Border Field Blues

by Fayman, Corey Lynn

  “A couple of times. To be honest, it’s not my kind of place, either.”

  They climbed out of the car and walked in. Three men sat together at the bar, chatting up the middle-aged matron who poured their drinks. At the pool table a hungry-looking woman leaned over the felt surface, lining up a shot while her male opponent leaned on his cue, watching her twitch. In the back corner of the room a bald man sat in a wheelchair. A snifter and a bottle of Courvoisier sat on the table in front of him. Bonnie walked over to the man in the wheelchair. Rolly followed her.

  “Captain Chacon?” Bonnie said. The bald man nodded.

  “I’m Detective Hammond. I called earlier.”

  A drop of Courvoisier hung off one end of Chacon’s bushy mustache like amber sweat. Chacon licked his chops, wiped the amber away.

  “Who’s your friend?” he asked, raising one unkempt eyebrow.

  “Rolly Waters,” said Rolly, extending his hand. “An honor to meet you.”

  Chacon didn’t move.

  “You a cop?” he asked.

  “No. I’m a private detective.”

  “I didn’t think you were a cop,” Chacon said, ignoring Rolly’s outstretched hand. Rolly dropped it.

  “You want a drink?” Chacon said.

  “I’m on duty,” said Bonnie, taking the chair next to Chacon.

  Rolly contemplated the bottle of Courvoisier with the glazed look of a baby eyeing its mother’s breasts.

  “Just a club soda for me,” he said, averting his gaze. “With a lime.”

  “Annie,” Chacon called towards the bar, “Bring me a soda, with fruit.”

  The three men at the bar looked over at Chacon’s table, returned to their drinks. Rolly sat down next to Bonnie, using her as a buffer between himself and Chacon. He wanted to go home, crawl into bed, let his mother ply him with green tea and kashi for a couple of days. He needed a detox. Chacon turned back to Bonnie.

  “Nice delts Officer Hammond,” he said. “How much you press?”

  “I’ve done two-hundred,” Bonnie replied.

  Chacon whistled.

  “You chicas are tough these days.”

  Bonnie blew past the compliment, if that’s what it was.

  “I wanted to ask you about a case file. It’s from a long time ago.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “About twenty years ago. Down at the border. Someone was killed near Smuggler’s Canyon.”

  “A lot of folks got killed down there. Robbed, assaulted, raped. It was like the freakin’ wild west in those days.”

  “There’s a house at the mouth of the canyon, big security fence and a swimming pool.”

  “Sure. I remember it. Guy who owned it thought the world was gonna end. It did, for him.”

  “You’re referring to Mr. Spencer, the murder victim?”

  “Yep.”

  Annie arrived with a glass of club soda, placed it down in front of Rolly. He stared at the bubbles clinging to the slice of lime.

  “Jaime Velasquez?” said Bonnie. “Do you remember him?”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “You arrested him on a drunk and disorderly, about a year after the murder. A Mexican cowboy? Lived across the road, near the river.”

  “Oh yeah, Velasquez. What about him?”

  “Do you know why Mr. Velasquez was a suspect in Mr. Spencer’s death?”

  “It should be there in the file.”

  “I thought you could provide some more details.”

  Chacon rubbed the bald spot on top of his head, drank a shot.

  “You know, I wasn’t the primary on this. Just the originator. You should talk to the primary.”

  “The primary’s deceased.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Daniel Walters.”

  “Danny Walters is dead?”

  Bonnie nodded her head.

  “When’d he die?”

  “Two years ago, according to his wife.”

  “Shit. Danny retired the same year as me. What’d he die of?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Christ, I never hear anything anymore. I mean I woulda liked to have gone to his funeral, sent flowers or something.”

  “I’ve got his number, his wife’s, if you want to call her.”

  “Why would I call that bitch? She’s the one probably killed him, gave him a heart attack.”

  Bonnie gave Chacon a moment to ruminate on his departed work mate, then steered the conversation back to the case.

  “Was there any connection between Mr. Velasquez and the minor female that you know of?”

  “We thought there was. It didn’t pan out. Velasquez was just a horny little campesino. Why’re you asking about him?”

  “Somebody murdered Mr. Velasquez this evening. In his house. Someone slit his throat.”

  “No shit,” said Chacon. He took a slug of Courvoisier.

  “And Mr. Velasquez’ truck is missing.”

  “Probably a border crosser. Those UDAs ain’t all happy strawberry pickers, you know. Did they take anything else?”

  “Not that we know of. Whoever killed Mr. Velasquez dumped his body in the river, along with Mr. Water’s automobile.”

  “My car was stolen,” Rolly said, responding to Chacon’s puzzled look.

  “There was a pair of panties on the seat next to him,” said Bonnie.

  “What kind of panties?”

  “Pink ones, with the words serpent and jungle love on them.”

  “Any blood on them?”

  “Yes, there was. We assume it’s Mr. Velasquez’ blood.”

  “Make sure the lab doesn’t fuck it up.”

  “Captain Chacon, this minor female in the report, the missing girl?”

  “Yeah. What about her?”

  “It says Mr. Velasquez had some sort of sexual relationship with her?”

  “He wanted to. I remember that much.”

  “Meaning?”

  Chacon swirled his Courvoisier around the side of his glass, set it down, stared at the oily liquid as it slid down into the bowl.

  “The Chief put us down there, you know. In the canyons. Undercover. We dressed up like UDAs so no one could tell we were cops.”

  “I’ve read about it,” said Bonnie.

  “We worked the big canyon a lot. We’d start around dusk, down near that house, work our way up the canyon, see what we could find. It was a nice place, that house, had a swimming pool. Sometimes this girl would be out there, by the pool. She’d go swimming sometimes, take off her clothes. Nice-looking chick, young, in her teens, but her body was all there, if you know what I mean.”

  Bonnie nodded. Chacon continued.

  “I won’t say me and the boys were above taking a look now and then, but I mostly kept ‘em on the straight and narrow. We had work to do. Anyway, there were these big rocks, boulders, on a little hill behind the house.”

  “That’s where I was today,” Rolly said to Bonnie. “When I took the pictures.”

  “I was on lookout one night,” Chacon said. “Farther up the hill. It’s just about dark and I see this shadow moving down in the canyon, somebody sneaking in behind those rocks. It just didn’t look right, so me and Eddie went down there, snuck up on the guy. Caught the guy with his pants down, watching this girl and stroking his pud.”

  “It was Jaime?” said Rolly.

  Chacon leaned forward, took a sip from his snifter, leaned back again.

  “Gold star for the college boy,” he said.

  “Did you arrest him?” said Bonnie.

  “Nah. The guy looked so embarrassed when we put the light on him, kind of pitiful, really. I didn’t have the heart. He wasn’t bothering the girl or nothing. She didn’t even know he was there. I sent him home, made him promise to stay out of the area, never do it again.”

  “That wasn’t the drunk and disorderly?”

  “No. That came later. I felt sorry for the guy, living in that shack by himself, must a’ been kinda lonely. It was later th
ey found the panties.”

  Bonnie’s phone rang.

  “I gotta take this,” she said, glancing at the screen. She turned to Rolly.

  “Tell him about your case, everything you told me.” She stood up, stepped away from the table to speak on her phone.

  Rolly turned to Chacon, ran through the events of his last thirty-six hours. He told Chacon about Jaime’s ghost and the panties, the red-haired woman who lived in the house. The woman named Tangerine. He told Chacon about the CD he’d found, the record albums in the back of the hearse.

  “You ever seen my movie?” Chacon asked.

  “I don’t think so. What’s it called?”

  “Border Lords, that was the name of the movie. It had that Estrada guy in it, the one from TV. They told me they were gonna get Pacino, you know, to play me. They fucked up that movie. I mean the gun he carries around, it was huge, a Magnum, you know, like I was Dirty Harry or something. I couldn’t a’ run around in those canyons with something like that strapped to my leg.”

  “They like to exaggerate.”

  “No shit. They exaggerated about all the money I was gonna see, too.”

  Chacon poured himself another drink.

  “You got that CD you were talking about?” he asked.

  Rolly extracted the CD from his pocket, handed it to Chacon.

  “I ain’t seen this in a long time,” said Chacon. “It must’ve been Eddie that showed it to me. The record, I mean. Something looks different, though. They covered her up a little more.”

  “Eddie was one of your crew?”

  “Yeah. Good kid. Had a serious hard-on for that chick.”

  “The minor female?” Rolly asked.

  “Yeah,” said Chacon. “Just between you and me, I think she knew we were up there.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just the way she acted sometimes. She knew what she had. Liked to show off.”

  “I’ve been up in those rocks you were talking about,” Rolly said. “I was up there today. I saw the woman I told you about, out by the pool.”

  “It sure sounds like her,” said Chacon, staring at the CD cover. “I’ll give you that.”

  “She’s about the right age, I think,” Rolly said. “And Jaime – Mr. Velasquez, he seemed to think it was her.”

  “And Velasquez is dead,” said Bonnie, returning to the table.

  “The guy deserved it,” said Chacon.

  “He didn’t seem like a bad guy to me,” Rolly said.

  “Not Velasquez. I mean the guy who lived in the house.”

  “What’d he do?” Bonnie said.

  “You should ask Eddie about this,” said Chacon, sliding the CD across the table to Rolly. “He followed the case, after we turned it over. Eddie was there when we found the guy. Eddie barfed. I remember that.”

  Rolly downed the last of his club soda. His stomach felt queasy.

  “You want another drink?” said Chacon.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Do you remember anything else?” said Bonnie.

  Chacon poured himself another shot of Courvoisier.

  “This might take a while,” he said. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”

  La Historia

  (The Story)

  “It starts with the guy in that house,” Chacon continued. “The one that was killed.”

  “Mr. Spencer,” said Bonnie.

  “Yeah. He was this born-again type, bought the house down there for cheap, did some work on it. This is a few years before we were out doing patrols. Anyway, this Spencer guy moved in with his wife and daughter, fixed up the place. Did all the work himself, added a safe-room, stocked it with supplies. He was really into this book that came out back then, Earth’s Final Hour I think it was called. It was a big deal back then. End-of-times stuff, only the pure and righteous will survive, blah, blah, blah. This Spencer guy was into it big. He moved his family to the country so they could prepare for the end times, because the heathen cities would burn up in flames.”

  “Doesn’t seem like they moved very far,” Rolly said.

  “That area was a lot more rural back then. Tijuana was nowhere near as big. San Ysidro was nothing, dairy farms and stuff. Guys like that are a couple shells shy of full clip, anyway, if you ask me. Only God knows when the end times will come. That’s what it says in the Bible. I guess he figured the Almighty would slice Baja off right at the border line, drag a line across it with heaven’s razor, drown all those brown heathens and Catholics in the ocean, and he’d be rewarded with some nice waterfront property for his penitence.”

  “Must have been disappointed,” said Bonnie.

  “Yeah, but not half as bad as his wife. About a year after the big event doesn’t happen, she decides she’s had enough of the guy, takes off one night, never comes back. She’s done with this shit. Leaves him, and their daughter, to fend for themselves.”

  “How old was the girl?” Bonnie asked.

  “Fifteen, I think.”

  “Tough age.”

  “Yeah. They hadn’t been sending her to school or nothing, either, just home schooling, bible studies stuff. That part of the county was really off the grid back then.”

  “Still is in some ways. Go on.”

  “Well, anyway, this guy, Mr. Spencer, he runs out of money. He’s only saved enough to get him through the end times. I guess he thought he wasn’t gonna need any after that. He’d already planted a few tangerine trees, so he marks out more groves, decides he’ll go into business. He trades out part of his land to this Mexican cowboy that comes through, lets him live on the property.”

  “Jaime?” said Rolly.

  “Yeah, Velasquez. Anyway, the cowboy lends a hand with the fruit trees, but that doesn’t work out. Neither of them’s really a farmer. A lot of trees die. Mr. Spencer and the cowboy don’t really see eye to eye. Meanwhile there’s more UDAs coming through everyday, crossing the border, eating his tangerines, stealing whatever else they can find. This is back when they had those signs on the freeway, the yellow warning signs with the silhouette of the families crossing.”

  “I remember,” said Rolly.

  “Anyway, a lot of the UDAs were coming through Smuggler’s Canyon, down past Mr. Spencer’s place. He starts blaming them for all his troubles, his tangerines not growing and that. He’s out of money, so he decides he’s gonna take something back, starts robbing the immigrants. We didn’t know about that until later, after he was dead.”

  “Nobody reported him to the police?” Rolly said.

  “Nah. These UDAs are afraid they’re gonna get sent back across the border if they talk to the police. After Mr. Spencer took their money, put the fear of God in ‘em, they were happy just to be alive and still in the USA. He wasn’t the only bad guy down there, remember. A lot of the UDAs got hit by gangs before they made it that far. That’s why the chief put us down there. The gangs’d leave ‘em in worse condition than Spencer did.”

  “How long did this go on?” asked Bonnie.

  “A few months I guess.”

  “The report says his daughter may have been involved?”

  “I don’t remember anything about that. Danny might have been speculating there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You remember that story I told you about the girl, hanging out by the pool, how we found Velasquez sitting up there in the rocks, peeping on her?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s where we found the guy. That’s where he got killed.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “He used that spot for a hideout. There were always some young bucks passing through, guys who couldn’t help stopping for a peek at the Promised Land. They step in behind those rocks, take a break, get a look at the girl. Then suddenly there’s a guy with a sawed-off, got ‘em trapped, forces ‘em to hand over their money and valuables.”

  “The Honey Trap,” Rolly said.

  “What’s that?” said Chacon.

  “Tha
t’s what the border patrol calls the house. The Honey Trap.”

  “That’s mine,” Chacon chuckled. “I came up with that name. Guess it stuck.”

  “The report says he was stabbed to death,” Bonnie said.

  “Yeah. Me and Eddie found him. We were walking back down the canyon. It was sunrise, after our shift. Saw his body, out by those boulders. There was blood everywhere. I remember that. They must a got his carotid. The coyotes had been at him a little bit. It smelled bad. Eddie threw up. I remember that too.”

  Rolly felt queasy. He fished the lime out of his soda, bit down on it, fighting acid with acid. Chacon poured himself another shot, leaned back in his chair, swirled the liquor in his glass.

  “I thought we should wait for support before going into the house, but Eddie started worrying about the girl, talking about how she might have been raped or kidnapped, might be dying in there. He took a look inside, while I waited down by the road.”

  “She wasn’t there, I take it?” said Bonnie.

  “No. A couple of sheriffs showed up, and an ambulance. Eddie came out, let us in through the front gate. The girl was gone.”

  Chacon pointed at the CD.

  “Eddie picked up that album somewhere, showed it to me. It was later, maybe a year or so after the incident. We were on different details then. The patrol thing was over. It got all political.”

  “There’s no mention of the album in the report.”

  “Eddie said he was gonna show it to Walters.”

  “It’s not in the report.”

  “I guess it didn’t pan out. Maybe it wasn’t her.”

  “What about Mr. Velasquez? Why was he a suspect?”

  “That day, when we found the dead guy, I knew whoever picked up the case would wanna talk to us, so we waited around at the scene. Danny came down, I guess. I told him about the cowboy, how we’d scared Velasquez outta his hiding place a few weeks earlier, how he’d been looking at the girl. Next thing I knew, they arrested him.”

  “It also says his truck was stolen.”

  “Yeah. They recovered it a couple days later. In the parking lot of that nightclub in I.B.”

  “Pelicans?” Rolly blurted.

  “Yeah. Pelicans. How’d you know that?”

  “Yeah? How’d you know that?” said Bonnie, turning to Rolly.