by David Cole
"Thanks," I said. "Thanks a lot."
I sat in the El Con parking lot until Meg called and told me to meet her at Nonie.
23
"This is the last time you'll see me," Xochitl said. "I'm leaving today."
We sat in Nonie, the Cajun and Creole restaurant on Grant, the place where Xochitl worked. The restaurant was closed, but Xochitl let me in at the back door. She quickly introduced me to the owners, Chris Leonard and his wife Suzy, and we left them preparing pots of gumbo and jambalaya. When I asked if I could order something, Suzy brought me a bowl of each, plus some red beans and rice.
"Why are you leaving?" I asked.
"Because of Francisco Zamora. I saw you at Hacienda del Sol."
"And I saw Zamora put his hand on your shoulder, and right after that you quickly left by taxi. What were you doing there?"
"Serving. I make good money by working catered parties. Chris lets me have a night off here if I can provide a sub. He knows I need the money from catered jobs. But I didn't think Zamora would come up to Tucson, so I am leaving. Today. Chris and Suzy know that, they will miss me, but it cannot be helped. I have their love, support. I owe them much. You know me as Xochitl Gálvez. Not my name, not important to tell you my name. Not safe. Even you."
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"But aren't you already free?"
Opening her handbag, she took out a newspaper clipping. A photograph from a Mexican newspaper. Seven people gathered around Zamora, who posed with one foot on a shovel.
"I can't read Spanish. What is this?"
"The groundbreaking ceremony for Zamora's maquiladora. Look at the women."
Pinau stood to Zamora's left, with a shorter haircut of streaked blond hair, but still recognizable. On the far right, a young woman's body was obscured by the man in front of her, but I thought I recognized the face.
"Ileanna. She was Zamora's bookkeeper. Veraslava, she was bookkeeper for another maquiladora. My friends."
"Those are the names on that videotape. The two murdered women."
"They had no faces, one news report said. Dragged through the cactus until the skin was ripped off most of their bodies. Off of their faces. That is a warning."
"To who?"
"Me. We did a foolish thing one night. We were working late one night. Zamora went outside for a cigarette. We made copies of some papers in his safe. His account books. For twenty minutes we copied papers. The next day, all three of us walked through the water tunnels to Arizona."
I had a sudden thought.
"Were you brought across by a coyote?"
"Everybody knows about the tunnels. We went by ourselves."
"This is important," I said. "Do you know of a coyote called the water man?"
"No. Why?"
"Never mind. How did you know those two women?"
"We were all accountants in Zamora's maquiladora. We made staplers, uh, no, staple guns. That's not important. How we got to Mexico, how we got to Nogales, that is what's important."
"You were smuggled into Mexico from Albania."
"Two years ago. The three of us, we paid thirty thousand United States dollars. In Albania, we also did accounting. For banks. When the Albanian mafia took over our banks, they replaced us with their own people. So. What future? What hope? America. But when we got off the boat in Vera Cruz, we had been promised identity papers, travel visas, passports, everything promised to us to come across the border safely. Instead, we were locked in a house. We are young women, we are all beautiful, we were raped over and over for three weeks. Instead of freedom, we were told that we'd been auctioned to a brothel in Las Vegas. That's the only way you'll get across the border, we were told. As whores. The next day, another man came. This one."
She pointed at another face in the newspaper photograph, almost hidden by Pinau. I could see it was Hector Garza. The King Kong man, the ape who'd been in the immigrant detention center with Pinau Medina.
"He needed three women to be accountants."
"Why did he want women?"
Xochitl shrugged.
"We are cheaper. We keep secrets. We are women. Who knows why? We didn't care. That afternoon we are riding in a Mercedes Benz to Nogales. We are given ten thousand pesos each and a house for the three of us."
"So if you had good jobs ... I don't follow, why give them up?"
"Ileanna was the smartest of us three. The best bookkeeper, the best, how shall I say it, she had the best conscience. She started making a diary of how the women workers were being abused and underpaid. In Nogales, nobody of power is far away from knowing someone in the drug cartels. For people who learn secrets, a life of promise is quickly jeopardized. Assassins are cheap, easy to find. The three of us, we decided to get out. We contacted a friend in Basta Ya."
"The Indian women's worker group? How could they help?"
"Many of them had worked with political prisoners from El Salvador and Nicaragua. Some of the escape routes into the US were still in place. There are still groups in Arizona that give sanctuary, give a new life."
"Does Basta Ya charge money?"
"No. If you have some, they will take it. But only to help others. So two months ago, the three of us copied Zamora's papers, and then we came across the border."
"Did you know anything about the papers you copied?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"Were they suspicious? Why did you copy them?"
"We thought he was connected to Garza, and if we left, Garza would come after us. So we copied the papers, thinking there might be something of value in them that we could trade for our safety. Something connected to the smuggling rings."
"Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. There are two smuggling cartels. The first brings women in from Albania. The second helps you escape the first."
"Exactly."
"And which one talks to you in the chat rooms."
"Basta Ya."
"Can you connect to them right now?"
"Yes, but ... they wouldn't talk to you. Why do you want to do this?"
"I know one of the people working for Basta Ya."
"Who?"
"Jonathan Begay."
"Ah! Señor Johnny."
"He's my ex-husband. I haven't seen him for twenty years. Can you ... do you have your Palm Pilot? Can you ask LUNA13 if I can contact Jonathan?"
Digging the last spoonfuls of gumbo from my cup, I avoided looking at her. She fidgeted in her chair. Chris abruptly turned off the cumbia music on the sound system, and I could hear Xochitl breathing. I kept avoiding her until she reached into her bag and took out the Palm. With relief, I saw it was the same model and color as the one I'd just bought. Licking my lips at the last of the gumbo, I wiped my hands on my napkin and picked up my bag from the floor, rooting through it as though I was looking for tissues or makeup.
"We will do this," Xochitl said. "I will contact them, but I won't say you are here. I will ask about Señor Begay. Is that what you want?"
"Yes."
Removing the Palm pointer, she worked it rapidly through a series of screens.
"I am in the chat room."
She leaned sideways, holding the Palm between us so that I could read the tiny screen. The chat room user names were incredibly revealing.
LUNA13: > you are gone from Tucson?
LUNA5: > not yet
LUNA13: > this is no time to be foolish
If Xochitl was LUNA5, then LUNA was a network, not a single person.
LUNA13: > you have the money, the id package?
LUNA5: > i have everything
LUNA13: > kansas ... it is a long ways off, my sister
LUNA5: > you are always in my heart.
LUNA13: > so ... why are you not gone?
LUNA5: > senor johnny, i hear he is in jail
A long, long pause, the cursor blinking.
LUNA13: > i didn't know that
LUNA5: > can you find out where?
LUNA13: > maybe ... do yo
u know when he was taken?
Xochitl's eyebrows raised with the question. I shook my head.
LUNA5: > no
LUNA13: > we were wondering why his radio news has been the same tape msg for the last 4 days, so that must have been when it happened, 4 days ago
LUNA5: > see what you can find out
LUNA13: > yes, but you leave NOW
LUNA5: > agree to leave, but please find out which jail
LUNA13: > contact us when you get to kansas, dorothy
LUNA5: > i have my ruby slippers
Xochitl punched at the screen with the Palm pointer and logged out of the chat room. She slipped the Palm into its case and started to put it back in her bag.
"Can I see that?" She hesitated. "I've never used one of them."
She handed it to me. I knocked hard enough against the empty gumbo bowl to send it flying off the table. Her eyes followed the bowl's trajectory until it shattered on the floor. In that moment, I dropped her Palm into my lap and picked up the one I'd just bought and slipped it into her case.
"Everything all right?" Suzy said.
"I'm so clumsy," I said.
"Not a problem."
"Here," I said to Xochitl, handing her the Palm. "Take this before I break it too."
We went outside, where Luis Cabrera waited beside his pickup, his eyes anxiously quartering the neighborhood.
"If somebody is watching," I said to Xochitl, "he'll never see them."
"I know that. He doesn't, but he feels better because he's protecting me."
"Will I ever see you again?"
"How far is Kansas?"
"With ruby slippers, an instant away."
"Beam me up, Scotty."
She smiled, frowned, burst into tears, and hugged me fiercely.
"Goodbye, Ishmaela," I said.
"I am no longer Albanian. I am Dorothy America."
"Good luck."
"I hope you find Señor Johnny. I hope you find whatever you seek from him."
"If I go to Nogales," I asked, "is there anybody I can talk to? About the Basta Ya people who smuggle women out? About the maquiladoras?"
She hesitated a long, long time.
"Watch out for the man who drives the water truck."
That cryptic remark was the only thing she said. They drove away, headed west on Grant to US 10. I watched the traffic on Grant for ten minutes, but finally realized that I had no idea if anybody was following them.
Too late, I realized that the phrase had two meanings. Watch out could mean Look out, be careful, don't go near him. But for somebody whose English was a second language, it could also mean Find the man with the water truck. I'd only know if I went to Nogales.
I called Meg and got no answer. Checking the voice mail box on my cell phone, I found a message from her telling me to go to Phoenix, to a safe house she operated in Scottsdale. She promised to bring Mari and Alex.
Working my way through heavy traffic on Grant, out to US 10, I went over everything she'd said and realized I'd overlooked something vital.
The water man must be a man with a water truck.
No connection to the water tunnels? I didn't know, but I'd have to see them.
24
At the Casa Grande junction, US 10 traffic slowed to a crawl and finally to stop and go. I could see bubblegum lights flashing a mile ahead, probably an accident. I tried calling Meg's cell phone again, but got no answer.
Twenty minutes later I'd barely gone a mile, but finally drew abreast of the accident scene. A brand new Saturn had been tailgated and crumpled. Nobody seemed injured, but a Casa Grande fire truck was parked across the right lane, and fireman were working with the Jaws of Life to open the passenger side door.
A tall, slim Hispanic woman strode back and forth beside the Saturn, yammering on a cell phone at the top of her voice. She'd obviously been the driver and was obviously angry. Tottering on her four-inch platform heels, with a head of riotous red hair and large breasts clamped tightly in a Julia Roberts Erin Brockovich Wonder Bra, she slowed every male driver in my lane. I passed the Saturn just as the firemen pulled the male passenger out of the car. He also didn't seem to be injured, but seeing him the redhead stretched out both her arms in anger and started berating him for switching the radio from salsa to country.
"But Sandy," I heard him start to complain.
I rolled up both pickup windows and turned the air-conditioning on full blast to drown out all the noise. Traffic picked up rapidly, and in no time I was back up to eighty miles an hour and pulling into the outskirts of Phoenix just as my cell rang.
"Laura," Meg said. "Don't go where I told you. Instead, go through Tempe and take the 101 loop north. Get off at Indian School and go west to Scottsdale. Turn right, make a quick turn right, park anywhere, and meet us in the atrium outside the Marriott Suites restaurant."
"Jesus, Laura," Meg said, sipping from a tall, very narrow and squarish glass. "You've got so much heat around you, I'm not sure how much I can see you."
We sat in the shade, although with the temperature nearly one hundred degrees, combined with the high humidity in Scottsdale, everybody was sweating. Mari slumped in her chair. Alex held Mari's hands, rubbing them briskly to warm them up.
"You've been seeing too many movies," Mari said.
We both were waiting for her to gather enough energy to talk.
"Oh yeah," Alex said enthusiastically. "That scene from Heat. You two are like Pacino and DeNiro, where they have coffee and talk over their macho lives. If the heat is around the corner, you've got to be ready to drop everything in thirty seconds and move on to a whole new life. Bullshit boys, that's all they are."
"Something like that," Meg admitted. "Except that's more like Rey and Laura. Not me. I don't want to be out of some movie plot, I don't want to be anonymous, I don't want to be an outsider these days. I can't even visit most of my safe houses since I started a public fundraising campaign. The Tucson heat is all over me. Tucson PD, state, federal, all kinds of different agencies have got me on their radar."
"Why did you cancel the meeting at your safe house here?"
"I always call before I visit a house. The woman on front door duty told me that two US Marshals had just been there, asking for you."
"Sorry I've got you into this mess."
"Yeah. So am I. Okay, what next?"
"Are you all right?" I asked Mari.
"Not really," Mari said. "But I can talk."
"Meg. Alex. Can you leave the two of us alone?"
"I don't leave my mom alone," Alex said defiantly.
"Unless I ask," Man said with a wan smile. "And I'm asking. I really need to talk with this woman in private. So please go with Meg. Sit on the other side of the atrium or go into the restaurant and watch TV."
"They're tuned to the TV Land network," she said disgustedly. "I mean, who wants to watch a twenty-year-old dumb television rerun?"
They left.
"Are you okay?" I said.
"Okay. Isn't that just a typical happy-face phrase. You know I'm hurting, but you don't want to ask me straight out, so you slide around it by asking if I'm okay. Well, I'm not okay. Had my last chemo yesterday. Talked with the oncologist. I need a really, really big favor."
"I don't know that I'm much capable of that."
"Meg is right. You're getting ready to cut out."
"Yeah. She's right."
"Where you going?"
"Mexico."
"Take Alex with you."
"What?"
"I'm going back into the hospital."
"Oh, Mari. I'm so sorry."
"There's a 'but' in there."
"Tomorrow I might be in jail. I made a deal, I busted the deal. That's why the US Marshals are looking for me."
"So? You're still going to Mexico?"
"Yes."
"You're not worried they'll catch you at the border?"
"Not where I'm going to cross."
"Please. Take Alex with you."
&nb
sp; "Can't do that."
"It would only be for a week. I'm going to have a bone marrow transplant. In a week, I'll be strong enough to have Alex back."
"She'd be furious with me trying to keep her from you."
"She'd be more furious at me for making her go."
"I can't make her come with me."
"No. You can't."
"Can't get around that one."
"But I will tell her to go."
"You'll tell her."
"Yes."
"To go with me."
"Yes."
"To Mexico. Even if I'm saying to you, I don't want her with me."
"Please. I have nobody else to ask. Meg is freaked out with all the police surveillance. And frankly, without taking her meds, she's really getting so unstable that I can't trust her to be responsible. There's nobody else. Don't you have a daughter?"
"Not the issue."
"Please. And to make it easier, I'll even tell you where to take Alex."
"You don't want her with me all the time?"
"Meg's daughter is at some ranch, out in the middle of nowhere in the Sonoran Desert. Take Alex to stay with Meg's daughter."
"Ranch!" I snorted. "You're talking about that run-down old place where Rey's father used to live. It's no ranch. Just a falling-down house full of holes."
"Rey said it would be all right."
"How do you know that?"
"He called Meg's cell phone. Meg wasn't there, I thought the call was for me, I talked with him. Their daughter, Amada, she's apparently going teenage nuts being all alone on that ranch. Rey thinks that Alex would be good company. He's got a TV satellite dish, he's rebuilt the house, he says Amada would love another girl for company. If it's okay with Rey, if I make it okay with Alex, won't you take her?"
"That won't be possible."
"Why not? Jesus Christ, Laura, why not?"
"Because I think I'm headed back to jail."
Jake Nasso was loping across the atrium from the street. I got up to run into the Marriott restaurant, but Taá stood in the doorway. Both of them had holstered weapons, both had their hand on the holster. Two waitresses in the restaurant stood behind Taá, mouths open, too young to be anything but curious about what might happen. Jake gathered Meg and Alex, herding them to our table. I slumped into the chair as Jake pulled his handcuffs from behind his back and dropped them with a clank on the glass-topped table.
