Opposite Worlds

by Sasha Pop

  “How did your date go? I hope I didn’t interrupt the good part,” Juanito joked. Noticing Rodrigo’s reaction, he saw that he had hit the nail right on the head.

  “Don’t tell me… you finally became a man?” he laughed hard.

  “Screw you,” Rodrigo dismissed him. “Let’s get going.”

  The line for security was short – not many people were flying out at this hour. They had cleared it just when the boarding for the flight to Chihuahua started.

  “I am going to grab some chips,” Juanito said. “Want to have a taste of the States down the border.”

  While his partner was gone, Rodrigo pulled out his phone, checking the Gallery for the images he took together with Jessica. They looked great together, that was sure. And the way they were smiling…like a couple deeply in love. He hoped with sadness that he wasn’t seeing things, but he had nobody he could talk to about it. Juanito would just die laughing if he asked him for an opinion on this and would accuse him of being a sissy.

  The plane was half-empty, so they each took a row for themselves. Nervousness was in the air, and they both stayed silent. Lying down on three seats, Juanito told him to get a good night’s sleep. The plane engines were roaring in preparation for the take-off but both young men were already asleep.

  ***** five hours later *****

  The touchdown in Chihuahua came ahead of schedule at 3:55am, the first signs of twilight coming through the windows. The two guys ate the breakfast sandwiches provided by the flight attendants on the go, with their anxiety not letting them to stay still in one place. The plane’s door did not lead directly to the gate; instead they had to wait for a bus to arrive which appeared to come straight out of a junkyard. It was already warm outside even though the night wasn’t yet over. The landscape was an endless desert that seamlessly transformed into the city skyline, mixed with slums, refineries and churches. Towering it all was the Sierra Madre, behind which lay the Copper Canyon, one of the few places on Earth that could rival the Grand Canyon in size and magnificence.

  Each of the boys took a moment to observe the scenario while the bus slowly took them to the terminal. Rodrigo came from Mexico City, but this still was the closest to home he had been in fifteen years. Juanito actually murmured “mi casa.”

  “Wait, you are from here?” Rodrigo asked in surprise.

  “Yes, it is my home. People will still see us as gringos though.”

  The inside of the terminal was chaotic and busy, resembling more a farmer’s market on Saturday than an international airport. They were immediately bombarded by tons of cab drivers offering them a ride. One short man even dared to pull on Juanito’s case to carry it, immediately apologizing after he felt Juanito’s grip on his neck.

  “Survival of the fittest,” Juanito commented on the chaos. “We worked so hard to escape it, and here we are again.”

  In the meeting point at the lobby, Juanito seemed to recognize somebody in the multitude of people and told Rodrigo to hurry as he pushed through the crowd. They both followed a man in a faded-green jacket, conspicuously disguised with a hat and big aviator glasses. Rodrigo could not tell his age from afar, but it looked by the beard that he was certainly older.

  The stranger took the driver seat in a rusty Civic in the parking lot and the two men boarded on the back in silence. Once inside, feeling the suitcase safe between his legs, Juanito asked:

  “Pablo, you haven’t seen me in two years and you come greet us in this piece of crap? I was expecting a limo.”

  “Oh shut up man, without me you’d be riding a bicycle. Times are tough around here you know,” the man named Pablo retorted.

  “It is nice to see you too,” Juanito laughed. Rodrigo learned after being introduced that Pablo used to live in Miami while his US visa had allowed. Eventually after getting deported he went back to Chihuahua and supplied information to Maestro’s group on the developments among local gangs and drug dealings.

  Observing the streets they drove through while Juanito and Pablo caught up, Rodrigo realized that his own neighborhood in Miami would probably be considered upper-middle class around here. Children were running on every intersection asking for money, homeless people were randomly lying near trashcans, suggestively dressed women were waving on the curb to stop the incoming traffic. It was truly a different world, but it was his roots.

  Making squeaky noises, the Civic climbed down on the driveway and passed by a gate, leading to a hangar that appeared to be abandoned. They parked behind the building, and headed inside, taking the stairs down to a basement.

  The metal stairs were creaking with every step - it felt like they were walking through a suspension bridge. On the floor and on the walls was hanging an unimaginable amount of weapons, ranging from simple pistols to grenades and machine guns.

  “Did you rob an army base or something?” Juanito asked, impressed by what he saw.

  “It’s just a little business on the side,” Pablo told them, beaming with pride. This room was the result of him diligently collecting weapons over the past three years from those unable to use them anymore, or by finding good deals on the black market.

  “Are we going to need all this?” Rodrigo asked, incredulous at the sight.

  “You will need all the help you can get. El Paladino is not the same man that could be trusted years ago. There have been a bunch of shady incidents around his group lately,” Pablo added to his uneasiness.

  Juanito was already examining the arsenal like a little kid on the playground. There was some serious firepower here, but they had to be discreet to keep up the appearance of a deal between friendly gangs. Finally, he settled on two Beretta handguns, placing them under his belt on his back.

  He handed Rodrigo a Magnum and some ammunition. “Take this one, it is not like you know how to use two guns at the same time anyway,” Juanito said with a smirked.

  Silent, Rodrigo complied. He still felt empty-handed however, and decided to grab a grenade as well, even though he only saw them being used in the movies.

  “Alright Rambo, calm down. Don’t pull anything stupid out there, you got that?” Juanito warned.

  “So what is the plan?” Pablo asked. He was excited to feel part of the action again – life hasn’t been the same since he left the US and was dealing from the shadows.

  Juanito explained that the meeting place changed, and that they had to go out check the territory beforehand.

  “I will go,” Pablo offered. “We don’t want for El Paladino’s men to spot you sneaking out there ahead of time.”

  Rodrigo and Juanito stayed in the basement while Pablo went outside. Based on the map, the trip to the scrapyard where the deal was to take place would take about twenty minutes. As the time passed by, the two of them grew increasingly fidgety, with Juanito starting to kick out random thrash on the floor. Finally, as the clock ticked to indicate an hour had gone by, Pablo’s green jacket appeared, and he announced, breathless.

  “It is no good,” he said. “The place is huge and empty – there will be nothing stopping them from destroying and burying us without a trace if we show up.”

  Rodrigo and Juanito exchanged concerned glances. There was no way out now though.

  “We will just have to trust that El Paladino is still a man of honor,” Juanito said rashly.

  The three of them sat around the table and studied the sketch of the yard that Pablo drew, evaluating escape routes. It was agreed that Pablo would stay inside the car as a backup with the engine running, facing the direction of a feeble fence that if broken down would lead directly to a highway.

  They still had a few hours to kill, which Juanito and Pablo spent smoking and Rodrigo spent loading and unloading the Magnum. He desperately wanted to hear a voice of support at this moment – the image of the upcoming meeting was eating him alive. He instinctively reached out for the phone, thinking about calling Jessica, but there was no reception. Plus, he didn’t trust himself to manage to keep his voice calm if they would speak. He
didn’t know about it, but at the same time Jessica was reaching out to her phone, finally convincing herself to press the dial button on her screen. She was just coming out of class, and wanted to hear how he was doing and whether he had arrived in LA safely, where he told her the conference was taking place. Hearing the standard message that the person she was dialing was unavailable, she hung up, hoping he would call her later that day whenever he could.

  “Time to go,” Juanito said, standing up and hurrying upstairs without looking back. He felt the pressure of the operation on his shoulders and did not want his nervousness to spread to his companions. It was far from being his first deal, but to some things one could just never get fully used to.

  Silently, Rodrigo and Pablo followed. The man in the green jacket mumbled something that resembled a prayer, and kissed the golden cross he was wearing on the necklace, pointing to the sky. They loaded the metal suitcase and an AK-47 in the trunk. Was this country like a warzone?

  The next twenty minutes seemed like the longest ones in Rodrigo’s life. He kept reaching to his pocket, the cold metal of the Magnum having a pacifying effect on him. He still didn’t think he could ever use it to actually shoot somebody, even in self-defense – but perhaps it could serve as a deterrent if things went sour. Pablo was on the edge too, with his driving feeling increasingly risky. As he barely managed to break before running somebody over, Juanito patted him on the shoulder.

  “Relax man. You don’t want the cops to pull us over now.”

  Pablo just dismissed him, telling his former companion to mind his own business. The scrapyard could already be seen in the horizon, consisting of a vast field with hundreds of butchered cars piled up on top of one another. It looked like the scene out of a zombie apocalypse, Rodrigo thought. They drove in past the gate and an abandoned checkpoint without being stopped – if the place had any security they sure were hiding. They noticed two fresh massive tracks on the mud leading in the deep of the scrapyard, probably belonging to a Jeep or a pick-up truck.

  Going the same way, they saw a new Cherokee and a Hummer parked beside the mountain of cars. Three men in black leather jackets, spiky boots and chains were standing on the outside talking. The one who appeared to be the boss was leaning back against the Jeep, impatience apparent on his expression.

  Rodrigo tried to see if there was anybody else hiding in the cars but couldn’t, as they had tinted windows. Pablo pointed at the taller man who had just gotten up, noticing their arrival.

  “That is El Paladino.”

  “He still has the same horrible beard, I see,” Juanito let out a nervous laugh.

  In perfect synchrony, Rodrigo and Juanito opened the passenger doors and stood up. Juanito grabbed the suitcase and held it like a bulldog. Both parties slowly approached, each trying to assert their dominance over the situation.

  When there were just thirty feet away, El Paladino threw a friendly smile.

  “Ah, Juan, my friend. It is so good to see you. I hear you are doing good in sunny Miami.”

  Juanito wasn’t fazed by the pleasantries and replied coldly:

  “It sure beats washing cars in your garages.”

  Rodrigo looked at his friend, clearly caught off guard with this turn of events. He had no idea that they had been associated before; the disgust with which Juanito said the last sentence clearly showing he didn’t like to remember the time.

  “That is right…but you are still a delivery boy,” El Paladino announced and stopped laughing. “Now what do you have for me there?” he pointed at the suitcase.

  “It is like we agreed – two-hundred grand. Did you bring the ‘paper’?”

  El Paladino nodded to the man on the left and told him in Spanish.

  “Give him the goods. And count the money.”

  The man silently obeyed and walked towards Juanito.

  “Give bag,” he spoke in broken English.

  El Paladino laughed and commented:

  “Now, now Alfredo, our guest may have become a gringo but he still knows la lingua.”

  “Goods first,” Juanito replied in Spanish.

  Cursing, the man named Alfredo took a small notebook from the inside of his jacket and handed it over to Juanito. Rodrigo was shocked – this is the thing that was worth two-hundred thousand dollars?”

  “Highest-grade stuff.” El Paladino commented. “You will be able to make millions off it, if you don’t get high of it first, and die that is,” he added, laughing at his own wittiness.

  Alfredo had just finished counting the money, and nodded to the boss, giving him a thumbs up.

  El Paladino, suddenly raised his hand, with the palm up. It appeared to be a signal of some sort. Instants after, the two youngsters could hear the footsteps of men running behind them. Without daring to look back, they understood everything once they heard the click of a gun being loaded.

  “But then you are going to die anyway. At least I will help you to die drug-free,” he said, still laughing. “My theory is right; trash will always be trash!” he said as he spit on the ground with clear satisfaction.

  Juanito clenched his fists, furious. He refused to believe that El Paladino, the man who had taken him in when he desperately needed the money to feed his family and given him a job when everybody else refused to give him a second look would do this. He remembered their first meeting, an impossibly hot summer day when Juanito, a feeble ten years old was spending his days at a busy intersection offering to wipe windows for a few centavos. A black Mercedes had stopped on the red light and Juanito hurried to apply the liquid on the windshield. The driver immediately opened the door and was about to step out to kick the poor kid, but El Paladino stopped him. Calling the boy over, he looked at his eyes intently, slightly surprised not to see any sign of fear. Desperation is truly the strongest force, he thought. Handing him a two-hundred peso bill, he told him about a car repair shop he owed and ordered to show up the next day at 8 in the morning. And so for the next few years Juanito had worked under El Paladino’s men, beginning by mopping floors. He was a quick learner and grabbed every opportunity he could to earn the favor of El Paladino, offering to run every possible errand.

  The bearded man saw potential in the little boy, and at the mere age of thirteen already allowed him to sell drugs in the neighborhood. For somebody who had just recently been close to starving, the money that suddenly flowed into his pockets was beyond the wildest dreams. Juanito’s family understood the source of his income, but chose not to ask any questions. It was still not enough for the little boy however, who since childhood dreamed about driving big cars and living in a mansion with a pool. He dreamed of America. When he had saved enough money at fourteen, he crossed the border and hitchhiked to Miami, having studied English on his own at night over the last year. Finally arriving in Miami, he found friends in the Latino community who admired his determination. Using the last bit of his savings, he bought the legal paperwork and even enrolled in school, vowing to lead an honest life from now on, believing he could achieve the American dream. Without having any source of income besides his part-time job that he took at a construction site, and with the need of regularly sending money back home, his desperation grew. As the problems in his personal life accumulated, he had no other choice but to drop out and join the underworld once more. When he first left, he had sent a letter for El Paladino, thanking him for everything and vowing to become his man in Florida. Over the years, once he had settled in Miami, he wrote several times again to his former mentor, never getting a response. He didn’t know yet that the bearded man held a mortal grudge, utterly despising those who wanted to escape for a different world…

  Coming back to his senses, Juanito frantically thought of what to do. They were surrounded from every direction and he couldn’t count on Rodrigo to be a good shooter. Finally he dared to look back at the Civic that they arrived in, and his worst suspicion got confirmed. There was a man pointing a gun at Pablo’s head through the windshield.

  Rodrigo had
been mostly ignored by El Paladino and his men, and had the time to think about the situation. To his surprise, he wasn’t as terrified as he thought he would be in the face of death. He had rehearsed the worst case scenario in his mind so many times over the last few weeks that the real thing almost felt like it was a dream. He considered his limited options. He could beg for his life which would just delay the inevitable and make him look like a fool. He could pull out his gun and attempt to shoot El Paladino without a warning, if the gangsters around him didn’t shoot him down first. The image of his mother lying on the hospital bed surfaced.

  “Be careful dear,” she had often told him lately. He also remembered Jessica and felt regret that he had failed her – that he had led her on and would not be coming back. He hoped that she would forgive him one day, if she ever learned what came to be of him somehow. As things were, he would disappear without a trace, with nobody except Maestro’s men having a clue about his whereabouts. Even if they avenged him though, this would not bring him back to life. Plus, this was deep into Mexican territory, and US gangs never ventured that far.

  He remembered also Neri, who was looking at him with a hint of disappointment. The image made him angry. “I will come back alive,” he muttered. “I will apologize to Jessica myself.”

  “This one has gone crazy…he is talking to himself,” a spiky-haired minion commented.

  “He is probably saying his prayers,” El Paladino concluded.

  Before he could say another word, Rodrigo pulled out the grenade from his pocket and removed the safety switch, holding it up for everybody to see. An eerie silence followed with those present processing the sudden development.

  “You will let us go,” Rodrigo announced. It was not a question, but a command.

  The smirk on El Paladino’s face was gone.

  “We will shoot you if you make a single step.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Rodrigo defiantly moved towards them. “Do you know the explosion range of these things?” He had no clue himself what it was, but the confident way he said that made El Paladino hesitate.