THE BLUE STALKER (16 page)

             
Dust began to whirl like a small tornado as the helicopter descended to the hot desert sand.  The desert was flourishing with it’s vegetation but it was hot as hell.  The pilot cut the engine off, the blades began to slow. Mexican men rolled out a red carpet for the cartel leader and his body guards to exit the helicopter and walk to the shack.  A tall slim man sporting a white suit with a wide brimmed hat stepped from the helicopter holding his hat keeping it from flying into the blowing dust with his body guards surrounding him.

             
“Good to see you Senor.”  The men on the ground said in unison.  This ass hole didn’t even give the men a half ass nod.  He walked straight ahead never turning to see the men that were so eager to greet him.  He entered a small building and sat down at a large desk, removed his hat revealing his grey temples.  Fanning palm leaves cooled him.  One man wiped his brow as if her were an emperor.  With the flick of a servants lighter the arrogant bastard put fire to his cigar.  Puffing and chewing on its end and rolling it from side to side between his thin lips.  He leaned back in his high back leather chair flicking the ashes on the floor. 

             
The man in white began to speak, there was total silence.  You could hear a pin drop as he cracked his knuckles.

             
“What’s this I hear some of our hostages have escaped?”  The Cartel leader said in a demanding voice.

             
“Two of our men are in jail in Baker.  No one contact them.  Let them rot in hell.  They were careless leaving only Manuel outside the shack to keep watch.  Stupid Mexicans.”  he said in disgust.

             
“This Agent Harris is closing in on us.  If I get many bad reports on him the sucker will find himself in a shallow grave in the desert.  For the time being Manuel will keep an eye on him.  Agent Harris is a stupid ‘son of a bitch’.  Even stupid Manuel pulled the wool over his eyes when they were captured.  Manuel pretended he was a hostage and they bought it.  Now he’s working as an informant for the FBI.  This means we have someone else on the inside that can help us keep ahead of the agents.  We’ll keep them running in circles as we’ve done for many years.  We’ve got some of the town people in our pocket and they aren’t gonna spill their guts.  They know talking will get them a shallow grave.”   Cracking his knuckles as he continued.  “We set up another drop house in Coopersville.  Manuel rented it from an old lady.  Luckily he didn’t need to give the old  lady any information.  Seems she just wanted to bring in some extra money and had this old vacant house.”  The man dressed in white told them.

             
“If anyone escapes like the young couple with the baby I’m going to castrate the bastard guarding them.  You hear me I’ll whack your damn balls off.  There will be no more escapes.  You hear me?  No more!”  he said as his voice bellowed in anger throughout the shack.

             
“Pedro you and Jorge are in charge of this run.  “Give them the address of the drop-house in Coopersville.  He ordered one of his servants.  “There’s a green van parked in the usual location.”  He said tossing Pedro the keys.  “I don’t want any ’screw’ ups.  You hear me or you will be dinner for the buzzards.  And you aint  gonna like them pecking your eyes out.” 

             
“Keep these ‘sons a bitches’ in the drop-house until you hear from Manuel.  When you hear we have the ransom money take them to the desert an blow their ‘friggin’ heads off.”

             
“You have your orders.  Anyone under the sound of my  voice.  Don’t mess with me, you hear me?  I will cut your woman’s head off and use if for a post ornament.” 

             
He stood up dropped his cigar on the floor placed his white shiny shoe over it and twisted his foot and walked back the same way he walked in arrogantly with his eyes staring straight ahead.  He and his mob of body guards stepped in the helicopter and it ascended into the clouds. 

             
Pedro and Jorge took the winding dirt road to the location of the green van.  They caught a few winks of sleep and were ready to haul ass across the deserts dirt road.  If the van were to break down or any other problem to keep them from  moving through the desert it would lead to sure death.  The Border Patrol never checks this part of the Mexico desert.  The runners chance the run time and time again for a lucrative payday.

             
The ten Mexicans showed up ahead of time and they were off.  They had the clothes on their backs and a bag of what was probably food land water.  That is unless they have the brains of a turnip.  It’s not the responsibility of the runners to supply food or water for the men they bring across the desert.  Their mission is to deliver them to a farm, so the escaping Mexicans think.  Some are taken to the farmers truck but most are taken to the drop-house where they are held until their family pays the ransom.  And usually after they receive the ransom they are taken to the desert.  They are usually found with a bullet to their back or between their eyes laying in a shallow grave in the hot desert. 

             
Pedro and Jorge share the driving.  They have shielded the front of the van from the back.  The air conditioning will only cool the front of the van.  The Mexicans are cramped in the back of the van setting on a hard metal floor.  Heat from the triple digit desert temperature and the van is burning anything it touches.  There isn’t room to stretch out and the air is thin. 

             
“I am very sick.”  A Mexican man says to his friend.  “Very sick my friend, I think I am going to die.”

             
“You’ll be okay just try to think about the good life ahead of us.  I can not help you.”  the friend said.

             
“I know.”  He said in a weak inaudible voice as he slumping forward.  His friend shook him and tried to arouse him.  He was dead just like that dead.

“What ‘the hell we gonna do with a dead body in the van he’s gonna stink up this hell box we are riding in.”  A Mexican man blurted out.

             
Pedro heard the commotion and asked,  “What the hell going on?”

             
“It’s our friend he died.”  A Mexican answered.

             
“Pull the sorry bastard to the back door.”  Pedro ordered.

             
The men struggled with the dead weight of the body until it lay against the back door.

             
“Open the door and kick the ‘son of a bitch’ out.”  Pedro ordered as he looked to the back of the van.

             
“What!” His friend yelled.

             
“You heard me you ‘asshole’ open the door and kick him out or I will kick your ‘sorry ass’ out and leave you and your buddy for the vultures to feast on.  This ride is no picnic and what ever happens, happens.”  Pedro said as he turned away from the men and looked ahead at the long desert road ahead of them.

The men slowly opened the back door and let their friend fall to the ground.  Many crossed their chest as the door opened.  Giving his body to the vultures was a hard thing to do but they didn’t have a choice.  The men knew it was up to each to survive this journey.

             
“Boss man is gonna be mad.  He could have probably got a lot of  money for him from his family.’  Jorge said pounding on the steering wheel knowing it was his and Pedro’s responsibility to get the Mexicans to the drop-house alive. 

             
“Shush.”  Pedro said.  “They might over hear you.”

             
“They don’t speak enough English to understand.” Pedro said.

             
“You’re right, I didn’t think of that.”  Jorge said.

             
But one young  man, Carlos overheard.  He knew he and the other men were on the road to bondage and sure death.  He didn’t know what to do.  He wanted to warn the others. 

             
But who could he trust?  He made his way to the back of the van and struck up a

Conversation with another young man.  Before the first day ended they were pretty good friends.  Carlos felt he could  trust him.

             
About two hundred miles into the trip the men could hear the rotary of a helicopter.  They thought for sure it was the border Patrol and they had been caught.  The helicopter hovered over the van for a short time.  Pedro continued to drive the van up the road.  Suddenly the van stopped Pedro and Jorge jumped from the van.  On the side of the road  was a thirty gallon can of gasoline.  Pedro and Jorge lifted it to the side of the van and slowly poured gasoline into the vans gasoline tank.  They jumped back in the van as fast as they jumped out and again we are on our way to freedom or will it be bondage.  Carlos thought to himself.

             
From the back window Carlos could see the helicopter hovering over the barrel, a man dropped from the side of the helicopter hanging on a cable attached the empty barrel with a cable and hoisted it to the helicopter and he hung on the side of the barrel. 

             
There were two makeshift fueling stations in the desert.  Everything went off with a hitch.  There was no doubt this run had been made over and over again. And again.  Everything went like clock work. The burning sun dropped behind the horizon just as quickly the van stopped. 

             
“You have ten minutes to take a crap or whatever and we won’t stop again until morning. 

             
“Get your sorry asses out of the van.”  He ordered.

             
The men crawled from the van trying to work the circulation back in their numb legs.  They all realized  they were at the mercy of two mean men. 

             
Carlos quietly called to his new friend.  “Come over here.”

             
“What do you want?”  He asked.

             
Listen and don’t say anything.  I overheard them discussing their plans for us.  Their boss is going to hold us hostage until our family pays up.  I’ve heard of this before.  They don’t know I speak English.”  Carlos told his friend.

             
“What are we going to do?”  He asked.

             
“First we are not going to tell anyone.  We don’t know who we can trust.  I hope you are to be trusted.”  Carlos said.

             
“You don’t have to worry about me.  I want to make it to the states alive.”  H assured him.

             
“Okay, just do a s I say or do.  Just follow my lead.”  Carlos told his new friend.

             
“Ten minutes is up, get back in the van we are hauling ass outta here.”  Pedro yelled to the men.

             
They crawled back into their hell hole trying to sleep but it was almost impossible.  A new day was born in the east and the sun was shining through the side window as the men  began to rouse up.  Some digging into their brown bags in search of food and water.  Some of the men rationed the water but others didn’t and were thirsty.  The goodness of the men came through. They shared their food and water with each other.  Days in the filthy hot van brought them together as comrades. 

             
Okay, we will be hitting the main road in a short time.  This is your last break.” he told them.

             
“After we are on the main highway we will stop for fuel but you will not get out of the van for any reason.”  Pedro told the men.  “So get your sorry asses out of the van and do your thing.” He ordered.

             
Carlos and Luis watered a couple of Saguaro’s and walked around exchanging words as they stretched their arms and legs.  Carlos told Luis about a secondhand store in Coopersville. He heard people back in Mexico talking about this nice couple helping the Mexicans that were trying to escape from the ‘Coyotes’. 

             
“When we get near Coopersville.  I plan to jump from the back of the van and run like the devil.  You, if you want to save your hide follow me. Run away from the van in the direction I run.  If I remember correctly the store is on the corner of Main Street and I think they said First Street.  If we loose each other meet me there.  I’ll wait for you.” 

Carlos assured Luis patting him on the back.

             
Luis was a few years younger than Carlos.  He reminded Carlos of his little timid brother back I Mexico.  He wondered why he was trying to escape  from  Mexico at such a young age.  Carlos would do everything in his power to help Luis his new young friend.

             
The ride across Arizona and into California was hotter than hell.  The smell of body odor and vomit permeated the van.  The men were almost dead from exhaustion, some throwing up, passing out, some soaked in their own vomit, all were dehydrated.  They rubbed their faces with sweat soaked shirts trying to cool themselves.  The conditions in the back of the van were sickening.  A pig going to slaughter would have been treated with more respect than the Mexican men were treated on their journey to a new country.