Holy Guacamole!

by Nancy Fairbanks

“Yup. He’s wanted by the DEA, the FBI, the EPPD, and now the Border Patrol will want their share of him too. Only person who’s gonna get killed here is Piss-for-Brains if he rats out the drug cartel. They may have him whacked in the county jail just to be on the safe side.” I don’t think Carolyn heard anything beyond her own role as a bounty hunter. She stopped arguing and went out for the car. But Barrientos heard. He started struggling, so Smack clamped down on his thigh, and I tapped him on top of the head. More blood. Carolyn was going to be pissed off about that.

  She got her car safely in the garage. Got the garage door closed, and even found a paint-spattered, plastic drop cloth to protect her trunk, but then there was the problem of getting him into the trunk. I said we’d carry him. She said one woman with arthritis and one with no athletic ability or pastimes weren’t going to be able to carry a man as stocky as he was.

  “Wha’ d’ya weigh, Barrientos?” I asked.

  “Three hundred pounds,” he said, real fast.

  “See,” said Carolyn. “We’ll never—”

  “He’s lying. Tape his mouth shut.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said.

  “Come on. Smack’s got her teeth into him. He moves, she bites down. I got a gun on him. What are you afraid of?”

  “I’ll bite her,” said Barrientos.

  “Cut off a strip of tape,” I told her. “I’ll tape him.” She cut. I squatted behind him, which was hell on my knee, put the gun muzzle against his forehead, and slapped the tape on his mouth. I thought that was that, but she had a new idea.

  “There’s a dolly out in his garage. One of those things on wheels you carry heavy packages on. We can put him on that.”

  “The hell we can. You can’t wheel a person around on a dolly.”

  “We’ll tie him on.” She looked around the room, grimaced at the sight of his velvet pictures, and tore down some drapery cords. Then she went out for the dolly.

  Barrientos mumbled desperately under his tape. Carolyn rolled the dolly in, pulled the chair away from his back, and lowered him to the floor by clutching his hair. His head still clunked, and he passed out, which was okay with me. He’d be less trouble at the border if he was unconscious. Smack woke up, thinking her prisoner was causing trouble again. You had to feel sorry for the dog. She was a little old for this sort of thing and deserved a nap when she could catch one.

  Interested to see what would happen next, I called the dog off Barrientos when Carolyn asked, and she laid the dolly down beside him. With a lot of puffing on Carolyn’s part and some help from me, we shoved his lower body onto it. Then she tied him on with the drapery cords and said, looking pretty pleased with herself, “See. Now when we get him upright, we can bend him over from the waist and roll him out.”

  Frankly, I think it would have been easier if each of us had taken a foot and dragged him into the garage, but whatever baked her cake. She decided the scientific thing to do would be to lever him up by shoving a dining room chair under the dolly, so we tried that. The back broke off the chair. Then we tried with a heavy Spanish chair she found in the entry hall. That worked. By then the dog had dozed off again, so we left her there, rolled him out, got his upper body partly into the trunk, untied the drapery cords, and shoved the rest of him in.

  “Jesus,” I groaned. “I ache all over. You drive.”

  “I can’t. I hurt too, and I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

  Great, I thought. I could feel the damn knee swelling. I’d probably have an accident before we ever got to the bridge. Which is worse? I wondered. The pain like it is, or driving drunk from killing it with tequila? I chose the pain because I figured it was gonna be just one more hassle with Carolyn if I had a couple of shots of tequila before we left, so I limped back into the house, woke Smack up, and turned out the lights. In the garage I took a last look at Barrientos, but he wasn’t moving, so I slammed the trunk shut, climbed into the driver’s side of the car, and took the keys from Carolyn. She was right about the nervous breakdown. Her hands were shaking.

  “Calm down,” I told her. “You don’t have to do a thing from here on except say ‘American’ when they ask for your citizenship at the bridge. I’ll call in the guys who want him as soon as we get into El Paso and dump him off at the jail. Hell, I’ll even drive you home if you don’t feel up to it.” I had the car backed out into the driveway and the garage door closed by then.

  “You can sleep at my house,” she offered, looking relieved.

  “Whatever.” I debated whether I should wipe off the garage door thingy and throw it into Barrientos’s bushes, but what the hell. It was a neat gadget, something you never knew when you might need it. So I put it in my purse and told Smack to go to sleep. If she stayed lying down in the back seat, they might not even notice her at the border. Otherwise, Carolyn was going to have to play the blind woman, since obviously it wasn’t me. I was driving, and there was only so much I could expect of my cousin at the bridge.

  I explained that to her, and she said, “Fine.”

  “Get the dark glasses out of my bag,” I suggested. “Unless you’ve got some of your own.”

  She didn’t and fumbled around in my bag. “Oh, you remembered the tape. That’s good. Our fingerprints are probably on it. Goodness, I never thought about leaving prints in the bathroom and everywhere. I’ll never be able to come back to Juarez, not after taking part in a kidnapping.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. Your prints probably aren’t on file anywhere.”

  “I suppose not.” She was silent for a long time. Then she said, “Are we really bounty hunters?”

  “Sure. There’s a reward on his head. You’re entitled to half.”

  “Is it a lot?” she asked.

  “Twenty-five thousand, and I think there may be money for catching a smuggler, if they can make that case against him.”

  “My goodness,” she marveled. “And if we’re bounty hunters, it’s all right for us to bring him back, isn’t it?”

  “Nah. The Mexican government frowns on scooping up thugs in their territory. They’d throw us in jail. But then we’d bail out and head for the States. That’s when we couldn’t go back.”

  “Hmmm. I’m so glad I got the two Russian girls into the dorms. They could have been deported when the trailer park is raided.”

  If they were legally in the States, they wouldn’t have been, but I didn’t bring that up because we were almost to the other side of the bridge. Not much traffic this late. The Mexicans had just waved us through, didn’t even notice the dog. Of course, I had to pull up on the American side.

  Shit. It wasn’t my cousin. He must have gone off shift. What time was it?

  “Citizenship?” asked the immigration agent in the booth. He peered out at us as we both said American. “You can’t bring a dog in from Mexico,” he said.

  Damn. He’s noticed Smack.

  “I’m blind,” said Carolyn. She held up my cane, scaring me half to death. If she pushed the button by mistake, we were in deep trouble. “He’s my Seeing Eye dog.”

  That’s when the shit hit the fan. Pounding started up in the trunk. Smack woke up and licked my ear instead of Carolyn’s, which screwed up that story. “What’s that sound?” demanded the agent.

  “What sound?” Carolyn asked, looking very innocent behind my dark glasses.

  “That pounding. Sounds like it’s coming from the trunk.”

  “Well, if you’d ask me what I have to declare, I’d tell you,” I said.

  “Oh, my goodness. Declarations. I have a bottle of tequila,” said Carolyn.

  “Screw your tequila,” snapped the agent.

  “Well, that was rude,” she snapped right back.

  “I got a wanted drug dealer in the trunk,” I said before the two of them got into it.

  “Don’t be a smart-ass,” he retorted. “Pull over. I’m going to search the car.”

  30

  A Night at the Jail

  Carolyn

  I couldn�
�t believe that a federal official had spoken to me in such a rude way, and why was Luz admitting that we had Mr. Barrientos in the trunk? It was sure to lead to misunderstandings.

  “Fine,” Luz agreed when the Immigration agent directed her to drive to an area of pavement evidently set aside for searches. I couldn’t imagine why she was being so good-natured with him. To me she said, after glancing at my expression, “Now keep your mouth shut about his language. He’s probably been breathing too much carbon monoxide. They usually go for the stern but courteous attitude.”

  The agent waved someone into his booth and followed us on foot.

  “We’re bounty hunters,” I told him.

  “I thought you said you were blind,” he retorted.

  Oh dear. I’d forgotten about that.

  Luz got out of the car, and he pulled a gun on her. She didn’t even have her cane to defend herself. I had it, but she seemed perfectly calm and said. “Boy, am I glad to see a gun. But look, before we take a chance of him getting away when you open the trunk, I’d appreciate you calling a couple of people to come and take charge of him.” She handed the agent her cell phone. “Hector Parko at the DEA and Chuy Mendoza. He’s a sergeant in the EPPD. Narc squad. I’ve got the numbers. And you might want to get hold of the Border Patrol. I have a tape of this guy saying he’s smuggling illegals into a trailer park on the Westside and from there to Chicago.”

  By then the man from the booth was looking confused, and the pounding in the trunk had grown louder. Putting her paws on the window ledge in the back seat, Smack started to bark.

  “Narc dog,” said Luz. “She probably smells coke on him.”

  “You said it was a Seeing Eye dog,” said the befuddled agent.

  “I’ve got the ownership papers and shot records on the dog if you want to look, and she’s got tags. I have to tell you, we’ve had one hell of an evening. Bastard grabbed my partner and put a gun to her head. Dog jumped him, and when we finally got him under control, we had to get him into the car. Sucker weighs a ton. You’re looking at two ladies with lots of aches and pains. Lemme give you the first number.”

  “You dial it,” said the INS agent. He obviously wanted to keep his gun on Luz until he could be sure that her strange story was true.

  I didn’t even leave the car because I was feeling jittery again. Had Barrientos gotten loose? I was so sure I’d taped him up thoroughly enough that he could hardly move, much less escape from his bonds. Maybe one had to take classes in that sort of thing. I imagined him bursting from the trunk and attacking us all. Could a man from a border booth with one little gun protect us?

  “Hector, this is Luz,” she said into the cell phone. “I got Barrientos in my trunk, and we’re at the border crossing. Bridge of the Americas. Could you talk to the agent here and then come down and pick up the prisoner? He’s kicking the hell out of my friend’s trunk.”

  That was nice. She’d called me her friend. I felt a bit better about the situation. Maybe she’d like to go to lunch someday. From the bridge to the jail, things went reasonably well. Agent Hector Parko came to the bridge and looked in on Mr. Barrientos, who hadn’t gotten loose. He was lying on his back, kicking the trunk lid. Agent Parko suggested that we leave our prisoner there until we got to the jail, which didn’t please me very much. The smell of urine was permeating the car, that and something even less desirable. Twenty or thirty more minutes and my trunk might never be deodorizable—if there is such a word.

  Meanwhile, the INS agent summoned someone from the Border Patrol. Luz gave the tape in her pocket to the Border Patrol agent. After he’d listened to it on her recorder, he went off to set up a raid on the Pinon Trailer Park. All this would have been very exciting if I hadn’t been so tired.

  Sergeant Chuy Mendoza met us in an underground entrance to the jail, into which Luz drove my car with Agent Parko following in his. Sheriff’s deputies came down and extracted the struggling Mr. Barrientos from my trunk, and everyone incoming who had a weapon put it into a locker. Luz even offered her cane, demonstrating its unusual features. Sergeant Mendoza said something to her in Spanish about it, and they both laughed.

  I thought that rather impolite, since I don’t understand Spanish. I ought to ask for my money back on that Castilian Spanish course; it hadn’t done me a bit of good. For instance, the professor never mentioned the word pendejo, which kept coming up in their conversation. I asked what it meant, and Luz said it referred to someone who was stupid. Then all three of them, plus the uniformed officers, laughed. Obviously there was more to it.

  With many unkind comments on the state of his trousers, the officers carried Mr. Barrientos off to be checked into jail and cleaned up, while Luz and I were escorted elsewhere to give statements. “Couldn’t we do that tomorrow?” I asked. “I’m exhausted. It’s way past my bedtime.” They all thought that was very funny, so I added that I’d been up late the night before interviewing the owner of Brazen Babes with Luz.

  “Geez,” said the oh-so-amusing Agent Parko. “You two looking for a job? I’d pay to see that.”

  “Knock it off, Hector. Carolyn’s a civilian. She doesn’t appreciate cop humor.”

  “Geez, Vallejo, ex-cuse me,” said Agent Parko.

  After that we were interviewed separately. Frankly, I don’t know what I said to the man who talked to me. Someone else from the DEA. I dozed off right in the middle of a question at one point, and he sent out for coffee. I suppose I told him the whole story, hoping I could go home and fall into bed.

  No such luck. We were then taken to an observation room, where we watched Mr. Barrientos being interviewed. The idea was that every time we heard him tell a lie, we would notify the man who had interviewed me, who would then go into the interrogation room and whisper to Agent Parko, who would threaten Mr. Barrientos for lying to him. This went on forever because Mr. Barrientos told so many lies. Probably everything he said was a lie, but we couldn’t identify all of them.

  The things he said about us were certainly lies, particularly about me. I never responded sexually to his hand on my breast or fondled his genitalia once I had him taped up. Luz thought it was hilarious when I turned red and started to sputter. Some friend she was. I was so angry with Mr. Barrientos that I hoped they’d give him the death penalty. I even offered to testify at the death penalty hearing as to the emotional anguish he’d caused me by the nasty things he said. Luz didn’t think the prosecutor would ask for capital punishment. She said they’d try to “flip” him for a lighter sentence and testimony against his colleagues, unless, of course, he admitted to killing Vladik. It was all very disheartening.

  When we finally left the jail, we were met by a newspaper reporter, a photographer, and representatives of three TV stations. Luz said something or other to them. I suppose she was used to such unpleasant and embarrassing scenes. I refused comment, and we made our way to the car, which had been brought around for us.

  We didn’t get home until seven-thirty. I provided Luz with a bed, a nightgown, a toothbrush, and a tube of ointment for her knee, something Jason uses when he becomes over enthusiastic about his athletic pursuits and strains his muscles and joints. I’d have felt much more sympathetic to her pain if she hadn’t laughed during Mr. Barrientos’s slanderous testimony about me.

  31

  Targeting Boris

  Carolyn

  Imagine not getting to bed until seven forty-five in the morning. I was still in deep sleep at twelve-thirty when Luz woke me up. “Get dressed,” she said. “I’ve made coffee.”

  I peered blearily at the clock, calculated how much sleep I’d had—less than five hours—and told her to go away.

  “We need to talk,” she insisted, and threw off my covers.

  I snatched them right back.

  “What do I have to do? Turn the shower on for you? Draw a bath? Pour cold water on your head?”

  I sighed because it was obvious that she wasn’t going away. When I sat up, I had that dizzy, half nauseated feeling induced by
rising when seriously sleep deprived. “I’m sick.”

  “Nothing coffee won’t fix.” She went into the master bath and grabbed a toweling robe off the hook, Jason’s as it happened, and insisted that I put it on, then kicked some fuzzy slippers out from under the bed. “Cute,” she commented. “Do I have to put them on your feet?” I was still fumbling with the tie belt of the robe. “I warn you, kneeling hurts, which makes me real grumpy. So get into your own slippers.”

  No matter what I wanted—and that was to crawl back into bed—I ended up in the kitchen drinking coffee that was strong enough to remove the enamel from my teeth. Did she carry her own brand, or had she boiled some of mine for several hours? It did wake me up.

  “So, Boris Stepanovich. The SOB obviously lied to us about Barrientos killing Vladik. I didn’t hear anything in that interrogation to indicate that there was bad blood between Vladik and Barrientos, did you?”

  “I missed a lot of what he said. Didn’t you notice? I kept falling asleep.”

  “Well, Barrientos claimed that he was at Mariachi Caliente singing for half the night when Vladik died. And when a man won’t confess to me when he thinks he’s going to get a blade in his—”

  “Yes,” I interrupted quickly. “And I noticed, when I happened to be awake, that the agents and detectives at the jail were throwing so many questions that he got his lies confused, but he still didn’t admit to anything but the—what are mojados, anyway?”

  “Wetbacks.”

  “Ah. Isn’t that term politically incorrect? Well, he never admitted to anything having to do with Vladik except illegal-alien smuggling.”

  “Oh, hey, let’s be really politically correct—undocumented-immigrant smuggling.”

  I giggled. “How about poor-folks-looking-for-a-home smuggling? Or—”

  Luz grinned. “Knock it off. My ancestors waded across the river.”

  “And mine were probably unpleasant Protestants whom nobody liked in their country of origin,” I said, still giddy from too little sleep.