The Cartel

by A. K. Alexander

  “Yes. I’m Tito Velasquez. Please come in. We can discuss business. You look tired.”

  “I am. It was a long ride here and not a very comfortable one,” Marta replied.

  “You came from the Governor’s?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I know Fernando works for him. I have helped others who have come along with him, wanting to cross the border. To be honest with you, I don’t have any idea why you would want to leave the beauty you came from for the world you’re headed for.” He waved his thick arms in exaggerated fashion as if she were a fool.

  “Oh, I don’t plan to stay here. As I said, I want to go to America,” she replied. She thought that he understood this.

  “I know. That’s what I meant. Come, my wife can make you something to eat. I’m sure you’re hungry, and then you can get some rest.”

  Marta nodded. A few moments later seated at a small wooden table, a plate of beans, rice and tortillas was placed in front of her. The food nourished her and took away the nausea she’d experienced all morning.

  She learned from Tito that it would cost her three hundred dollars for him to get her across the border. Usually it took five hundred, but because she was Fernando’s friend, he had agreed to cut her a deal. The three hundred would include getting her across safely, because as he explained to her, many times bandits got a hold of people and robbed them, and even worse, sometimes raped the women. The thought produced goose bumps on her slender arms.

  “Once you get across, you will meet up with my partner who will take you to Los Angeles. Jobs are plentiful there.” He winked at her. “We’ll be leaving soon. Right after the sun sets. We will walk most of the night, and it will be long and hard. I set a certain pace, and expect you to keep up with it. It’s necessary to move quickly in order to avoid immigration and bandits.” Marta’s heart raced at the thought of what dangers may lie ahead. “Of course, you can change your mind if you’d like, and stay here in this beautiful city we call Tijuana,” he mused, a smirk on his face.

  “No. I look forward to going,” she replied. She searched his eyes for confirmation.

  “Then don’t look so scared. I make this trip often. Like Fernando said, you are in good hands.”

  Weren’t those the same exact words that Josefina had used when she’d handed her off to Fernando? But what did she have to lose? She’d come this far; she would keep going. There really weren’t any other options. Antonio had already stripped her of her dignity, friends, job, and home. She handed Tito the money and he got up from the table, muttering under his breath about stupid people and their silly dreams.

  Tito’s wife let Marta lie down on a cot, and told her it was necessary to get some sleep for the crossing. His wife was portly and aged. Her face, lined with crevices, made Marta want to reach out and touch it. She wondered if it felt like the sandpaper it resembled. However homely, the woman treated Marta in a gentle way, which she greatly appreciated after the hardships she’d encountered so far.

  As soon as her head hit the cot, she was sound asleep. Around four o’clock, the sun beating in through the open window woke her, and Tito came in shortly afterwards to let her know that it was time to go.

  Walking to the border took only an hour. On the way Marta saw more of the poverty locked inside Tijuana. She was ashamed that this was even a part of her country. Many of the people she saw didn’t look Mexican. They possessed darker skin and more angular faces. They appeared to be the poorest of the lot, and Marta knew they were Indians. Tito spit on one as they walked past. The sight caused Marta’s stomach to rumble and feel that now all too familiar feeling of wanting to vomit.

  When they reached their destination, they met up with a few other people who’d obviously had met with Tito beforehand. There was another woman, a little older than Marta. She smiled shyly at Marta when they exchanged glances. But Marta wasn’t in the mood to make friends. She’d already been forced to trust enough strangers in the last week to last her a lifetime. No more.

  There were also three other men in the group, as well as a girl of about thirteen traveling with one of them who had to be her father. Marta could see the sad desperation in the girl’s eyes. She instinctively wanted to comfort this frightened child.

  She found it odd to see at least a hundred or more men, women, and children lined up at the border fence, like a group of dogs wanting to jump over to the other side. The Tijuana River before them was nearly dried up, but it disgusted her all the same. It smelled putrid from feces and rot. A dead dog, its guts hanging out, added to the dreadful odor. Marta averted her eyes. There were several abandoned old cars up and down the river bottom for as far as she could see, and trash was strewn everywhere.

  Tito faced them, “This is not where we cross. We go further along the fence away from all of these ignorant. There is a much less chance that we get caught going in a little further before crossing over. And many times the fencing is down the further we walk so we won’t even need to cut through.”

  At first Marta wasn’t too sure about Tito’s idea of waiting to cross the fence. Surely they could run fast enough and then they’d be there—America. It was only a stone’s throw away. Why was he so cautious? So many others were taking their chances.

  The group continued to walk along the fence line. Marta looked back for an instant, and could see some of the people who hadn't been quick enough after getting through the holes cut into the fence, and she now understood why Tito took such great care. Because her entire life savings was on her, and because she’d already spent so much money and time getting to the promised land, she grew grateful for this man’s caution. She could see those unfortunates who had been rounded up like herds of cattle by immigration. She heard angry shouts and screams coming from them.

  As her group pushed forward, others who also decided to travel further inland before crossing made their attempts, and before long it was Tito and his handful of travelers trekking through the dust and chaparral alone.

  After some time, they stopped and Tito let everyone have a drink of water. He then pointed to the mountain they would be climbing. “Follow me at all times,” he said sharply. “Once we are over the mountain, we are out of any danger of being caught by immigration. They have yet to find these trails, I’ve made. But there are other dangers out here, and you need to all be close to me and be aware.”

  The last thing Marta wanted was to climb that intimidating mountain. And she certainly didn’t like the sound of whatever dangers might lie ahead. But there was no looking back now.

  Climbing the rough terrain was hard on Marta’s pregnant body. Barren bushes snagged her skirt and produced small cuts on her legs. Her muscles, stiff from the hike, began to spasm, causing her to groan in pain.

  Finally, around ten o' clock at the top of the mountain, Tito let them have another rest and some dinner that his wife had packed for them.

  "Hi, my name is Elisa. What's yours?" the other woman asked.

  Marta answered hesitantly. She wasn't eager to meet anyone new, and she felt so miserable from the climb, she glared back at Elisa. "Marta," she replied, biting her lower lip at the sound of her irritation.

  "Are you excited?" Marta looked at her dumbfounded. "I mean, about the United States."

  “Yes.”

  "Do you have a job there?"

  "No."

  "This is my third time crossing. I already live there. My two boys are citizens, because they were born in the States, but my family lives in Mexico, so I try to go down once a year to visit with them." The woman buzzed on.

  She spoke so rapidly that Marta had to concentrate to understand her. Her Spanish sounded much different than the Spanish Marta spoke, and she couldn't help but view Elisa as being a member of a lower class. Marta smiled at the thought that she’d lived in a beautiful mansion. She figured it wouldn't hurt to be congenial for a few minutes with the woman. The fact that she'd crossed the border before aroused Marta’s curiosity. "You've made your way across other time
s?"

  "Yes, I always I have Tito take me, because he's for real, you know. Some of these men take your money and drive you to the border. They're thieves. Take everything you've ever worked for. You think they're going to cross with you, and you get ready to go, then turn around to find your leader gone. Gone with your money and everything else you owned. It's crazy. I tell you, I’ve seen it before. And he is wise not to cross back there in Tijuana. It’s too risky. And so hard after you always get caught and they send you back, you try again…” She waved a hand in Marta’s face. “This is a longer way, but worth it. You’re lucky you found Tito on your first time across, ‘cause otherwise you don't know what could happen. It happened to my cousin, when immigration caught her. Scared her so bad, said she'd never do it again. Not me, though. I'm lucky I know Tito. He gets me safely across every time."

  "You’re not scared?"

  "No. The first time I was. The second, a little, but not anymore."

  "Where do you live?" Marta asked intrigued by how worldly this woman was, even if she was only a peasant.

  "I live in Los Angeles. There are lots of factories up there, you know. My boys and me live there. I sew clothes. It's a hard job, but better than most. At least I don't have to work in the meat factories. I make much more money there than I could anywhere in Mexico. Why are you coming to the States?"

  Marta briefly explained to her that she lost a job cleaning house for a rich man, and heard there were lots of jobs in America.

  "This is true. Lots of rich gringos need you to clean house. They pay pretty good too, I hear. I couldn't get one of those jobs though. I'm not so pretty, you know. But you, no problem. In fact, I know some friends who could help you out."

  Marta grew more interested, while she wrapped her trash up, and stuck it neatly into her pack.

  "You got some money, don't you?" Elisa asked her.

  "A little, why?" Marta wondered, touching her bun, making sure the money she'd secured several times during her trip was still there.

  "To get a place to live in Los Angeles you need money. There is a place next to mine you can rent for two hundred dollars a month."

  Marta thought that sounded like a lot of money, but after all, it was the United States, and she was sure she'd be making a lot, too. The place must be pretty nice. Marta nodded yes, and was then jolted out of her senses when Tito hollered at the two women to quiet down for a moment--his voice taut.

  They obeyed him, sensing something must be wrong. They could see by the moonlight that he and the other two men were cocking their revolvers. The young girl clung tightly to her father's side. Marta’s insides rattled at the prospect of what could be out there.

  Tito suddenly yelled, "Bandidos! Get down!”

  Marta felt Elisa push her down, biting her lip; she tasted blood as she fell to the ground. She heard men yelling and cursing and gun shots echoing around her. Elisa pulled Marta closer to her and then grabbed her by her hand, urging her to come with her. While the men were busy fighting, they didn't notice the two women slipping away. Marta and Elisa could see that there were about five more men than those who were in their group. Marta wondered where the young girl was. She even turned to go back for her, but Elisa stopped, holding on to her fiercely, so she couldn’t do more than hope that the girl had managed to get away.

  Marta's heart beat rapidly, her blood racing with terror. She and Elisa ran as fast as they could, holding onto each other. They found a small cave and hid in it.

  A few moments later, they heard distant laughter coming from the ambush site. Silently weeping in each other’s arms, they heard a shrill scream. With a jolt of fear, Marta realized the bandits had the young girl. It seemed an eternity before the screaming turned into mere echoes of a whine. Marta desperately wanted to save the poor girl. She prayed to the Virgin Mary while she could hear the men torture her.

  She’d never heard sounds like those before. They were inhuman, made even more so by the cruel laughter of the men.

  Marta cringed at the thought of what they were doing to her. She and Elisa continued to hold each other tightly, squeezing harder each time they heard the keening of the girl, who now sounded like a whipped dog. The men cried out names like bitch and whore at her. Marta prayed they would leave, so they could rescue her.

  Suddenly, however, they heard a gunshot, followed by wave after wave of vicious laughter. They had killed the poor girl. Marta cried for her, praying that her soul was now in Heaven, and the acts she’d been forced to endure forgotten along with the memories of the world’s cruelty.

  ****

  Marta and Elisa didn’t move the entire night, waiting instead until dawn before they decided to leave the safety of the cave. Marta wept throughout the night, fearing for her life and that of her baby's. And she grieved the girl who’d suffered such a violent death. Elisa comforted Marta, stroking her hair and telling her that things were going to be all right. The men's laughter died down after a time, and Marta assumed they must’ve gone away.

  When the sun came up, the women decided they had to move on.

  "Come on Marta. We're not going to get anywhere by staying here. I've crossed often enough. I think I know where to go."

  "I'm so afraid. What if those men come back?" Marta asked, feeling uncomfortable in her skirt, which was now soaked in her own urine.

  "I know you're afraid, but if we stay here, we'll die. We must be careful, that’s all. I don't think those men are anywhere near. They got what they came for," Elisa replied scornfully. She took Marta by the hand and led her out of the cave.

  Marta held on to the end of Elisa's skirt as they hiked up the hill. The stout, buxom woman didn't seem to mind. With her long hair twisted up into a braid, she reminded Marta of her grandmother. Following in her footsteps, a wave of gratitude came over her.

  Halfway up the hill, they witnessed the effects from the night before. Tito lay half hidden in a bush, his shirt torn from the thicket he'd fallen into. There was a gunshot wound in the center of his abdomen and a trickle of blood dried on the side of his mouth.

  "Don't look, Marta."

  "He looks so awful."

  "He's with Our Lord now. Turn away. I'm going to see if he has any food left in his pack."

  "Elisa, no."

  "If we don't get it, then surely the coyotes will. I don't know how long we'll be traveling, and we're going to need some food and water."

  For a minute, Marta wanted to continue her protest. But then she thought about her unborn child, and realized that what Elisa said was the truth. She turned away. As she did she could see another one of the men they'd been traveling with. She went over to the corpse, even though she feared the sight of the man. However, she was smart enough to realize that it was her life which mattered now. She approached the man while Elisa scoured Tito's pack.

  "What are you doing?" Elisa hollered to her.

  "It's another one of the men. Maybe he has some food."

  When she moved closer to the body, his chest heaved, gasping to fill his lungs with air. He was still alive. She rushed over to him. He looked up at her with glossy eyes. She knelt down. Dios Mío. My, God, My God. A gaping hole in the man’s pants exposed his bullet wound, blood oozing from it puddled onto the dirt beside him. The pain in his eyes sent an ache through her body, as she placed her hand on his forehead and stroked back his hair, doing what she could to provide him with some comfort.

  The wretched stench of death permeated the air—the blood around her—its odor metallic and sour. It burned her nostrils, causing her eyes to water. She pulled her hand away and jumped back from his body when he flinched. Then, nothing.

  She wiped the tears from her face and looked away only to be brought back to her knees by the sight of the body of the girl a few feet away. Marta brought her hand to her mouth covering both her need to wretch and scream. Then she covered her eyes and let out a wail. Elisa came to her side. Marta forced herself to look again at the girl, her nude body barely recognizable, covered in bruise
s and dried blood.

  "Turn away," Elisa commanded in a voice taut with dread.

  "What should we do now?" Marta asked, as they backed away from the carnage and looked northward.

  “We keep moving.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Six months had passed since Javier had hosted the party for his wife Cynthia. His father had passed away three months earlier and they were now back in their home in Guadalajara, mountains surrounding them on either side. Their home in the city was not the palatial vacation villa they owned on the coast. Like Guadalajara itself, their home was reminiscent of the entire city itself—colonial and historical. Javier and Cynthia’s home had been built over a hundred years earlier for a general in the Mexican army who had spared no expense. When Javier and Cynthia had moved in as he took the office of governor, Cynthia had had the place refurbished, maintaining its history. Much of the artwork placed in alcoves consisted of antiques from the colonial time period.