He moved in with a detective, and Fred, who couldn't bear a dirty house or disorder of any kind, strolled into the detective's bachelor apartment and almost gagged. He practically had to scrape the crud off the refrigerator just to get it opened. Inside was the detective's supply of groceries- one six-pack of Coors. There were dirty clothes on the floor, in the bathtub, in both sinks, in the flower pots. There were roaches riding the backs of other roaches. Fred Gil went home to his wife. Jan talked him into not filing for divorce until they paid off the bills for the rest of the year. He agreed. It made sense. They were pretty broke. Then a week later, when Fred was at the gym doing a few bench presses, he got a phone call.
It was a lawyer who said, "Fred? I can either serve papers on you there or you can come down to my office."
She had filed, and to add insult to injury the lawyer was a friend of his family.
And then, Fred Gil recalled in anguish: "I'll never forget it as long as I live! She showed up in divorce court with a Bible! The woman had never been in a church! We weren't even married in a goldang church! And she was dressed like Mary goldanged Poppins!"
She got child support. She got the car. And the house. All Fred got was the mo-ped. And a shock when her daughter, really his favorite child, took sides with her mother in the divorce. A natural thing of course, but Fred could only think about how it might never be the same with his adopted daughter and it was the bitterest blow of all.
Well, the nights get pretty cold and uncomfortable out there on a mo-ped, so Fred's sister gave him the use of an old beat-up camper about the size of a bathtub. Fred dragged the thing to the police department parking lot and lived there for a month. It was cold in that camper but at least it could accommodate everything he owned. Yet so could a good-sized backpack. Finally Fred Gil got together enough money to rent an apartment. It was a bachelor apartment. There was a bedroom, a kitchen and a bathroom. There were no pictures on the walls. There wasn't even one little scrawny plant. At least he'd had one little scrawny plant in the camper. Fred Gil was by now popping big red tranquilizers which a physician friend gave to him to diminish the anxiety attacks. He'd done a lot of lonely weeping.
Fred Gil took a look around that lowlife little apartment and remembers saying one word: "Dang!"
Then he took out his service revolver. He thought about it so hard that his hands began to tremble. He thought about smoking it. Then he started shaking all over. Fred Gil had to run from that apartment. He had to run for his life.
The other cops got a big kick out of it when poor old Fred Gil was living in the little camper on the police station parking lot. They had a million jokes they'd lay on old Fred, and they never failed to blow their horns or maybe blast a siren when he was asleep and all jangled from the big red pills the friendly croaker had given him. The siren would drive him straight up, crashing his skull against the ceiling, which was low as a coffin lid. The other cops would just scream when old Fred Gil would come flip-flapping across the station parking lot in his raggedy cotton robe and rubber thongs, heading to the station to take a crap or a shower.
But everyone said that the funniest sight of all was old Fred Gil riding that freaking mo-ped. The other cops had these hot bikes and sports cars they couldn't really afford, and pickups with back tires that could power a jumbo jet, and here was burly old Fred Gil put-putting down the street on his teeny mo-ped. They practically convulsed when one cop yelled an observation that old Fred looked like the simian prodding the pigskin!
Cops just began keeling over-cackling, hooting, snuffling, screaming-because it was true! Poor old Fred Gil looked just like an ape fucking a football.
April was a terrific month for scrapbooks. They managed to get fourteen stories written about them in April. The border was written up large in U. S. News and World Report.
April was not a terrific month for a Colonia Libertad bandit named Esquivel, who had seen one spaghetti western too many. He had seen the one where Clint Eastwood runs around in a sarape, and when that sarape goes whipping back there's nothing but hot lead and cold bodies flying around for about five movie minutes, all in slow motion. Esquivel didn't have access to a real gun at the moment but he got hold of an air rifle that looked exactly like an M-l carbine, and best of all, he got himself an ominous black poncho that looked even more sinister than Clint Eastwood's. And he got another bandit pal and they did a little dope and decided to prowl E-2 Canyon and see how much money they could make. Whatever they made, it wasn't nearly enough.
The varsity and junior varsity hadn't had time to split up that afternoon before they stumbled upon a whole mob of illegal aliens nesting in the brush of E-2 Canyon about a hundred yards north of the border line. There were Manny Lopez, Eddie Cervantes, and Tony Puente of the varsity. And Ernie Salgado, Carlos Chacon and Renee Camacho of the junior varsity. Only Joe Vasquez wasn't present, since he had to provide cover that night because both Robbie Hurt and Ken Kelly were off duty.
Manny asked the startled covey of aliens what they were waiting for and got the answer when a man stood up far across the canyon and began waving his arms. There was just enough daylight left to see him, and the sixteen aliens jumped to their feet and began hustling down the trails toward the guide who was signaling.
The guide was an enterprising young fellow who was delighted to see that six new pollos had joined his party of sixteen, and he wasted no time wheeling and dealing with the newcomers. He said he was sorry he couldn't get them all the way to Los Angeles, but he could transport them to Main Street in Chula Vista for forty bucks a head.
So Manny Lopez whispered to the other Barfers that they might as well take down this dude for wildcatting. They waited until the aliens started moving off as directed and then they put the badge on him and told him he wasn't going to Chula Vista that night.
So he shrugged, because what the hell, it's no big deal to spend a day or two in a U. S. jail, which was actually about the most comfortable place around. But there was an alien couple sticking to the guy, and Manny Lopez figured now that they knew the Barfers were cops, he'd have to do something with them.
They walked back to Joe Vasquez, who was waiting in the four-wheel-drive Chevy Suburban, mightily bummed because now he had to provide cover and wait in consummate frustration and listen to weird noises and gunshots in the canyons and not know anything. After he took charge of the wildcatting guide, the others walked their alien couple toward the port of entry to turn them over to the Border Patrol.
While the Barfers were trucking along the trails with the couple, Manny Lopez started talking to them. They had left four children behind in central Mexico. The husband had a nice sincere face and he was looking from one cop to the other, trying to figure out this strange business of American cops dressing up like pollos. His wife was a very shy woman who was probably only thinking of the kids left behind and wondering how long it would take to make enough money to return to them with some kind of nest egg.
While they were walking, the man told Manny Lopez that his working day was from sunup to sunset, seven days a week. He was a campesino and had the hands to prove it. Then he couldn't contain his curiosity and he said to Manny Lopez: "Please, can you tell me how often does an American policeman buy groceries?"
"My wife does it." Manny shrugged. "She makes the big buy every two weeks when I get paid."
"How much does it cost her to buy food?" the man asked.
Manny shrugged again and said, "I don't know. Maybe two hundred? Maybe a lot more. I don't really know."
"Dollars?" the man gasped. "U. S. dollars?"
"Yeah, dollars," Manny said. "You think I mean pesos?"
Then the alien couple could only walk in silence. It was too much. Policemen getting paid money like that. What a country!
The man said to Manny Lopez: "For working every day as long as there is sunlight I get paid enough money to buy tortillas, beans, sometimes rice, and sometimes a little sugar and a little coffee; I can't buy beef. I try to buy a chicken
once a week because the children need meat, but that chicken costs one day's wages so I can't always buy it."
And of course by now all the other Barfers were listening and moaning and groaning, saying, "Let's not turn em over to the Border Patrol. Let em go! Shit!"
"I got to turn you over to the Border Patrol," Manny Lopez told the man. "You might tell somebody who we are and it might be a bandit. It's risky."
And all the other Barfers, the least sentimental of whom was about eighty-five times more sentimental than Manny Lopez, were yelling, "Cut em loose! Fuck this! Let em go."
And Manny was saying, "What's the big deal about spending a day with the Border Patrol? They'll be back here by Tuesday night, goddamnit!"
Everyone was bitching and moaning except the man, who, speaking for himself and his wife, was defending Manny and saying he understood Manny's, dilemma perfectly and he shouldn't make exceptions. And all this was interrupted suddenly by two bandits from Colonia Libertad who'd seen one spaghetti western too many.
It was dark now, really dark. As black as Manny's heart, someone mumbled, and Manny said to shut up, fucker. And they were several yards apart on the trail and doing their best to see five feet in front of them when Manny saw two shapes just above the trail in front of him. One of them was wearing a, big old black sarape or poncho, just like Clint Eastwood, and he was satisfied, when he saw these pollos, especially since one of them was a woman.
When Manny, who was in the lead with the alien couple right behind him, got within a few feet of the silent bandits, the one with the poncho said, "What smuggler do you belong to?"
And Manny made up a name. "We belong to Morro."
The two bandits looked them over, especially the woman hiding behind Manny Lopez, and were more than assured that these couldn't be part of that group of San Diego cops who prowled these canyons screwing up their business. The one with the poncho then did his Clint Eastwood impersonation and swept back the poncho and threw down on Manny Lopez with his M-l carbine air rifle, and said, "Give us your money!"
And Manny looked around and saw that his Barfers were straggling along far behind and he had to let them catch up, so he said, "Don't hurt us. Don't hurt us."
And he started cowering and whimpering and generally going into character, but of course there was nothing funny about an M-l carbine which he thought was real. And when the others came stumbling and bumping along and crashing into the ones who'd been stopped by the bandits and saw that goddamn rifle pointed at them, everyone froze waiting for "Sabes que?"
The last one up the trail was Tony Puente. And he wasn't wearing his glasses and it was dark and he hadn't heard any conversation as yet except that he knew there was a holdup going on. Tony Puente squinted up ahead and could clearly see a man. And he saw that the man was holding something and he squinted a little more. And it looked to Tony Puente just like a stick in the robber's hands. A skinny old stick, And this was pretty funny. On a night when the varsity and junior varsity were teamed up, two bandits jumped them with a skinny little old stick! This was really funny. Were those bandits ever going to get their asses kicked.
Then Tony Puente heard one bandit say more forcefully "Give us your money!"
And he was practically giggling when he yelled out from the rear of the queue: "Don't give them shit, the pricks!"
The others couldn't believe it! They were all starting to sweat buckets looking down the barrel of an M-l carbine and Tony Puente was back there yelling don't give them shit? Calling them pricks?
Manny Lopez said, "Shut up," to Tony Puente, and he started snapping his fingers, hoping that Tony might pick up on it.
Snap, snap, snap, but it was lost on Tony, who couldn't figure out why Manny hadn't said something like "Sabes que, motherfucker? I'm gonna stick that stick right up your ass!"
Another problem was that Manny was trying to push the woman down to the ground, because something real bad was going to happen and he wasn't ready to make his move just yet.
And all of a sudden Tony Puente, who was having a hell of a good time, yelled out, "I'm not giving you anything. In fact, I think you're nothing but putos. Hey, thief! Fuck your mother!"
And now all the Barfers were groaning and sighing, and fidgeting and wanting to shoot Tony Puente because everyone but he could see that goddamn M-l carbine pointed down their throats!
And Manny Lopez was saying through clenched teeth: "Shut up, Tony. Shut up, Tony."
And everyone except Tony Puente knew that if they lived through this, he sure as hell better start wearing those fucking glasses!
And then Manny managed to get the woman more or less out of the way and he said, "Sabes que?"
When he yelled "Barf!" there was the most godawful racket heard yet in those canyons, what with the number of Barfers who were together that night. They fired about thirty rounds at the two bandits. They missed one entirely and thought they'd even missed Clint Eastwood, who turned and started flying toward the border with his poncho trailing like a cape.
Eddie Cervantes started after the guy and the firing was still going on and he turned to see Carlos Chacon shooting at the guy and he figured he was going to suffer the same fate as Joe Castillo and Fred Gil, and he started screaming at Carlos and calling him every kind of name when the bandit with the poncho fell flat on his face. Eddie Cervantes was on top of the guy, worrying about the ploy of knives up the sleeves and also worrying that Carlos was going to blow him off the body.
The bandit didn't put up much of a fight. He was shot through the armpit. His companion escaped in the darkness.
The wounded bandit was taken to the hospital, and the homicide detectives once again had to truck on out to the canyons for yet another officer-involved shooting, and stagger around in the coyote crap and mumble about these Barfers being way more trouble than they were worth.
But the alien couple who had almost gotten their heads blown off weren't complaining at all. In fact, the man asked very respectfully if he could inform a superior officer about how kind Manny Lopez and his men had been and how the Barfers had saved them from the bandits.
The night ended as usual with lots of booze being poured to celebrate, except that there were some very bitter comments from Eddie Cervantes to Carlos Chacon about shooting carelessly. Then a few insults started flying back and forth. They were starting to be wary of each other.
Almost every Barfer was having problems at home, what with the riotous drinking going on all night. They got so they'd work like mad trying to get some kind of an arrest in the early part of the evening so they could make it to The Anchor Inn before the bar closed, or if it was too late, get on out to The Wing and unwind a little before going home. It was getting more and more impossible to sleep without a few drinks. And pretty soon on their nights off their wives started to notice that even at home they needed a few.
The heaviest drinker was Robbie Hurt. He'd be eager to stop at a bar even if only one other Barfer was willing. He didn't go alone, because of course that might mean he had a problem. But pretty soon his wife, Yolie, would find him zoned out in front of the television with a drink in his hands.
If Yolie complained, he'd get irritable and say, "I'm only doing what all men do. A few drinks won't hurt me."
He was absolutely wrong. A few drinks one night almost killed him.
As Robbie looked back on those days, he would sigh and say, "Yolie was the epitome of a Mexican wife. She got it from her mother's side. She'd have dinner ready. She was acquiescent. She was agreeable. She'd work ten hours a day at her job and then take care of me. She made it easy to do what I was doing. Too bad she didn't take after her father's side of the family and come on more like a black chick. And kick my ass!"
He was twenty-six years old and it was so incredibly easy. The Barfers would just come banging into a bar after they got off duty and the groupies would fight each other to get at these hardballers.
And they'd lead off the conversation with: "Well, ladies, you'll get to read it in tom
orrow's papers, but lemme tell you what we did tonight." It was too easy. And though some of them stuck to beer drinking, Robbie was drinking hard liquor.
And after he'd had a few he had an easier time with the wisecracks. He was of course still working the cover team instead of being able to walk with the others, because he was black. Therefore, black jokes increased his frustration and he wasn't laughing anymore. And if a macho type like Eddie Cervantes or Joe Castillo would say in front of a groupie: "Whadda you know about it, Robbie?" he would be offended and refuse to talk at all. And he'd drink.
They came to call him "Hurt Feelings," and Eddie Cervantes made no attempt to understand, saying, "They never shoulda had anyone but Mexicans on this squad in the first place."
Manny Lopez used to take Robbie aside and stroke him by saying, "Robbie, we need you. Don't pay any attention to Eddie. That's the way Mexicans are. They make fun of everybody. We need you."
Then, after a time, Manny the manipulator took a new tack. When Robbie would come to him and threaten to quit BARF, Manny would say, "Fuck you, Robbie! Go ahead and quit This Barf squad's gonna make your career but if you wanna quit, do it." Then he'd yell, "Hey, guys, Robbie just quit again!"
And Robbie Hurt would go off and sulk and think about his police career. He didn't quit, but he did drink.
Then he fell madly in love with a lady bartender. It had to be true love, but every time he saw her he had about ten ounces of booze in his belly. She was a white girl, a brunette, a little hefty but nice. She loved music and so did Robbie, so one night he took her to see The Wiz when it was appearing on stage in San Diego.
Lines and Shadows (1984) Page 19
