Payroll by William James Johnson Chapter 21

Arriving in San Diego by noon, Russ skilfully drove his tractor trailer between the long line of other rigs parked on a sandy beach, beside a large farmer's market. Eager to get his money and rid himself of his passengers, he decided not to bother finding a parking spot.
"This is as far as I go."
"How far is it to the border?"
` "I'm not taking you to the border."
"I didn't ask you to take us. I just asked how far it is."
"About twenty miles. You could walk it if you had to."
"Have you ever been to Tijuana?"
"Hasn't everybody? Down here they call it 'Tij'."
"What's it like?"
"It's a shit hole. Like most border towns. It's wide open."
"How do you mean?"
"Whores, drugs, abortions, quicky divorce...you name it, and someone in Tij will get it for you. Even got a fast cure for cancer, made from apricot pits. You're in for a real treat. I wouldn't be at all surprised someone'll rip you off for all your dough."
"You're sure a bundle of laughs Russ."
"Well you asked me, and I told you. Don't sound so pissed off."
Rona was getting annoyed at his answers. As long as she had known Russ, he was always trying to come up with smart one liners. She thought it came from his constant use of his CB when swapping lies with the other truckers. None of them gave straight answers.
"Me and Silky really gotta know these things. Give us some decent answers for a change."
"Rona, if I could, I would. There's nothin' decent to say about that dump. Maybe you'll do a helluva lot better once you get further south in Mexico, but you stay in that town, and you're gonna get screwed, and I mean both of you."
"Okay, you made your point Russ. Now let's get down to some of the finer strokes. What can you tell us about customs? Any problem crossing the border?"
"Lots of problems. The whole thing's changed. For years, it was as simple as walking across a bridge. Now they check everything. You can blame the Yanks for that."
"How come?"
"I guess Uncle Sam's navy guys in San Diego were bringing in large amounts of pot and other homemade chemicals to spruce up their service life. They found too many of their men were flying without air planes, if you get my drift. That's when the DEA guys and the Federales decided to bear down at the border. No...you guys have come a long way with that loot, but the next twenty miles is gonna be the toughest part of your trip."
Russ was getting a rush out of painting such a bleak picture. He felt they had cheated him out of his fair share of the loot, and revenge was sweet.
"We'll figure a way," said Rona.
"So...where's my money?"
Silky took out his wallet and gave him five hundred dollars in US funds.
"American! I thought you said you only had Canadian."
"You'd rather have Canadian?"
"Hell no...Hey this is real decent of you."
"We're what is known as decent crooks...Thanks for getting us here Russ."
"Do you mind letting me have a few minutes with Rona before you go?"
"That's up to Rona."
"It'll be okay Silky. Just wait outside for a few minutes. I'll be right with you."
Silky grabbed the suitcase and left the cab of the truck, followed by Sandy. They walked towards the market, bustling with traders from both sides of the border.
In the cab, Rona was quiet. Waiting for Russ to speak. "I'm sorry it turned out this way babe."
"I guess we knew it all along."
"This job...being apart so much. What the hell could you expect. I'm gonna miss you Rona."
"Me too Russ...I'm gonna miss you too."
"Do I get a goodbye kiss?"
She kissed him quickly on the cheek, then taking his hand she put a wad of money in it, and left him dazed as she hurried to catch up with Silky.
"What the hell..."
Russ counted the bills. She had given him another thousand dollars...Canadian.
"That lady has class."
Pushing in the clutch, he revved up the diesel and pulled out of the beach area to return to the highway. His two passengers and their dog were no where to be seen.
Sitting in a small café, surrounded by all the market stalls, Silky and Rona sipped their coffees.
"What was that all about?" asked Silky.
"I'll tell you later...I promise. I just need time."
"Okay sweety. Whatever it was, I hope it's over now."
"It's over. You're my man Silky...Just you."
"Have yourself something to eat while I check out some of these truckers. We might be able to get across the border with one of them."
"Okay...But take care. Remember what Russ said about Tijuana. We don't want all our work to end at the border because we weren't careful."
"I'll leave the suitcase and dog with you. I won't be long."
"Before you go Silky, give me a kiss will you?"
"Sure."
He kissed her quickly on the cheek and started out of the café.
"That's one you owe me."
Walking among the produce stands, Silky spotted a beat out flatbed truck, loaded with empty chicken cages. A Mexican farmer was sitting in the truck eating his lunch.
"This your truck?"
"Si Senor. Why you ask?"
"You from Mexico?"
"No Senor...from Hong Kong."
"That's all I need, a Mexican with a sense of humour."
"Of course I'm from Mexico. Why you ask Senor?"
"When are you going back?"
"As soon as I have finished my lunch...you want a little tequila?"
"No...no thanks. I want to make a deal with you."
"With me...What kind of deal?"
"You ever have any problems with the police?"
"No problems with the Federales as long as you got pesos...Comprende Senor?"
"I've got to get into Mexico without being seen...can you help me?"
"You crazy...Why you want to go to Mexico? All my people want to come to the states."
"I've got to get away. I could be killed if I stay here."
"Oh Senor, that is different. How can I help you?"
"I'd like you to hide me in your truck."
"And how would I do that Senor?"
"Get some bales of hay and we'll arrange them in the centre of your cages. And me and my friends will be in the hollow centre of the bales."
"Friends Senor? ...You never told me about your friends."
"A girl and a dog...you have to take them too."
"And for all of this...what are you going to do for me?"
"I'll pay you lots of money."
"Lots...how much is lots?"
"You tell me. You know how much it's worth to you."
"I have to get 500 Yankee dollars Senor...I know that may seem like a lot, but if I get caught...they will lock me in the Tijuana jail, and throw away the key."
"I'll make it even better...what did you say your name was?"
"Gonzalez Senor...Fernando Gonzalez."
"Look Fernando, you get everything ready and meet me down the coast highway in two hours. I'll give you $500 then, and when you get us safely into Mexico, there'll be another 500...okay?"
"You must be really running scared Senor."
"Okay Fernando?...we got a deal?"
He extended his hand. "We got a deal Senor."
The farmer wiped his mouth on his sleeve, smiling as he watched Silky hurry back to Rona and Sandy.
"You look like the cat that ate the canary."
"Better than that. I think we got us a ride into Mexico."
"But the customs...How are we gonna get through customs?"
"Hiding in bales of hay."
"What?"
"Look...I'll explain later. Right now we've gotta get our asses down the highway. I don't want anyone to see what we're doing."
"I'm game. What the hell. Before I met you, I didn't know anything about flying. You say we're gonna hide in bales of hay, I guess we're gonna hide in bales of hay."
They managed to hitch a ride on the back of a pickup going as far as National City. Silky checked his watch. It was almost two o'clock.
"But what if once we get inside the bales, he turns around and goes back to San Diego, and turns us over to the police? You heard what Russ said. You can't trust these people."
"That's the chance we've got to take."
"Well I think that's a helluva chance."
"Okay...you got a better idea?"
"That's the problem...I don't."
"Then let's try it. What the hell, we've had to do all sorts of things so far, and we're still going."
"I know, and I'll be so damned glad when it's all over, and we can start enjoying our money, and not have to look over our shoulders every time you open your wallet."
In the distance Silky heard the truck before he saw it.
"Look...It's him. I knew we could trust him."
Fernando drove off the road and stopped the clacking motor.
"What the hell's all that noise?"
"You'd clack too Senor if you had as many miles as this old thing."
Tied on the back of the truck were several bales of hay and a couple hundred wire chicken cages.
"Help me unload Senor so that we can make your hiding place."
"Okay Fernando...this is my wife Rona and our dog Sandy."
"I am pleased...but we must hurry."
"Hurry?"
"Si Senor. If we are too late going through customs, there may not be much traffic, and the officer may want to check everything."
"What would happen then?"
"Please Senor, I would not even dare to think about it."
"Do you think this is wise Silky?"
"Please Senorita, we must hurry."
"But if we get caught..."
"I think I have a way to stop him. But we must get there when there are still a lot of cars and trucks."
It was hard work unloading the cages and bales in the late afternoon heat. When they had arranged their hiding place, the three were content to climb into the narrow opening in the bales and rest. What little air there was came through the widely spaced floor boards of the old truck. Russ was right. This was becoming the most difficult part of their escape.
About a half hour later, nestled in their picky hideaway, surrounded by wire cages on all sides of them, they could hear Fernando spraying some foul smelling material on his load. They had no idea what he was planning. He patted his pocket with the five hundred Yankee dollars, as he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the highway.
A half hour later the truck lined up behind several others reporting at customs. Fernando could feel his heart pounding as he drew closer to the inspector. Trying to calm his nerves, he took a large suck on his tequila.
"Anything to declare?"
"No Senor...I am just returning home."
"What you got on back?"
"Cages Senor...I have delivered a load of chickens to the market."
"What market?"
"San Diego."
"Get out of the truck."
"The truck...Why Senor? What is wrong?"
"Did I say something was wrong?"
"No Senor. I'm getting out."
The custom officer walked to the back of the truck.
"What's in the bales?"
Silky and Rona were paralysed with fear. He had his hand over Sandy's muzzle, but this was old hat for a dog who had seen so much action on many drug raids. They waited anxiously for Fernando to answer the customs agent.
""More bales...straw for my chickens."
"You think I believe that?"
"It's true Senor."
"How do I know you're not smuggling people into Mexico inside those bales?"
Fernando began to laugh. "Why would anyone want to come to Mexico? You know yourself how even my own people want to leave Mexico. But if you will help me unload the cages, you can check for yourself Senor."
Touching one of the cages, the custom officer pulled his hand back quickly.
"What the hell is that?...feels like oil."
"It is oil Senor. It is old engine oil. I always spray my cages after every delivery, to kill the bugs."
"And you're sure you're not smuggling someone inside those bales?"
"I swear Senor," blessing himself, "On the shroud of Guadeloupe."
"Okay...I sure as hell don't feel like handling all those greasy cages."
"Then I can go Senor?"
"Si, Senor. Vamoose."
"Gracias...gracias Senor."
Fernando climbed back into his truck, and started his clacking engine.
"Hey! Wait a minute," said the officer. "I've never heard of oil used like that before."
"Oh si Senor...It's just old oil most people would throw away, but it is the best and cheapest way to kill bugs."
"Leave it to you Mexicans to find the cheapest way. Okay muchachos...take off."
Fernando's legs trembled on the clutch as he rattled through the border check point and into the downtown area of Tijuana. Driving out of the noisy centre, he went west towards the huge bull ring and down a country road which led to his farm.
As he turned into his laneway, several young children ran out to meet him. They covered their eyes as clouds of dust billowed upwards when he stopped the truck in front of a small adobe house. In the midst of the children was his wife Lucia, an attractive woman in her early forties. Fernando hugged the smallest children and told the others to keep the younger ones away from the truck because they might get dirty from the oily cages. They took this as an order to return to their play, shouting as they ran down the road.
Inside the bales Silky and Rona were gasping for air. They listened as the children ran away.
"Are you okay in there Senor?"
"We will be as soon as we can get some air."
"I'm sorry to make you wait, but I did not want the children to see you. You know how they like to talk. I've told my wife about you and she is going to help me get you out."
He and his wife worked quickly unloading the cages, and opening the bales. Neither of them saw the young boy standing by the corner of the house watching everything. As soon as the bales were opened, Sandy charged off the truck to the nearest tree and did what he had wanted to do for the last couple of hours.
Rona straightened her clothes as she got up from their hiding place, and wiped her brow on her sleeve. Silky helped her down from the truck, then grabbed Fernando's hand and began shaking it vigorously .
"You did it Fernando...you did it."
"I was so scared Senor. My legs are still shaking. But come, I want you to meet my wife Lucia."
As they shook hands, Silky spotted the young boy who had seen everything.
"I thought you said you sent all the kids away."
"I did Senor. I sent all the kids away."
"What about him?"
"Oh him? He is not my child Senor. He is Pedro. He is nobody's child."
His words struck at Silky's heart. He had heard them himself, growing up in other people's houses, never really belonging.
"Come here Pedro," said Silky.
A young boy of ten, with golden hair and deep brown Mexican eyes, shyly stuck his head around the corner.
"Please come here. I won't hurt you."
Cautiously he approached them. His clothes were torn and dirty. He moved like a beaten animal.
"What's wrong with him?"
"You can see from his hair, he is a half-breed. His father was one of your Americanos in the Navy. His mother was killed in a fight in a whorehouse. For now he lives with us, but next week, or the week after, it will be someone else. That's the way it is with the street children."
"Does he speak English?"
The little boy replied, smiling broadly as he spoke. "Si Senor. I speak English like how you say...real groovy Joe."
They all laughed when he answered.
"Here Pedro. Get yourself something."
Silky gave him a dollar. His face lit up when he reached for it. Fernando pushed him away before he could grab the money, scolding him in Mexican.
"It's okay Fernando. I want to give him something."
"Take it Pedro, and thank the nice man."
"Gracias Senor...thank you...you real cool Joe."
The child ran off down the road clutching the money, waving it over his head.
"Do you think he'll tell anyone about seeing us on your truck?"
"It is not my truck he will talk about Senor. It is the money. You should not have given it to him. It is not good to have people talking about you."
That night Lucia prepared a delicious Mexican meal. Silky's stomach burned from the hot chili used to drench the handmade tortillas, and together they enjoyed a bottle of liquor Fernando had been keeping for a special occasion.
"In the morning, I will take you to meet my bank manager."
"What do you think he will say when I give him our Canadian money?"
"Probably... gracias Senor."
"I mean...seriously. Is he liable to call anyone about the size of our deposit?"
"My friend Eduardo, used to go to school with me. He is a good bank manager, because he knows how to keep quiet about his customers and their activities. I know he's been getting a lot of money from drug dealers. Eduardo sees money as just money. He does not judge how you got it. Does that not make sense Senor?"
"It sure does to me," said Silky.
"And tonight, you and your wife will sleep in our bedroom."
"Oh we couldn't ask you to give up your bed for us," said Rona.
"Please Senora," said Lucia, "We would be honoured."
They said goodnight to the Gonzalez family and tried to make themselves comfortable on the narrow bed.
"I had no idea people could still be so friendly."
"And trusting," said Rona.
"True...that's for sure."
Sandy growled quietly, letting them know he was trying to sleep.
"Okay old fellow, we'll be quiet."
It was about two in the morning when Sandy stood up and nudged Silky. For some reason, he had not barked.
"What is it old boy?"
Standing in the doorway of the small bedroom was the figure of a child in torn clothing.
"Who's there?"
"It's me Senor...Pedro."
"Come here boy...What do you want?"
"I have brought back your money Senor," passing him the dollar.
"No, no Pedro. I wanted you to have it. Please keep it."
"It is not right I should take your money when I have done nothing for you."
"It"s okay...I just wanted to give you something."
"You did not have to Senor. Pedro will say nothing about you coming on the truck...I promise Senor."
Silky could tell the young lad was really troubled about what had happened. He had been in such dilemmas himself as a child.
"Please keep the money, and if you want, you can sleep here on the mat beside our bed."
"Gracias Senor...I would like that."
Silky felt better than he had for sometime. He wasn't the kind of person who took notice of someone else's problems. Rona lay quietly beside him remembering what it was like growing up in a mining town, hating the drunken fights on Saturday nights. And Sandy was glad they were all quiet so he could get some sleep at last.

Read other blogs by William James Johnson at http://noozoon.blogspot.com