The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3

by Pendelton Wallace

  “Yeah. This isn’t what I planned for my life.” Ted got up, sending Oscar flying, and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard too. “I thought I had it all worked out. I was gonna graduate from U.W., get a job in high-tech somewhere in Seattle and blend into Anglo middle class society. The last thing I ever expected was to be back in the barrio running an upscale taco stand.”

  Oscar, unwilling to be ignored, jumped up on the counter and started to rub against Maribel’s hand, inching toward the milk in her bowl.

  “Good morning, Tiger,” she said as she pushed him away from her cereal bowl.

  “I was on Chris’s Facebook page last night,” Ted said.

  Chris Hardwick, Ted’s college roommate and best friend, was Ted’s other half. They had built a bond in school that would last a life time. At times Ted even thought he could read Chris’s mind.

  “Spring has sprung back in Seattle” Ted said. “Chris had his boat in the Opening Day of Boating Season parade. All of the associates at this dad’s law firm helped him decorate it and they won first prize. And here I am, back where I started in Papa’s kitchen.”

  “You sure miss Seattle, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. And I miss Chris. I only get to see him a couple, three times a year. He’s been so tied down with law school that he can’t travel and I can’t get away from the restaurant that often either.”

  The silverware clinked in the cereal bowls as Ted got up and put them in the sink. Maribel poured them each another cup of coffee.

  “You need to think about following your heart. You’ve given your parents five years now. Hope just graduated and she can run the restaurant every bit as well as you can. And she likes it.”

  Ted’s smart phone played the 1812 Overture. He grabbed it off the counter and saw the picture of Chris and Meagan on the screen. He couldn’t bring himself to change the picture, even though it always choked him up. “Speak of the Devil.”

  “Dude!” he said into the phone.

  ****

  El Paso, Texas

  The 428 Cobra Jet V8 growled as the Boss 302 Mustang ate up the road. Guillermo, Eddie, Chapo, and Tony barely stopped for gas and food. They drove through the night with the top down for the sheer joy of driving. The sun was so strong that they had to put up the roof during the day.

  Guillermo had never felt so free in his life. A great car, good buddies, what else could a dude ask for?

  All his life he’d lived in the shadow of his big brother and sister. He was closer to Hope’s age, so when he got to school all the teachers compared him to her.

  “Your sister won the writing competition,” his teachers would say. “So we expect great things from you.”

  Then he got to high school. He was short like Ted, but didn’t have Ted’s powerful body.

  “You’re Ted Higuera’s little brother,” the football coach said. “We’ll expect you at practice.”

  Ted was a legend at McKinley High. He held the all-time record for rushing yardage, touchdowns and total points. Guillermo was a skinny little kid. He was cannon fodder on the football field.

  In his freshman year he learned that he wasn’t fast enough to play wide receiver or safety and too small to play anything else. He sat on the bench with the JV squad for one season, then gave it up.

  He never fit in, never found his own way. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t live up to his siblings’ reputations.

  The big city quickly gave way to open desert. With no law to be seen, the fire-engine-red muscle car flew along at over a hundred miles an hour. Guillermo only reluctantly gave up the wheel when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

  Death Valley gave way to the open dessert of New Mexico. Enormous saguaro cactus were giant guardians in the Arizona moonlight. The barren landscape felt like something from another planet. Of course, the beer that they were able to score along the way helped. Not to mention a joint or two.

  Wherever possible, the boys stuck to the Route 66. There was something about the history and mystery of the old highway that enticed them. But times change. In many places they had to alter their course onto the new interstate highway system.

  I-10 brought them into El Paso in the wee morning hours.

  El Paso sprawled across a flat plain. If you dropped a handful of BBs on the ground, they wouldn’t roll. Behind El Paso, Mount Franklin soared three thousand feet above the city.

  “Dudes,” Guillermo said, “How about we find a motel for the rest of the night? I could use a bed and a shower.”

  “No shit. I can smell you from here,” Chapo shouted from the back seat.

  “We doin’ okay on money?” Tony asked.

  “I got all my graduation money with me.” Guillermo pulled off the highway when he saw a Days Inn sign.

  They coasted into the parking lot and jumped from the car. Leaping out of the convertible was much cooler than opening a door.

  In the motel office, a heavy-set woman in her forties with drugstore blonde hair read People Magazine behind the desk. She looked up as the boys walked in, then finished her article.

  “What kin I do for you boys?” The woman finally asked.

  “We need a couple of rooms,” Guillermo answered.

  The woman wore a scoop neck T-shirt.

  Chapo elbowed Tony and whispered, “Get a load of those knocker, man.”

  Guillermo could only stare opened mouth at the enormous hooters.

  “Hey, Paco, I’m up here.” The woman made an upward motion with her thumb.

  “Uh. . . ” Guillermo struggled for a witty comeback. “If you don’t want nobody lookin’, Mama, then you shouldn’t put your girls on display.”

  “Humph,” the woman grumbled. “Here, fill this out.” She handed Guillermo a slip of paper.

  The boys got their keys and headed for the adjoining rooms on the second floor.

  “Man, did you see the jugs on that mama?” Tony asked.

  “You’d havta be blind not to, man,” Eddie responded. “I thought she was gonna put my eye out with them things.”

  “Yeah.” Guillermo turned his key in the lock and opened the door. “But she was kinda hefty. Even great tits don’t make up for that ponsa.”

  “Check this out, dudes,” Eddie leaped onto one of the queen-sized beds. “Mighty firm.” He jumped up and down.

  “They got little fridges,” Chapo said, snapping his fingers. “Tony, run out to the car and get the beer.”

  Guillermo dumped his backpack on the second bed. “You know, guys, I been thinkin’.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment.

  “Yeah,” Chapo said. “Does it hurt?”

  “Fuck off,” Guillermo replied, flipping his bud the bird. “I been thinkin’ that since we’re in El Paso, why don’t we cross over into Juarez?”

  “Man, that’s dangerous.” Eddie said. “I seen a TV show about the drug wars in Mexico. There’s been bunches of people killed over there.”

  “Yeah, but they’re all narcos. If you’re not pushin’ drugs, you got no problem,” Guillermo said.

  “You know,” Chapo interrupted, “My tío, he was in Juarez when he was in the army. He says you can drink underage there. The bars don’t care, they don’t even ask for your ID. And the women. He says they got dozens of whorehouses there.”

  “Man, I’m headin’ to Juarez.” Guillermo leaned back on his elbows on the bed.

  Chapter 3

  East Los Angeles

  “Dude!” Ted’s voice was full of excitement. “Long time no hear. What you been up to?”

  “I’ve been up to my ass in alligators, bro.” It was so good to hear Chris’s voice. “But there’s light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Just be sure the light isn’t a freight train.” Ted juggled his cell phone and grabbed it out of the air before it could hit the ground.

  “Graduation’s next week. I was hoping you could come up for it.”

  Ted and Chris were joined at the hip all through college. After graduat
ion, they went through an al-Qaeda attack on a cruise ship on the Inside Passage. Chris’s girlfriend, Meagan, and several others were killed in the fight.

  After that, Ted went to work for a female P.I. in Seattle and Chris became a paralegal at his father’s law firm. They were on opposite sides of the Millennium Systems scandal, but never lost their commitment to their friendship.

  Duty called, and Ted was forced to move back to LA to save Papa’s restaurant and Chris eventually enrolled at UW Law.

  “You bet, dude, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Ted’s mind flew. How would he get out of work for a week? “Besides Hope owes me, she can cover me for a few days.”

  “We’re having a huge party at Dad’s house. You know that Candace is graduating with me?”

  Candace was Chris’s stepmom. Closer to Chris’s age than his dad’s, she looked like a Playboy model.

  “Cool. It’ll be nice to see her and your dad. Will Sara be there? I haven’t seen your sister in years.”

  “Yeah, she’s back in town. She asked for a week off from her new job in San Francisco.”

  “That’s great. I’ll have a chance to see all of my Seattle friends while I’m there.”

  The rest of the conversation ran to the mundane. What were their college friends up to? Who was getting married? Was Dan really a dad now? Ted couldn’t believe it. Dan had never shown any responsibility for anything.

  Ted hung up his phone and stared into space. There was so much to do.

  “Sounds like someone’s taking a trip,” Maribel said.

  “Huh?” Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten Maribel was even there. “Yeah, I’m goin’ to Seattle for Chris’s graduation. You wanna come?”

  “Not this chica. I hate airplanes.”

  “I gotta book a flight.” Ted reached for his laptop. “Sorry, I’m gonna ignore you for a minute.”

  ***

  Juarez, Mexico

  “Hey, man,” Chapo said, “You really gonna make us walk across the bridge to Mexico?”

  “You bet.” Guillermo slowed down to look for a parking space. “No way I’m takin’ my ‘stang into Mexico.”

  Parking was next to impossible. Finally, Guillermo gave up and pulled into a parking lot. He slid Papa’s Visa card into the high-tech kiosk and paid the astronomical fee. He put up the roof, set the alarm and fastened “The Club” lock onto the steering wheel.

  “I’m not so sure about leaving the car here,” Guillermo said. “This is just the kind of car thieves are looking for.”

  “No problem, amigo,” Chapo said. “With that Club, no one’s gonna snatch your ride. Let’s go. Booze, broads, good Mexican food, what else could you ask for?”

  The border crossing was easy. There was no line. The bored-looking guard took a cursory glance at their passports and waved them through.

  “Yo, Toto,” Guillermo said, “we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  As soon as they passed the checkpoint, they were in a whole different world. Everywhere, people shouted and shoved trinkets in their faces. An old man sold marionette puppets, a pretty girl hawked NFL jerseys, two young boys carried gilt-framed mirrors for a fat old woman. The procession was endless.

  Beer cans, candy wrappers and newspapers filled the gutters.

  “It must be against the law to pick up litter in this town,” Tony said.

  “You like girls? I show you my seester,” a young man shouted.

  A woman waved bags of Mexican snacks at Guillermo.

  Long lines of cars crawled towards the American side. Customs and Border Patrol officers bristling with guns wearing black uniforms wandered about the vehicles in pairs with drug sniffing dogs. Other officers with mirrors on long poles searched underneath the cars.

  The walk-across line back to the US was even longer than the car line, Men, women, whole families, edged their way into town. Some Mexican and some American, they waited patiently to inch their way forward. Some carried suitcases, piñatas or paper sacks. Many carried souvenirs from their visit.

  “Oh, man,” Tony said. “We’re gonna havta go back through that shit.”

  A man with no legs, pushing himself along on a plywood dolly, approached the boys and tried to sell them candy. He had a tray strapped around his neck with a choice of Mexican sweets the boys had never seen before.

  “Let’s get a taxi,” Eddie said. “I don’t wanna walk all the way into town through this.”

  “Good idea.” Guillermo stepped into the street and flagged down a cab, they were everywhere.

  “¿A donde van?” The cabbie wanted to know where they were going.

  “A la cuidad,” Guillermo answered “We want to go to a good cantina downtown.”

  It seemed like on every other street corner there was a PEMEX gas station.

  “Hey, man,” Chapo said from the back seat, “How come all the gas stations are the same?”

  “Government monopoly,” Guillermo said over his shoulder. “The Mexican government owns the oil industry.”

  Next to each PEMEX station there seemed to be a pharmacy, often two or three to a block, some right next to each other.

  Each pharmacy promised the lowest prices and the easiest drugs. It seemed that Viagra and antibiotics were the drugs of choice. One pharmacy chain had a little super hero character with a “V” on his chest and the crotch of his pants stretched beyond all reason. Another had a mascot that looked like Colonel Sanders in a foam fat suit bouncing around on the sidewalk to the blare of loud techno rock from huge speakers.

  “Dude, get a load of that,” Eddie said. “These old gringo dudes come down here and buy Viagra to get a hard on. Then they get it on with a Mexican girl and need to come back to the pharmacy for penicillin to get rid of the clap.” They all roared with laughter.

  The cab cruised through city streets teaming with night life. Loud music blared from open-fronted restaurants and bars. People, groups of teen agers and couples crowded the streets. The tangle of traffic was incredible. People waited on street corners until a horde formed, then they flowed across the street paying no attention to traffic signals, bringing the traffic to a standstill.

  Everywhere Guillermo looked, he saw hookers in all shapes and sizes. Old ones, young ones, fat ones, thin ones; some dressed in what could hardly be called skirts, about the size of a pocket handkerchief. Many had pock-marked faces, ruined teeth and stringy hair.

  “This ain’t no Cabo San Lucas,” Tony said.

  Guillermo had no idea how the cabbie managed to keep going.

  Everything from old beaters to limos to jacked-up pickup trucks filled the streets. The cabbie slid from lane to lane, often going down the middle of two lanes, inching his way towards the party district.

  “Hey, man,” Guillermo said. “There ain’t no lane here.”

  “No problema,” the cabbie replied. “Ees Mejico.”

  The cab turned onto Calle Juarez. Suddenly, they were in a different city. The wide boulevard was lined with upscale businesses and night clubs. At an intersection, green lawn covered a traffic circle with a bronze statue and an oversized Mexican flag.

  The driver dropped them off in front of Chili Pete’s. The street, aglow in neon, offered promise of an unforgettable night. Groups of well-dressed people crowded the sidewalks. Chili Pete’s looked like it would explode from the throng inside. Loud ranchero music blared from the speakers and couples gyrated to the tunes.

  “What say, guys?” Guillermo strutted towards the entrance. “I’ll buy the first round.”

  The boys entered Chili Pete’s and halted at the door. The flow of air from ceiling fans couldn’t cool the overcrowded room. People moved jerkily around the pigskin topped tables and chairs with high backs. A highly-polished bar ran the length of one wall. Couples danced on the crowded floor. The men dressed almost uniformly, in fancy charro shirts with copper tips on the collars and intricate embroidery. They finished off their outfits with highly-polished cowboy boots, new jeans, and white cowboy hats. The women wore the slight
est of cocktail dresses and mile-high shoes.

  “Ummmm, mama,” Chapo said as a short girl with a tiny waist and large ass walked by.

  Everywhere Mexican men sat or leaned on the bar, drinks in hand. A few scantily-clad women slid through the crowd prowling for customers.

  Guillermo fought his way up to the bar. “Tequila,” he shouted over the loud music.

  The muscular middle-aged bartender with a bushy Pancho Villa mustache eyed him while pouring a set of drinks.

  “¿Que marca?” He asked.

  Guillermo looked first at Chapo, then Eddie, then Tony. “What brand, guys? What do we want?”

  “God, I don’t know.” Eddie shrugged his shoulders.

  “We can get good stuff,” Guillermo said, “but it’s gonna be expensive. How about Herradura?”

  “Whatever’s the cheapest,” Eddie said. “I don’t know the difference, you order.”

  “Any, it doesn’t matter,” Guillermo said to the bartender.

  The burly barkeep just stared at him.

  “Alguien. No es importa,” Guillermo repeated. “Cuatro, por favor.” He held up four fingers.

  The bartender placed four shot glasses on the bar and filled them with clear liquid poured from an amber bottle.

  Guillermo took a tentative sip. Yow! It burned.

  “Hey, little girl,” Chapo chided. “Take it like a man.” With that, Chapo squirted lime juice on the back of his hand, then shook salt between his thumb and forefinger. He licked the salt, then took his shot glass and upended it into his mouth.

  His eyes watered and he gasped for breath.

  “Man, that’s good tequila.”

  “You smug bastard. You’ve never tasted tequila in your life.” Eddie slugged Chapo on the shoulder.

  “Like hell I haven’t. I’ve had it at my dad’s parties plenty of times.”

  The other three boys, not to be out done, upended their shot glasses too.

  “Cerveza, por favor.” Guillermo pleaded with the bartender.

  The big man set four bottles of Negra Modelo in front of the boys.