TJ pulled out his phone and sent a message to Jitter telling him they were getting pulled over. The last thing he wanted to do was call Sage. This would be his second hitch in less than a week.
Jitter didn’t reply.
“I’m going to have to pull over. This cop is flashing me,” Harvey announced.
In Spanish, Coco yelled for everyone to buckle up and put in their earbuds. She and TJ took their seats.
Harvey steered the bus onto the upcoming exit ramp which happened to lead to a dimly lit rest area. He pulled into the parking lot and opened the door to the bus.
The officer ambled up to the door and flashed his light on Harvey. “You carrying passengers, buddy?”
“Yes, sir. About forty-six.”
“Please ask your passengers to remain seated and wait for further instructions. I’m going to have to see your commercial license and registration, please? If you would, sir, step off the bus once you have them.”
The officer kept his light on Harvey who began digging for his wallet. It wasn’t in his pockets or in anywhere in sight. He mentally retraced his steps from the last time he’d seen it. It had been when he was filling out paperwork at the Compound. He had taken out his license in Sage’s office to make a copy. He, TJ and Jitter had been there fine tuning paperwork for the bus rental and although he distinctly remembered replacing his license inside his wallet, he hadn’t seen his wallet since.
“Officer, I can’t seem to find my wallet.” Harvey looked back over his shoulder and shrugged at TJ, who was sweating bullets. TJ in turn looked at Coco seated next to the woman who had passed out in the restroom. Coco gave them both a nod.
Harvey pulled the registration from the visor above his head. He removed his seatbelt and stepped off the bus, handing the registration to the policeman. The heat in the air latched onto him like an anaconda.
“Do you realize it is against the law to operate a vehicle in the state of Arizona without a license on your person?” the officer asked, reviewing the registration. He then spoke into the radio attached to his shoulder, not waiting for Harvey’s response.
A second officer exited the cruiser parked behind them and approached the bus. The second officer handed Harvey a notepad and instructed him to provide his full name, date of birth and home address. He took the registration from the first officer, the pad from Harvey and went back to the cruiser. While waiting, the officer left with Harvey questioned him about his destination and the company he worked for. Sage had provided him with a rock solid cover and Harvey was spouting off his story effortlessly.
Finally, Harvey asked, “Would you mind telling me why you pulled me over, Officer?”
“We got a tip that we’re following up on. You say you’re driving a bachelorette party to Las Vegas? And where are you coming from, Mr. Livingston?”
“I told you. Phoenix.” Harvey insisted, rubbing the thin patch of hair on top of his head. “What kind of tip? I’m a commercial driver for a licensed company.”
The officer instructed him to put his hands on the side of the bus and spread his legs so that he could be searched while they verified his identity.
Harvey dutifully obeyed and turned around. “I’m clean, Officer. I just misplaced my wallet.”
The officer began patting him down and stopped at his right pocket. He smoothed his hand over the pocket a second time. “What’s in here, Mr. Livingston?” he tapped the pocket.
“My personal set of keys. And a pack of gum. I think.”
“Please lift your shirt slowly and remove the contents of your pocket for me.”
Harvey complied. He faced the officer and pulled out his keys. A small plastic baggie came out with them. Harvey was perplexed at the sight of the bag. As he tried to process what he saw, the officer unfastened his gun and aimed at Harvey.
“Hands up! What you got there? An eight ball?” With his free hand he took the bag and keys. He spoke into his radio. “Need backup.”
A voice came back over the radio saturated in static but the officer in front of Harvey responded immediately.
“Copy.”
“That’s not mine! I don’t know how that got there!” Harvey defended, his hands up.
The officer jogged back from the cruiser with his handcuffs out. “Hands behind your back, Mr. Livingston.”
“Wait a minute, here. I told you that’s not mine. I don’t even do cocaine!”
The second officer chimed in, “Well, you sure have a spotty record, sir. Including possession.”
“Yeah, possession of weed!”
“Well, this is far from weed and it sure as hell was in your possession,” Officer Number Two scoffed. He took the baggie from his partner and unknotted the top. He dipped his pinky inside and slid it across his teeth. “Yep. Top grade cocaine…raw. I didn’t peg you for a cokehead, Mr. Livingston.”
One officer secured Harvey’s wrists in the handcuffs while the other lifted the door to the luggage storage.
“Do you have any bags on board?”
“No.” Harvey shook his head in disgust. “I’m just a driver! And those drugs aren’t mine!”
Just as the storage door extended into an upright position, the gold and black Versace bag tumbled out. Officer Number One picked it up and glanced inside. “Jackpot!”
“What you got, Lou?”
“I got possession with intent to distribute.” He picked up another bag and looked inside, revealing clothes and shoes. Then another…toiletries. He went through each bag, flashing his light inside. The black and gold bag was the only one that turned up drugs.
Coco stepped off the bus with her hands in the air, “Excuse me, officers. Is our driver in some kind of trouble? We’re trying to get to Vegas for my cousin’s bachelorette party.”
Officer Number One walked towards her. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Coco Lacerda. Is there a problem?”
“Unfortunately so. It looks like you and your party are going to have to de-board this bus. He motioned behind him to Officer Number Two lugging Harvey and the evidence towards the police cruiser.
She immediately noticed the black and gold Versace bag Sage had instructed her to keep eyes on. Coco feigned a damsel in distress stance, clutching her barely covered chest. She folded her arms across her perfect “C” cups, bringing them together in a gentle kiss for the officer’s visual enjoyment.
She looked at all the fake luggage on the ground that had been rifled through and was more impressed than ever with Sage’s preparedness and stage setting. Thinking fast, she asked, “What are we supposed to do? We’re still two hours away from Las Vegas.” She allowed her eyes to well up with tears as she gently touched the officer’s forearm.
“Do you have the number to the company you used? I can call them and let them know the situation. I’m sure they will send another bus for you.” The officer returned her touch, placing his hand on her shoulder, all the while taking in her caramel breasts sitting perkily in her bikini top.
“It’s fine, I’ll handle it. You’re out here doing enough keeping us all safe,” she smiled sweetly.
His cheeks turned crimson. “You should let your party know what’s going on. I can send another car to wait here with you all, if it’ll help.”
“Nah, there’s quite a few of us. We’ll be fine.” Coco headed back to the door of the bus. As she climbed up she looked back at the officer, catching him get a good look at her rear.
He flushed again.
“What the hell is going on out there?” TJ asked when Coco reached him. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered that Harvey was being arrested and they were going to have to get the women off the bus somehow.
“Shit!” Now TJ had no choice but to text Sage.
Party ended early. Do you want me to come home now or spend the night out?
The response was immediate.
You can’t come home. Call me.
They never spoke on cell phones, despite their use of code. “I gotta get
to a pay phone. We need these cops out of the way.”
Coco stood and announced to the women that they had to get off the bus and were not to speak to the officers. They all looked half asleep and worn out but followed instructions. The crew mingled in with them as they all filed off. Both police officers were outside the bus, and a tow truck was pulling up.
The crew strategically moved the women away from the commotion. Coco overheard two of the women speaking softly in Spanish. One was disagreeing with the other about whether the white police officers would treat them as well as they had been treated underground with the people they were with. She said Americans weren’t nice, especially law enforcement. The other agreed that this situation was better than what they endured in Mexico and this was probably as good as it was going to get. The good food, clothing and comfortable shelter was more than they ever had, and no one was hurting them.
She was relieved that they didn’t decide to try anything. They had one more challenge: getting the comatose woman off the bus.
TJ and Coco were the last ones left on board. They flanked the woman and walked her down the bus steps. “Let me do the talking,” Coco said through clenched teeth.
One of the officers noticed her immediately. “Is she all right?
“Too many drinks. This is my cousin, the bride. The joys of being the maid of honor,” Coco shrugged. “But hey, she’ll be locked down soon so why not indulge?”
TJ played along. “I know that’s right, honey,” he said in the most effeminate voice he could muster. Coco stifled a laugh, despite the seriousness of the moment.
She added, “Officer, thank you so much for all your help. We’re going to go sit her down. I called the transportation company and they have someone en route.”
She flashed him her sexiest bedroom eyes and reached for his hand. He shook it, lingering a little longer than he should have.
“You sure you all don’t want me to send another unit? I’d stay personally but we’ve got to get Tony Montana here into custody.”
“Tony Montana?” Coco repeated, pretending the drug lord reference went over her head. “Is that his real name? He told us his name was Harvey.”
“Oh, no sweetheart.” He threw up a dismissive hand. “Way before your time. His name is Harvey but he was using your bachelorette party trip to transport drugs. We’re thinking he’s some type of dealer.”
Coco gasped and covered her mouth in disbelief. “Wow, that’s scary. Thank you again for keeping us safe. You be careful out there.”
“Thank you, Miss Lacerda.”
TJ and Coco carried the sick woman to a sitting area and waved as the officers pulled away.
“I know that’s right, honey?” Coco quipped.
TJ half chuckled at his own performance. When the coast was clear, he jumped to his feet. “I’m going to make a call.”
Too Close
The small town in Mexico was deserted in the wee hours of the morning. A few drunkards and pan handlers wandered quietly through the streets. Jitter led the way in a rented Nissan Altima while two cars drifted behind so as not to draw attention to the caravan.
He slowed to a stop to verify the address in his phone and motioned the two cars behind him to pass. He would be the point person obtaining the coordinates of the girls from the Mexican contact. The others would wait a few blocks up. While Jitter and his crew had performed this run a dozen times before, the cartel sent them to a different address each time to obtain the girls’ location. Each time the location varied. Each time the contact person was someone new. The cartel took no chances and left nothing to happenstance.
Jitter dragged himself out of the car to stretch his long legs after the three and a half hour drive. As badly as he wanted to light up a blunt, he refrained; he needed to be sharp for the extra piece of business Sage had assigned him. In addition to learning the coordinates, he would also be picking up the negotiated one hundred kilos agreed upon by Sage and San Miguel. He would hold onto the package until he “cleaned” the cars that would stay in Mexico and got the crew set up for their trek back across the border.
Although Jitter had done the trek himself a time or two, he was relieved he wasn’t on desert duty this run. The temperatures had soared into the triple digits during the day and easily hovered at a strong 100 degrees at night. Sage had the trails timed and positioned so that foot travel was as merciful as could be but the desert heat was still unforgiving. At the height of the day, she had cooling stations set up and ceased travel. No one knew how she had created these trip plans but her inside track with the DEA was undoubtedly a factor.
The makeshift houses set along the designated paths of travel were stored with water and food. The houses had no power but generators allowed for swamp coolers to be used. To date, there had only been one incident of heat exhaustion and Sage had remedied that by adding supply packs at mile markers preceding the cooling stations. These were measures the cartel deemed worthless and repeatedly told her she was wasting resources because the women they were moving were ‘young and sturdy.’ She had once shared with Jitter that her efforts in the desert, and at the Compound, were not only for her crew but also for the young women. They were still human, on foot for more than two days.
Before Jitter reached the door of the shack, which appeared to be leaning against the house rather than attached to it, a man with an assault rifle swung the door open with a laser pointer trained squarely between Jitter’s eyes.
“Whoa, Papi!” Jitter threw his hands in the air and huffed in frustration. “Y’all are so damn jumpy! ‘Merry Christmas’.” He spat the safe words with venom.
The laser slowly lowered, then disappeared, leaving them cloaked in darkness. “You should speak up sooner, pendejo!”
Jitter understood the derogatory term but noted he was outnumbered and outmuscled as he followed the man with the rifle inside. “You didn’t give me a chance,” he snapped back.
The shack was no bigger than a hotel room. The kitchen table was right at its entryway, doubling as a TV stand. A few feet away two more men sat on a tattered couch across from the table. They had rifles on their laps and watched Jitter intently. A third man sat in a folding chair adjacent to the couch, snorting what Jitter guessed was heroin. His gun of choice was on the dirt floor near his feet. Jitter noticed a girl no more than 18 years old crouched down in a corner with her arms wrapped around her knees. She wore only a men’s white tank and panties. Her eye makeup was streaked down her face. She glanced his way briefly then looked away.
On the table next to the outdated TV were the neatly packaged bricks of cocaine he was there to collect. Beside them was a white sheet of paper with the latitude and longitude coordinates typed on it.
The man that had greeted him with a green dot between the eyes tossed him a Jansport backpack.
Jitter folded the sheet of paper and tucked it in his back pocket. He stuffed the cocaine in the backpack and sidestepped a sewer roach on his way out.
Back at his car, now that he had the package, he could get to his blunt. Cleaning the cars of prints and anything traceable before ditching them was a task he could do with his eyes closed. Jitter rolled the window down slightly and united a flame with the end of his already rolled blunt.
By the time he reached the other two parties in his caravan, the effects of the marijuana had kicked in.
He flashed his lights to reinstate their caravan and the cars fell in line. Jitter pulled out the sheet of paper with the coordinates for the location. After sending a text to Sage letting her know that everything was on schedule, he accessed an app on his phone, punched in the numbers and waited for the directions to populate.
His GPS led him to a resort forty miles away called La Penalta. He drove up to the security booth guard and gave the safe words. The bar separating them from the resort was lifted and the caravan was permitted through. The GPS directed them to an underground parking garage blocked off with orange cones. A small, older man scurried out from seemingly thi
n air and waved them in. All three vehicles pulled inside, parked and everyone got out. They all wordlessly gathered their weapons and necessities for travel. A new trio of armed men stood guard in front of a massive RV, carefully watching the movements of Jitter’s crew.
Jitter broke the testosterone filled silence. “Who’s in charge here?”
No one spoke. Then, one of the men standing guard of the RV motioned towards it with the gun strapped across his chest.
Little Sammy, one of Sage’s foot soldiers who wasn’t little at all, moved cautiously towards the RV’s side door. He snatched the door open and peered inside the dark belly of the gutted RV. A strong stench wafted out, assailing their nostrils. The women were stacked inside like Tetris pieces. Some were crying and some looked emotionless. Little Sammy counted the women, gave Jitter a quick nod and closed the RV door.
The same man that directed them to the RV spoke directly to Jitter in English. “You cleaning here?”
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Take them through the gate back there. You have thirty minutes.”
One by one, Jitter moved the two cars that had followed him from Arizona to the back of the resort while his crew stood watch over the RV. Once he’d pulled the second car into the shed-like building he wiped down the vehicles with practiced efficiency, scraped off the VIN numbers and removed the tags. With his blunt between his lips, Jitter torched the insides of both to an unrecognizable state, then extinguished the fires and returned to the parking deck within the allotted time.
A nod to his crew put them in motion. All four of the men climbed into the RV with the women. The frightened cargo squeezed together as far away as possible from the crew.
Jitter took his place in the driver’s seat, cranked up the engine and slowly drove the RV out of the garage. He steered onto the road leading to the outskirts of Nogales, landing precisely on Sage’s footpath.
About half an hour later, leaving civilization far behind, Jitter pulled the RV off the main road and made a sharp turn into the desert. He carefully navigated over tumbleweed and mounds of dirt until he came to the forty foot ‘Y’ shaped cactus Sage designated as the drop location.
Coyote: Sometimes the wrong way is the only way Page 4