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  Charlie looked at the hundreds of vacationers and workers trying to get to across. He thought about the hospital, and Ben Franklin’s shed, and the roadblock and then the school and of course the corpse in the truck. According to his estimate that came to over one hundred people dead in the last seventy-two hours.

  “You’re just going to loose them on all of these people?” Charlie asked.

  “It will be a full moon tonight. The cargo will be fine,” Mr. Phone said.

  Charlie couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Safe travels,” said Mr. Phone and the line went dead.

  Charlie was trapped but he also knew he could count on men’s greed. Maybe I won’t need to move the truck after all, he thought. He shut down the engine, grabbed his duffle, got down from the cab, and started walking north. As he did a group of Federales began huddling together ahead of him and bringing their guns to port.

  Once Charlie had their attention he dropped his duffle and lay facedown on the shoulder of the road. The abandoned truck shunted traffic around him as the border guards approached.

  “American?” one of the guards asked.

  “Yes.” Charlie spoke into the pavement. It was getting dark but the asphalt was still sweltering and the guards were making no effort to take him into custody.

  “So why are you down there surrendering my friend?” asked the same guard.

  “I would like to turn myself in for back child support owed in Texas,” Charlie said.

  The guards looked at him and then at each other. They began speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. No one seemed interested in arresting Charlie for the moment.

  Charlie looked up and ascertained that there were five guards standing in a semi-circle in front of him. Charlie and the guards heard a woman screaming in Spanish and getting closer. The voice was getting louder and although Charlie couldn’t get a clear view through the barrier of black-fatigued legs he recognized the voice, it was Machete Momma.

  The guards began shouting for her to stop and drop her weapon. Then all of the shouting was drowned out by the sound of automatic gunfire.

  Her momentum carried her a few feet forward and as she fell her machete skidded across the hot pavement to within a few feet of Charlie’s face. Machete Momma had made one last effort to avenge her comrades.

  The guards all turned back to Charlie who hadn’t moved from his spot on the scalding shoulder.

  “Senor, you seem to be – as the Americans say – an interesting person,” The guard asked as he knelt next to Charlie.

  “I’m a person of interest in Texas,” Charlie countered hoping to facilitate his crossing and trying not to think about the truck.

  “Maybe Mexico is interested as well. We shall see,” the guard said.

  The other four guards stood him up, cuffed him hands in front, grabbed his duffle and started toward a black suburban. One of the guards peeled away from the group and started toward the FedEx truck. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. The Border Guards would take the truck somewhere secluded so they could steal the contents. What happened after that wouldn’t matter as long as he got across and got paid.

  The black suburban went through a side gate and across the border. Charlie breathed another sigh of relief, he was back in the real world again. The Suburban took a sharp left along the northern side of the border. A few minutes later they approached a two-story cinder-block building.

  “Get out Senor. This is your stop,” said the guard sitting on Charlie’s right. The guard sitting on Charlie’s left stepped out and pulled at Charlie’s arm. It was still hot but the sun was setting now. In custody in the U.S. was still preferable to air-conditioning in Mexico, Charlie thought.

  Charlie was escorted to a room also made of cinderblock. Three folding chairs and a collapsible card table occupied the center space. The scene reminded Charlie of the interrogation rooms he had seen on Hill Street Blues and The Wire. Charlie planned to answer every question they asked as honestly as he could.

  “Sit,” said one of the guards “we will return shortly.”

  Charlie sat in the chair and thought, it should be about six-thirty now. He was going to miss one-dollar wells with Darryl. As a matter of fact Charlie would probably miss a lot of things over the next six to eight-teen months while he served his time but…at least he was done with that truck-load of mayhem.

  Before he had picked up the truck Charlie had drawn out two hundred dollars in cash, gone on-line and with his Wal-Mart Green Dot card paid for a P.O Box for a year in Austin. Then he had mailed both cards to his new address – FedEx no less. He had expected the guards to take everything he had of value so when they came back into the room with his duffle he was not surprised.

  “Senor, we have many questions for you. Please answer them clearly for we are simple Mexicans,” the guard carrying the duffle said with mock humility.

  The guard – Araposta according to his nametag – began to place items from the duffle on the table. First he pulled out the plastic bag with the hideous smelling coveralls. He held them at arm’s length and looked at Charlie. To his credit, Charlie gave no indication of his feelings one way or another. Next the guard removed the whip.

  “Are you a caballero, Senor?” Araposta asked holding back a chuckle.

  “No,” Charlie said.

  “Hmm, these items are not interesting,” Araposta paused and looked disappointed. “These however,” he continued as he brought out the three Thermoses “are interesting,” he paused again “what do they contain?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said.

  “Please Senor. You are almost back to your double-wide,” Araposta couldn’t contain a chuckle as he said this “You have no money,” he said patting his breast pocket. “Why would you refuse to help yourself?”

  Charlie thought for a minute then told the truth.

  “Because you will not believe a word I say,” Charlie said.

  “Please indulge me,” Araposta mock pleaded.

  “I don’t know what’s in those Thermoses. I know one smells terrible, one smells bitter-sweet and the other one is some sort of medical salve for burns I think,” Charlie guessed on the last one but it cost him nothing to try.

  “Tell me the whole story Senor, from the beginning,” Araposta sat straddling a chair opposite Charlie.

  Charlie told him everything he could from the moment he took possession of the truck at the Flying J truck stop to surrendering. After he finished Araposta stared at him for a long time then he smiled.

  “You know what I think? I think this one is your filthy, how you say ‘dip cup’? What do you say to that?” Araposta asked.

  “I don’t use tobacco. Never have and I told you…” Charlie was cut off as Araposta flicked the Thermos at Charlie’s face. The remaining contents splashed and coated Charlie’s face in a hideous brown cascade of the syrupy liquid.

  “Perhaps you were right Senor. I will not believe a word you say,” he sighed. “But there is good news!” he said in an almost hysterically animated voice. He stood while he pondered the other two Thermoses. “Other people find you interesting Senor Charlie the Driver.” he watched while Charlie took this in.

  Charlie wasn’t really trying to hide his identity at this point. These clowns had probably run his picture past half a dozen law enforcement agencies by now. The Attorney General of Texas was looking for him so it couldn’t have taken long to figure out who he was.

  “I am ready to pay for my crimes. I know I have been a terrible person. Hopefully while in jail I can find a way to get my life back together,” Charlie said as seriously as he could.

  Araposta began to laugh. A hearty belly-laugh that would have made Chris Rock and Jerry Seinfeld proud. During this outburst they heard the horn of a semi outside.

  “Ah, your truck is here,” Araposta said as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “It’s not my truck,” Charlie countered.

  “Whoever the truck belonged to, it is ours now.” Araposta m
ade his way to the door as he said this.

  “I don’t have a key to the trailer doors,” Charlie advised him.

  “Not to worry Senor. We are very clever,” Araposta said as he closed the door behind him.

  I hope you’re cleverer than the last group, Charlie thought. Slowly a plan began to form in Charlie’s mind. It was a poorly thought out plan and an unlikely plan but at least it was a plan. After an hour or so Araposta came back.

  “Senor, this truck, it is not a regular FedEx truck is it?” Araposta asked.

  “No,” Charlie said. “Whatever the cargo is, it’s very valuable to someone and extremely dangerous,”

  “Oh well it may take longer than we had hoped,” Araposta said. “However we do have something to occupy your time while we address the doors. We found someone who wants you even more than the Attorney General of Texas. Someone who is willing to pay cash for your delivery ‘intact’ as you say,”

  Charlie ran through the possibilities. If it wasn’t the AG of Texas, was it Darryl? No, Darryl was at Buckshots on 6th Street checking the time on his phone about now. Maybe his wife was here to take her revenge? No. She had always been one of those meek bitches. Mr. Phone! Perhaps the Specialist had opted to come to Charlie’s rescue. That would probably come at the cost of his bonus but…

  The door burst open and there stood the Operations Manager of Shoreline Shipping, LLC red-faced, panting and eyes blazing with animal rage. The lack of taste-buds had affected his appetite, the beer-fat was gone leaving only a muscled and enraged giant.

  Sometime later Charlie awoke on the floor of the same room. He could partially open one eye. The other was swollen shut. He remembered things in patches.

  Araposta explaining that this was a hand-off facility used by the Federales and American police and whenever he and his fellow officers ran across someone who could be best served by American justice they brought them here. However it was Easter Sunday and the Attorney General of Texas was not so concerned about Charlie that he would send a pair of state troopers for Charlie before Monday. So they would have plenty of time together. And by ‘they’ he meant Charlie and the Operations Manager of Shoreline Shipping, LLC.

  Charlie remembered the kick to the groin. It came first. Charlie knew one of his testicles had ruptured. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew. His legs gave way and he started to double over but the Operations Manager wasn’t having that. He grabbed a hand-full of Charlie’s hair as he fell and then the whip from the table. He had dragged Charlie to the loading/unloading area where the truck was.

  It was a long warehouse looking structure that was mostly roof with corrugated metal for walls at intervals. It reminded Charlie of the one back in Harlingen. Charlie’s boots left parallel trails in the dirt as he was dragged deeper into the loading/unloading structure. Charlie could hear the rapid-fire, agitated Spanish of Araposta and his crew as they tried to fire up an acetylene torch. One of the Federales came over and started speaking to the Operations Manager.

  “You keep him alive until we get this trailer open, si?” Araposta asked as he handed the Operations Manager a pair of handcuffs.

  “Oh, he won’th die from whath I’m abouth to do to him. Noth for a long thime,” the Operations Manager lisped as he tightened the cuffs on Charlie’s wrists.

  Satisfied, Araposta returned to his comrades who had the torch going full blast now. Charlie estimated that it was getting on about ten pm. He was supposed to be in Austin by now.

  “Boy you are abouth to geth exacthly what you deserve and then some,” the Operations Manager sneered. The Operations Manager lifted Charlie’s hands by the short length of chain between the cuffs and dropped them over an industrial hook used for moving cargo. The hook was mounted on a swing-arm. The Operations Manager hit a button and lifted Charlie so that his toes just barely touched the ground.

  Charlie felt his new polo shirt being ripped off. He was still too crippled by the kick to his crotch to protest and what good would it have done anyway. Then his pants and underwear were pulled down around his ankles.

  The first strikes from the whip were off-center and though they stung they did not open Charlie’s flesh as they could have. Later, as the Operations Manager got more comfortable with the weapon, the blows began to rip into Charlie. Charlie was not a muscular or fat man. His ribs and spine were visible through his skin and every time the whip connected white bone appeared in its wake.

  Charlie could feel the warm rivulets of blood along his buttocks. The Federales had lost interest in the truck for a moment and begun taking bets on how long it would be before Charlie passed out.

  Then Charlie was back on the floor of the cell. He knew that one of his hands had been stomped on, probably in an effort to revive him. He was having trouble breathing and he could feel the damage ribs but he had no idea how extensive it was – he had never broken a rib before.

  His worst idea on this entire run was to try and sit up. The pain came at him from every direction. It appeared that whatever wasn’t broken or whipped had been seen to by the Federales with the acetylene torch.

  Charlie was broken. He did have the use of one eye and of course he could still hear. Charlie heard voices outside his holding area and once again the door burst open. This time Araposta lead the charge followed by the other guards.

  “Who can open that trailer?” Araposta shouted.

  Charlie just grunted. He really didn’t have the strength to move his mouth. Plus he was so thirsty he could only make croaking noises. Araposta squatted in front of Charlie.

  “Senor, if you die trying to escape the State of Texas will not mourn you. So you can help yourself by helping us or your big friend will come and talk to you,” Araposta stood. “What will it be?”

  “Water,” Charlie rasped.

  One of the other Federales left and returned in seconds with a bottle of water. He handed the bottle to Araposta and Araposta began pouring the water over Charlie’s lips. He returned the cap to the bottle and tossed it on the floor next to him.

  “Drink and be well. You may want to dress yourself also. Your ride to prison will be here mañana,” Araposta said as he left.

  It seemed to take Charlie an hour to sit up. He took what felt like another hour to get dressed. He lay panting on the floor as Araposta returned with the other four border guards.

  “Senor, in your delirium you have chosen the filthy coveralls I see. This will not please the Texas State Troopers who have to transport you to Austin however we find that scenario quite funny,” Araposta said as he assessed the little man on the brink of death before him.

  “Phone,” Charlie said.

  Araposta gestured and two of the border guards took Charlie by an arm each. Araposta lead the procession back to the truck. The tractor was gone. Charlie looked at the trailer as the guards deposited him in a sitting position next to one of the rear tires.

  The Operations Manager was sitting in a chair near the opposite wall smoking a cigarette and drinking tequila from the bottle.

  “Is he being relucthanth?” the Operations Manager asked.

  “No. Quite the opposite,” Araposta said sounding surprised. “Senor Charlie is about to teach us the mysteries of this trailer.”

  “Either way, Charlie and I sthill have things to discuss,” the Operations Manager said as he took another drink from the bottle. The Operations Manager smelled the contents of the yellow Thermos.

  “Whath is this shith anyway?” he asked, “smells like some fath, Mexican whores douche to me!” then laughed at his own humor.

  If the Operations Manager wasn’t drunk he was surely buzzed. The Operations Manager poured some of the remaining liquid on his fingers and smelled it. “Yeah, Mexican douche alrighth” he chuckled and rocked back in the chair.

  While the Federales checked to learn if the phone had any life left in it the Operations Manager thought he should share some more thoughts.

  “You know Charlie, this other Thermos is full of Silver Sulfa…,Su
lfer…, sofa,… You know whath the fuck it is!” said the Operations Manager barely containing his rage at not being able to enunciate the name of the chemical compound.

  “Now on the Interneth, I can get this shith for about twelve dollars and thath’s for a four ounce thube,” the Operations Manager watched Charlie for a reaction.

  Charlie sat leaning against the rear truck tire bleary eyed. That’s where they had dropped him and that’s where he would stay.

  Charlie thought that the one redeeming factor about being so far from civilization – apart from the food – was the stars. Charlie had found a hole in the roof and despite the numerous hanging lanterns in the metal garage he could see the stars and of course the moon. It was full.

  The Operations Manager continued “…so you see if your cargo is anywhere near the fifthy-thousand pound limith…” he looked over at the Federales who were huddled near the front of the truck “well…in that case were thalking abouth a rethail value of abouth one pointh eighth million dollars,” he paused.

  Charlie chuckled for the first time in as long as he could remember. The lisp, it was hilarious.

  “Of course since it’s not documented ith would sell for abouth half thath meaning thath in the worst case scenario you have made me a very rich man,” the Operations Manager started to close his eyes. Probably thinking about rare steak, Charlie thought.

  “You mean us very rich men,” said Araposta from closer than Charlie or the Operations Manager had imagined possible.

  Araposta approached Charlie and squatted in front of him.

  “Ok senor. We will use the speaker function, and you will introduce me to the owner of this truck,” Araposta said.

  Charlie realized that Araposta was holding the phone in one hand and gesturing with what looked like a filet knife with the other. Charlie had a brief moment where he considered the filet knife as a possible path to relief. Too late for Charlie to give the matter further thought Araposta pushed the recall button and the ringing on the other end of the connection began. It rang several times and the Federales began to shuffle their feet. The Operations Manager sat up and watched intently.