by Glenn Trust
The big Dodge 2500 skidded in the dirt. Left without any warning, the truck behind had to veer off the road and slid to a stop in the ditch.
The driver of the second truck got out, pissed off. “What the fuck you doin’, Doyle. Tryin’ to get us all killed?”
Doyle Krieg got out from behind the wheel of the lead truck and looked at the Krieg ranch foreman, Bud Lawton. “Stopped to talk to my old buddy here.” He nodded at Sandy, sitting astride the ATV on the other side of the road. “You remember, Reynaldo Palmeras, don’t you, Bud?” he sneered. “The half-breed?”
Lawton cast a glance at Sandy, head still down as the dust settled around him. “Doyle, there’s no cause to start trouble out here,” he tried to reason. “Sandy’s just waiting for us to pass.”
“Sandy.” Doyle threw his head back and laughed. “That’s a good one. Use a name like that so he can pretend to be one of us.”
“Come on, Doyle. He never picked that name. Everyone calls him that on account of his hair being light and all.”
“What do you think, Paco?” Doyle turned to the man who stepped from the passenger side of the Dodge.
“Could be he is not very proud of his Hispanic origins,” Paco shrugged. “But it is always that way with half breeds, ain’t it? Don’t know which way to turn.”
“Hey Reynaldo,” He called across to Sandy. “I am a proud Tejan; my great-grandparents came from Coahuila. And you, what are you? A half-breed!” Paco grinned and shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets, waiting for Doyle to direct the next move.
Bud Lawton shook his head. Paco González was Doyle’s right-hand man and accomplice in stirring up shit whenever the opportunity arose, and Sandy Palmeras on the side of the road presented the perfect opportunity.
***
Doyle and Sandy had known each other all of their lives, attended school together in Zapata, riding the bus that Tom Krieg provided for the outlying families. From their earliest years, Doyle had held a grudge for Sandy and took to calling him a half breed when they were still in grammar school.
For his part, Sandy accepted it the way a person takes the weight of something you can’t change. He was a half breed. He knew it. His white father had deserted his mother of Mexican descent when he was a baby, and she had raised him alone.
For most people, his lineage wouldn’t have mattered. There were lots of half Mexicans around. This was Texas, after all.
He figured it mattered to Doyle Krieg because Doyle had to have someone to pick on. Sandy felt sorry for him, growing up on the Krieg ranch with Tom Krieg and a bunch of ranch hands but no mother. The official story was that she had died and was buried on the ranch. The unofficial word, spread around Creosote, in corners where Tom Krieg couldn’t hear, was that she found him with another woman, left him, and divorced him.
Sandy didn’t know which was true and didn’t care. It didn’t change a thing. Doyle Krieg had a bee up his ass when it came to Reynaldo ‘Sandy’ Palmeras and had been trying to start trouble with him since the first grade.
***
Sandy stepped off the ATV, folded his arms, leaned against the saddle, and smiled. “Morning, Doyle. How’s it going?”
“Hey, that’s pretty good English for a half breed.” Doyle looked over his shoulder at Paco who grinned. The grin encouraged him to take a step closer to Sandy.
“Come on, Doyle,” Bud Lawton put his hands on Doyle’s chest. “There’s no cause for this. Let’s get into Creosote. I’m hungry, and they say Mazey’s got some new girls.”
Doyle knocked Lawton’s hand away. “Get out of my way, Bud. You might be the foreman, but don’t forget who I am.” He snarled like a petulant lion cub trying to assert itself.
He pushed past Lawton and crossed the narrow dirt road. Sandy stood leaning against the ATV, waiting for what was to come, for what always came.
“Like I was sayin’, half-breed.” Doyle leaned in close. “You tryin’ to be one of us? Give it up. You’ll never be nothin’ but a half-breed. You know why?”
Sandy waited for it.
“Because,” Doyle sneered. “Tu madre es una puta.” Your mother is a whore.
Arms still folded across his chest, Sandy’s backhanded fist to Doyle’s jaw sent him reeling backward. Doyle recovered, pulling himself up straight and the two were on each other like wildcats.
Fists and arms flailed. Dust kicked up around them in a cloud as they struggled for position and then both were on the ground, rolling over trying to pin the other down to better pummel him with blows to the face.
“Kick his ass, Doyle!” Paco shouted and sauntered across the road to stand over the fray, but just far enough away to not be dragged into it.
“Break it up!” Bud Lawton shouted and reached into the dust cloud to grab a collar.
It was Sandy’s collar, and as Lawton pulled him off, Doyle kicked out with his boot, catching Sandy in the face. Lawton released Sandy and grabbed Doyle who moved in to continue stomping his adversary with his boots.
“Enough!” Lawton shoved Doyle, sending him backward to the ground. He pointed a thick finger at him. “You tell your daddy whatever you want, but this fight ends now.” He looked at Paco. “Get your ass in the truck. You’re driving. I’ll follow the two of you, but you get to Creosote. You can go to the café or go to Mazey’s. I don’t care, but you cause any more trouble, and I’ll beat both your asses.”
Paco glared at Lawton but got behind the wheel. When Doyle seated himself on the passenger side, Paco gunned the engine and spun the tires, sending a spray of dirt over Sandy who still sat in the road, wiping at the blood dripping from his nose.
Lawton bent over examining the boy’s injuries. “Not too bad. Don’t look like your nose is broke. Didn’t lose any teeth, just busted your lip some.” He stood up straight and pulled a bandanna from his back pocket. “Here. It’s clean. Wipe your face off with it, then I’d get on back to Creosote if I was you and have Isabella check you over.” He started to turn away, stopped and added, “I wouldn’t make too much of this, Sandy. You know how Doyle and his daddy can be. It was a fair fight.” He smiled. “And you had the best of him until I pulled you off and he managed to coldcock you with that boot. I’m sorry about that.”
Lawton turned and walked to his pickup. He followed the road toward Creosote, pulling away slowly so as not to send any more dust cascading over Sandy.
With the bandanna pressed hard against his nose, Sandy stood and held his head back. It took ten minutes to stop the bleeding.
Once he could lower his head safely without blood dripping from his face to the ground, he beat his shirt and pants with his hands to clean himself off, sending puffs of dust drifting away in the breeze.
“Fucking dust. I swear I’m gonna go live somewhere where it rains every day, and there ain’t no goddamned dust.”
15.
Dreams
The mood was light. Jacinta listened as the others chatted among themselves.
Where are you going?
Who will you stay with?
How will you arrive there?
Is someone going to meet you?
We are going in the same direction.
Can we travel together?
Is someone meeting you?
Could you give me a ride as far as Dallas?
There in the gloom behind the truck’s false wall, they spoke among themselves, at ease as if they were going on a holiday trip. Jacinta allowed herself to relax. She was genuinely sleepy for the first time in days. Her head began to drop to her chest, her eyes closed, and her breathing settled into a soft, rhythmic sigh.
“Poor child,” Inez said as Jacinta’s cheek touched her shoulder, resting there as she fell deeper into sleep. She lifted a hand and stroked the girl's hair, pushing it back away from her face.
“Hmph.” As usual, the cold-voiced woman sitting on the other side of the girl was annoyed.
“Why does she bother you so?” Inez shook her head in disgust at the woman’s surliness.
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“She doesn’t belong here.”
“And you do?” Inez’s eyes flashed at the woman. “Who made you the decider of who should be here and who should not?”
“A girl like that.” The woman shook her head. “She could put us all in danger. She is weak.”
“Really?” Inez shook her head. “I don’t think so. She came from a different life than you or I, yet, she is here, without mother or father or anyone to guide her. She made it here, onto the truck and across the border. She had to figure these things out for herself.”
“She had help. The priest, remember.”
“True enough.” Inez nodded. “Her priest told her about this way of crossing the border and put her in touch with that peacock, Pepe Lopez. Who told you the first time? Who guided you and said here is a way to get over without being caught, or raped or left to die in the desert?”
Inez smirked. “I’m sure whoever it was, it was not a priest. You are just a cold woman and something else.” Inez peered into the woman’s eyes. “I think you are jealous of her.”
“Jealous!” The woman threw her head back. “That’s a laugh. Why would I be jealous of una insignificante—a pipsqueak—like her?”
“Because she is innocent, and you know you are not.” Inez’s tone was final, putting the matter to rest.
Exhausted from lack of sleep and the tension of the trip, Jacinta slept through all of this. She was vaguely aware that they were talking, heard them mention a girl, sensed that they spoke of her, but the voices were too far away from her dreams to force their way into her consciousness.
Instead, the face of her uncle smiled at her. It was the face in the picture her mother had given her. In her dream, it was a sunny day, and he stood smiling under the sun, his arms open as she ran to him.
The truck lurched to a stop. Jacinta’s eyes fluttered open. She looked up and realized her head rested against Inez’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.” She sat up straight, brushing her hair out of her eyes, blinking to clear away the fog. “I didn’t mean to …”
“It’s fine, little one.” Inez patted her arm. “You must be very tired. This trip has been stressful for you.” She smiled. “It is almost over now, and you will be able to relax. Soon, you can sleep for as long as you want at your uncle’s house in Houston.”
“Yes.” Jacinta smiled. “My uncle.”
The truck was backing now. They felt it turn and move for several minutes in reverse before it lurched to a stop again. There were voices outside. Then the back door was thrown open.
Jacinta looked around at the others. They sat quietly, waiting.
Men were moving about now in the back of the truck. She heard a machine of some kind, a vehicle that rolled onto the truck and then back off, vibrating the floor and walls.
Finally, the false panel was removed, and they filed out into the back of the truck. The tomatoes were gone. The forklift that had moved the crates into the warehouse sat on the loading dock, but there was no driver.
The only people she saw, other than the passengers that had made the crossing with her, were the two men from the front of the truck and three more standing on the loading dock. One held a board with a paper clipped to it and seemed to be the one in charge.
“I’ll call you your name.” The man with the paper paused and regarded the faces before him. “You will go to another truck that will take you to your next city.”
“Another truck?” Jacinta reached for Inez’s hand. “We are not there yet?”
“Relax,” Inez reassured her. “It is all very organized. This is the first stop. From here they take us to other places where we can get transportation to our destination. Me, I will be dropped off in Dallas where I will take a bus to Nevada to see my son. “You are going to Houston, so they will take you somewhere to get a bus in that direction.” She smiled. “In fact, Houston is in Texas as is this place, so maybe they will take you all the way.”
“Do you think so?” Jacinta’s eyes were hopeful. The idea of taking a bus alone in a strange country was more than a little intimidating.
“It’s possible,” Inez reassured her. “But even if not, be strong and remember you will be with your uncle when you arrive.”
The man with the board and paper started calling out names. Singly, and in small groups, the passengers separated to the trucks the men indicated.
Inez was called, and she leaned over to give Jacinta a kiss on the cheek. “Be safe little one and be happy at your uncle’s house.”
Then she was gone. Jacinta looked around. Only five remained on the dock. One was the cold-voiced woman. Then her name was called, and she walked away, throwing one final scornful glance in Jacinta’s direction.
That left four on the dock waiting. The man with the board flipped a page and eyed each of the remaining faces.
“Okay.” He nodded. “You four will leave tomorrow. We don’t have a truck going in your direction today. Sigue a esos hombres,” His Spanish was barely understandable Spanish, but he motioned to the two men standing to the side. “Follow them. We have a room with beds and food for you. Then tomorrow you leave.”
The four women looked at each other. Jacinta felt her heart rise into her throat. Please, no more delays.
Then one of the women shrugged. She was tall and lean. Jacinta thought she looked like a model in a magazine. “Vamonos. Un día más no va a doler nada.” Let’s go. One more day isn’t going to hurt anything.
The tall woman led off, walking behind the two men. Jacinta and the others followed
As the man had promised, they led them to a room where there were beds, a television, a small refrigerator, and a table with chairs. The women each selected a bed and sat on it, testing the springs. The woman who had led the way went to the television and began searching for a Hispanic station. She found one and sat at the table to watch a popular Mexican soap opera.
Another went to the refrigerator and found soft drinks, milk, and an assortment of meats and vegetables. One pulled out a box of Oreo cookies and smiled.
“These are excellent!” She held one up for the others to see. “I have had these in Monterrey. Eat them with a glass of milk, and you’ll see how good they are.”
One of the girls joined her at the table to share in the cookies. Jacinta stretched out on the bed she had selected and closed her eyes. Soon, just one more day, she thought.
Her face relaxed into a smile. She drifted off to sleep and dreamed. Uncle Arturo smiled as in the photograph her mother had given her, his arms open to welcome her to a new life.
16.
Paid in Full
He pushed the empty plate across the counter, yawned, arched his back, and stretched his arms out over his head.
“You look tired.” Isabella refilled his coffee cup from the pot on the counter.
“No more than usual.” Sole smiled and lifted the cup. “Nothing this won’t fix.”
“Caffeine isn’t rest. When was the last time you slept in a bed?”
“Good question.” He thought it over for a minute. “Week before last, I guess. Motel outside Abilene, I think it was.”
“You think?” Isabella’s smile lifted a little to one side, wrinkling her brow in curiosity. She leaned her elbows on the counter in front of Sole. “So, what’s driving you, Bill Myers?”
“Nothing’s driving me.” He was more than a little uncomfortable as she leaned close, staring into his eyes. “Like I told you, I’m taking some time to wander the country, see things.”
“Bullshit.” It wasn’t a curse but a statement of fact. This time her smile twisted into a full smirk. “You don’t look like a wanderer. You’re a seeker, searching for something … or someone.”
He started to reply, fumbled for something to say, and shut his mouth. A shrug was the best response he could give. It had been a while since a woman could silence and challenge him in one breath and do it with a smile that made him want to linger.
“Well, whatever you’re looking for,
it’s keeping you from getting a good night’s sleep. That’s plain enough to see.”
“I’m fine.” He sipped the coffee. “Just needed a good meal.”
“She’s right,” Sherm Westerfield chimed in. “It doesn’t take a genius to see you look worn to a frazzle.” He shook his head. “None of my business, but you'd profit from a couple of good nights’ sleep and some regular meals.”
He was surrounded, and they were right. It had been weeks since he’d stayed long enough in one spot to allow his body and mind to recharge. He moved from place to place, almost randomly, but always in the direction of the border, inexorably toward the reckoning that waited. Sooner or later, it would come.
“I’ve got a room and a bed you can use,” Isabella said it without any pretense or flirtation. Her voice made it plain that the offer was a simple one without strings attached or fringe benefits implied.
“No.” Sole shook his head. “I need to…”
“Oh, hush.” She stood up straight. “I’m not propositioning you. I like my men rested and clean. You don’t seem to be either.” She eyed him up and down. “I imagine you haven’t had a good clean-up or shower since that last night in your Abilene motel.”
Weeks of sleeping in his truck and washing up in restroom sinks had left their mark. A glance in the mirror on the wall embarrassed him. He saw what they saw, a disheveled man with tousled hair, dirty clothes, and an aroma that preceded him by several feet.
“I don’t know …”
“It’s right next door.” Isabella was pleasant but persistent. “A couple of the old driller shacks I keep cleaned up and ready. Rent them out to Krieg and Zabala’s men and the local drunk cowboys when they can’t make it home after a night boozing and whoring.”
Sole didn’t know what to say. He should move on. He was close to the border now.
It had taken him more than a year to work his way here. Every mile brought him closer to the Los Salvajes cartel and the man called Bebé Elizondo. If he found him, he would find the other, the one who had been there that night, the one who had taken everything from him.
