Cabo

by Davis MacDonald

  “She’s with us,” Katy said. Her chin coming up, trying to stare down the sergeant. “She’s with me.”

  “Not any more, señora. She’s wanted back at the ASAM Plant. She has to go back.”

  Katy’s face turned red. She was barely controlling her anger.

  “She’s a slave back there. It’s against the law of your country. You can’t take her back. They’ll just abuse her some more. It’s wrong.”

  Alan was turning red too. He looked like he was having trouble breathing.

  The sergeant just looked at Katy for a second. “This is Mexico, señora. Not your country. We do things our way here. She goes with us. You go on. Back in your van now. Vamoose.”

  “But… but… it’s not right.”

  “Come along, Katy,” said the Judge, putting his arm around her shoulder and guiding her back toward the van. “There’s nothing we can do here… right now. Let’s regroup and consider our options.”

  Alan bolted ahead of them and into the van, like a rabbit finding a hole. Katy flounced her hair, gave the sergeant an intense look, gave the Judge a similar look, seething now, then marched over and crawled into the van.

  Their last sight of Cristina was of her in the back of the army truck, huddled in a corner, knees up, head down, hands over her face, her body shaking slightly with small sobs.

  A corporal pulled the truck back, and their driver gunned the van down the highway, quickly putting space between himself and the army.

  Katy was beyond angry. “It’s so unfair, Judge. How can you let them take her back? How can you just stand by?”

  “Their county, their army, their guns, their rules, Katy. What could I do?”

  “Something, anything. Not just stand there like a dope.”

  The Judge bit his tongue. Katy had a mouth on her when she was riled.

  “We’ll get back to Cabo and we’ll make some calls, Katy. Perhaps something can be done.”

  “This is awful Judge. To watch that girl just taken away, back to those animals.

  Alan said, “Modern day slavery is a lucrative business, a one-hundred-and -fifty-billion-dollar industry world-wide, and growing, Katy. You get in the way and you just get rolled over.”

  “It’s true.” said the Judge. “Experts testified in the case ahead of mine earlier this year. In Mexico, it’s number three after drugs and arms sales. Mexico is a source, a transit path and a destination country for large-scale migration flows. This creates a large pool of easily victimized people. “Over sixteen thousand children are trafficked annually in Mexico.”

  “I’ve read about it too.” Said Katy. Women, men, girls, boys, lured from poor rural regions in Southern Mexico and Central America with false job offers to urban, border, and tourist areas, then caught up and enslaved using violence, threats, deception, debt bondage. People forced to provide labor against their will; or sex, or both… But it’s personal now. Now I’ve met Cristina. I never thought I’d be a part of it.”

  “You’re not part of it, Katy,” said the Judge. “There’s nothing you could have done, no way to stop the army from taking Cristina back.”

  “If we don’t speak out now, Judge, denounce it for what it is, then we are a part of it. We allow them to perpetuate this ugly system. How many of the domestics, the gardeners, the street beggars, the construction and factory workers, and the agricultural workers, are secretly slaves, held in captivity, forced to work for a pittance with no hope of freedom?”

  Alan said, “Sometimes these people have a better life than they would have had back at subsistence level on some poor farm.”

  “That’s bullshit, Alan, and you know it. They work because they have no choice, no freedom, no out.”

  “We’ll find something to do somehow, Katy,” said the Judge. “We won’t just turn our backs on Cristina, or on my friend in the toilet.” He produced from his pocket the snatch of paper he’d received in the restroom and passed it around for inspection as he told what he knew of Felipe Martínez’s story.

  They were silent after that, each lost in their own thoughts as the van spurred farther south, back to Cabo.

  CHAPTER 26

  It was almost seven p.m., and the transition out of the air-conditioned van and across the un-air-conditioned lobby was painful for the Judge. Jesus, didn’t it ever cool in Cabo?

  Initially the room was no better, cleverly engineered so when Katy took the key card out of the wall box to leave the room, it turned off everything, including the air. God, he hated crafty engineers and bean-counting accountants. They seemed to rule the world, making it an uglier place for everyone.

  He sat down in the chair under the ceiling air vent and consumed a well iced gin and tonic, Sapphire, the first damn civilized thing he’d done all day, while he watched Katy pace back and forth across the room like a caged lioness. She was still stirred up about Cristina. They suspected everyone wearing a dusty blue uniform at the ASAD plant was forced labor.

  “Okay, honey, why don’t I call that Lieutenant Governor guy, Díaz, we met at the party last night, and report what we saw today?”

  “Good, Judge. You do that. And how about Chief Detective Garcia, why don’t we call him too?”

  “Err… the Chief Inspector and I don’t get along too well.”

  “Do you trust him, Judge?”

  “I don’t know, Katy. I just don’t know.”

  “I kind of like him, myself. I know he’s arrogant and stuff, but so are you dear. Your Chief Inspector is cute, so so short, and with his big mustache.”

  “Katy!” The Judge was scandalized now, and a tad jealous. He knew she was teasing him, but he couldn’t help himself. “I hope you like me more than you like Chief Inspector Garcia.”

  She just smiled at him, pleased at how easy it was to push his buttons. He suspected she, and most females, considered men simple creatures. And he supposed they were. Controlled by hormones, and sexual and territorial instincts, as much as, or more than by logic and intellect.

  They tumbled into the bed together, mostly exhausted, sheets only, enjoying the cool air flooding the room, drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms. But the Judge’s sleep was troubled. A terrified Guatemalan girl kept running through his dreams, pursued by a clutch of angry goats, snorting and pawing the ground with animal menace. He awoke several times, his pulse pounding, his head aching. It was a relief to get up at five the next morning and pursue legal work on the computer while Katy slept blissfully on.

  They stayed in their night clothes, him in his pajama bottoms festooned with small red crabs, a joke gift from her last Christmas, she in a frothy lace negligee, until ten, lingering over room service breakfast on the terrace, looking out to sea. Finally, the Judge produced the business card of Lieutenant Governor Díaz and, taking the room phone, dialed the Lieutenant Governor’s office. A pleasant girl answered the call, and when he gave his name and asked to speak to the Lieutenant Governor, he was surprised to be put right through.

  Katy listened over his shoulder to his half of the conversation as he laid out the events of yesterday at the ASAM plant.

  “Yes,” said the Judge. “Katy and I, and Alan Clark, we can all testify to the facts I’ve just given you. At least two people held against their will, essentially forced slaves, the woman also a sex slave, at the ASAM plant. Something needs to be done, and at once.”

  “Yes, I know the plant’s manager name. It was Castillo.”

  “I was shocked as well. I don’t think they knew we were going to visit.”

  “Good. I’m relieved you’ll take it from here. Please let me know what happens, will you?”

  The Judge hung up, proud of himself. “There, Katy, it’s done. Now perhaps we can go on with our vacation. The Judge turned to catch a pillow, full in the face. This precipitated a desperate pillow fight, accompanied by screams, growls, threats, and darting about the room to reload pillows, ending in sex, as it often did. Much later they stuck their heads out of the room, the Judge testing the late
morning heat outside.

  The Finisterra was a large resort built along the beach facing the Pacific Ocean on the downslope of a ridge dividing the western side of Cabo from the sea. Built in a giant horseshoe facing the water, five stories high, it was mostly large one-bedroom suites with sunny balconies looking out over two pools in the center, one with a swim-up bar, de rigueur for Cabo resorts. Beyond stretched the blue Pacific as far as the eye could see.

  They settled in for lunch beside the pool, well shaded from the heat, the Judge sporting his puke green shorts again, despite Katy’s ribald remarks about their origin, his appearance, and length of use. They downed margaritas with verde’d eggs, cheese tacos, and frijoles con arroz, watching a noisy exercise class of mostly chubby Americans in the pool, trying to exercise water-bound to Latin music blaring from speakers and the commands of a skinny Mexican sadist. The Judge knew he should join in. God, he hated exercise.

  Alan Clark found them there, by the pool. He must have called their room, then started a search of the resort grounds. There seemed no escape from the guy. Katy stiffened immediately, still riled from Alan’s position on the run-away girl the night before. But the Judge greeted Alan warmly, flagging a passing waiter to get him a drink.

  They did social talk for a while, the weather, the food at the hotel, news back in the states, how much Barbara enjoyed meeting up with them the other night. At this Katy looked at the Judge behind Alan’s back and rolled her eyes. Finally, Alan smoothly got around to the real reason for his visit.

  “You haven’t told anyone about yesterday… and… you know, the runaway girl?”

  “Does it matter?” asked the Judge.

  “I received a call from someone high up in the company.”

  “Luis?”

  “No. Not a board member, but high in that division.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, Judge. But he made it very clear that we could all be in serious jeopardy if word leaked out. He said the company would handle it internally. That we should tell no one.”

  “Bull shit!” Katy muttered.

  “What did he mean, ‘serious jeopardy’?” asked the Judge.

  “He didn’t elaborate. But I took it to mean ‘personal harm.’”

  “You mean he’s threatening us!” Katy’s voice rose an octave.

  Alan looked from the Judge to Katy.

  “Katy, we’re in Mexico,” Alan said. “Not back home in the U.S. Different rules. We can’t just run to the local cop on the corner and complain about slavery. Or about injury to ourselves should people decide to get rough. We must tread lightly.”

  “What you mean is do nothing, Alan. Do nothing that will spoil your sweetheart consulting gig with ASAM. This all about you, Alan. Not about that poor little creature, Cristina, we abandoned to the army yesterday, so they could haul her back to Hell.”

  “Hey guys, lets calm down,” said the Judge. “Alan, it’s too late anyway. We’ve already reported it to the Lieutenant Governor.”

  Alan’s face turned a pasty grey.

  “Shit. That was a mistake, Judge. Perhaps a critical mistake.”

  “We felt we had little choice, Alan. We couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

  “I wish you’d talked to me first.” Alan sighed. “Well, it’s done. We can’t do much about it now. It’ll likely blow over okay. But for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone else.”

  “You’re asking us to publicly keep our mouths shut until we’re back in the U.S.?” Asked the Judge, ignoring a display of Katy pointing thumbs down behind Alan’s back.

  “I don’t know that we can do that. Besides, the ASAM board needs to be informed. Ultimately, it’s their responsibility.”

  “For God’s sake, Judge. What do you think the fight was really about between María and the rest of the board? The board already knows all about it, and they are struggling with it.”

  “You mean they condone it?” asked Katy.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What are you saying, Alan?” asked the Judge. “That some of the board are for operating with slaves and others of the board are opposed to it?”

  “That’s about the size of it Judge.”

  “And the new majority? Where do they stand?”

  “I’ve already said too much. Got to run now, Judge. Got to make an appointment. I’ll call you later.” Alan bounced off his sun-lounger and bounded away, waving a hand over his shoulder.

  The Judge watched him go with a sense of disquiet. This vacation, supposed to be about relaxation, fun, and partying in the sun with Katy, was rapidly going downhill.

  CHAPTER 27

  After Alan’s departure, they’d returned to the room and its air conditioner, sleeping, making love, sleeping some more, hanging out all afternoon. Katy caught up on badly needed rest, a condition seemly symptomatic to the first six months after an offspring’s arrival. Later they ordered champagne from room service and watched the sun go down into the Pacific, leaving a bright golden puddle on the edge of the horizon, its yellow tentacles streaking across the undulating waves and disappearing into the foam of heavy surf churning the sand at resort’s edge.

  Then they’d gone down to the steak house covered by a huge palapa between swimming pools. The Judge had a Mexican steak, polished off with a Dos Equis. Katy tried the fresh lobster, the specimen as ugly as ever, staring angrily at the Judge out of lifeless beady eyes, as though threatening to crawl off its plate and onto the Judge’s lap in full attack.

  Katy used her words, mostly talking about Ralphie, their new eight-month old. The Judge vaguely understood the baby was growing, rolling over in its crib and trying to pull itself up on furniture. It would be a Holy Terror soon. Katy missed nothing, catching every detail of development, week by week, day by day, almost hour by hour, on which she elaborated with a fusillade of words.

  The Judge listened to her description in living color; each little nuance of how Ralphie was trying to stand by pulling himself up, was trying manfully to crawl, and would bring any and every object within his reach to his mouth. He’d heard it all before of course, blow by blow, but it gave her joy to tell it. And he listened each time with satisfaction, pleased to be included in her experience. They had a full set of new ties together now, a new focus that would provide a lifetime of discussion, and likely a fair amount of angst. He smiled at the thought.

  The Judge ordered a fresh beer and they wandered down to the beach, leaving their sandals on the last patch of patio before the sand. Walking close to each other and the incoming tide on the hard-packed sand, hand in hand, the night air warm and moist.

  The waves crashed and cracked beside them, like some huge monster’s maw, daring them to step closer, but they kept their distance. It was exhilarating to take a little risk, daring the surf to come farther up the sand for them, but this wasn’t a surf to be trifled with.

  It was a dangerous beach, always. No swimming allowed. Periodically each year the waves suddenly crashed further up the beach, engulfing some unsuspecting tourist, collapsing upon them with the weight of water, dragging them out to sea in its powerful jaws, crushing them in its churn and roll, ultimately perhaps spitting them back lifeless up on the sand. Deaths happened often enough here that the Cabo authorities declined to issue specific numbers on fatalities on the beach. Fatalities weren’t good for business.

  Suddenly, over the roar of the surf, the Judge heard something out of place. What? A high batting noise, growing louder, almost like the stubby wings of a bat, flapping against gravity, sustaining its little rat body in flight. Louder still now.

  The Judge turned to look behind them, some instinct motivating him to put his arm around Katy’s shoulder. The beach was dark, empty. Only the distant lights of their resort, five hundred yards back.

  Then he saw it. A small dark shape materializing out of the night from the sea, a huge misshapen insect the size of a small dog. Low, fourteen feet off the deck, swooping down at them in a forward dive…
fast. It was on top of them before he could react, two long antennae in front with wickedly sharp rotating blades, seeking their exposed flesh.

  He pulled at Katy and they ran. But it was too fast. They couldn’t outrun it. Suddenly there was a hiss. Looking over his shoulder he saw a cloud of grey vapor swirling toward them, spit at them as though from some hungry dragon. Settling over their heads!

  In desperation he pushed Katy forward, stopped, and heaved the Dos Equis bottle at it with all his might, sending it somewhere into an arc above the thing’s head.

  There was a grinding, crashing sound of glass against shell, and suddenly the thing turned sideways and unsteadily limped off over the surf, disappearing into the night.

  But the cloud descended upon them like a net.

  The Judge’s eyes, burning intensely, closed involuntarily and started to tear. He coughed, choked, hardly able to breath, trying to drag Katy away from the cloud. His face and arms were on fire. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, his stomach starting dry heaves.

  “Blink rapidly,” he mumbled to Katy, his voice caught in his throat, rough and anguished, barely audible over the roar of the surf.

  They stumbled further south down the beach, away from the cloud, hardly able to see the sheer rock that now appeared to their left, funneling them ever closer to the surf, the cloud drifting menacingly with them in the light breeze like an avenging blanket. The Judge could feel himself becoming disoriented, unable to think clearly, unable to react, unable to even determine direction, finding it difficult to lift his feet, blind panic settling into his consciousness making it difficult to move or think. He shook his head hard, trying to make it work again.

  They were suddenly engulfed in a giant wave, tumbling down over them with the weight of cement, swallowing them whole, then throwing them against the rock face with the force of a freight train. Searing pain flashed through the Judge’s shoulder from the impact, numbing his arm and hand. Katy was dragged downward and nearly torn from the Judge’s arms by the retreating current; trying to hold her, he stumbled and almost lost his own footing to the onslaught.