by Nancy Cupp
“There’s been other girls here? What happened to them?”
“Mr. Arnold a business man, he fix ‘em up and sells ‘em. Sometime we goes whorin’ so he can find a buyer. Customers like to try before they buy. ‘Cept he don’t sell me, I too valuable.”
11
The Sandbox
His back was killing him. Carlos tried to straighten up as much as he could in the cramped space. When he tried laying down to sleep, hard concrete bruised his hips and arms. He was afraid to leave because he was sure Machete’s men were still prowling for him, but hunger and thirst were driving him out. He’d been entombed in the culvert for nearly twenty-four hours. It was time to move.
Carlos listened carefully, identifying each sound. Slowly he snaked his way between the bars on the end of the tunnel. He stopped repeatedly to listen for any hint of human activity in the still night. Carlos could smell his own sweat, his breath came like a freight train despite trying to muffle it.
Headlights lit the highway far in the distance. Carlos lay flat on his face until long after the car was gone. He moved a few feet, waited for a truck to pass, then another. Hours later he was hidden in the hollowed out hulk of a rusting car frame in his cousin’s back yard. Something didn’t seem quite right.
Enrico’s back door was slightly open, and the dog wasn’t barking. Carlos realized his cousin was gone. Anger surged when he thought of Enrico being in danger. He didn’t dare approach the house. He slowly inched away.
The smell of garbage came to him as he crawled to the back of the dirt yard. The cans were overflowing with trash, but a familiar shape was outlined in the moonlight. It was a canvas tote he’d seen Enrico put his tools in many times. He thought it strange the tote was left out. Carlos crept closer until he could touch the bag, it wasn’t heavy with tools.
With hope and trembling fingers he opened it, feeling inside. There was something soft, a small rectangular shape, and what felt like a bottle. Could Enrico have left him something? He looped the handles of the duffle bag over his shoulder, and moved back into the shadows. It wouldn’t be safe here, but he thought of an abandoned garage near the burned out bakery.
Carlos would have risked calling a friend for help, but his cell was completely dead, and so were his chances of hearing from Rosa. He hoped she was safe in the US. Even if she was caught when they tried to cross the border, she’d be safe from Machete—for a while.
It was almost dawn when Carlos reached the garage. The doors were locked, but a window was broken with jagged glass jutting from the frame. He pulled a couple shards out of the soft putty that held them, dropped the canvas bag inside, and shimmied up to the window ledge. He threaded his legs through, then slid inside. Moments later a patrol car went by. The place smelled of motor oil and gas.
Eagerly he opened his bag. He found a loaf of bread, a box of graham crackers, and a bottle of water. He drank the entire bottle of water without stopping. It felt sweet and soothing in his parched throat. He tossed the empty bottle aside, but then retrieved it, thinking he might have a chance to refill it later.
He ate four slices of bread and wished for more water. While he was chewing he noticed tape on the graham cracker box. Curiosity made him peak inside where he saw something scribbled on the flap.
Carlos, I had to go. They’re watching the house. Don’t go in. I went to play in the sandbox.
Carlos read the note four times trying to get more information from the few words. “Play in the sand box,” was the biggest question he had, and how did they know he and Rosa had been there? Were they watching his every move? Did they think he knew something, that he was going to lead them to—what?
The day was brightening outside. There was nowhere he could go in the daylight, so he looked for some way to get comfortable. A hood from a Ford pick-up leaned against one wall. Three bald tires and a bent rim were piled in a corner with a tire iron balanced on top. The garage floor was scattered with empty cardboard boxes, beer cans, and rags, most of them children’s clothes.
Carlos gathered some boxes and flattened them, then piled some rags on top. He shoved all of this behind the hood and crawled in, laying the tire iron by his side. It was going to be hot, but he was protected from anyone casually glancing in the window.
A tiny pink dress, ruined with a stain, was on top of his make-shift mattress. Carlos smoothed the wrinkles and thought about Rosa and the baby she carried. Tears left tracks in the dirt on his face. He dozed off while trying to think of what Enrico could have been trying to tell him about a sandbox.
He woke with a start, his hand instinctively gripped the tire iron as he listened to footsteps of more than one person. There was some whispering and laughing as the sweet smell of marijuana smoke drifted in the window. Carlos relaxed his grip a little, kids trying to get high probably wouldn’t be a problem.
But more laughing, and the sound of shoes scraping on stucco outside the window made Carlos sweat. Someone dropped to the floor inside the garage. He tried to think of a plan in case he was discovered. He could come out swinging, or try to bribe them with his dead cell phone. He couldn’t see what was happening from his hiding spot so he just listened.
“How you getting back out Mutt?”
“I dunno, not much in here anyway, but we could hang out. It’d be a good place to sell from.”
“Let me up there.” There was the sound of two more landing on the floor inside. The young men scuffled, punching and teasing each other.
“I’m hungry, lets get something to eat.”
“Hang on, there’s some tires, we can sell ‘em.”
“Who’s gonna buy bald tires?” The youth gave the tires a kick.
“What about this, what does this fit?” Carlos knew they were heading for his hiding place.
“How you gonna get it out the window, dumb shit?” There was a round of crazy laughter and more wrestling, but then one of them tilted the hood forward.
Carlos burst out, the hood clattered to the floor, and the three boys scattered, one of them fell flat on his ass and the other two fought each other to scramble out the window. Carlos deliberately slurred his voice, “Waas going on? You guys got a joint for me?”
The guy on his butt got the giggles, one of the others was hanging half out the window, and the third just stood there with his mouth hanging open.
“You guys look like ya saw a ghost. Where didja get the joint?”
“We smoked it all, but we got a guy, he gives it to us. We just got to do some deliveries for him.”
“Who is it? Where can I get some?”
The three teens gathered together, whispering among themselves, trying to decide if this was a good thing or bad. Finally the tallest of the three, the one they call Mutt, said, “We can set you up. Our guy’s a big deal—works for Machete, you ever heard of him?”
“I heard of him—never seen him though.”
“We got connections. But you gotta wait. They’re back up in the hills for a while, got a gun deal going down.”
“When? I gotta get some weed, you know?”
“We’ll talk to him, see if he can use another runner. Are ya willing to run some guns?”
“I guess—run where?”
“We slide under the border with some ice, get the guns, and bring ‘em back.”
“You slide under? How do you get past the federales?”
“Like I said, we’re connected. You gonna be here?”
Carlos casually shrugged, “I’ll be around.”
The three shimmied out the window in search of some food. Carlos slumped against the wall, exhausted from tension. At least he had some useful information. He felt he’d be able to move in relative safety. He leaned back, thinking about growing up with Enrico, what did he mean by the sandbox?
12
Makeover
Margret assumed it was morning when she woke up. The trailer-prison had no windows to let in the light or allow escape. In the tiny bathroom she took inventory. She was sore all over,
dark bruises covered her arms where Bruce and Arnold had yanked her around. She was getting a black eye where his backhand had caught her, and the cut on her head was crusty and oozing.
She gently dabbed water on the cut, carefully feeling the extent of the goose-egg. Her reflection was a startling report of the rough treatment she’d gotten. Her wire-rim glasses were bent, causing them to dig into her sore nose.
Examining a purple and green bruise on her knee while she sat on the toilet, she jumped when Blaize pounded on the door.
“You ain’t gonna stay in there all day, uh-uh. They’s two of us out here needs to go.”
“Sorry—I’ll be right out.”
“Yes you will girl, or I be knockin’ the door down.”
When Margret came out, Blaize pushed her way past and slammed the door. Rosa rested in the easy chair, twisting her long hair into a tight bun. “She likes to be first in there, I just let her go, it’s not worth fighting for.”
“So how did you end up here?”
“My husband bought my way out of Mexico. We were running from a bad Hombre, we had to get out, but Arnold tricked us. The bastard was supposed to take us both across, but he said we didn’t have enough money and then…and then…”
Rosa started to cry, Margret didn’t really know what to do, and she felt like crying herself. The two of them clung to each other, knowing they were helpless. Blaize peeked out of the bathroom door with beauty creme smeared all over her face.
“Well, this a fine thing! You girls got to get holt you selfs. Cryin’ don’t change nothin’. You goin’ be Mr. Arnold’s ho, like it or not. You jus got to go with it.”
Margret’s tears start to flow, then Rosa cried even harder. Blaize huffed around acting like she was perfectly in control of herself until Rosa whined, “I don’t want to hurt my baby.”
“You’re pregnant?”
Rosa nodded her head and sniffed through her tears. This even got to Blaize, and soon all three of them were huddled together bawling.
“We can’t have no baby momma out whorin’, and you ain’t no help, bein’ a virgin and all,” said Blaize. “Do I got to do it all myself?”
“We just have to get out of here, if we work together we can do it.”
“Sure, then what? I got no place to go. I ain’t goin’ back to the swamp. If I got to lay with somebody it ain’t gonna be my brothers no more. Mr. Arnold take me outta there.”
“But you can get a job, you're so pretty, you don’t have to do this,” said Margret, wiping at her tears with her sleeve.
“Huh, easy for you to say white-girl. What I’m gonna do? I got no education, I don’t know how to do nothin’.”
“I can’t go back to Mexico and I can’t work here without a green card. I have to find Carlos. I don’t even know if he’s still alive, and he doesn’t know where I am,” Rosa choked through her tears.
There was a sound outside and all three took notice, they wiped at their faces and tried to look busy. Rosa went to the bathroom and locked herself in. Blaize was touching up her perfect manicure and Margret took great care with tying her shoes.
Arnold burst through the door, “One of you girls is going to make me breakfast. If you do it right you get fed, if not, nobody eats today. Who’s it gonna be?”
Blaize turned her back, “I cooked yesterday, it somebody else’s turn.”
“Where’s Rosa?”
“She in the bathroom, Mr. Arnold.”
Margret cringed when Arnold pointed at her, “You—get in there, you’re gonna cook.” Reluctantly she moved to the door where he gave her a shove toward the motor home.
☙
Margret was doing her best to fry some eggs and not burn the bacon. She’d never been much of a cook, preferring pre-packaged microwave food. She kept her back to the men, hoping they wouldn’t notice her.
“So give me the scoop on the load, when do I pick it up?”
“First, you gotta get rid of the load that’s on the trailer. It looks like computer components according to the paperwork. I know a guy that can hook us up with a buyer. This stuff ought to be worth a lot. Since it’s still parts and not finished computers it’s harder to trace and easier to sell. I’ll get a good price.”
“Wait a minute Bro, we’ll get a good price. I swiped the load, I get a cut.”
“You’ll get what I give you. I’m in charge here, don’t think you’re an equal.”
“I put in my fifty grand, I’m a partner.”
“You’re nothin’. Now shut-up.” Arnold bellowed over his shoulder, “Margret, where the hell is my breakfast?”
Margret felt anger flame up, but she gritted her teeth and served the meal. Arnold grabbed her butt when she walked by, causing her to whirl away from him.
“Jeez Arnold, lay off the women, will ya?”
“What, you got somethin’ goin’ with this one?”
“No—just…”
Margret made her self busy cleaning up.
“Once you sell the load in Cheyenne, you head south-west to California, near San Diego, to pick up our hot load.”
“San Diego. That’s a long haul, how long do I have to get it done?”
“Don’t matter since you’re bringing it here, but you don’t want to be on the road any longer than you have to. Less chance of getting inspected or caught with the truck.”
“They won’t recognize it when I’m done with it. First thing I’m gonna do is get rid of that damn governor. Sixty-five miles an hour ain’t gonna cut it.”
“Margret clear up these dishes, you can bring the girls some food when you’re done. They’re gonna need it tonight.”
“You’re taking ‘em out tonight?”
“What of it?”
“I need some help peeling off those decals, and we gotta paint that thing before I can go anywhere,” said Bruce.
“Dammit, can’t you do anything by yourself?”
“I got the truck didn’t…” Bruce was cut short when Arnold smacked him.
Margret listened to the men arguing while she made up the tray of food to take to the girls. When she was ready, Bruce escorted her to the van. “If you play your cards right, you can help me drive—but you screw around, I leave you with Arnold. I can’t stop him from whorin' you out.” He locked the door behind her.
Margret set the tray of food on a wobbly end-table and the other two women hurried over to get their breakfast. “I hope you know how to cook good,” said Blaize, helping herself.
Rosa put an egg and one slice of toast on a paper plate. She sat down and bowed her head, crossing herself and folding her hands. The other two were silent for a moment until she took a bite of her toast.
Margret bit into a slice of bacon, the warm greasy meat tasted wonderful because she was so hungry. She was sopping up the last of her egg with a slice of toast when she noticed Rosa had hardly eaten anything. “Rosa, are you okay? There’s plenty of bacon if you want some.”
“My stomach is kind of queasy.”
“Oh—she got the baby sickness,” said Blaize. “I seen my momma have that. She birthed a lot of babies. You be alright in a while.”
“We have to come up with a plan to get us out of here,” said Margret. “They’re planning to go pick up a load somewhere. Does anyone else have any more information?”
“What you gonna do anyway? We can’t get outta here.”
Rosa whispered, “I think there’s a camera up there,” she raised her eyes in the direction of the ceiling, “there could be microphones too.”
“They watchin’ us?” Blaize said with surprise, “That’s nasty.”
“It’s good to know,” said Margret in a low voice. “The brothers seem to fight a lot, that could be to our advantage, it keeps them distracted. I can hear them arguing now, so they aren’t listening.”
“There’s a small vent in the ceiling of the bathroom. If I could get up there, I might be able to squeeze out,” said Rosa.
“How you gonna do that? With a plastic k
nife?” Blaize held up her utensil. “Then you be way up on top, and you still be locked in the building.”
“That’s our plan for now. If you do the cooking, try to steal a knife or something. And everybody keep your ears open so we know what’s going on. We just have to wait for an opportunity.”
“If you acts like you likes ‘em they don’t watch you so close.”
“EEWWW!” said Rosa and Margret together.
“It true. Mr. Arnold let me go shopping with him and he let me pick out nice things.” She smoothed the sparkly gold T-shirt she wore, and tossed her head so her long earrings tinkled.
“She’s got a point,” said Margret. “It turns my stomach, but it might help. Can you do that Rosa?”
Rosa hesitated, then she nodded her head.
☙
Bruce and Arnold worked on the stolen truck all day. Bruce tinkered with the engine so the speed wasn’t limited, and prepared the truck for painting. Arnold used a small torch to heat, then peel off the large decals.
“Bruce,” Arnold boomed, “Take all them Volvo emblems off. I got an idea.”
Bruce shut off the sander he was using. “What idea?”
“I’ve got some International parts, a wrecked cab, out behind the shed. Do ya think we could weld the top of the cab on here and make this look like an International?”
Bruce considered the idea, “Let’s go out and take a look, it might just work.”
Arnold checked the door of the van where the women were held to be sure it was locked. Inside, all three women jumped at the rattle of the door knob, expecting somebody to come in. When no one did, Rosa put her ear to the wall to listen. “It sounds like the big door is opening.” Blaize and Margret listened too.
“What you think they doing?”
“I don’t know, I wish we could see out there.”
All day, the women heard sounds of metal being dragged, cut and riveted. The creaky door slid open and shut several times as the men worked to make Lucille into a Frankenstein truck.
By evening the men were exhausted, but pleased with the progress they’d made. Arnold came and got Rosa, “I want a little Mexican tonight,” he said.
