by Nancy Cupp
She pulled onto the scale and set her brakes. Bits of metal and at least one broken headlight hung from the abused truck. Even though the sign flashed for them proceed, she shut off the engine and just sat there waiting for whatever was going to happen next.
Moments later, a highway patrol, lights flashing and siren screaming, careened into the weigh station using the shoulder to get around the line of trucks. The patrol car stopped in front, blocking the exit.
“We in deep doo-doo now,” said Blaize, looking like she was about to run.
“Just stay there. Please. I’m gonna need a witness.”
The patrolmen cautiously approached the truck with guns drawn.
“Damn, guns an’ everything. You gots a lot of explainin’ to do,” said Blaize.
Margret held her hands on top of the steering wheel. Her head was reeling. She would have lost her lunch if she’d had any. She waited for the officer to open the door. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s a woman in the trailer that may be hurt. Please check on her.”
“You are under arrest. Did you leave the scene of an accident?”
“Yes, sir.”
The trucks waiting to weigh were dismissed and the weigh station closed. Each driver had to gawk as they drove by, curious about what was going on. Soon the air waves were busy with speculation and rumors as CB radios broadcast bits of information.
Margret stood outside the truck, handcuffed, when the first ambulance streaked by to attend to the passengers of the rolled over motor-home. Blaize was in the back of the patrol car gesturing wildly as she spoke. Margret could only imagine the ear-cleaning the officer was getting as they drove away.
“Please, I don’t have a key for the trailer, but you need to check on Rosa. She’s in the trailer and she needs help.”
Another patrol car arrived and Margret was ushered inside. From the back seat she could see two officers trying to figure out how to get the trailer open. She turned and tried to watch as long as she could, but soon they were out of sight. She tried to relax as well as she could with her hands cuffed behind her. There’s nothing I can do now, she reasoned.
They passed under a bridge and Margret checked for the familiar message. She wasn’t disappointed, Trust Jesus was written clearly in blue. An ambulance raced by with red lights flashing, speeding to the hospital with Rosa inside.
27
Asylum
Carlos carried his tray to an empty spot on one of the dozens of long tables in the noisy lunch-room. He wanted to feel comfortable enough to talk with the other men waiting for deportation, but the presence of armed guards was unsettling. Harsh neon lights glared above them, and concrete block walls echoed the clank of silverware on ceramic plates.
“Hey Amigo, how long you been waiting?” asked a middle-aged man with a mustache.
“Three days, you?”
“I came in last night. Is this your first time?”
“Sí.”
“Where did they pick you up?”
“In the desert near Agua Prieta.”
“Why didn’t you use the tunnels? You were almost there.”
“What tunnels? I didn’t know there were tunnels. I was just trying to stay safe, and find my wife.”
“Next time try the tunnels, I hear it’s the only way.”
A guard approached the table. “Carlos Morales?”
“That’s me,” said Carlos standing up.
“Come with me please.” The man Carlos had been talking to met eyes with the guard and shook his head no.
“Good luck Carlos. I’ll see you next time,” the man said.
Carlos followed the guard to the interrogation room. “Please have a seat,” said Mr. Barone. “We have reason to believe what you’ve told us is true. If you’re willing to help us, we will grant you temporary political asylum.”
“Help you with what?”
“We have information about your cousin, Enrico Morales. He may be involved in a sex trafficking scheme. We think he’s a broker for many buyers. We also believe he’s working with Machete moving guns and drugs across the border.”
“What? Enrico? He helped me. He gave us money to get Rosa—Oh my God! Rosa! No!”
“Are you willing to help us?”
“Sí, sí. I’ll do anything to find Rosa!”
“Good. We know where your wife is…”
“Where? Can I see her?”
“She’s in the hospital right now. She was injured, but she’ll recover.”
“Will Rosa be able to stay with me? Does she have asylum?”
“Yes, as long as you both co-operate with us, and until it’s safe for you to return to Mexico.”
“Gracias. When can I see her? Can I talk to her on the phone?”
“There’s some more information I need to give you. Our agents broke up a prostitution ring in Nevada. The women were being held against their will. Some of them are American, and some of them came from foreign countries. They were told there was employment for them and they’d get safely into the US. They weren’t told they would be sold as slaves. They wouldn’t have their freedom.”
“In these modern times? How could that be happening?”
“People like your cousin take advantage of people’s desperation and trick them into trusting them. They use fear to make a profit.”
“I’ll kill him. I trusted…was it him? Did he—sell my Rosa? I—I almost forced her to go with that man.”
“The man holding your wife is now in custody. He’s also in the hospital. He was in an accident and is in critical condition. He won’t be able to stand trial for a while. His brother, an accomplice, was driving and was killed in the wreck. The man that was killed was also responsible for grand theft and moving dangerous illegal hazardous waste.”
“Was Rosa—did he use her—for—for…”
“We think so, I’m sorry. But we do have some good news for you about your wife’s mother. Nicolette Santos was among the women recovered in the Nevada bust.”
“Her mother was sold too? How could all these horrible things happen and nobody knew? Where is her father?”
“Mrs. Santos thinks he was killed. We haven’t found his body, and his death isn’t confirmed.”
“Does Rosa know about her mother?”
“Not yet, we’ll let you talk to her first.”
28
Sorting it Out
Ms. Malone, you are being held on charges of manslaughter, leaving the scene of an accident, reckless driving, and grand theft. As your lawyer, I have to inform you there may be charges of false imprisonment, harboring a minor, and possession of illegal hazardous materials. Do you understand these charges?
“Yeah sure, but why am I being charged with all that? I was a victim of kidnaping. I was forced to do things against my will. I’ve got this damn tattoo to prove it. I didn’t steal Lucille—uh… the truck from Hometown Carriers. I was simply in it when it was stolen.”
“But did you steal the one you were driving when you had the accident with Mr. Lade?”
“Oh… Yeah, I guess I did steal that one.”
“And did you cause the vehicle, in which both Mr. Lades were riding, to leave the roadway?”
“Well sort-of…”
“And was there a woman locked in the trailer you were pulling?”
“Yes, that’s why I stole it! We were all being held prisoner, but Blaize and I escaped. That’s why they were chasing us with the motor home.”
“Are you aware the driver, Mr. Lade was killed in the rollover?”
“That’s what I was told. I’m sorry he died, but he was a horrible man. He even tried to rape me, and he forced Rosa into prostitution,” said Margret. “But Bruce was kinda forced to do things he didn’t want to do by his older brother too. He never touched me the whole time.”
“Bruce? Bruce is the older brother, the one that wasn’t driving. He survived.”
“Wait a minute. Who died? Bruce or Arnold?”
“The dead man had identifi
cation in his pocket of Arnold Lade. He was found near the driver’s seat.”
“Whoa—now I’m all confused. You said the man who died was the driver.”
“Yes.”
“The driver was Arnold. He’s the older brother, the one who was doing all this stuff. Blaize will tell you that too. I don’t remember even seeing Bruce in the motor home at all.”
“Yes, the ID on the dead man was Arnold Lade. He was found in the driver seat. But he looked to be much younger than Bruce, the man who survived.”
“That bastard! He’s doing it again. I think you have a case of ID swapping. I think he moved the body around too. He did it before.” Margret thumped her fist on the table.
“Did what before?”
“Bruce told me about his father’s death. He’s never been sure about who was driving when his father died. You can’t let him get away with this,” yelled Margret, half standing, leaning over the table.
“Calm down, we’ll sort it out. In the meantime, there are still some serious charges against you.”
“Has my father gotten here yet? I really need to see him.” Margret was crying, her hands shaking.
“I can see you’re getting fatigued, we’ll continue this later. I don’t think your father’s flight has arrived yet, but I’ll be sure he gets to see you. I need to get a statement from Mrs. Morales, and um…the woman that calls herself Blaize.”
“Mrs. Morales?”
“Rosa. She’s still in the hospital, but conscious now.”
“Will her baby be all right?”
“She’s pregnant too? I didn’t know about that.” The lawyer scribbled some notes.
“It’s her husband’s baby, she was pregnant when he took her.”
“This—nuclear waste you say you hauled across the country. How dangerous is it? They have the whole county closed off. We can’t go in and investigate the old airplane hangar where you say it all happened.”
“I have no idea. I just hope I haven’t been exposed to too much radiation,” said Margret, with tears flowing down her cheeks.
“What were they going to do with it? Were they going to sell it or use it for something else? Terrorist activity maybe?”
“Terrorist?—I don’t think so. I think they planned to dump it and leave. But—I don’t know.”
☙
It was a sunny, but cold, day in February when Margret stepped outside their Minnesota apartment to get the mail. Fresh snow sparkled on the trees, and the icy air stung her lungs. She stomped snow off her feet, and used her butt to close the door while she sorted through the mail.
“Oh look Blaize, there’s a card from Rosa. I bet she’s had her baby!”
Blaize was wrapped up in a heavy blanket on the couch, doing her home-work. “Read it to me. I gots to finish this or I won’t never get out of beauty school.”
“It’s a girl! Five pounds, three ounces. They call her…Oh my God!” Margret choked up.
“They calls her Oh my God?”
“No silly, they call her Margret Blaize Morales. Look, here’s a picture.”
“They name her after us! Let me see that picture.” Blaize studied the photo, “She so sweet, look like her momma. Ooh her daddy a fine lookin’ man! They looks like such happy folks.”
“I’m so glad they get to stay in the US for a while. Maybe this summer, once you graduate and I’m on summer break, we can make a trip to Arizona to see them. They’ll be at the trial, but it might a long time before it comes up.”
“Hrumph! I don’t know—if you drivin’…” Blaize teased. “But it would be nice to get outta this cold.”
Margret picked up her text books, but dropped Nuclear Science on her foot. “Ouch, these books hurt when you drop ‘em.” She picked up her keys and put on her coat, “I’ll see you later Blaize, I’m going to meet with Joyce. She said she’d be at the terminal around one o’clock.”
☙
Joyce was busy gathering her dirty clothes and changing the sheets in preparation for a couple of days of home time. She looked out the window and saw a slender blonde bundled up in a heavy winter jacket walking toward her truck. That can’t be Margret, she thought, studying the woman who seemed to be making a bee line for her. “Margret is that you?” she called out the window.
“Hi Joyce, good to see you again,” said Margret.
“Oh my gosh, come on up. I’ve got the heater cranking, it’s nice and warm in here.”
Margret climbed into Joyce’s new truck and sat down. “This one looks just like Lucille.”
“Yeah they don’t change them much. I call this one Scarlett.”
“Like Gone With the Wind?”
Joyce laughed, “Yeah, but let’s hope she doesn’t get gone with the wind! I don’t want to go through that again.”
“I’m glad you can laugh about it now. I don’t want to go through it either.”
“So update me. What happened with the trial and everything?”
“I told you on the phone how Arnold, the big bad dude, tried to switch IDs with his brother Bruce, right?”
“Yeah, and you said he moved his brother’s body to make it look like he was driving the RV that got wrecked,” said Joyce.
“Well, it turns out they’re thinking, after the autopsy, Bruce may have already been dead when the roll over happened.”
“Why? How?”
“They suspect he and Arnold may have been fighting before they came after us, and maybe Arnold killed him.”
“Wow! That’s good for you isn’t it?”
“It can’t hurt. My lawyer thinks he can get me off on all charges, but I’d like to think I didn’t cause his death. And, I’d be glad if Arnold was in jail for murder as well as all the other stuff.”
“I feel so bad that you went through all that stuff. But I’ve got to say you look great! You’re so slim, and who did your hair? It looks pretty on you.”
“Thank you. That’s one good thing, I found a great hairdresser. You remember I told you about Blaize?”
“Is she the black girl, or the pregnant one?”
“Blaize is the black girl—oh, but just today, I found out Rosa had her baby! A girl.”
“Nice. Healthy I hope.”
“Seems to be fine. But I was telling you about Blaize, she’s the best hairdresser. She didn’t want to get sent back to her parents, so she came to live with me. My old roommate got married, so I needed a new one anyway. Blaize is going to beauty school so she can get her license, but she’s already really good.”
“Do you think she’d do my hair?”
“I’m sure she would.”
“So did they ever decide what they were doing with the nuke thing you were hauling? There isn’t much about it on TV anymore.”
“Yeah, it’s old news by now. They went out there with hazmat suits, and radiation detectors and all that stuff. Fortunately, the guys never bothered to bury it, they just backed the trailer in a ravine and drove away. I don’t know if they were going to cover it up later, or if they just decided to leave it and split. But anyway, the hazmat teams decided it wasn’t leaking radiation.”
“Lucky for you, then you weren’t exposed.”
“Yeah I was really freaked about it for a while.”
“So what did they do with it? Are they just going to leave it there?”
“No, they can’t leave it. There was some talk about encasing it in concrete and stuff like that, but they decided it was safe enough for them to move it to Yucca Mountain. That’s the big underground nuclear storage facility in Nevada the government built. They didn’t want to take it back where we got it from, because they weren’t sure that was a good place either.”
“Man, that’s crazy. I can’t believe all that stuff happened to you. So are you going to go back to trucking once your trial is over?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get my CDL back again. It doesn't look so good on my record to have a stolen truck and an accident with a fatality and all.”
“You’d be surprised. Trucking companies are desperate for drivers. You’d like this truck.”
“Why’s that?”
“She’s an automatic.”
“What? After all I went through to learn how to shift? All the grinding and stalling and now—they make ‘em automatic?”
Joyce smiled, “Yup. No shifting or clutching involved.”
“Oh that reminds me, they found Lucille.”
“Really? Where did she turn up at?”
“Mexico. This is the really weird thing, Rosa gave me her make-up case, a compact with pressed powder. She scratched Carlos’s phone number on the powder hoping I’d be able to get to a phone and call him.”
“Clever idea.”
“Well, I never got to a phone, so I just left the compact in a drawer in the truck. The guy we swapped trucks with took Lucille to sell her at a place where Carlos used to be a mechanic.”
“What are the odds of that?”
“Long story short—this friend of Carlos’s found the compact and called the number out of curiosity.”
“No way!”
“That’s what they told me.”
“Too weird,” said Joyce. “And you said they painted her and welded part of an International on top to disguise the truck.”
“Yup, and it worked too. Nobody stopped us.”
“It’s like she had a make over or something,” laughed Joyce.
“Yeah, like Lucille became Larry.” They had a good laugh.
“I’m so glad you came to visit. I hope it all goes well for you at the trial.”
“Thanks Joyce—for everything. I have something for you,” said Margret digging in the pocket of her jeans. “I got this out of Lucille just before we swapped her.” Margret held out the pictures and Purple Heart metal Joyce had pinned on the visor of her old truck.
Joyce sucked in her breath, and gently picked them up, caressing each one. “David,” she said with a tear. “Thank you. You’ll never know how much this means to me.”
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