“Certainly sounds like it.” She was watching the ranch through the binocs while I told my story.
“Anyhow, I asked him, again, in English, how my little parrot, Trouble was doing and he told me Trouble was ‘fine and happy and playing well with his bird friends.’ At that point, Jan gave a ‘cut-it-short’ sign, so I thanked him, and then told him to give my regards to his wife, Paula. He said he would. Problem is, his wife’s name is Anna.”
Topaz lowered the binoculars. “No wonder Jan said you two smelled a zorillo.”
“Yep, skunk all over it. She also said that Trouble takes after me and does not make nice with those of his species.”
“I can testify to that,” Topaz said, with a grin.
“I have to admit, Trouble doesn’t acknowledge he is a bird and prefers to spend most of his time at the house with Humberto and Anna.”
“I think I’d better get on the road, so let’s get the rest of the gear up here. I’m going to put my phone on vibrate but call every ten minutes until you see me at the gate. You think we’ll have a signal?”
“I certainly hope so, but one never knows up here. Trust me, I will be watching and videoing. Before I forget, there are a couple more things I think you should take with you.”
“What?”
“Po Thang, and this.” Her eyes widened when I handed her my .380 and two extra magazines from my jacket pockets.
“Where in the hell?—never mind. Nacho, of course. Thanks, I was feeling a little naked.” She tucked the small gun into one of her boots, and the spare magazines in the other.
“Just be careful. I’ll keep the tracker for Po Thang’s GPS, and be sure to turn on his critter cam before you get to the gate, okay? I won’t be able to watch in real time, but we’ll have a download for later, when we get back to our computers. I’ll keep Jan clued in as best I can. I still have a solar charger in the car, and enough bars to reach her.”
After we got the rest of our gear up the hill and set up the cameras and paraphernalia we might need, I hugged her and handed her Po Thang’s leash.
“You two take care of each other, okay? Vaya con Dios.”
As I watched them take off down the hill, I had a moment of abandonment. We’d lugged Trouble’s cage up the hill because I was afraid to leave him in the car for long, but he was covered in case he made too much noise.
“Just you and me, Kid. Want a beer?”
“Ack! Oberto!”
Chapter Fifteen
BEFORE TOPAZ LEFT, she’d helped me assemble Roger’s fancy-schmancy camera with that serious telephoto lens. He’d left it behind in La Paz with a great deal of trepidation, saying he should probably demand I write a check for twenty grand to cover the cost in case I lost or destroyed it. Why don’t people trust me? Never mind.
We adjusted the heavy tripod and eyecup to my height and dogged everything down tight. I zeroed the lens in on the sanctuary, which was well within range, and since I had no idea what I was doing, we locked in. Unlike the experienced Roger, I wouldn’t be panning or zooming, even though he tried his best to teach me how. Quite frankly I was cowed by the ridiculously expensive camera, so we’d have to live with the still shots I captured. At least I knew the images would be sharp and clear, even if they were static.
I took a couple of practice shots, rolling my finger on the shutter release like Roger told me, instead of jabbing it like I was squashing a bug. This I could do, because it was like pulling the trigger on a gun with steady pressure instead of jerking it like a novice shooter.
Once I was satisfied with my camera prowess, I took time to make myself as comfortable as one can get while perched on lava rock. I unfolded a camping chair, grabbed a bottle of water, checked on Trouble, and braced the binoculars with my elbows to save stress on my neck and back.
It was so quiet, I heard Topaz’s rental car for a long time after she left, and then nothing but wild bird calls and an occasional rustle in the brush I’d rather not think about. The sky was an unbelievable blue, and contrasted against the brown jagged mountains, made for a breathtakingly wondrous vista. The crystalline air and a snow-capped peak way off in the distance were reminders that it was still winter in the Baja.
I was just about to nod off when the breeze clocked around, as it does every morning, and I was shaken from my stupor by parrot squawks and farm sounds from the oddly contrasting verdant valley below. I leapt to my feet—okay, I clumsily pushed myself to standing—and took a look through the telephoto lens.
One of the Pendejos carried a couple of large trays, heaped with fruit, across the yard toward the enclosure, as birds loudly demanded he hurry it up. The punk had a large semi-automatic rifle strapped across his back. I snapped a series of shots, hoping to catch his face when he butt-pushed the gate open while holding the trays. So, Drew was right, the birds were being well fed.
But then a bolt of adrenaline surged through me like a shot of cocaine. Uh, so I’ve been told.
Where were the tarps Drew told Roger about? And the heaters? The morning had been chilly, and it must have dropped to near freezing during the night. I adjusted the telephoto lens with clammy fingers, but there was still no sign of warming gear. What the hell?
I was so preoccupied with this confusing revelation that it took a minute for me to register the sound of a toiling engine.
A glance at my watch told me it was a good fifteen minutes too early for Topaz’s arrival, so I grabbed the more mobile binoculars again and concentrated on the road below. A cloud of dust marked where the sound was coming from and I zeroed in. In just seconds, a medium-sized yellow truck rumbled into sight and repeatedly sounded his “La Cucaracha” horn.
Two goons slouched out of the ranch house, opened the main entry for the “taco” truck, let the driver enter the enclave, and relocked the gate.
I speed dialed Topaz, but she didn’t answer. “Dammit all to hell, Carlos Slim! Get your act together,” I groused. I redialed, but no luck. Trying the VHF, all I heard was static. I checked the map and realized she was probably blocked, as the road followed a dry riverbed. All I could do was wait, watch, take photos and keep my fingers crossed Topaz received my warning messages before she blundered into an active scene.
The yellow truck slowly turned around and backed toward the enclosure, and my heart missed a beat. Whispering to myself, I mumbled, “Please, oh, please, don’t let that damned truck be delivering another load of birds.” I was tempted to call Roger immediately, but decided to wait until I could tell him what the situation actually was, instead of what my worst fears conjured up.
Suddenly feeling terribly alone and helpless, I let Trouble out for company, but harnessed him.
I checked my phone again, finding a satisfying four bars, so the problem was on Topaz’s end. I knew she’d soon get a signal as well, and willed her to pick up, fast.
The brakes squeaked the taco truck to a stop, and the hoodlums rolled up the back canvas. I had a bird’s eye view, you should excuse the pun, of a load of boxes piled high with bananas, mangos, and pineapple.
The two young slugs lounged around while the truck driver, a dark-skinned old man who looked like he’d blow away in a light breeze, unloaded and toted the large boxes into the aviary. I calculated each one had to weigh over fifty pounds, but the elderly man handled them with ease. The only effort the guards made to help was to open the gate and shoo the birds away from the entrance while the driver did all the work.
The minute the old man entered the enclosure, the slackers slammed the gate behind him and he was besieged by birds. The sound level went up considerably, but the man didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his toothless smile and the way he gently waved the birds away while he filled the feeding trays, showed an empathy I’d not seen from anyone down there so far.
I relaxed a mite until, out from the dark interior of the truck, stumbled a tiny blindfolded woman in a crotch length skirt, halter top, and five-inch espadrilles. One of the guards grabbed her arm and roughly jerked her to th
e ground, where she tripped and fell. Her yelp carried up on the freshening breeze.
This day just kept getting worse. I stabbed my phone, heard that maddening, “At the beep, please leave a message,” and did what it said.
It was time to call Roger, no matter how furious he was going to be with me. If Topaz called back, I could cut him off and warn her away from Rancho Los Pajaros.
“That you, Hetta?”
“Roger,” I whispered. “We have a situation.”
I was filling him in on our seemingly ill-fated foray, when two more women clutching each other in fear, emerged. The old man pushed in front of the Pendejos, and gently helped them down one at a time.
“Standby, Roger. I gotta get some photos of this. I’ll lower the sound and put you on speaker.” I gave him a running account of what was happening below. “Three, so far. I have a bad feeling there are more. Yep, there’s another one. I’d better run down to the car and go after Topaz.”
“No!” Roger ordered. “You stay right where you are and take photos. Hang up for now, just in case Topaz calls. I’ll try to get you two some help. Stay put now, you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
“Let me ask that a different way. Are you going to do what I say?”
Heaven deliver me from semanticists. “Yes, Roger,” I sighed, “I’ll do what you say. Gotta go, two more women just left the truck.”
“I’ll call you back. Be sure your phone is on vibrate. Stay safe! Bye.”
I plugged my phone into my solar charger and went back to the camera. The girls’ hands weren’t tied and, evidently, they were told they could take off the blindfolds once they were locked inside the enclosure. All ten of them pulled rags from their eyes at the same time and blinked in the strong morning light. I photographed each one as best I could through the wire cage and swarm of agitated, soaring birds.
While I was snapping away, I heard a sound I never expected to: giggling.
The birds were landing on the women and they were laughing in delight. It was such a strange turn of events that it took me a moment to realize they weren’t women at all.
They were little girls.
If my heart kept getting these surges, I was afraid I’d have a stroke.
I grabbed a cold beer to calm my nerves, quickly downloaded the photos to my phone, and sent them to Roger, Jan, Topaz, and myself. I waited for a buzz telling me I had received the pics, but no luck. However, one way or another, someone was going to witness this horrible situation. I knew it for what it was: human smuggling of children. Even worse, white slavery. God only knew what fate awaited these kids if we didn’t do something. Roger said to sit tight, and I reluctantly agreed he was right, and overruled my driving down the mountain and storming the gate.
Just as the beer was doing its job, Topaz drove into view.
Shaking with emotion, I started clicking the camera trigger. I wanted to scream at Topaz, warn her away, but she was apparently oblivious. She pulled up to the front gate, stopped, let Po Thang out on his leash, and nonchalantly walked him around for a pee or three. I held my breath, hoping against hope she’d notice that truck and leave.
It seemed to me that, for just a few hopeful moments, she was contemplating doing just that, but she’d caught the attention of one of the armed men, who wandered over to the gate. I could tell they were talking and watched as she actually flirted. Po thang seriously wanted a piece of this dude—I could hear him all the way up the mountain—and got shoved into the car for his heroic threats.
Turn on the critter cam! Turn on the critter cam! I chanted under my breath, hoping my mantra floated down into the valley, and into Topaz’s brain. If it could work his way through all that shaggy hair of hers, that is.
I was in mid-mantra when the low life opened the gate and waved her through.
Oh, hell! Dammit! Crap! And a few other expletives certainly destined to screw with my karmic reincarnation hopes of coming back as my own dog, escaped my lips.
Trouble mimicked me.
However, since I’m not a Buddhist, and the new PC makes it uncool to usurp someone else’s anything, I was already treading on thin juju.
There I go again.
Dropping the binoculars into my camp chair, I glued my eye to the telephoto lens and watched, with great trepidation, for what came next.
I called Roger back to give him a running account, but since I had basically disabled the panning ability on the heavy camera, and did not dare tinker with it, my view was limited to a straight shot from the front gate to the bird enclosure, with just a corner of the house’s front porch in the frame.
They gave a hand motion for Topaz to stay in the car, walked back toward the ranch house, and disappeared from view. While he was gone, Topaz seemed to be fiddling with what I hoped like hell was Po Thang’s harness, and critter cam.
She waited in the car as she was told, but I was certain she had the doors locked and the engine running.
At least I hoped so.
Chapter Sixteen
THE MINUTE GOON number one told Topaz to wait where she was and walked out of earshot from her car, I called her on the VHF radio. I knew for sure that, unlike cell service, I was in a direct line of sight to her.
After some static and dead air, I heard, “Hetta, I’m in.”
“Topaz, thank God! You have to get out of there. Now! They have captive women in the aviary. This thing has just gotten really dangerous.”
“I know. I was watching as they unloaded the women. Just keep an eye on me. Gotta go, here they come.”
Much to my dismay, I watched as Topaz stayed put. Po Thang, on the other hand, began bouncing off the headliner and doors when he saw goons one, two, and three coming back. The car windows fogged with furious dog breath and dripped with drool.
The men surrounded Topaz’s car, guns aimed at her. Even I could tell these guys were not properly trained from the way they handled their weapons and wondered if they even had ammo. Topaz, however, was a trained professional, I kept telling myself. She can handle them.
Before rolling down her window, she wrapped Po Thang’s leash around the passenger seat to shorten his access. Pasting on a smile, and talking to Goon One, she seemed to be apologizing for my badly behaved dog—I just gotta learn to read lips!—right before the thug tried to open the door, found it locked, and reached inside to unlock it. Bad move, dummy!
Topaz must have grabbed his hand, for the window slid closed, trapping him as the car, tires smoking, suddenly sped backward, dragging him along. He screamed and cussed as she hauled him through a cactus garden and crashed through the flimsy gates. I could hear his howling clearly. Oh, wait, that was Po Thang, who probably wanted a piece of that tasty arm.
The other two slackers, most likely reluctant to shoot at a car their friend was attached to, froze in place for a moment, then gave chase, but none too enthusiastically. Movement in the yard caught my eye, and a fourth man ran from the house, took aim, and coolly shot out the rental car’s front tires.
The car skidded into a dirt embankment on the other side of the road and came to a stop, covered in pieces of gate, dust, and with Goon One still attached. The man who shot out the tires—I figured he was the boss, so I named him Jefe—shouted orders to his other two minions, but they remained fixed in place.
Topaz slammed the door open, smooshing Goon Numero Uno against the car, and he dropped his gun. She jumped out, swooped it up and aimed it at the trapped guy’s crotch.
Po Thang, now free himself, bounded out of the car behind Topaz and began chomping on the guy’s jeans. He might have caught a little flesh by pure accident, because the idiot screamed like the heroine in a chainsaw movie and kicked at my dog with his other foot.
Jefe shook his head in disgust, raised his rifle again and nonchalantly shot the trapped hoodlum in the leg. I’m quite sure OSHA would take a dim view of his personnel skills.
The gunshot shocked my dog into letting go of his prey, and he sprang back inside
the car. His frenetic barks upset Trouble, who started jumping up and down on my shoulder and went into that deafening, “Ack! Ack! Ack!’ mode he does when frightened.
I grabbed him and turned to put him in his cage to quiet him down, when he escaped my grasp and went airborne, first straight up, then kamikazed directly downward toward Rancho Los Pajaros.
Within what seemed seconds, he was perched in Topaz’s thick thatch of hair. This could go very wrong in so many ways; the least of which was Topaz ending up with a bird poop hairdo.
Here’s the thing; Trouble detests Mexican men. I mean really, really hates them. Nacho had learned that the hard way the first time they met. Even though Trouble still dislikes him, Nacho has this way of giving Trouble a look that cows even that fierce little creature.
The other two goons, spurred into action by their boss’s threats, finally slowly walked toward the car. The wounded goon sagged into the dirt and passed out, his arm still held on high by the window glass.
Topaz reached inside the car, looked to be turning off the ignition, and raised the Goon’s gun over her head in surrender. What the hell?
Trying to keep track of it all, I’d lost sight of Po Thang until I saw that Jefe had rushed the car, snagged Po Thang’s leash and looped it over a low tree branch. Po Thang’s back feet barely touched the ground. He was thrashing and howling, but when Topaz threw down the gun, Jefe gave the leash some slack, and wrapped it to the tree. All the fight had gone out of my dog, and he slumped onto the ground, panting hard.
After inflicting some minimal head damage to the other two slackers, who ran for the ranch house with the bird from hell on their tails, Trouble gave up the chase and perched in the tree above Po Thang. They exchanged a whine and an “Ack!” and he flew away before anyone could regroup and take a shot at him. I wasn’t all that worried because it was obvious none of the bad guys had bird shot, and Trouble had speed and agility on his side.
Just for the Birds Page 9
