Baja Get Away

by Jinx Schwartz

  When we finally came up for breath, Jeff’s voice was both husky and shaky. “You are amazing, Red.”

  Scruffy, doing his best to get away to the safety of the back seat, made a U-turn and his tail whacked both of us in the head. “Hey, cut it out, you mutt,” I said with a laugh. “I didn’t cheat death-by-car-plunge-into-gorge to get beaten to death by dog tail!”

  Finally, safely in the back seat, he sat. “Guau!”

  “And another thing. You have to learn to speak English!”

  He tipped his head. “Guau?”

  We were in hysterics when everyone except us piled out of their vehicles, assessed their damage, then started yelling at each other over the cop’s somewhat sick-sounding siren.

  The officer reached back inside his car, shut off the siren, grabbed his hat, adjusted it, and told everyone to shut up. We did our best to stifle our giggles as he walked over to us. “You are…well?” he struggled to ask in broken English.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the English to do so, then gave up and reached inside and locked my door as a signal for us to stay put. Every hackle on Scruffy’s body stood as Scruffy shot toward the open window on his side, his menacing growl the scariest I’d ever heard short of a pit bull. Or Cujo.

  The cop literally levitated backward, gave us a dirty look, stabbed a finger at all of us and growled back, “Estancia de commando!”

  Scruffy sat and froze. And so, as ordered, did Jeff and I. But we’d dissolved into howling giggles again by the time the cop returned. I gasped for breath and control of what was most certainly a fit of hysteria on my part, but I’m pretty sure the officer thought we were completely off our rockers.

  Handing us a few flares, he motioned for me to back the van down the hill, blocking traffic in our lane. Jeff took the flares, got out, and jogged down the road, while I carefully maneuvered in reverse. I was holding my breath again, hoping against hope no one rear-ended us before Jeff deployed the flares.

  By the time he returned, I’d had a few minutes to assess our situation. “Well, crap. Baja One is officially closed in both directions, like, forever. I might as well take Scruffy for a walk. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t have to break out the air mattress later.”

  “Gee, you sound like sleeping with me is a chore,” he teased.

  A frisson of lust turned my knees weak. I blushed and let Scruffy out the slider.

  Out of hearing distance of the van, I said, “Scruffy, I’m not sure I can spend another night in that man’s presence without jumping his bones.”

  “Guau.”

  “Wow is right.”

  ***

  After Scruffy did his thing, I fed him some doggie rewards while watching other drivers, under the direction of the frazzled police officer, scatter flares across the entire road behind us and in front of us.

  When the southbound truck that whacked the police car managed to straighten himself out, he rolled down the hill with his warning lights and headlights flashing, cautioning anyone northbound of trouble ahead. I almost turned around and followed him, but the cop made it clear I was to stay put. There was already a long line of traffic as far as we could see behind and in front of all those flares.

  A few more cars moved south, rubbernecking at us as we sat behind the Bimbo Bread truck. I quipped that at least we wouldn’t starve to death, but my mirth turned to fear as the federale made a beeline for us again.

  He waved us into the southbound lane and my heart sank, thinking he was detaining us for something other than a traffic jam, but he smiled and pointed us north. Not realizing immediately we were free to continue our trip toward the border, I hesitated until he did a quick rotation with his arm, making it very clear I needed to get a move on.

  And presto chango, just like that, we had northbound Mex One all to ourselves.

  Southbound traffic was lined up for miles. Toddlers and their mothers and grandmothers were already bedded down atop blankets spread on the pavement, older kids played, and the men smoked, talked, and even drank beer. One or two waved us down to find out what was going on, and stoically took in the bad news that only one lane was open.

  Just another day on a Mexican highway.

  ***

  Jeff took over the driving and we were tooling along at a solid sixty, feeling quite smug, when I hollered, “Incoming!”

  Ahead, in our lane, flashing lights sped, hell-bent for leather, straight at us. Mex One, for the most part, has no shoulders, and the edge of the pavement drops right into the desert. Luckily, we were out of the switchback part, on a straight stretch of road.

  Jeff skootched us over to the right as far as he dared, with me hanging out the window to make sure we didn’t fall off the one-foot drop, sink into soft sand, and get stuck.

  Without slowing one iota, three cop cars blew between us and the long line of cars in the southbound lane, missing us by inches. In fact, I was sure one of them clipped our driver’s side mirror.

  “Uh, I might need a change of underwear,” Jeff sighed.

  “Me too, but we’ll have to wait until we find a wider spot in the road.”

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Pretty much. Most RVers say if they make it home without a cracked mirror, it’s a miracle. Have you noticed how many of them have red tape on their mirrors?”

  “No, but I will now.”

  “Let’s switch drivers at the next turnoff, and I have some good news.”

  “I could use some, Red.”

  “I’ve been thinking. For starters, that federale had absolutely no interest in me, meaning there isn’t an APB to look out for Becky Jean Haskamp. And, every cop within miles is gonna be on their way to clear Mex One behind us and deal with the ensuing chaos in both directions. So, I vote we beat feet as fast as we can up Mex One and cross at Tijuana tomorrow, if this jalopy holds up.”

  “Sounds good to me. Here’s a turnout.”

  We let Scruffy out, made a sandwich, and I took the wheel. “Ready to run for the border, you two?”

  “Let us boogie.”

  “Guau.”

  “We gotta get this dawg to speak English. Say “woof” Scruffy.

  “Guau.”

  “Never mind.”

  ***

  I pushed the van up to seventy once we hit a part of the highway that I knew was straight as an arrow, and while we had this break in traffic, we decided to pass on stopping at San Ignacio, and to keep moving as far north as we could before dark.

  We passed up the turnoff for Mex 5 because I remembered a campground just a few miles to the north, and getting onto an unimproved road late in the day was a really bad idea.

  Making fantastic time, what with no cops and few other cars on the road, we rolled in a little before dusk at the oddly green, tree-studded campground. Two rusting trailers that seemed like they’d been around forever, and one shiny new motor coach, were the sole inhabitants.

  A couple sat outside the RV, warming themselves at a campfire. They told us no one seemed to be around who worked there, so they’d settled in on their own.

  Perfecto!

  Tomorrow, Lord willin’ and the rivers don’t rise, we’d reach the US, and the end of this nerve-wracking run for the border.

  In my case, perhaps the lesser of two evils lurked, but no matter what, I’d be in the States.

  Chapter Eleven

  We inflated the air mattress again, made the bed, and then I took Scruffy for a walk. By the time I returned to our van, I was starving.

  “Well, Scruffy, almost back to home sweet van. What would you like for dinner tonight? Dry dog food with ham, or ham with dry dog food?”

  He whined.

  “I feel your pain. We have cheese, ham, white bread, and some mayo packets I found in my purse. Oh, and six kinds of chips, thanks to Jeff.”

  “Hey, Hetta, come on over,” Jeff shouted as we approached the van. He stood and waved, then picked up the cooler t
o show me he had the beer with him.

  I inwardly groaned. I was famished, and he was hanging out at the other couple’s campfire. In no mood to socialize, all I wanted was a cold beer, a sandwich, and some sleep.

  As we drew closer to the firepit, Scruffy suddenly leapt forward, tugging me into what was almost a head plant. He’d been so well-behaved up until that moment I was totally taken by surprise, and only some fast foot work saved me. Dragging me along, he stopped short of the fire, where a huge rack of hot dogs sizzled. Heaven on a grill! Scruffy and I were both salivating.

  Jeff handed me a beer and introduced me to the two recent retirees from Washington state. “Awww, what a beautiful dog,” the woman said, giving Scruffy a scratch. “What is he?”

  I tore my eyes from the hot dogs. “I call him a canardly, because you can hardly tell what he is. We think there’s some golden and Irish wolfhound in the mix.”

  “Well, we have plenty of hot dogs for you and Scruffy here. We’re headed north tomorrow, and can’t take pork across the US border, so we’re glad we met up with you three.”

  Not as glad as I was. I could have kissed her.

  Many hot dogs later, we said our goodnights and walked back to our own camp, if you can call a parked van a camp. The bathrooms in the campground were locked, and with no running water to be found, I filled Scruffy’s bowl with bottled water and grabbed two one-gallon jugs for myself.

  Using a large pot belonging to our new camping friends, I heated water on their fire, poured it back in the jugs and found an old concrete pad out of view of the others.

  Splashing myself with warm water, I quickly washed my hair and the rest of me with shampoo, used a tee shirt for a towel, put on my sweats, and wrapped the tea turban style around my wet hair. It was chilly out, but I didn’t care. Just getting clean was fantastic.

  I expected Jeff to already be asleep when I got back to the van, but he was sitting in the driver’s seat, finishing a beer. Scruffy had commandeered the passenger side, so I pushed him onto the floor board—no easy task—as Jeff reached back and took two more Tecates from our cooler.

  “Might as well finish these off, Red. I remember reading they ding you good at US Customs for too much booze. Plenty of beer Stateside.”

  “Right you are.” I clinked his bottle. “Here’s to tomorrow.”

  “And the good old US of A, and new beginnings. Okay, let’s talk about that. What’s the plan?”

  I took a sip. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. We need to split up.”

  “That is the worst idea I ever heard, Red,” he said, almost in a whisper. He leaned over and kissed me softly.

  Heat rushed through me and before I knew it, we were tearing off each other’s clothes and climbing onto the air mattress.

  Scruffy, ever the gentleman, moved into the driver’s seat and curled himself into a ball, covering his eyes with his giant paws.

  ***

  There was no sleep for either of us that night.

  We alternated between finishing off the last beers and making frantic, then sweet, love. There was an underlying urgency, as though there was no tomorrow for us.

  Little did Jeff know, there probably wasn’t.

  At dawn we drove quietly out of camp, stopping a mile down the road to let Scruffy do his thing.

  “I would kill for a cup of coffee,” I groaned.

  “I’d kill for another night like last night. As soon as we get across the border, we’re checking into the most expensive waterfront hotel in Yuma.”

  I laughed. “Maybe a casino on the Colorado River? But, I’ve been thinking.”

  “When did you have time, Red?” He stroked my cheek.

  “Don’t start. We have to get our heads straight.”

  “Now, that’s going to be a problem. I can’t think of anything except last night.”

  “Well, stop it. Instead of taking Mex Five, let’s keep to Mex One, then split up in Tijuana.”

  “Why are we splitting up?”

  “Because I honestly believe we have a better chance of not getting nabbed by the Mexican authorities on the way out,” I lied.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “For one thing, the border crossing in Tijuana is a madhouse. Traffic galore, both on foot, and in vehicles. If we cross separately, we’ll draw less attention if, in fact, they are looking for us. By now, the Cabo police have had time to talk to Barry’s neighbors, the café owner across the street saw us, and don’t forget George.”

  “George?”

  I did the two-finger-v-sign from his eyes to mine. “Concentrate. George? The guy at your hotel desk in Cabo. He said he was your would-be fiancé’s cousin.”

  “Oh, that George.”

  “Yep. He’s a way too well informed witness, since his uncle, dear old Muffie’s daddy, owns the hotel where I stayed in your suite. Anyway, by now, the federales for sure know there are two of us, and who we are.” I slapped his hand, which had strayed along my neck.

  “Okay, okay, I’m listening.”

  “First we go to a vet clinic in TJ for a medical pass for Scruffy. Then, when we’re right at the border, let me out and I’ll walk across. You’ll be able to get in the medical fast pass lane for a quick crossing, and I’ll meet you on the US side. Let’s make certain our phones are charged.”

  “I don’t like being separated. You’ve grown on me, Red.”

  “Penicillin can handle that,” I joked, laughing to ward off tears. Here I’d finally met what could very well be the one I’d always dreamed of, and it was doomed to be a one-night stand.

  “It was worth it.”

  I dug in my purse to hide my face. My resolve was wavering, and I couldn’t let that happen. If Jeff was detained at the border with me, he’d be arrested as an accessory.

  “Here,” I said, waving a piece of paper. “The people at PAWs in Mulegé told me if we crossed at Tijuana to take Scruffy to this veterinary clinic. I have a contact number and they said we can get that medical fast pass. A lot of people in California bring their pets across for teeth cleaning and the kind of stuff that costs a fortune in the States.”

  “Now the splitting up part makes sense, but I’m not fond of the idea.”

  “Look! Turn in here! Coffee!”

  We ate a huge breakfast in the hotel restaurant in Cataviña, and was able to make a couple of phone calls.

  “Well, hell,” I said as I returned to the table after making the call to Tijuana. “We can’t do it all today.”

  Jeff’s face lit up. “Thank you, God.”

  “Hey,” I leaned in and whispered, “I’m the fugitive here. I gotta get out of this freakin’ country, remember?”

  “So, did you kill Barry?” he whispered back.

  “You know I didn’t.”

  “Then, let’s enjoy another night together in Mexico. In a real room. With a real bed.” He kissed me.

  “You taste like refried beans.”

  “And you taste like my future.”

  I stood so fast my chair almost fell over. “Gotta hit the little Mujeres room.”

  ***

  I got in a quick bawl inside a bathroom stall, threw water into my face, and by the time I walked out to the van I was somewhat composed. My dark sunglasses covered red, puffy eyes. Why doesn’t someone invent a shield for a broken heart. I mean, besides booze.

  “You okay?” Jeff asked, concern in his voice.

  “Yes, I took time to give my face a good wash.”

  “I could use that, myself. What’s our next stop?”

  “Gas at El Rosario, then on to el Jardines in San Quintin. I called for reservations, but had to give them my credit card. It’ll be okay; they don’t report the sale and we’ll pay cash tomorrow. They have a top-notch restaurant, and I got us two rooms. One for us, and one for Scruffy.”

  “Huh? They take dogs, but I wanted my special room and it is not dog approved. He gets his own room, or sleeps in the van. His choice.”

  “Gringo joint?”r />
  “Not really, the restaurant is very popular with the locals, both Mexican and gringo. And, if local gringos are at the bar, which they usually are, we might even pick up on something from the Coconut Telegraph about Cabo. However, let’s be sure we tell anyone who asks that we’re headed south.”

  “You are, by far, the most devious woman I have ever met. I absolutely love you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A hot shower!

  Soft bed.

  Fab food.

  Wine.

  Romance.

  Not exactly in that order.

  We showered together, to save water, of course. Which led to a delay in dinner plans.

  In order to acclimate Mr. Scruffers to his room, we took that first shower in his room before moving into our own. He eyed the shower with distrust, somehow sensing that the next morning, there would three of us in it.

  Then, before we went to dinner, we moved the air mattress into his digs. I was concerned he would think we were abandoning him, but every time we checked he seemed just fine.

  What with an accumulated lack of sleep, a great meal, and a bottle of really good wine, I was not able to sleep through the major portion of the night like I thought I would.

  I awoke wrapped in Jeff’s warm embrace, saw it was only three a.m., and slipped out of the room to join Scruffy. He reluctantly scooted over a smidge to accommodate me, and about an hour later, Jeff joined us. Scruffy didn’t want to budge, so we pushed him off the bed, threw the air mattress on the floor for him, and climbed back under the covers.

  Dozing off, I’d almost convinced myself that everything would work out well for all three of us, at least until I woke up and reality set in.

  “You’re awfully quiet this morning, Red.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m a little worried about the crossing.”

  “We’ll be fine. However, I think maybe we should…make…more…memories.”

  ***

  Scruffy, although not thrilled about this shower thing, let us soap him up and even drench him in cream rinse. We packed up, and I left a huge tip for the maid after trying in vain to clean up after a mighty shake by my dawg.