Just for the Birds

by Jinx Schwartz

  I’d photographed the entire episode as best I could, but in my excitement, I held down the shutter button so long I heard a warning beep and saw a low battery readout. Removing my phone from the solar charger, I plugged in the camera, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. I had some juice left and decided to use it frugally. At least the shots I already had pretty much told the story, so I trained the binoculars on Topaz. Nothing much seemed to be happening. She looked to be talking to the boss man, but he still held the gun on her.

  Taking a few deep breaths to settle down, I realized I was shaking. Thanks to that hefty tripod, I was pretty sure my photos were good, in spite of my tremors.

  Movement caught my eye as two of the other guys, now free of that pesky bird, rushed Topaz—probably swiftly following orders this time after watching the consequences of displeasing el Jefe—and manhandled her straight into the bird enclosure, locking it behind her.

  The aviary was in chaos. The gun shot had terrified both the birds and the girls, so there was a cacophony of shrieks, both human and bird, as the girls covered their heads and batted away parrots of all sorts. Alfred Hitchcock could not have directed it better.

  I watched as Topaz brushed herself off and rounded up the girls. She grabbed a tarp, got them in a huddle, and drew it over them. It seemed to calm the youngsters until el Jefe pushed Po Thang in with them and he bounded to join them under the tarp.

  Several girls decided to take their chances with the birds; many Mexican children are terrified of dogs. Topaz talked them back to safety, and soon a few of them were cuddled up to my dog. He was amazingly docile after almost being hanged. Hanging will do that to you.

  I sat back, grabbed a water, and chugged it. Now what?

  And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I was attacked.

  Something hit me in the head and I swatted wildly before realizing it was a very agitated Trouble coming in for a landing. He quickly worked his way down my shoulder and tucked himself inside my collar. He was wet from stress and panting so hard I feared he’d have a heart attack. I cuddled him, cooing and stroking his neck feathers with water from my bottle. After a few minutes, he drank a little from my hand, and fell asleep.

  I put on a jacket and zipped him in, because that earlier light breeze from below had picked up, and the last thing Trouble or any other parrot needs is a drafty chill when they’re damp. Poor Trouble was really having a crappy couple of weeks, and mine weren’t much better.

  Things settled down at the ranch, what with everyone safely tucked away from each other; the Pendejos were all in the house, and the women and my dog were sheltered in the bird enclosure. I took one more look and saw the old truck driver, who had been conspicuously absent during the entire brouhaha, standing watch from his covered truck’s bed.

  It was time to beat feet down the mountain before it got dark.

  I sent all the latest pictures out before going back down the mountain. Without anyone to help me carry the heavy equipment and Trouble’s cage, I had two choices; make two trips or leave most of it where it was.

  Needless to say, I chose to leave the camera, making me thankful I hadn’t written Roger that twenty-thousand dollar check he wanted as a deposit. It would have bounced anyway.

  Dragging the camera under a creosote bush took a good twenty minutes and zapped my energy. I sat down to rest, then gingerly started my descent on the unstable lava rock trail. I threw the cage in front of me as far as I could, then continued to do so all the way down. I ended up side slipping for at least thirty minutes. Jeez, it only took Topaz ten.

  By the time I got to my pickup, my ankles and thighs burned. I put the somewhat worse for the wear cage into the back jump seat and collapsed behind the wheel long enough to check my cellphone for a signal. It was an exercise in futility.

  Making sure all the windows were rolled up, I extracted Trouble from inside my jacket and put him into the safety of his cage again. When I threw a blanket over it, he didn’t let out a peep.

  I was certain I’d find bird poop somewhere inside my clothes later on.

  Oh, for a hot shower and a cold beer!

  I took a deep breath and hummed the “Marines’ Hymn” as I drove away.

  “Trouble, we could sure as hell use some of those dudes to storm the Halls of Montezuma once again.

  Trouble mumbled a weak, “Semper Fi.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE NEAREST PLACE I knew for sure had phone service was Mission San Javier—okay, sort of sure, since one never really knows—or the mule skinner’s house. I drove straight for Campo Muleshoe and was about to make the turn at his hand-carved sign, when I spotted a huge cloud of dust to the west on the main road.

  Taking no chances of being seen by anyone, I drove into the desert while cursing myself for buying a shiny red vehicle. At least by now it was coated with dust.

  Entering an area strewn with humongous boulders, I picked out one with a view of the road and Drew’s turnoff and parked behind it. As always, when I saw these boulder fields I wondered what the scene must have been like when they were spewed from a volcano like popcorn; the one I picked was the size of a house. Once safely tucked away, I cut the engine, rolled down the window, and listened.

  Whatever was coming my way, it was doing so excruciatingly slowly and noisily. Screeches and growls sent birds airborne and small critters scurrying through the dry brush.

  Reaching for a warm sweater from the back seat, I extracted Trouble from his cage and swaddled him in it. He barely moved as I gently placed him in the glove compartment for safety, and to muffle him in case he got the urge to squawk. In truth, it is one of his favorite places in the car, so I’d long ago affixed a latch to the lid so it would remain partially open for airflow while remaining somewhat soundproofed.

  Exiting my pickup as silently as possible so as not to disturb my sleeping bird, I snaked my head around the boulder. The large cloud of dust was closer, but I still couldn’t see what sounded like a slow-moving vehicle. From the low-grinding engine sound and the oversized dust trail, I was thinking someone might be grading the road. At this hour?

  I pulled up my hoodie—red hair, red car, bad combo for stealth maneuvers—and continued my neck-stretch surveillance mode and was about to take a break when a yellow truck crept into view. In valley shade, visibility becomes more difficult as the sun sets, but failing light or not, I was convinced it was the same delivery truck I’d seen at Rancho Los Pajaros.

  Watching the familiar taco truck from my hidey hole, I found myself literally caught between a real rock and the hard place.

  Did I race for an internet or cell connection before the driver saw me bolt, or did I wait for him to pass and tail him, just in case Topaz, Po Thang, and those girls were being relocated to some fresh hell?

  Back inside my pickup, I prepared to give chase. Well, chase was probably not the operative word, since the truck was doing a whole five miles per hour.

  Trouble let out a weak peep when I shut my door. “Go back to sleep my brave little warrior. Looks like it’s gonna be a very long night.”

  Listening intently for the truck to finally pass, I heard his brakes shriek to a metal-on-metal halt. Fearing he had somehow spotted me, I started my engine and made ready to rabbit, knowing he’d never catch me in that leviathan he was driving. He’d stopped completely, and fearing he was headed my way on foot, I almost bolted when I realized he was rolling again, and I had to know where.

  Leaving the engine running, I exited and dared a peek.

  He was turning into the mule skinner’s road.

  And he was dragging Topaz’s car.

  Back inside my vehicle, I had a decision to make. Did I stick around and try to see who’s in that truck, or drive like a bat outa hell until I got enough bars on my phone to call Roger?

  I knew what made the most sense but was hesitant to go that route. My senseless self (the normal one) voted to follow the truck, spy on them, then descend upon them like the C
avalry hell-bent on wiping them from the face of the earth. Until I remembered two things: 1. Topaz had my gun, and 2. Custer.

  Tightening my seatbelt and making sure Trouble was secure, I sneaked out from behind my boulder. Why I sneaked, I have no idea, since the gear-grinding and screech of what I decided were the wheel rims of that rental car over rocks surely overcame any noise my pickup made.

  A quarter of a mile later, I stomped on the gas. Driving way faster than prudent without headlights on a dark and bumpy road, I also listened for a ping that said I had cell service. I thought for sure I’d get at least a weak signal at Mission San Javier, but no luck.

  At the mission I picked up a paved road, so I sped up even more and was straightening out the curves when I topped a hill and got that long awaited ping. Leaving a long length of rubber on the road, I backed up, found a place to pull off and made a call.

  “Roger! Thank heavens I reached you. Did you get the photos?”

  “Yep, and I’ve been trying to call ya. Have you lost yer common sense?”

  “Jan says I don’t have any. I just now got a signal since I left the lookout, and in case I lose you, listen carefully. Do not, under any circumstances, call Drew! He’s dirty!”

  “Well, no kidding. You got the picture to prove it.”

  “What? One of those guys was Drew? I couldn’t make out any faces. They all wore hats and sunglasses.”

  “Me neither at first, but then I enhanced the photos and low and behold, the guy in the blue shirt was none other than that polecat mule skinner.”

  “Pendejo!”

  “You got that right. Truth is, I already smelled a zorillo. He’d called me about ten minutes before I got your first batch of pictures and he told me there was no change in the situation. So, a‘course, when I got yer evidence to the contrary, I smelled mule poop. I ran a quick background check on him. Skunk’s got a rap sheet long as yer arm, mostly for smugglin’ of some kind.”

  “That bastard! We walked right into his hands. Wait, you didn’t tell him Topaz and I were making another reconnaissance mission today, did you?”

  “How could I? You didn’t bother to let me know. Which, by the way, we’ll have to have a parlay about later.”

  “But, it’s a good thing I was there to see them snatch Topaz, right?”

  “Hetta, they couldn’t a snatched her if you two hadn’t been wanderin’ off the reservation.”

  He had a point. “Scold me later. So, there is an excellent chance these guys have no idea who Topaz is, right?”

  “Not unless she was dumb enough to carry ID.”

  I glanced at her handbag in the backseat. “Nope, she left everything, including the rental car papers, with me. But she did take my gun.”

  “Your gun? You have a gun in Mexico? Are you nuts?”

  “Of course I am. However, the gun is legal, honest.”

  Loud sigh. “I don’t even want to know.”

  “You betta off, Rog. And, they didn’t search her before tossing her and Po Thang into the birdcage. I was watching their every move.”

  “I’ll do my best to get to you by tomorrow. Meanwhile, go back home.”

  “No way. I’m not leaving the area until I get my dog back. Oh, and Topaz. We rented a house in Loreto and that’s where I’m heading right now.”

  “Why am I suspicious that you gave in too easy? Are you planning on doublin’ back.”

  “Actually, you might want me to.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I had to leave your camera and tripod up on the mountain.”

  “Whaaaat?”

  I ended the call and said to Trouble, who had woken up and was nestled back inside my collar after I’d loosened my seatbelt and let him free, “Well, that went well, doncha think?”

  “Ack! Numb nuts.”

  I am sooo glad my dog can’t talk.”

  I had considered, as Roger feared, doubling back to my mountain perch, since I was only about half-way to Loreto. However, an even darker dark had dropped like a curtain. And even though I knew that, when my eyes adjusted, the stars would give me fair light, even then I’d probably break my neck climbing back up that slippery hillside. Or stumble into a rattlesnake den.

  Since I found neither of those appealing, and Roger’s camera had no infrared capabilities, I reasoned I’d be better able to help Topaz and Po Thang with the morning light.

  “Hey Trouble. We’re gonna camp out! What an adventure.”

  “Numb nuts.”

  Finding a suitable spot just upstream from a small ford, I parked off the road, blew up the self-inflating mattress I keep in the camper shell for just such an emergency, and unrolled a sleeping bag. I grew misty-eyed with gratitude for my dad, who taught me to plan for the worst. And my mom, who insisted I always carry clean underwear.

  I locked us inside the camper shell, and shared some of my goodie stash of jerky, Spam, crackers, and bottled water with Trouble. I am a light sleeper, so I figured I’d hear anyone coming down the hill. Hopefully, those a-holes hadn’t spirited their hostages away on the road headed west, the one that led to the Pacific coast, but there was nothing I could do about it at the moment. Exhausted, I fell asleep in a flash.

  I was awakened at a little after three by the sound of a nearby vehicle. A waxing moon afforded me a good view through the slide-open window into my truck cab; in the Baja the lack of manmade ambient light makes for bright moon shine even during a crescent phase, and I had an almost full moon.

  A beat up farm truck lumbered into sight and stopped at the low water crossing. I felt like a peeping Tom as I watched a cowboy-hatted silhouette bend down, scoop water into his hands for a drink, then take a leak in the stream, and drive off. Note to self: never drink downstream from a crossing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  TROUBLE NIBBLED ON my nose before first light, then crowed like a rooster.

  “Egad, Trouble. My eardrums. Okay, okay, I’m up.”

  I gave him a piece of jerky, ate some myself, wished for a Starbucks, and we hit the road again. I was eager to get a gander at the bird sanctuary, but I slowed down and drove without headlights in the pre-dawn gloom. I was certain I’d see anyone coming my way in plenty of time to hide again. Unless some idiot was driving without lights.

  Stiff from a combination of my strenuous day before and sleeping in the camper shell, I knew the climb to my lookout was going to be painful and hazardous. I felt it prudent to leave Trouble in the pickup in case I stumbled and rolled on him. He wasn’t happy about it until I threw him the entire bag of jerky.

  According to my pickup’s thermometer, it was in the low forties, and as I climbed higher it felt even colder. However, my clumsy hiking skills, combined with the rising sun, warmed me in a hurry. In fact, by the time I hit the top and set up the camera, I was perspiring inside my jacket and doubled-up sweats. I removed my jacket and got a whiff of someone in bad need of a shower.

  The valley below was still in shadow and there were no lights to define the bird sanctuary. Through the telephoto lens, I made out the outline of the yellow truck and sighed with relief. If the truck was there, it was a good bet that so were Topaz and Po Thang.

  Sunrise in the valley gave me a good look at the bird pen and house. Concentrating on the large wire cage, I finally saw Po Thang crawl out from under a tarp, stretch, yawn, and trot over to a water bowl. A couple of minutes later, Topaz stepped into sight. I snapped photos of both of them and the girls as they also emerged and sent them out. My phone had a decent charge from the trip down the hill and back, so I laid down the tripod and camera and left the camera plugged into the solar charger while I slid down to the pickup.

  Trouble cussed at me a little for leaving him, but judging by the empty packet of jerky, he hadn’t had much time to suffer. Driving back to Loreto was a double-edged emotional sword. I hated leaving Topaz and Po Thang, but it was clear I was helpless to rescue them by myself.

  As soon as I got a cell signal, my phone went nuts. I pulled over and
read messages from Roger, Jan, and Craig. Jan was almost to the rental house in Loreto, and Roger and Craig would arrive later in the afternoon.

  “Trouble, me boy, it looks as though those bad guys are going to get their comeuppance very shortly. What say we celebrate with a great big breakfast after I stop at the feed store and get you a new cage?”

  “Trouble is a pretty boy.”

  “Yes you are. And you’ve been a very, very, good bird.”

  He blushed and preened. “Ack! Good Trouble.”

  I messaged Jan and asked her to meet me for breakfast at Orlando’s in Loreto because I love their chilaquiles. I hadn’t had a decent meal in forever and felt I rightly deserved fried tortilla chips boiled in heavy cream, then mixed with a zesty red chili sauce and cilantro, and topped with tons of cheese, sour cream, and even more cilantro.

  By the time we arrived to meet Jan, she was already there and had ordered me a fruit salad.

  There is no justice.

  “So,” I asked while stabbing a piece of papaya with little more force than necessary, “what’s the latest on Chino? How’s his foot?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Better than that poor fruit salad you’re torturing. Actually, the reason I could return here so fast is because Chino’s taken over the laboratory and sent his interns out on the whale count. His foot is healing rapidly, but he can’t get it wet yet.”

  Several platters heaped with something cheesy were deposited on a table nearby. I staunched a rivulet of drool with my napkin and moaned.

  Jan snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Hetta, no!”

  I threatened her hand with my fork. “I’ve had a crappily bad twenty-four hours, Chica, and I require real food.”

  She quickly withdrew those fingers. “Think positive. Maybe you lost a pound or so.”