Mules:: A Novel Page 12

  “That’s so horrible,” said Els. “Your poor mother.”

  “Yes,” Seve agreed. “He had her buried in an unmarked grave, somewhere out in the desert. He said she was undeserving of the family plot. He would not be buried beside her. But, do you know that when he died I made sure that he was buried right next her. I remembered where she was laid to rest and I made sure that they would spent eternity together. I thought it only fitting.” Seve smiled, satisfied at the remembrance of his last act of rectitude.

  “But what happened to your sister?”

  The smile dropped from Seve’s face. “It’s a hard life for a woman, I think. Especially for the poor. The peasants. She took care of her father until he died. He left her destitute. I only found her later in life, after my father had died. And by then it was too late. She married a man. He was poor. Brutish. He beat her. But he was not considered a particularly cruel man, you know? It’s a hard life for a woman,” he repeated. “Do you know that even in this day a lot of Mexican men will not wear condoms? Maybe it sounds strange, but they think ‘why should I wear one? Are you a whore that I should put one on? Are you unclean?’ This is very ignorant, don’t you think? It leads to a lot of disease. A lot of unwanted babies. It’s always the woman’s fault, too. Always. And anyway, this man, this not-particularly-cruel man who married my sister. Do you know what he did? He beat her to death. He said it was an accident. He said she was unfaithful to him. He said she deserved it. And do you know what happened to this man? This murderer of women? Do you? Nothing. That’s what happened. He did not go to jail. He was never punished. Nothing.”

  Els was quiet for a long time. She watched Seve, his head down, staring at the floor. “And so what happened to him? What happened when you found out?”

  Seve shrugged. “What would you have done? What would you do to a man who killed your family, if you had every resource available? What do you think?”

  “I would forgive him,” said Els.

  Seve gave her a weak smile. “It’s easy to say. Words are easy. But I pray you’ll never have to encounter how satisfying but hollow revenge can be. Why am I telling you this? You asked me if I hate the drug gangs. I say yes. Yes I do. Quite passionately. They make victims of the weak. They kill with impunity. They hurt anyone to make a profit. It means nothing to them because they are more powerful. How is this right? And it’s not about the drugs. People want to use drugs, that’s their choice. It’s not the best choice, but I believe in a personal freedom to live any way you want, even if it kills you. So it’s not the drugs. When I helped you last night. When I saved you, I told you it’s because I don’t like seeing a man force himself on a woman, someone weaker. I meant it. The cartels do this on a scale so great it turns my stomach. Forced prostitution, slavery, rape, kidnapping, despicable trade that leaves nothing but victims in its wake.”

  “But women aren’t weak. I’m not weak, and neither was your mother. Neither was your sister, Seve. Can’t you see that? We can’t all be victims of men. There is a struggle. And I think that I can see that you’re helping. You’re helping to make the oppressed stronger.”

  “Maybe you can see it. I still don’t think you like me, though. There’s something cold about you. It’s like you’re missing something. Your friend is too self-involved to notice it, but I can see it. You still don’t like me and you probably never will. You decided the first instant you met me that you would never like me. I feel like you could stick a knife in me and stop thinking about me the instant the blood turns cold, am I wrong? I don’t think so.”

  “That’s not true. Your story is very sad. I think you mean what you say, though.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Why should I squander what could be the beginnings of a friendship? Maybe we can understand each other after all. I saw how you were looking at these guns, you really admired them. You have some interest in artillery, yes?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I was raised on guns. I’m American, you can check my passport.”

  Seve grinned broadly. “Have you ever fired a rocket launcher?”

  Els gave him a bewildered look, “Of course not.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “You’re kidding. Really? Could I?”

  “I insist. Mexicans love fireworks, you know. And you can’t find a bigger boom than in here. What do you say?”

  Els smiled, “You know, I really am starting to like you more and more.”

  TWENTY

  Eliana resurfaced from the murky tides of sleep to find him staring at her from a darkened corner. He looked like he belonged there. The doctor. She had never seen a person look so comfortable in a dark confined space. It suited him, but better yet, beneath a rock would suit him more. He could do it, she thought, flatten himself out like something small and scaly, something that crawled on four legs, and he could burrow in beneath a loose stone and just disappear.

  “You’re awake,” it spoke, and braved a few steps toward her.

  The shades were drawn, she had no idea if it was day or night, how long she had been asleep. She was aware of a very pleasant and soft weight pressing down on her. Painkillers. Beyond that, past the opiate cushion, there was a burning on her left side, like being slashed with a hot razor that pulsed with the beat of her heart.

  “How do you feel?” the doctor asked.

  She felt violated in ways that she had never imagined possible. She felt like someone had cut her open, played around with her insides and sewn her back up, which is exactly what had happened.

  “Not too terrible, I guess.”

  “Good. That’s really good. You’re sore though?”

  She nodded her head. “I am. It hurts.”

  “It’s going to be like that for a while. Don’t sleep on that side, you know, thats not good for you. I don’t mean to be patronizing, most people would figure out that if something hurts then they shouldn’t do it. Some people though, you gotta tell them. So I’m telling you. Not that you needed it.”

  “Thanks. I won’t.”

  “There’s a salve,” he motioned to the floor by her bed. “It’s topical, you rub it on the scar. There’s pills. Some antibiotics. Help you heal, you know, from the inside. And these,” he pulled a plastic bottle of pills from his pocket and shook it. “Painkillers. Whenever you need them, don’t be shy- somebody will give you some.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can’t keep the bottle, though. In case you, you know, try to. . .”

  “Try to kill myself?” She finished his sentence.

  “Exactly. In case you try and kill yourself.” He put the pill bottle back in his pocket.

  “I’m not going to. You don’t have to worry about it. I want to live.”

  He walked closer to her, lifted her hospital gown up over the grotesque hump on her side. She caught a quick glimpse of what was beneath, before grimacing and turning her head. She shouldn’t have looked. The huge mass of raised flesh, the deepest black bruise she had ever seen, fading out to a plum colored corona around the edge. And running through the center was a twisting, Frankenstein-esque schism of red incision that had been sewn back together with what looked like black football laces.

  “This looks okay.” The doctor said to himself.

  Eliana begged to differ.

  She looked at the doctor, “I really do want to live, you know.”

  “Me too.”

  “But I’m not going to, am I? They’ll kill me as soon as I cross the border. As soon as they get what they want out of me, they’ll kill me and cut me open and dissolve me in a barrel of acid or something. I’m going to die.”

  He looked back at her with a severe expression, “I don’t know. These guys. These guys are crazy. Nobody is safe. You think I want to do this? You think I want to do this to people? cause I don’t. You know, they’ll kill me too if I don’t. They don’t care. I want to live, too. Just like you. I can’t fucking think sometimes, you know? It’
s like I got this fucking rusty sword hanging over me all the time, right over my fucking head, just dangling there, just dangling.”

  “It’s coming down slow,” said Eliana.

  “Slow,” he agreed. He pulled her gown back down and stood up. “Try and keep it clean. If you want some more of these,” he pulled the bottle out again and shook it like a baby’s rattle, “just ask, somebody will get them to you, I told them to, anyway.”

  He turned to leave. Before he opened the door he looked back at her, “They’ll kill us both. As soon as we stop being useful, they’ll kill us. So try and stay useful, I guess.” He opened his mouth like he had more to say, but he just shook his head. And then he was gone.

  Good advice, thought Eliana, and she closed her eyes.

  The table had been moved back to the dining area and they sat around it, Calisto, Primo, Gusano, two other heavies that Wade couldn’t name and an older white man he knew as Spears. Wade took the only available seat, the least desirable, directly across from Spears.

  He tried not to stare at the old man but it was like sitting across the table from a giant brown recluse with twelve flexing legs, something that demanded to be seen. Through a matter antithetical to self-preservation or maybe just sickening curiosity, he was impossible to ignore.

  He looked down at his plate, huarache, black beans. He could feel the old man staring back at him. It was like a challenge, daring Wade to look back up at him. Sometimes he thought the miserable old fuck enjoyed the way he looked, if not the way he looked, then certainly the effect he had on people.

  Spears was old school, from Texas. He was from the old cartels, the old vice, the cut-throat torture set that the new guys learned from and took to extremes. Spears was a currier, a runner, a mule. Cocaine, women, illegals, he carried them all across the border and he’d never been caught. He had an unmasked contempt for the illegals, not much use for women, but he had a fondness for cocaine that made him ungovernable by any employer. He fed his addiction with the stuff he was supposed to be smuggling, and, rumor had it, after a few too many light deliveries, probably not too many, his bosses had his nose and lips hacked off with a machete so he couldn’t use any more. Not unlike the way you’d castrate an aggressive dog, which was fitting, Wade thought, because these people were just dangerous animals who had figured out how to use tools. But what did that make himself? he wondered: a wild dog’s pet.

  Spears still made the runs, which baffled Wade. In a game where inconspicuousness was your greatest benefit, looking like a fucking monster should end it, but for Spears it didn’t. It seemed that the border patrol was as willing to inure themselves with his face as they would be to handle uncapped vials of Ebola. Wade imagined the border officers unlucky enough to deal with Spears waking up from frequent nightmares haunted by a man with a gaping black void in the middle of his face and a crude, scar-rimmed gash with slender yellow slivers, rotting ivory where his mouth should be.

  He glanced up again, reflexively, to look into that asymmetrical hollow with clinging and tarnished stalactites and stalagmites, grinding the huarache to a visible paste.

  “How is she?” Calisto asked him, he started, momentarily lost in Spears’ horrific visage, he forgot there were others with him at the table.

  He moved the beans around with his fork. “She’s recovering nicely. Infection is the primary concern, but routine diligence should alleviate any distress.I don’t see any problem having her mobile after a few days, depending on how she’s feeling.”

  Calisto nodded his head as he listened. “To be honest, the girl’s health is a secondary consideration for me. I’m more concerned with the drugs she’s carrying. And more than that, I’m concerned with the drugs she’s not carrying. You mentioned earlier that you were only able to get a little over one kilo into her. That’s not even a third of the shipment. I must say, I’m a little disappointed in you.”

  “It’s a little more delicate than that. This is surgery, for Christ’s sake. These are human beings, not some kid’s pinata. You bring me this fat girl, tell me to sew heroin inside her, regardless of the physics involved, regardless of her well-being- did you even know a person could survive such a thing?”

  Calisto looked into Wade’s eyes, deliberately, “I see a lot of people die. I know what kills a man, what his body is capable of bearing. How much the flesh can endure before the spirit tears away, leaves the body behind. Yes, I never had any doubt that a person could survive what we have done. I would even recommend we go further.”

  “No. Not with her. She’s done. She can’t handle any more.”

  “Are you telling me my business, doctor?”

  Wade put his hands together in a penitent gesture. “Of course not. But this is my opinion, as a doctor, that she is incapable of sustaining another subcutaneous implant. To put it simply: she’ll tear.”

  “Then what would you have me do? There is still more than two kilos to secure.”

  “I suggest someone else. Eliana, physically, she’s not an ideal body type for this kind of surgery. I would have told you that if you had given me a chance.”

  The look of displeasure was obvious on Calisto’s face. “Her body type is not ideal? Whose is? Maybe yours. Do you think you would be a good candidate for the procedure?”

  “No.” Wade whispered. He had been too blunt with Calisto. He would have to tread lightly from now on. “What I meant was, we need to find a woman more endowed, in her chest. If you brought me women like that I could implant a lot more than two kilos. No problem.”

  Calisto paused, mulling it over. “Big tits, huh? And you’re positive you can’t go any further with the Leon woman?”

  Wade shook his head. “It’s not possible. But if you find me a girl with large breasts, I can assure your shipment will be contained. And after the trial run, if everything is successful and you chose to continue with this operation, all you need to do is bring me the right sort of women and I’ll take care of the rest. You’ll make millions. I can guarantee it.”

  Calisto liked that, he liked how the idea of millions sounded. “Okay, big tits. We need big tits.” He turned to Gusano and the others, “You hear that, boys? Like any other day of your lives, you’re looking for a woman with big tits. You think you can handle it?”

  Gusano put his fork down on his plate. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, boss. Big tits that won’t look suspicious crossing the border. You want white girls, huh?”

  Calisto nodded before returning to his own plate.

  Wade felt like he’d just jumped out of the path of a runaway train. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and his hand was starting to tremble again. He held it under the table, hoping to be discreet. He felt Spears’ cruel eyes boring into him, wallowing in his apparent discomfort. He didn’t look up from his untouched plate until dinner was over.

  TWENTY ONE

  They were somewhere in the desert. With the safety thumbed off and the pin out, Els was holding a live grenade.

  “Toss it,” Seve urged.

  She lobbed it overhand and the three of them ducked behind the front of the tow truck.

  The explosion was a hard thud and they could feel the force of it through the truck.

  Els stood and watched the rising dust form a low cloud where the grenade had detonated, dissipating slowly, the particles hanging lazily in the air.

  “How did that feel?” Asked Seve.

  “Good,” Els admitted.

  “Just good?”

  “It’s amazing,” said Els.

  “I wanna go next,” Neesha demanded.

  Seve handed her a grenade. “You remember how to do it?”

  “You showed us like a million times, just let me do it.” She took the safety off, pulled the pin and hurled it a little less gracefully than Els, but with the same result.

  They dug in and waited for the concussive bang. The half-rolled windows shook from the explosion, and when they looked, all that was left behind was a plume of dust fading against th
e endless blue sky.

  “That is so fucking badass,” said Neesha rising. “I mean, I feel like fucking powerful. I really think I get guns now. Goddamn, I want to shoot a deer in the fucking face. I want to spit tobacco and punch a woman! If I had a dick, it would be rock-hard, flexing a bicep and shooting a tiny gun of its own.”

  She was was in exceptionally high spirits. Seve had told her he located the car and it had been designated for repair instead of being chopped and she would be driving it in a day or two. She looked at Els and smiled. Els smiled back, feeling the same exhilaration and thrill that discharging high explosives affords. She could feel a change as soon as Els and Seve left the Quonset hut. She didn’t know exactly what happened between them but she sensed that Seve had somehow disassembled a large part of Els’ defensive bulwark. In their short time away from her, the hatred and suspicion had vanished to be replaced, not with indifference, but active fondness. She actually liked Seve now! Neesha couldn’t be happier. They were all getting along, and Neesha felt like they were at the beginning of something magical.

  “So,” Neesha turned to Seve, “what’s next?”

  “What’s next? You’re not satisfied? You want more?”

  “We’re insatiable,” she put her arm around Els. “Right?”

  “Yeah, right,” Els said.

  “Alright then. How about some assault rifles? Will that quell your blood-lust?”

  Seve opened the cab, leaned in and produced an M-16 and one of the SAWs, gave one each to the girls after instructing Neesha on how to load and safely fire the M-16. Els seemed to be eerily familiar with firearms.

  “So, what do we shoot?” asked Neesha.

  “Anything but me. Try not to shoot each other, either.” There was an abandoned house in the distance, unpainted and swaybacked, rotting, part of the roof had collapsed. Seve pointed to it. “Fire some rounds into that. It’s impossible to miss.”