by Nancy Cupp
She gathered as much as she could, stuffing it in the pillow case and her duffle bag. She took one last look around and noticed Joyce’s pictures and Purple Heart. She slid them in her pocket. Rosa’s compact was already there. She took it out and looked at the number still scratched on the surface of the powder. I’m sorry Rosa, she thought, maybe if I leave it someone will call the number. She carefully placed the compact in one of the drawers.
Bruce started the old Mack and listened to it run for a moment. The windshield was cracked and the paint faded from the hot Mexican sun, but it sounded good. The fenders vibrated like crazy, but they held together when he put it in gear. “We’re in luck, there’s a full tank of fuel, at least now we’ll have enough cash to make it home.”
The truck rode rough and stank of cigars. Margret leaned against the door with the pillow stuffed under her head and fell asleep.
20
Family Ties
Carlos sat with his back against the wall of the bare room. A single wooden chair and table stood in the middle of the cell. Somehow it felt better to sit on the floor, less like he was being watched and interrogated. At least he had water and was out of the sun. He took another sip, it was his third bottle. He needed sleep, but none would come.
Keys clattered against the door-knob, and two men came in. Carlos was on his feet in a flash. He recognized one of the men from their talk earlier, the other was dressed in a casual suit, not a uniform. They addressed him in Spanish.
“Carlos Morales?”
“Sí.”
“I’m William Barone, I work for the FBI. Officer Jenkins tells me you have a connection to Ramos Santos.” Someone carried in two folding chairs, and placed them by the table.
“Sí, he’s my wife’s father.”
“Please have a seat. When did you speak to him last?”
“I only met him and his wife once, about five years ago. I was there to take their daughter on a date—our first real date.”
“Are you aware of Mr. Santos’s occupation?”
“Sí, I didn’t know then, I only knew she lived in a big house, they were well off.”
“How much do you know about what happened to him and his wife?”
“Almost nothing, only what Rosa told me. Rosa was still young, only fifteen, when they disappeared. She had nowhere to go, no relatives—she came to me for help. She’s been searching for them since they didn’t come home from a week-end vacation. We were married just this year because she wanted to wait until she found them. She has almost given up hope.”
“What do you know about the man they call Machete?”
“I went to school with him. His name is Raúl Perez. He was always trouble back then, I didn’t hang with him. Most guys that did, didn’t finish high school. He dropped out before graduation.”
“But you encountered him recently and he’s looking for you?”
“Sí, like I said, my wife is still looking for her parents. We went for a hike up near the abandoned mine by Ciudad Juárez. Mostly it was a picnic. We were celebrating—she just found out she’s pregnant.” Carlos had to take a few moments before he could continue. “We saw some men with rifles, not hunting rifles. We turned around right away, but they fired at us. Machete saw me when we were driving away.”
“And your wife has crossed the border?”
“I hope so. I paid a man to take her across. I had to keep her safe.”
The interrogation continued for an hour. When they finally quit asking him questions Carlos started to ask a few of his own.
“Has my wife been caught at the border? Has she been sent back to Mexico?”
“We have no record of your wife crossing at all. She may have used another name. Who was this man that took her across?”
“I don’t know. My cousin, Enrico, set it up for us. I trust him. He gave me some money to pay for the crossing.”
“Where is Enrico now?”
“I’m not sure. I think—he left me a message to meet him at the Sandbox. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but then I remembered we used to play in the sand, dirt really, at Agua Prieta, where our fathers worked in the mine. Nothing’s there now, but I think that’s where he went. I think Machete got to him too and he’s hiding. There used to be some shacks where we lived when we were kids.”
The interrogators left the room and had a conference. There was a long debate among them arguing if Carlos knew more than he was telling. Officer Jenkins said, “He wouldn’t have mentioned Enrico Morales if he knew about his connections with the sex trafficking trade. He sure as hell wouldn’t have sold his own wife.”
“But what about the fact he was heading for Agua Prieta? He must know about the tunnels there,” said Mr. Barone.
“I think Enrico was luring him in. He left just enough information so he wouldn’t be suspicious. He doesn’t seem to know Ramos Santos is dead,” said Jenkins.
“We do have the connection with the women recovered from the prostitution ring in Nevada. Mrs. Santos said Enrico Morales helped her to find passage across, before she was sold into the trade. She didn’t mention Carlos. I don’t think she even knows him. She doesn’t know her daughter is married.”
“Can we question her again? Find out what she knows about Carlos?”
“Absolutely. Let’s set it up as soon as we can. Maybe we can nail this trafficking ring. We need to keep Carlos in custody as long as we can; it’ll give him protection for now. I want this Enrico Morales.”
21
Into the Fire
The sun beat in the windows of the old Mack. Bruce fiddled with the air conditioner but only succeeded in getting it to blow hot air. The speed limit wasn’t an issue any more. He couldn’t get more than fifty-two miles per hour out of engine unless they were coasting down hill.
Margret gave up trying to sleep. She held the pillow on her lap for a while, but then added it to the pile of stuff heaped between the seats. With both windows rolled down, the wind whipping through the cab was deafening. An occasional squawk broke through crackling static when the radio managed to pick up a station momentarily, punctuated by Bruce’s fist thumping on the dash for fine tuning.
“We’re gonna have to stop in Barstow. I gotta get something cold to drink,” said Bruce above the din.
“This won’t be so bad once the sun goes down. It feels like somebody’s holding a magnifying glass on us.”
Bruce skillfully avoided a large chunk of rubber laying on the highway. “See if you can find something to hang in the back window. It feels like I’m getting a sun-burn on the back of my neck. Maybe that’ll keep it cooler in here.”
Margret dug out a carton from a twelve pack of Coke. She carefully flattened it out and wedged it behind the back of Bruce’s seat and the window. She sifted through the litter on the floor at her feet but couldn’t find anything big enough for her side.
“Thanks, that helps a lot. Maybe you could stuff the pillow behind the seat on your side.”
They rode without saying much, the cab was too noisy. Bruce took the exit at Barstow. He found a parking spot at the Flying J and they went in to rest in the coolness of the store. Bruce bought a couple of hot dogs and some chips that they ate in the TV room. They sipped cold soda from extra large plastic cups filled with ice.
“I need a refill, want me to fill yours too?” Margret asked, standing up.
“Sure,” Bruce gave her his cup and continued to watch a re-run on TV.
Margret filled both cups with more ice and soda and returned to her seat, handing him his.
“I thought maybe you’d bolt,” he said, taking a long sip.
“Too hot. Where would I go? There’s nothing but desert out there.”
He nodded and finished his hot dog. “Good choice. Think you can drive that beast? It’s a thirteen speed.”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“It’s the same basic shifting pattern, just two extra gears in the middle.”
When they got back to the truck it was hotter th
an ever in the cab. They both groaned as heat enveloped them. Margret adjusted her mirrors and made an entry in her log-book. “It’s too damn hot to do a pre-trip. This thing’s either gonna run or it’s not.”
Bruce smiled, “Now you’re talkin’ like a truck driver.”
“You want to put air in that tire?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. Come on Rover, let’s see how you run.”
“What did you say? Rover?”
“Yeah, there’s a dog on the front,” she pointed to the hood ornament, “I call him Rover.”
Bruce laughed, “What ever you say.”
She put the truck in gear and headed out to the highway, eager to get air flowing through the windows again. “Huh, the edges must be all worn off of these gears. I didn’t grind at all,” she said with surprise.
“I think you’re getting the hang of it.”
“Maybe.” She looked at the gear pattern etched on the gearshift knob to reaffirm where the next gear was. The truck protested a little as she worked to discover how to get those middle slots.
“Don’t try so hard, just let go of the shifter for a second, it will line itself up with where it needs to go next. Watch out for that ‘gator,” Bruce indicated another chunk of tire laying in the road.
Margret checked the mirrors and switched lanes to avoid it. She took Bruce’s advice and the shifter slid smoothly into place. The air blowing in the windows helped, but it was still blast-furnace hot. Bruce tried to get comfortable enough to take a nap, but only managed to rest his eyes a little.
Open desert stretched as far as they could see on both sides of the highway. Not a speck of shade, or anything more than a few bare, crispy desert plants anywhere for miles. Margret downshifted on a long grade. The truck labored to maintain forty-five miles per hour on the hill.
A loud bang caused both of them to jump in their seat. Wide-eyed, Margret struggled to decide what she should do. Bruce sat straight up and scanned the gauges, and finding nothing changed, looked to Margret for a clue. She saw chunks of rubber flying in every direction in the mirror. “The tire blew.”
“Shit, pull over, we better take a look.”
She eased the truck to the side of the road and stopped. She set the parking brake and reached for the key.
“Better leave it running. I don’t want it to overheat and boil over out here. Then we’d really be screwed.”
They both got out to look at the damages. The tire they both knew was low on air had blown out taking the mudflap and hanger with it. “Well, at least we still have three good tires on this side. We don’t have a spare and I ain’t sitting out here waiting for road service. We’re just gonna drive on it.”
Margret knew he was right. She didn’t like the idea of hauling their dangerous load on a flat tire, but the heat would kill them for sure. They both got back in the truck, happy to get out of the direct sun.
“You okay to drive on it?”
“Yeah, it felt pretty stable, the trailer didn’t swerve or anything.”
Margret eased back onto the highway. She had a little trouble starting out on an upgrade, but the old truck held together. Chunks of tire left a trail behind them but she was able to drive at full speed.
“We stopping at Baker to get this fixed?”
Bruce drew a deep breath, “I have cash enough for fuel or a tire. Not both. We’ll stop there, but I’m not sure what we’re gonna do. We gotta get the tire fixed, I don’t want the others to go because they’re overloaded. I sure as hell don’t need to get nuked.”
Margret drove in silence. She was afraid of what his plan would be, she hoped it wouldn’t involve selling, or worse yet, renting her out.
Bruce was struggling too. Margret could see the muscles in his jaw flexing with tension. He got out his phone, but didn’t make a call. He stared out the window and then back at the phone. He checked his pockets for a cigarette, finding only the empty pack, he crumbled it and threw it out the window. He slumped back on the seat and put his phone away.
The sun was getting low in the sky behind them as they approached Baker. Margret risked a glance at Bruce. He was looking out the window with his arms folded across his chest. “Got a plan yet?”
“I got two plans, just can’t decide which one will work best.”
“At least it’s getting a little cooler in here,” said Margret.
“I ain’t calling Arnold. That lazy SOB could’ve given me a little more money to run on. I’m quitting after this load. I do all the damn work and he keeps all the cash.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“That ain’t the plan.”
“Oh.”
There was a lull in the conversation. “Can I trust you?”
“Trust me to what?”
“The way I see it, I can either—use you, I mean sell—you know…”
Margret’s mouth went dry, “Yeah—I know…”
“Or else if I can trust you to help me…”
“It depends,” she said.
“I’m gonna have them put on a new tire. I want you to wait in the truck, like a passenger.”
“So far, I can do that…”
“I’ll wait inside while they change the tire. I’ve got two sets of keys. They’ll think they have the key at the desk. As soon as they let the trailer off the jack, and torque the lug-nuts, you slide over into the driver’s seat with the extra key and take off. I’ll be inside like I’m about to pay. When the mechanic runs in to tell them you drove off, I’ll act like I’m really pissed off—like you stole the truck or something.”
“Uh—okay…then what?”
“I run out by the drive way where you stop to pick me up. It’ll be dark and they won’t see where I went.”
“That’s the plan?”
“Yup. Unless you like the other plan better.”
“Um—no I…”
“I still have my phone. I could call Arnold if you don’t pick me up and you’d be a truck thief…”
“As opposed to a tire thief. I guess it’s a step up.”
Bruce smiled, “Are you in?”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”
“Good. There’s the exit.”
Margret stopped the truck on the fuel island, the parking lot was full. They used the bathrooms, then Bruce drove over to the shop area. “Remember, you’re just the passenger. Here’s the extra key. I’ll meet you right by the enter sign. If you don’t pick me up…”
“I know—Rosa gets it.”
“You’re getting the idea,” he said with a grin.
Margret waited anxiously in the truck. She watched as the mechanic used the air wrench to remove the lug-nuts and what was left of their shredded tire. She couldn’t help but think about Bonnie and Clyde, Thelma and Louise. The mechanic wrestled the new tire onto their old rim.
Nervous anticipation made her fidget while she listened to the burrrrt, burrrrt, of the air wrench. The mechanic stopped for a moment to wipe sweat off his grease streaked face. She felt a pang of guilt knowing he was working for free, but she justified it all for the sake of—what? Purity? To save Rosa?
The trailer rocked a little as he let it off the jack. She slid over to the driver’s seat. The tire guy brought out a long-handled wrench. Must be the torque-wrench, she thought. He stood there holding it while another guy talked to him about getting an oil change or something.
Come-on, come-on, let’s get done with this, she thought. Finally, the mechanic leaned on the big wrench to tighten each lug-nut. She slipped the key into the ignition. Bruce could be seen laughing and talking with the attendant through the shop window.
The mechanic stepped back and leaned his heavy wrench against the wall. Margret started the engine. She saw the startled look on the mechanic’s face; he was walking toward her. She popped the clutch, the truck lurched forward, then stopped.
Margret was confused for a moment, but then saw a chock still blocking the wheel. Sorry, can’t wait. She gunned the
engine. Eight drive tires spun on concrete before the truck could pull the trailer over the chock. The trailer rocked as each tire rolled over it. Margret didn’t look back after that. She turned a little too soon leaving the garage, scraping the side of the door. The sound made her cringe, but she knew there was no stopping now.
She tried to head straight for the exit but someone trying to park was blocking the way. About to panic, she saw if she turned the other way she could circle the lot and exit out the back driveway.
“No! Don’t stop there,” she yelled at a driver who blocked the back driveway too.
Adrenaline was pumping as she swung the truck in a tight circle. She’d never done it before, but she’d seen other drivers use the maneuver. The tandems etched a black circle on the pavement and she almost clipped the front fender of another truck.
She was breathing like she’d been running instead of driving. She aimed the truck for the scale and drove through from the do not enter side.
A quick glimpse of Bruce running from the back driveway made her slow down. She was still moving when he yanked the door open and flung himself on the seat. “Punch it Margret,” he yelled. She was accelerating before he had the door shut.
Once they were out on the highway, Bruce started to laugh. Margret couldn’t help but join in. “You drive like a crazy woman!”
“Oh yeah, next time you be the getaway driver,” she shot back with a giggle.
Margret kept checking the mirrors expecting to see blue lights, but they didn’t appear. “I hope that thing in the trailer is all right. I rocked it pretty hard.”
“Well, if you start to notice the trailer glowing we’re goners.”
Margret laughed, “Do you think we actually got away with it?”
“I hope so. I ain’t got another plan after this.”