look down at a band, with their unspoiled poise and beauty, of perfect strength and freedom, you mite feel a closer touch with the divine than you've ever known before. After you have been out there around many campfires over many years, then it would grow on you, you belonged. You would feel the freedom as you watched them vanish over the skyline.

  In this country for miles, the buracrats and cowmen have used every method to destroy the wild horse and the jackass. It's all been done to save the grass and browse for the cow and the deer they believed. Since they are mostly gone, I haven't seen the cow any fatter nor any cowman get richer, nor the deer count any greater.

  I regret I saw the Indian become dominated and mostly sent to the reservations in such a rude and crude style. Then the Cavalry could toot their horns louder and was to benefit the supplier to replenish his larder much on the cost-plus style as the government paid the bill. Many Indians drifted back to their brush and mud huts and a few horses. I'm proud I knew many of them and used their advice on how to hunt and trap and how to survive on the fruits only our God had planted and the wild meats he had created.

  Loni sat the notebook down to fill her can with more iced tea. She loved reading how her dad's side lived. She was glad he cared about her Indian side, but she had to wonder what he thought of his oldest son marrying an Indian. She took a long drink and picked up the notebook again.

  I saw the coming of the automobile and many of us regret the passing of the far western years as it drastically changed from good to bad to worse a lifestyle of too much hustle and bustle and many good medicines left with the pot they boiled them in.

  I'll not linger along writen of the farms. Around 80 percent of the farms that I know about on the lower Phoenix valley floor was lost to the mortgage holders. Even some farmers had got them as a gift. After foreclosures I saw good, old, sound, and at one time, proud families leave there the best way they could. It sure wasn't in a new wagon or new car.

  She thought about Carl and the ranch he could no longer run. Were all the ranches doomed to fail? Loni carefully placed the notebook back in the pile and put the boot box under her desk. Pulling out her computer, she wrote to Sandi.

  FROM: Loni Wagner

  TO: Sandi@gmailyahoo.com

  DATE: July 7

  SUBJECT: Still not looking

  My uncle gave me some notebooks written by both my grandparents on the Wagner side. I nearly cried reading a little bit of it. My grandfather was remembering better times. I've been there.

  As to work, looks like we got a meth lab here. If that wasn't bad enough, somebody's cutting the meth with ricin that's killing people. Why would anybody mix ricin with meth? Sheetrock dust would be easier to get. Anybody working with castor beans knows it's poison. Just how close is a castor bean farm? Some people say they grow like a weed in the Southwest, but I don't remember ever seeing any.

  And the plane crash case has to be related. Drug residue in a plane, pilot murdered, bunches of money, people dying from ricin poisoning, angry widows. So many loose ends and every time I turn around, I find another one. Like today. I found a dead man with a butt-load of Sudafed in his spare tire and doors. And he might be connected to my friend, Carl, because he was coming out of Carl's place. I asked him about it, and he said his renters told him they had seen a travel trailer between his place and Bahb's. Carl said he checked it out and the trailer was gone. Guess I'll go out there when I can and see for myself.

  But what bothers me most is the total quiet around Rene's plane. Not a word about anything. I would really like to be finding my shooter, but I feel a cover up is going on so thick I can't see through it.

  Love to you et al.

  Loni

  Loni was in a soft dream about Maria when the alarm jerked her awake. She almost threw the damned clock across the room.

  CHAPTER 8

  July 8, 12:05 a.m.

  LONI IRONED THE CLEAN uniform her Grandma had washed for her and slowly dressed, reluctant to move into the dark. She lifted her gun belt from the chair back and strapped it on, pulling suspenders over both shoulders to hold it up. Thirty pounds got heavy fast. She checked the two extra gun magazines, her microphone for the mobile camera in the SUV, the collapsible baton, two pairs of handcuffs, two flashlights, a canister of pepper spray, and her taser, making sure they were secure. Untangling the wire, she fastened a shoulder microphone for the police radio to her collar. Last, she grabbed her b
adge out of an old ceramic ashtray. It was shaped like the inside of a smoker’s black lung, and she kept it sitting on the table as a reminder to never smoke again.

  Coco lay against the door, watching Loni's every move. Loni remembered the game Coco and Maria played before they left for work. Every morning, Maria would hide a baggie from the small batches of drugs she kept in the freezer. "Find!" Maria would order her. Coco frantically searched, returned with the baggie, and gently dropped it into Maria's hand before she leaned against the door again. Desolate, Loni pushed away the memories as she rubbed Coco's head on their way out of the door, locking it behind her.

  At the station, Bobby was waiting for her. "Chief said for you to use this map tonight." Bobby handed Loni a flyer with the map.

  "And do what?" Loni studied it.

  "Damned if I know. Bring in illegals?"

  "Sure. They're going to stand in the road, waiting for me to arrest them."

  Bobby rubbed the thinning blond hair on top of his head. "Sometimes Chief's a serious fuckface. Did you hear about when he went after this black guy who didn't move his tractor out of his way fast enough?"

  "Do I want to hear this?"

  Bobby leaned forward on the counter. "He got out of his car and pointed his gun, hollering at the guy to move. But the gun scared the crap outta the poor man, so he jumped off the tractor and ran out into the desert with Chief right behind him."

  "Well?"

  Bobby chuckled at Loni's scowl. "Thought you didn't want to hear this story."

  "Bobby! What'd Chief do?"

  "Don't know. Didn't find Chief until the next day, sittin' under a desert willow, a very thirsty man with an empty gun in his hand. That dude was never seen again."

  Loni winced. "That's not funny, Bobby. About tonight? Don't call me, I'll call you."

  "You wish!" Bobby chortled as Loni turned away.

  Slowly, walking out the door, Loni studied the flyer getting more and more pissed. Arizona Desert Invasion, it said.

  Mexican drug rings and 'coyotes' bring in 75% of all illegal drugs sold in U.S.

  Coyotes charge up to $5,000 for each illegal.

  More than one million people cross each year and leave eight million pounds of trash, killing animals, and polluting the land.

  Illegals send $16 billion back to Mexico.

  1.5 million illegals in our schools cost about $7,000 each.

  Last year, 800 illegals were found dead in the desert.

  Hunt These People Down!

  Loni shook her head rereading the last line. Hunt These People Down! Well, shit, what are they? Goddamn animals? She crumpled the flyer into a ball and threw it as far as she could. So they're better off dead? Loni thought angrily. Miles down the road she was still trying to chill out, but it didn't work. Just numbers, she sputtered to herself. Nobody cared. Eight-hundred dead in one year.

  This flyer would horrify Maria. She had a warm smile for everyone and a hug for people even if she'd just met them. Homeless, hookers, druggies, and dealers — they all knew her and she knew them by name. She'd give them a ride to the clinic or shelter, a warm coat or shoes. Loni didn't care that they never had any money left over at the end of the month. Not when Maria turned those huge, imploring brown eyes on her. Loni knew she had to do something. Maria would expect it.

  * * *

  It was another deadly slow night. Only a quarter full, the moon didn't give enough light to see in the desert shadows, and her headlights hit a black wall just yards ahead. She wandered desert trails, stopping frequently to shine a spot on a barrel cactus or greasewood. "What do you think, Coco? Anybody out there?"

  She didn't expect to find anybody. Illegals on foot avoided roads and towns, looking for work on the farms if they could reach them. They would avoid her police car too. Every night, she thought, somebody she couldn't help was out there suffering.

  * * *

  Loni couldn't see the dust storm, but she could smell it heavy in the air. She drove up to the top of Caliente Butte, watching for the first signs of the blowing dirt. Sniffing the slight breeze, she hoped she wasn't imagining the coolness crossing her face. Lightning flared across the northern sky over the freeway. She was watching for the direction of the flashes when a row of lights popped up far in the distance over toward her grandpa's place. A runway? But where?

  Her SUV was crawling back off the butte toward town when she heard the call she dreaded. "Freeway pileup. Seven cars so far, no casualties they know of."

  "I'm on my way, but it'll be a bit."

  "You got time," Bobby answered. "Caller from a car in the middle of the tangle says dust is really thick."

  * * *

  Bobby called again as she moved traffic around the wrecker hauling away the last of the stranded cars from the freeway pileup. "Illegals at Milepost 56. Need transport."

  "How do you know they're illegals?"

  "Caller said, 'Mexicans heading north.' You think?"

  "Gee, Bobby, sounds like profiling to me."

  "Loni, I saw how you reacted to the flyer. You be careful. If there is a coyote, bring him in, you hear?"

  "Catching coyotes is the second best thing I love to do."

  "I know, I know. You hate domestics, bar fights, coyotes, and drug traffickers. Around here, what else is there?"

  "Can't you ever give me a plain ol' drunk?"

  "There's no such thing as justice, Loni. Deal with it."

  As the last of the tow trucks rolled toward Caliente, Loni sped down Old Highway 85 toward a huge thunderhead. Flashes of lightning snaking down to the desert floor outlined the outer shell of black churning clouds, displaying everything like an old time movie just out of sync. She slowed when she saw headlights ahead, cocked at an angle that reached out into the desert. Stopping the SUV, she sat for a minute and counted three men. One of them had his arm around a young woman who was snuggling a baby. The other two sat at the side of the road staring back. The pickup was stuck off the road in sand. Loni wondered why the people hadn't scattered with the dust.

  Drawing her gun, Loni stayed in the dark behind her open door, signaling Coco to search. She heard whispered chatter that she couldn't quite follow, and a wet nose nudged her open palm. Ordering Coco to guard, she walked behind them asking for legal papers. All she got was shaking heads. She handcuffed the men and started her search with the woman. She figured they were just looking for work, but she needed to be careful.

  She continued her search with the man next to the woman, wishing she could help them find work and a place to stay. All she found was a switchblade. No ID. She stuck the knife in her pocket, waiting for a reaction, but didn't get one until she got to the third man. He must have been the coyote. The oldest of the group, he was also the most hostile. As his muscles tensed in attack mode, Loni shoved him face first against the SUV. He had a knife in his boot and a slip of paper in his shirt pocket with Chui's phone number. Well, shit.

  Squatting down, Loni dug through the diaper bag. It held three cloth diapers, one empty bottle, a small box of dry formula, and two baby tops. It wasn’t much for a long trip. She stuck her finger in the box and tasted it for drugs.

  Loni motioned the illegals into the back of her SUV, the coyote last, and locked them in before she searched the truck. The flashing cracks of lightning and booming of the thunderhead hurried her along. There were no drugs, water, or food. That's why they didn't run. They couldn't get far on foot, which means they weren't close enough to their destination to run. Maybe the coyote would talk.

  The storm traveled fast as it passed over them and dropped gallons of water on the road, slowing her down to a crawl as she drove to Caliente. The clouds nearly touched the earth in front of her. In spite of the rain, patches of dust hung in the air as she drove into the darkened town, headlights revealing shiny wet streets covered with scattered debris. A tin roof rested on the courthouse lawn. Part of a wood fence blocked the middle of the street. Using all four spotlights to help her dodge around pieces of fence and tree
limbs, Loni realized this was more than a dust storm, maybe even a small twister. That would be a first. She bounced her lights along on the buildings as she approached the station. The bell tower from the Catholic church was gone.

  Using her flashlight, she herded her prisoners into the police station, relieved to see the red glow of the emergency lights. With Bobby's help, she locked them in the holding cells just as the sky brightened in the blood red breaking dawn.