The Luann comic strip reminded Wally that the Sadie Hawkins dance was coming up. Maybe she would ask Jesse if he wanted to attend the dance with her. On Sadie Hawkins Day, girls were encouraged to invite the boys to the dance. Wally had initially considered asking her friend Brandon to go with her, but she knew she would have a much better time with Jesse. Besides, Brandon wasn’t into girls.
Later, after she finished her chores, Wally thought she might stop by Jesse’s house when she took Samson for a walk. Jesse lived quite a distance away, but she didn’t mind walking that far. She smiled, thinking about how surprised he would be when he saw them.
Wally turned to Samson, who was sprawled on the floor, gnawing on a rawhide bone. “What do you say, boy? Want to go see Jesse?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Border Patrol guards were dressed in dark-green army uniforms. Officers, standing on the side, held military-assault rifles at the waist, ready for action. Jesse tried not to act nervous, but his heart raced as TJ drove slowly down the NOTHING TO DECLARE lane. A signal light up ahead flashed green, and vehicles passed through without being inspected.
Five cars later, TJ drove up to the checkpoint station. The Border Patrol officer spoke English so Jesse didn’t have to translate. TJ calmly explained that they were American citizens from San Antonio, who wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon in Nuevo Laredo to shop for souvenirs and to enjoy great Mexican food.
The officer waved them through. But just as TJ drove forward, a bell rang and the green light turned red. Jesse’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he worried about what TJ might have in his car. He glanced in the back seat. Beer bottles and fast-food bags and wrappers cluttered the floor.
A customs agent approached their car. TJ rolled down his window and asked, “What’s the problem, officer?”
“Please pull over to the right and step out of the car,” the agent said in broken English.
“Is there something wrong?” TJ asked, furrowing his brows. “’Cause like I told the other gentleman, we’re just crossing over to do some shopping.”
“Pull over to the right and step out of the car,” The customs agent repeated, pointing to the inspection station.
“Come on, TJ, don’t cause a scene,” Jesse said. “Do what he says.”
TJ huffed with indignation and muttered, “All right.”
When he and Jesse got out, the customs agent asked, “Do you have any firearms or drugs in the car?”
TJ flashed a superior grin. “Take a look for yourself, amigo.”
The agent searched the front and back seats, the glove compartment and the trunk. When he was done, he said, “Enjoy your stay.”
TJ drove across the bridge. When he stopped at a light, he turned to Jesse and said in a thick Mexican accent, “Welcome to México, señor.”
Jesse swallowed dryly. He couldn’t believe where he was. As best as he could, he translated the street signs and guided TJ to the shopping district and Avenida Guerrero in downtown Nuevo Laredo.
Dozens of vendors lined the narrow streets, selling everything from chewing gum to table cloths. Cars honked nonstop. Throngs of people walked in and out of shops.
Jesse kept an eye out for the Farmacia Maldonado. He saw a number of other pharmacies: Farmacia Nuevo Laredo, Farmacia Aguilar, Farmacia El Norte, but not the one they wanted.
“Park your car, and I’ll ask someone if they know where the pharmacy is,” Jesse said.
TJ drove into a lot where the attendant charged him five American dollars to park. As they got out of the car, a teenage boy about Jesse’s age approached them. The boy wore a yellow T-shirt and khaki shorts with tennis shoes, but no socks. He said something in Spanish that Jesse couldn’t understand. The boy repeated what he had said, but this time he raised three fingers. He smiled, showing yellow teeth that matched the color of his T-shirt.
Jesse finally figured out what the kid was saying. “He wants you to give him three dollars to watch your car, TJ.”
“But I already gave the attendant five bucks,” TJ said, glaring at the boy.
“I know, but I remember Carlos Montoya telling my father that this is how some people in border towns make their money, by watching parked cars,” Jesse said. “You know, to make sure the cars are still in the lot when the owners return.”
“I’m not giving him anything,” TJ said.
“I think you’d better or something could happen to your car.”
TJ sighed. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and fished out three one-dollar bills. The boy’s eyes bulged when he saw the stack of twenties in TJ’s wallet.
“You’ve got quite a little scam running here, don’t you, amigo,” TJ told the boy.
“¿Dónde está Farmacia Maldonado?” Jesse asked.
The boy pointed across the street and said something that Jesse didn’t quite understand.
“The pharmacy’s over there somewhere,” Jesse told TJ.
TJ scowled at the boy and said, “Nothing better happen to my car, amigo. You comprende?”
The boy nodded.
Jesse and TJ crossed the street and walked down the sidewalk, trying not to get separated in the crowds. They passed clothing and shoe stores, jewelry shops and two dentist offices. Vendors sold T-shirts, baseball caps and other souvenirs from tables under sidewalk tents.
Jesse felt surprisingly safe. With this many people around, he didn’t think anything bad could happen to them. He checked his watch. They had plenty of time.
“You hungry?” TJ asked.
“A little,” Jesse said. “There’s a McDonald’s down the street.”
“McDonald’s?” TJ laughed. “We didn’t come all the way to Mexico to eat at a Mickey Dees. Come on, Jesse. Find us a place that serves authentic Mexican food.”
Jesse spotted a pink building with a sign in front that read, Restaurante La Ciudad. “Let’s check out that place.”
The restaurant was empty, which concerned Jesse. Maybe the locals knew something about the place, which was why no one was eating there. Or, he hoped, maybe it was late Sunday afternoon, and business wouldn’t pick up until the evening. At any rate the restaurant looked clean.
A man greeted Jesse and TJ and told them they were welcome to sit wherever they pleased. He handed them a couple of menus and left.
TJ tried to read his menu, but none of the dishes looked familiar. “Anything here you can recommend, Jesse?” he asked.
“How about cabrito? That’s pretty good.”
“What’s cabrito?”
“Baby goat.”
TJ frowned. “Let’s see what else they’ve got.” He read farther down the menu. “What’s lengua?”
“Lengua is tongue. That tastes pretty good, too.”
“Ugh. Let’s go with the baby goat,” TJ said.
The man who seated them took their order. Jesse was thankful for the lesson on restaurant phrases he had learned in his Spanish class.
While they waited, Jesse’s cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID. It was his grandmother, but he didn’t answer his phone. If she questioned him later as to why he hadn’t picked up, he would say that he and Wally were at the movies and that he didn’t want to disturb anyone in the theater.
When the phone stopped ringing, the red alert light began to blink. His grandmother had left a message. Jesse listened to it, hoping there wasn’t an emergency at home.
The message said: “Jesse, where are you? Your friend Wally is here at the house, and she said you never went to see her.”
Jesse’s face turned pale. I’m busted! She knows!
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jesse tried to remain calm. All his grandmother knew for certain was that he hadn’t gone out with Wally. He ran a number of other excuses through his mind. He could claim that he had been with Goose or Wendell, but that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he lie about hanging out with them? He would have to come up with a good reason for why he had asked his grandmother to drop him off in front of Wally’s house.
The cabrito dinner with rice, beans and corn tortillas was delicious, but Jesse couldn’t eat it. His stomach had shriveled up with fear.
“Don’t sweat it, man,” TJ said when Jesse told him about the phone call. “Here’s what you do. Tell your grandma that you spent the day with me at my apartment. Tell her that we went out for breakfast and that we worked out at the gym. Make up a story like you did about Wally. We went to the show after we worked out, and you stayed at my place to watch Checkmate with me.”
Jesse’s anxiety eased for a moment. That could work. Jesse’s grandparents would be furious that he had lied to them, and his father would chew him out for spending the day with TJ after he had told him not . . . No, he didn’t say not to hang out with TJ. He said to be careful with him.
But, Dad, we just went out to eat and to the movies, that’s all. The rest of the time, we hung out at TJ’s apartment.
Jesse would explain that he had concocted the story about Wally because he didn’t want his father to be upset that he had spent the day with TJ.
“No matter what you tell your grandma, I’ll cover for you,” TJ said. “I don’t have a lot of friends, but the ones I do have, I take care of. Now, come on. Eat. Your baby goat’s getting cold.”
Jesse thought about calling his grandmother so he could set his new lie in place, but he quickly decided against it. She might order him to come home immediately, and he couldn’t very well do that.
After they ate, Jesse asked the cashier if she knew where the Farmacia Maldonado was. She took them outside and pointed to a white, two-story building at the far end of the street.
On the way to the pharmacy, they passed a shop that sold wrestling masks. Most of the masks, Jesse didn’t recognize, but a few, like La Parka and Octagón, he was familiar with.
“Let’s take care of business first,” TJ said. “Then we’ll stop by here on our way back.”
Farmacia Maldonado was not much different from the pharmacies Jesse had shopped at in San Antonio. Rows of shelves with medicines and vitamins filled each aisle.
Jesse approached a man who was stocking a shelf with aspirin boxes. He took a deep breath and said, “Perdón, pero estamos buscando a César Diego.”
The man straightened. “Aquí no trabaja nadie con ese nombre.”
Jesse turned to TJ. “The guy said there’s no César Diego who works here.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you heard wrong. Ask him again.”
“César Diego,” Jesse repeated.
“Yo no conozco a nadie con ese nombre,” the man replied.
“Okay, gracias,” Jesse said. He led TJ down the aisle. “What do we do now?”
“Ask him about steroids,” TJ said.
“I don’t know how to say steroids in Spanish,” Jesse said.
“Just tell him you want to by steroids. I’m sure the guy’s heard the word before.”
“Steroids?” a voice said. A tall, slender man came from around the corner of the aisle. He wore a long-sleeve black shirt and black pants. His dark hair was slicked back, and a pencil-thin mustache stretched across his upper lip. “You ain’t gonna find steroids here,” he said in English. “But I can show you where you can get them.”
TJ stretched out his hand and said, “Hola, amigo. I’m TJ Masters, and this is my buddy, Jesse Baron.”
The man shook his hand. “I’m Mauricio.” He squinted with a hint of recognition and asked, “Haven’t I seen you before?”
“You ever watch American Championship Wrestling?” TJ asked.
Mauricio grinned. “You’re a wrestler on that show, right?”
“Exactly,” TJ said. “So you say you can help us get what we’re looking for?”
“Yeah. César Diego, the dude you’re looking for, he don’t work here no more,” Mauricio said. “He works somewhere else. I’ll show you.” He started out the door.
Jesse held TJ back. “I don’t know about this, TJ. That guy looks kind of shady.”
TJ chuckled. “You worry too much, Jesse. The guy’s cool.”
They followed Mauricio out of the store, and he escorted them down the sidewalk. When they crossed the street, Jesse noticed three men, who were standing outside a liquor store, suddenly start walking behind them.
Jesse leaned into TJ and whispered, “I think those guys might be following us.”
TJ looked back. The sidewalk was full of people, and the three men blended in with the crowd. “How much farther, amigo?” he asked.
“It’s right over here,” Mauricio said, picking up the pace. He turned into an alley. “Okay, we’re here.”
“Where?” TJ said. “I don’t see anything.”
The three men turned into the alley and blocked the entrance.
“Gimme your wallets,” Mauricio said. The men closed in, circling Jesse and TJ.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna give up my hard-earned money to the likes of you,” TJ said angrily. “I’m TJ Masters. I . . . ungh!”
“TJ!” Jesse screamed as he watched one of the men strike TJ again with a metal pipe. He turned to run, but as he did, a two-by-four caught him on the chest and then in the middle of his forehead.
“Aahh!” Jesse reeled back and flailed his arms, trying to maintain his balance. The world filled with flickering lights and patches of gray. Jesse fell to the ground. Before he passed out, he saw a blurry yellow T-shirt and khaki shorts standing over him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“No, ma’am, I don’t know where Jesse is,” Wendell told Jesse’s grandmother. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll let you know if I hear from him.” This was the third time she had called.
Wendell hung up, and then tried calling Jesse again. Still no answer. He looked up at the clock. It was after six. Why wasn’t Jesse picking up? Wendell worried that something terrible might have happened to him.
He and Jesse had been friends since the seventh grade, but they had grown closer after Jesse’s parents divorced. Wendell had experienced divorce when his father left his mother for someone younger, prettier and slimmer.
Wendell hadn’t offered Jesse much advice, except to assure him that the divorce wasn’t his fault. For years, Wendell had battled with that problem. When his father walked out of his life, Wendell was convinced that one of the reasons he left was because his father was embarrassed to have a fat wife and a fat son, and he didn’t want to be seen with them. The endless fat jokes hurled at Wendell at school only compounded the problem.
By the time he reached the eighth grade, Wendell had ballooned to three hundred fifty-five pounds. Looking back, he realized that one of the reasons for his escalating weight gain was that, subconsciously, he wanted to force his father to accept him for who he was, not what he looked like.
Finally, when he came to terms with the fact that he would probably never see his father again, Wendell decided to lose weight, not for his father, but for himself. And he did it the hard way, through diet and exercise. He didn’t fall for those phony weight-loss ads on TV. He didn’t waste his money buying one of those gadgets that claimed to help tone your body by using it for only three minutes a day, either.
And he wasn’t interested in taking steroids.
Wendell couldn’t understand why Jesse was contemplating using them. Or that he would go to Mexico with TJ Masters to buy them. Steroids weren’t a magic formula that you took and then instantly became Mr. Universe.
He tried calling Jesse again. Nothing.
Where are you, man? Why don’t you answer?
Wendell hated to snitch Jesse out, but he was beginning to think he had no choice. Jesse’s grandmother sounded panicky on the phone. Whatever story Jesse had made up about his absence hadn’t worked. Jesse’s grandmother would be upset, first with Jesse and TJ, then at Wendell, for lying to her, but at least she would know where Jesse was.
Wendell picked up the phone. He hoped Jesse would understand.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jesse staggered to his feet. His head and chest pulsa
ted with pain. He pressed his hand gingerly against his forehead and felt a knot the size of a golf ball.
TJ lay on the gravel-covered ground, unconscious. Blood poured from a thick laceration on his left eyebrow and from his nose. His face was bruised and swollen, and his shirt was ripped.
“TJ!” Jesse walked unsteadily toward him. His knees buckled, but he was able to catch his balance. He reached for his cell phone but his pockets were empty. His wallet and passport were gone, too. He squatted next to TJ and shook him, but he didn’t stir. Jesse rose to his feet and tottered out of the alley, leaning against the side of a building for support.
“Help,” he cried weakly. “Ayúdenme.” Jesse looked around, hoping someone would stop, but people walking by glared at him, and then circled around him and kept going.
Jesse seized a man by his shirt. “¡Ayúdeme! Please! Me and my friend, we got mugged.”
The man pulled himself free. He muttered something Jesse didn’t understand and hurried away.
Finally, a young woman cradling a baby, and holding a little boy by the hand, stopped. “Oiga, ¿qué le pasó?” she asked.
“Help me,” Jesse pleaded. “Me and my friend were attacked and robbed.”
The woman regarded him quizzically. “Lo siento, pero no entiendo lo que me está diciendo.”
Jesse’s mind was muddled, confused. How could he say, “We were attacked” in Spanish? “Attacko! Attacko!” he yelled, balling his fists and gesturing wildly.
The woman looked down at her son. “¿Qué dice?”
The little boy shrugged. “Que quiere un taco.”
“No, not a taco!” Jesse cried in frustration. “We were attacked. Boom! Boom! Boom!” Again he gestured with his fists. A sharp pain stabbed his chest, and he broke into a cough. “I’m sorry, but . . . ” Jesse held his hand to his chest. “ . . . tengo dolor en mi pechuga.”
The woman and the little boy snickered. Jesse realized that he had just told them that he had pain in his chicken breast. “Tengo dolor en mi pecho,” he corrected himself. He motioned for them to follow him into the alley. “Vengan, vengan.”
Body Slammed! Page 14
