Killing Cortez

by A. L. DeNova

  Carmen said, “Good one Jo, but I never showed him any I.D.”

  Jo took a breath, and playfully said,” So, are you old enough to drink tequila, little girl?”

  “Count the tree rings. One thing I did learn at Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering in Chula Vista was a young lady never reveals her real age after you been served alcohol and actually,” Carmen pointed to the empty beer bottle, “finished an alcoholic beverage.”

  “But Carmen, I see you do have some beer still left in your bottle.” Jo said.

  With faultless timing, the blonde waiter deftly placed two gold double shots of tequila on the table.

  This time, it was Carmen who proposed the toasts “To new experiences.” Carmen downed the flaming golden liquid, bit into the lime and gave Jo a steely stare, with a barely perceptible smile.

  Jo drank the shot, and exhaled with an audible breath and shaking her head. Jo answered Carmen’s toast but stepping closer and whispering directly into Carmen’s ear, “Is this how Mexico tastes?” Carmen looked back down onto the gyrations of the dancers one floor below. Jo, encouraged by the tequila, took hold of Carmen’s arm and said, “Let’s dance.”

  The two women unable to talk because of the incessant pounding of the loud music, descended. The dance floor was sticky with the moisture of bodies and beverages spilling down. Carmen glanced around at a closer level through the subdued lighting. One gnawing annoyance repeated itself with alarming regularity not a single one of the many attractive men she saw, acknowledged her in any manner. She was invisible, or so it seemed to them. This experience, was new for her. “Gay,” she now understood.

  Jo led Carmen to the center of the floor, adjacent to a small elevated metal cage where a blonde, small man, about 5’6” or so was dancing rhythmically and trance-like. He was dressed as an homage to some sinister military allegiance, tight black synthetic shorts cutting into his muscled thigh, gleaming black combat boots, a sailor tie decorating a shaved, developed chest, a spiked dog collar, and his buzzed hair crowned with a snowy white sailor cap.

  Carmen was simultaneously fascinated and horrified by the dancing sailor. He was caged like an animal that had been brought up from the interior jungles of Mexico and displayed in the city, for amusement. Amidst this exotica, Jo and Carmen moved to the music and danced.

  Jo closed the distance, as Carmen began to move away. Carmen focused on the music and her arms and hips followed the demands of the pounding base, lithe and graceful, no setting could disguise her intrinsic grace and powerful femininity. With the curtains of Carmen’s eyes closed, Carmen smiled to the simple pure fun of dancing. It felt good, and she looked damn good doing it. Jo broke one of her sacred oaths and stared at this newest woman in her life. It was safe to do so as Carmen’s eyes were closed. Jo stared, but she did not touch, not quite yet. She felt Carmen’s soft lips, and knew the taste would be sweet, and piquant with a sad after taste or was it tragic? Too bad she did take more Spanish in school. That would have been just too convenient. After a few songs, the beat slowed down for a slow dance. Jo moved in and grabbed Carmen’s waist.

  In sports, in water polo, Jo had learned that difference between winning and losing was not luck or even talent, but just taking the shot. So, she took the shot and Carmen said nothing. They danced and danced, both heady with their unstated connection. The men peeled away from the floor, too stoned or drunk to stay on their feet so late into the night.

  Nudged by propriety, Jo glanced at her watch. “its 1:45 a.m. Carmen, let’s get out of here.”

  Carmen looked at Jo and felt an unexpected tingle and Jo registered the response. To deflect the sparkle of attraction, Jo turned to Carmen and they neared the exit “We are going surfing tomorrow,” said Jo. Frozen by fatigue, Carmen followed.

  Jo was quick again to open the car door for Carmen. For the first time, Carmen caught Jo red-handed staring at her body. As she entered the car, with the door held by Jo, their arms brushed and Carmen slid into the bench seat of the car. She kicked out of her pumps.

  Jo opened up the driver’s door, got in, and brought the engine to a roar. That was only her first magic trick of the night. With the car still in park, she retrieved a chocolate coated peppermint patty from the pocket of her jeans.

  “Can I offer you dessert?” Jo said.

  “I’d love some,” came Carmen’s surprising answer. Jo slowly unwrapped the candy and popped it into Carmen’s open mouth. Just as slowly Jo moved close to Carmen and thrust their hips together as she gifted the peppermint candy. Jo moved in for the kiss.

  “Yum” Carmen said. “That was wonderful.”

  Jo slid back and accelerated from “park” to “drive.”

  13

  Sink or Swim

  July 16, 1988

  Saturday

  8:00 a.m.

  Tourmaline Beach

  For Saturday morning, Jo dressed carefully in a surf shop tank top, men’s swim trunks and yellow flip-flops. She then jumped up on the bed, picked Carmen up and carried her to the bathroom. “You’re learning to surf today and I’m going to teach you. I can surf as good as I dance.” The two women had shared the night on Jo’s double bed. Jo held Carmen’s naked body in her arms. “Carmen you are beautiful.” Jo knelt down and placed her gently on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. She stared into the other woman’s glowing eyes and softly stroked her long dark hair with her left hand. With her right palm, Jo moved down the naked woman’s body and stroked Carmen’s exposed ample breast. Carmen shuddered and sighed. “God you’re beautiful,” Jo repeated breathless with renewed desire.

  “Jo get up. I don’t want to make you late. I can’t go swimming in my birthday suit.”

  Carmen pushed Jo out of the bathroom. Alone before the round beveled mirror, Carmen admired her reflection. Her thick hair was tousled. Her cheeks were flushed from a night in Jo’s bed. Her brown eyes burned with joy and excitement. This was her first time with a woman.

  As Jo undid her bra last night, she told herself it was an act of necessity to make sure she could stay safe until she reunited with JC. He would never consider a girl to be a rival. It was not cheating. It was fun to be with Jo. To have Jo attend to her every desire. Jo made her the main attraction. With JC, her needs were his afterthoughts. Carmen was sore everywhere in a good way. She had never come so many times in one night. And now she had to learn to surf.

  Carmen changed into the surf shorts and T-shirt provided by her hostess. She tied and knotted the shirt above her navel to expose a trim waist.

  “The boards are on the bus, Rosie’s behind the wheel and the pumpkin is ready to take you to the ball princess,” Jo sang. Carmen answered as if she didn’t hear what Jo had said, “Where are we going?”

  Jo said “Tourmaline.”

  “Where? I’ve never heard of that. I’ve never been north of Coronado before,” Carmen said.

  In fifteen minutes, they were parking in a large empty beach parking lot.

  “Step one is to put on a wet suit,” Rosie said, after turning off the engine.

  “Here? Put on the wet suits here?” Carmen said.

  Rosie answered, “Yeah, listen. That’s what happens. We are here to catch waves and have a great time, just like the surfer dudes.

  Carmen stared back, and just shook her head.

  Rosie said “Look Carmen. If you’re going to surf you have to change your clothes. You want the thrills, you have to take the risk that some clown is going to get a glimpse of your tits.” Carmen did not budge.

  “I will make this easy for you. Change in the van while we change outside,” said Jo. Carmen stood in the van and squirmed her body into the short-sleeved wetsuit. Both Rosie and Jo slipped on their wet suits outside. Carmen emerged from the van, glistening in the tight wet suit.

  Jo was excited by the sight of curvaceous Carmen. Her assets were accentuated by a skin tight synthetic rubber wetsuit. Carmen could not look better. Jo wanted to kiss her on the lips. Instead, handed Carmen an eight-foot yellow
surfboard.

  “Here you go, lady. The waves are gentle today. They are perfect for learning. Let’s eat the beach. You do swim, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Carmen said. The three women walked quickly in their bare feet through the thick mist of an early summer morning on the San Diego coast.

  Many of the women from Rosie’s dinner the previous night was sprawled out on the beach.

  “Hi guys” they chimed in as Jo, Carmen and Rosie joined their encampment.

  “Grab your board Carmen, we are diving in headfirst.” “Sink or swim,” screamed Rosie, running towards the waves.

  Carmen stood on the surfboard by the end of the morning. She felt the exhilaration and absolute liberation of riding a wave to the beach. She was washed over with the baptismal cleansing of the ocean.

  For the first time, she also knew freedom. “Woohoo,” Carmen shouted in a full-throated joy, picking up her yellow longboard, “that was – incredible.”

  The women returned to the beach, after an hour of chasing waves like a harem of seals. “Missy, you earned your breakfast,” Rosie told Carmen.

  “Carmen,” Jo called as she toweled the ocean water from her damp hair and face.

  Carmen came beside her and whispered in Jo’s ear, “I am here.”

  In the moment, Jo pulled Carmen towards her and kissed her. Jo wanted more. “God, you turn me on,” Jo said with her lips against Carmen’s ear.

  Wet from head to toe, Carmen kissed back.

  14

  Cash on Delivery

  July 15, 1988

  Friday

  7:45 a.m.

  Interstate 5 South

  After successfully hot-wiring the AMC spirit, JC headed out of the Pancake House parking lot. He stepped on the gas pedal and shot onto the jammed street filled with tourists streaming towards the Disneyland entrance gates.

  Step one: he was not going to rush any of this. He would not permit himself to think about the alternatives. He had already seen too much in his life. He did not have to guess about the inevitable retribution from the drug cartel, his own Uncle Ramon, if he did not deliver on his promise. It was forward or oblivion.

  With sleep, coffee, and a heavy breakfast, he was a new man. He had beaten the odds his whole life, and today was no different. The most difficult part of his day was done; he had woken up, and gotten out of that damned parking lot. He was half way to success. Just go with the flow of the interstate South, and he would find the Chevelle. He arched his eyebrow for a moment to consider the fate of Carmen.

  JC was thrilled to be moving south. He forgot Carmen and focused on this car trip. “Yes!” JC pumped his fist for the first victory towards the day’s goal. This was his first lucky break after a night of very bad news. He had, in his life, benefited greatly from a car full of lucky breaks.

  After graduating high school, JC had made many trips to Los Angeles, sometimes with loads, cash, or guns. And definitely, what Carmen so loved about him, he was a man who could mix business with pleasure. Carmen teased him with that phrase “business and pleasure.” That thought made him hard with desire. He loved coming to Disneyland on dates, and staying in the Disneyland Hotel. He and Carmen loved swimming in that sparkling pool. They would check in at the front desk of the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Raul Rodriguez. That was the alias he used, both with Carmen and with the half a dozen other pretty girls he brought north for celebrating indulgent dates. They were decoys for the drugs as he crossed through the various ports of entry: Tecate, San Ysidro, Otay Mesa, Calexico. So yes, for him, there was business, and then so many pleasures.

  JC breathed easier with each mile South. He was putting distance between himself and the alien smugglers. The pain in his chest eased. Less than twelve hours earlier, in Mexico, he had forgotten to grab the inhaler for his asthma from his bathroom drawer. In the tension of the night that followed, this was the least of his painful problems.

  This car would do the trick, JC prayed, to get to that place just north of the border. He planned to abandon the little AMC Spirit after wiping her down and erasing his prints. He could sell it to someone headed south where the car would disappear forever into the abandoned grave yard of dismantled and cannibalized car parts. He had seen worse. He had seen the same thing done to people. He believed what he was told. This was not a crime, this was a business.

  JC lived without ambiguity, where his desire, or need was followed by action. This made him an excellent management trainee for the cartel. Uncle Ramon had told him that in the United States, the most terrible events were not the work of a single leader. Instead, the most evil acts were carried out by a faceless and uniformed enforcement squad. Ramon had told JC, this was a brilliant strategy as victims had no one to blame. The killers claimed ignorance, when in truth it was a team effort. “The best defense time tested by history,” Ramon called this the American legal system.

  These thoughts fueled his trip down the Interstate 5 South. He had a plan for the day. JC believed he was safely away from the alien smugglers at least for now. With a tank full of gas, he could make it all the way to Tecate. All the way to the Chevelle. All the way, back to the good graces of his Uncle. Then he would dump this crap AMC Spirit. The car, like a girl, was easy enough to hot wire, but not to keep.

  For a moment, JC equivocated. It was so strange to be alone in the car, without a friend, or even Carmen. He was coming to a crossroads on the freeway. It was an important decision: Tecate or San Diego. He had to find the car, and yet he knew he could not keep the enforcer, El Chiño waiting. He knew he had to find that load before he contacted El Chiño. He would tell El Chiño what happened. The flat tire was not his fault, there was a collision of strange events that he had never before encountered. Most importantly, whom could he trust?

  Once he found the load, he would find El Chiño. The emphasis was on the after. The cocaine was everything. This was all business. Cocaine and the profit meant life. Even so, JC had learned to navigate between blame and responsibility. He had a different set of ethics for his romantic affairs.

  The founding principle of the narcotic delivery business, JC had been taught, was one hundred per cent accountability. In this profession, there were no half measures and no excuses. The expectation could not be clearer.

  JC was told that he delivers the load or dies. He could avoid the gringo cops, but he did not doubt Uncle Ramon would not accept a rain check or I.O.U. In this business, it was Cash on Delivery (C.O.D.) or Dead on Arrival (D.O.A.)

  JC continued to drive South without stopping. His thoughts swung between cautious optimism and terror. Under no circumstances did he wish to be stranded again on the side of the road. He did not want to take the risk of the engine stopping. Such thoughts and the increasing smoggy heat of an Orange County July day caused sweat to sting JC’s eyes. The salty tension dropped down into his eyes. There were no tears, yet.

  He chose at the last minute to go East to Tecate. It was hard to know, what was the right choice in any situation. He chose with his heart. The heart never lied, his favorite rock ballads promised. That’s how he urged his dates to jump in his Chevelle.

  Yes, it was viernes, Friday, afternoon already. Maybe his luck had turned. He knew what happened to the unlucky.

  JC had seen too many tortured bodies beaten to death like piñatas, and then dissolved in acid, and poured down the drain. A life, a dream, a destiny, a soul, flushed into the sewer. Not a reverent death. Worse, there was nobody that would be called to answer for such death, not ever.

  His mother raised JC to believe. Today, JC chose faith. Faith in the fidelity of Carmen, and her very real love for him. He touched his chest for the gold medallion of Jesus Malverde, Patron Saint of Drug Smugglers. It was not there. He remembered, he had given it to Carmen last night, along with the keys to the Chevelle.

  The pendant would protect her as well. He kept telling Ramon, she knew nothing of the load. He would not marry her but he did not wish her death. He could never smile again at Carmen’s still very a
ttractive mother, if anything happened.

  Closing the miles between him and his gorgeous car, he applied Ramon’s schooling. He didn’t want to get too close to the load car, because there was still the possibility the cops, the gringo cops had found the cocaine. If they did, there would be surveillance on that Chevelle. Arrest by the Americans would be the least of the two dangers. With them and their imbecile legal system and judges, he had more than a fighting chance. With Uncle Ramon, not so much.

  He was driving East fast, and the scenery changed from chain restaurants and stores, to junk yards and sand pits. He squinted at the rock formations and ramshackle homes. He stared in his rearview mirror. No traffic. JC slowed to three miles under the speed limit. He scanned the opposite side of the road, hoping to see his beloved. Where could she be? Oh Jesus, he needed a miracle. “Jesus my Savior, Blessed Virgin Mary, let my car, let that Chevelle be there,” he prayed. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  The curve of the road and his desire for self-preservation forced JC to open his eyes. Still no miracles. Nothing. Nada. In the privacy of the car, he shouted “Where the hell is she! (the Chevelle)!” He pulled over to the side of the road. He knew it was somewhere.

  He reviewed the events of the previous night. He was certain it was on this road. Sure, this place looked different in the day. Hell, he felt so different than he had the night before. He thought it was just a short run to get help.

  An empty glass Fresca bottle gleamed green in the sun. This iridescent glass caught his eye. It had been a hot four-hour drive from Disneyland. He knew his promised delivery was getting later, as it was now a few minutes past noon on Friday.

  With the reflexes of the adroit striker that he was on the soccer field, he bent down and grabbed the bottle by its narrow neck. JC smashed it into imperceptible jagged pieces of green glass in the middle of the road. He knew that now some stranger could also suffer a flat tire in the near future. Neither his terror nor anger were pacified by the act.