Edge Of The City:Chapter Five

EDGE OF THE CITY Chapter 5 July 22 Del Rio, Texas It was just before dawn, and already Galindo, Manuel, and Pedro knew they were having a bad day. Ten minutes after crossing the border for the first time, dirty, wet, and hungry, they were spotted by a border patrol helicopter. Following the plan, they split up and ran into the desert, but it was no use. The border patrol was suddenly everywhere, riding in Jeeps and on ATVs while searching the desert with their night-vision goggles. Twenty minutes after they had first seen the helicopter, Galindo, Manuel, and Pedro were reunited in the rear of a border patrol cage bus, along with ten other very recent immigrants. They were brought to the border patrol station at Del Rio, Texas, and fed some salami-and-cheese sandwiches before being fingerprinted, photographed, and interviewed. Their cover stories held up and, two hours after their arrival in the United States, they were unceremoniously dumped back into Ciudad Acuña, Mexico, ready for another try. They found a small cantina and talked strategy while they ate. Pedro and Manuel wanted to spend the day in Ciudad Acuna and try again that night, but Galindo was the group leader and he was worried. Their plane was leaving from San Antonio at seven the following morning and they had to be on it. The issue was never put to a vote. They were already running behind schedule, so Galindo decided they would try again at once, but this time they would cross at the alternate spot. He telephoned their contact person on the other side and told him of their plans. The contact said he would pick them up at the designated place. Then Galindo called for a taxi and the three of them waited outside. The taxi driver took one look at the disheveled condition of his passengers and asked, "Are you boys going to try again today?" "Yes," Galindo answered. "Take us west on La Avenida Cinco de Mayo to the city limit, then drive another four kilometers." "Whatever you say, but I know a better place," the taxi driver offered. "We'll try our place," Galindo answered curtly. The taxi driver followed Galindo's instructions and took the road out of town. It followed the Rio Grande, but three kilometers out of town the road veered southwest. Four kilometers from town they were a half-kilometer from the river. Galindo paid the driver, who told him, "The river is wide here. If you don't make it, give me a call this afternoon. We'll try my place." "We'll make it," Galindo said and the three headed across the desert to the river. The river was wide, but it was shallow. They waded across without a problem, scaled the fence on the United States side, crossed the border patrol road, and walked northeast through the hot desert. Although they saw helicopters and hid in the brambles as soon as they heard the rotors, they didn't see a single border patrol agent. After two miles they came to Route 90 and walked west, staying well off the road and out of sight. Galindo's calculations had been almost perfect. After walking five minutes, they came to the meeting spot, a dry creek bed that Route 90 bridged. They sat down and waited. They didn't have long to wait. At ten-thirty Ricardo Montoya pulled his blue van off the road at the east end of the bridge, got out, and opened the side door of the van. Montoya was a native Mexican-American, a local character in Del Rio, full-time thief and part-time smuggler of illegal aliens. He was a happy man that day, being well paid for this particular job. Galindo, Manuel, and Pedro scurried up the creek bank and into the side door of the van. Montoya closed the door after them and got behind the wheel. The back of the van was filthy, with used batteries and other auto parts littering the floor. There were also three new suitcases. "Welcome to los Estados Unidos ," he said as he headed east on Route 90, toward San Antonio. "Just kick those things aside and make yourselves comfortable." "You have the things we need?" Galindo asked. "Everything. The suitcases are yours. You can sit on them, if you want. It's going to take us about four hours to get to the airport." "What about the plane tickets and the money?" "Got them right here," Montoya said, pointing to a briefcase on the passenger seat. "Three to New York and three hundred dollars. Got some ID for you, too, and there's a cooler back there with some cold beers, courtesy of the house." Galindo was satisfied. The three sat down on their suitcases, ignoring the cooler. Montoya drove though Del Rio and was ten minutes past town when he slowed down. "Shit!" Montoya said. "We're being pulled over. You boys might be going back to Mexico today, but I'll pick you up again tonight, same place. Just don't say anything." Galindo heard a short siren burst and Montoya pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped, shutting off the van. Galindo positioned himself in the back so he could see behind the van through Montoya's sideview mirror. A white police car was behind them with the roof lights on. The policeman got out of his car with his pistol drawn and approached Montoya. "Whatcha doing, Ricardo?" he asked. "Just runnin' some wetbacks, Deputy, trying to make a living." "So I hear, but you've been falling a little behind on your traffic tickets. They tell me you owe six hundred sixty dollars as of today." "I got the money, Deputy. Just let me deliver this crew and I'll get right to the courthouse and pay. I swear to God I will," Montoya pleaded. It wasn't working for Montoya. "Gimme the keys," the deputy demanded. Montoya pulled the keys from the ignition and gave them to the deputy, who put them in his pocket and said, "C'mon out and let's see what you got back there." The deputy opened Montoya's door and Montoya got out. Galindo, Manuel, and Pedro watched through the windshield as the deputy followed Montoya to the right side of the van. Then Galindo shifted his position so that he could see the deputy and Montoya at the side door of the van through the sideview mirror. The deputy stood back with his gun raised as Montoya put his hand on the door handle. "Okay, open it up," the deputy ordered. The door swung open and Montoya stepped back. The three saw the deputy with his gun pointed inside at them. The deputy looked them over without apparent interest, then checked around the inside of the van. "Collecting a few batteries, aren't we now, Ricardo?" "They're all mine," Montoya insisted. "Got receipts for them?" "I can get them." "You're gonna have to," he told Montoya. Then to Galindo, Manuel, and Pedro he said, "You boys just sit tight and we'll have you back home before you know it," before he slammed the door closed. Galindo focused again on the passenger sideview mirror and heard the deputy say, "Sorry, Ricardo. I'm gonna have to take you in and impound your vehicle." "Please don't do this, Deputy Foster," Montoya pleaded. "Got to, Ricardo. You're what we call a persistent violator. Now turn around, lean against your vehicle, and assume the position." Galindo watched the mirror in horror as Montoya leaned against the side door of the van and Deputy Foster frisked him, still keeping his pistol on Montoya. "We're going to have to act," Galindo whispered to the others. "He's arresting him and taking the van." "So we'll go back to Mexico and try again tonight," Pedro quietly offered. "No," Galindo whispered. "Plans have been made and the American is going to be waiting at the airport in New York to pick us up." "This isn't our fault," Pedro protested, looking to Manuel for confirmation and support. He got none. Pedro stared at Galindo, his face showing his confused reaction to the turn of events. "We won't get to New York without money or plane tickets," Galindo whispered, urgently. "These cops won't let us keep that stuff. They'll ask too many questions, especially about the ID." Neither Pedro nor Manuel made a move as Galindo watched the deputy holster his gun and take out his handcuffs. "Felipe won't understand this," Galindo said. That did it. Discipline was strict and uncompromising in their army, and Felipe was not known as an understanding man. Pedro and Manuel rose from their suitcases. "What do you want us to do?" Manuel asked Galindo. "He put away his gun. When I tell you, open the door quickly and we'll jump him." Manuel put his hand on the side-door latch and Pedro stood behind him. The deputy had Montoya's arms behind his back and was handcuffing him as Montoya leaned forward with his head on the side door of the van. "Now!" Galindo yelled. Manuel quickly swung the door open and Montoya fell into the van. The deputy was still holding the cuffs and he was also pulled forward. Manuel, Pedro, and Galindo jumped over Montoya and swarmed over Deputy Foster. Manuel put him in a headlock while Galindo grabbed the deputy's gun, but he couldn't get it out of the holster. "Put him down," Galindo yelled. While Manuel held the deputy in the headlock, Pedro grabbed Foster's ankles from behind and pulled. Foster hit the ground with Manuel still holding on, but Foster was kicking and squirming while punching Manuel in the side. Galindo finally got the gun out. He put it to the back of Foster's head and fired one shot, killing him instantly. Galindo rolled the body over, went through Foster's pockets, and removed the van keys. Then he emptied the deputy's bullet pouches and pocketed the twelve bullets. Sitting up in the van with his legs hanging over the side and his hands cuffed behind him, Montoya was wide-eyed. "You boys shouldn't have done that," he said. "We're in a lot of trouble now." "No, you're in trouble now, you ignorant asshole," Galindo answered. He raised the pistol and shot Montoya in the right eye. Montoya fell back into the van and Galindo pushed his legs in. "Get him in, too," he said, pointing to Foster. Manuel and Pedro picked up Foster by the arms and legs and swung the body into the van on top of Montoya. The three men looked around them. Traffic was light and flowing smoothly in both directions. "You drive," Galindo ordered, giving the keys to Pedro. Galindo climbed into the passenger seat, Pedro got behind the wheel, and Manuel jumped into the rear of the van, closing the side door behind him. "Get us out of here," Galindo said as he replaced the two spent shells in Foster's gun. "We have to get off this road and get rid of this van." Pedro checked his side view mirror, saw that the road was clear, and pulled onto the highway, leaving behind them the empty police car with the flashing red roof-lights. What he didn't see was the small flashing red light on the video camera mounted on the dash of Deputy Foster's car. He didn't know that in response to a rash of murders of officers during car stops Texas had joined the video craze and that Foster, following the new standard procedure, had turned on his camera before he made his last car stop. * * * Felix Rathbone liked living off the beaten track. Being a simple man, he eschewed things like cable TV, VCRs, microwave ovens, and strangers in general. He figured he already knew more people than he ever wanted to and wished people would leave him alone. People generally did. Felix loved his simple farming life, which to him meant rising early, working hard, and living long. He was a man of few possessions, but those he had he cherished. They were his 1991 Mazda 626, his daughter Becky, his big hound Deadly, and his wife Sarah, in that order. Those few people in Val Verde County who ever bothered to think about Felix considered him normal in all ways, except for the Mazda. Like them, Felix believed in buying American, and he could proudly state that he had never been in a Radio Shack in his life. But there was the Mazda, always parked directly outside his living room window. Felix never tried to explain it to them because he didn't understand it himself. He just loved the car. Sarah was in the kitchen mashing up some sweet potatoes for her sweet potato pie, the thing Felix liked best about her. He was in the living room listening to the farm report and petting Deadly when he heard the car pull off County Road 621. He took the normal precaution of getting his shotgun from the hall closet and putting the leash on Deadly. Then he stood at his front door with his dog and watched the blue van come slowly up his long driveway. Sarah was watching from the kitchen window and yelled to him, "There's two of them in there. Be careful." Felix was perturbed when the van parked next to his Mazda. The driver came out and was walking toward the front door when Felix came out onto his front porch, his shotgun cradled in his right arm and holding Deadly's leash with his left hand. Deadly didn't like the man, or anyone else for that matter, and was straining at the leash. The man stopped in his tracks, twenty feet from the porch. "I'm not hiring pickers till August," Felix said. "Come back then." The man stood there with his hands at his sides, saying nothing. "I said come back next month," Felix repeated as Deadly snarled. "Now get outta here." The man just stood there. Felix descended the porch steps with Deadly leading the way, growling and pulling. Galindo was sitting in the van, the deputy's .357 Magnum ready, staring at Pedro's back. He could no longer see Felix and the dog, which meant they couldn't see him. He whistled and Pedro dropped instantly to the ground. Galindo stuck his gun out the window and fired one round through Felix's chest, but Felix remained standing and released the dog. Deadly bounded over Pedro and ran straight toward the van. Galindo took aim and fired again. The bullet caught Deadly in the chest in midstride and he slid forward on the ground. He wasn't getting up. Galindo switched his aim back to Felix's chest, but didn't fire. He saw that Felix was dead but didn't know it yet. Felix dropped his shotgun, brought both hands to the hole in his chest, and fell forward, just as Galindo heard a door slam at the back of the house. He jumped out of the van and yelled, "Take his gun and check the house!" Pedro picked up the shotgun and Manuel slid open the side door of the van as Galindo ran to the back of the house. He saw Sarah fleeing through the cotton field in back. She was fifty and overweight, but running for her life and moving fast, about 100 yards from the house. Galindo took off after her, pacing himself. Her endurance surprised him and it took him almost two minutes to catch her. Pedro and Manuel were searching though the drawers in the kitchen when they heard the shot. There were so many keys, but none of them looked like car keys. Manuel went back to search the bedrooms and Pedro was searching through a chest of drawers in the living room when Galindo came in. "Did you find them?" he asked. "Not yet." Galindo turned and walked out the front door to Felix's body. He stuck his hand in Felix's front pants pocket and removed a single key. * * * Becky Rathbone was driving home on County Road 621, still a mile from her house, when she saw her father's car coming toward her. She slowed down and beeped as the car with three men inside passed her. She hit the gas and drove home as fast as she dared. Sheriff Jefferson Davis Parker was the high law in Val Verde County, and he figured he was in the perfect place to deal with the distressing information coming over his radio. He had been in Barksdale that morning getting a mobile phone installed in his cruiser when his office called him with the news about Deputy Foster. Reserve Deputy Looney had come upon the empty cruiser on Route 90 and had played back the videotape. A statewide alarm had been put out for three male Hispanics in Ricardo Montoya's panel van. The sheriff had been headed to his office in Brackettville to handle the emergency when the call came in from Becky Rathbone. Her father was dead, she couldn't find her mother, the blue van with Montoya's and Foster's bodies was in her front yard, and three men were headed north on County Road 621 in her father's Mazda. So the Sheriff had settled in on County Road 418, 100 yards from where it crossed County Road 621 and 15 miles north of the Rathbone place. He figured these three fellas were heading north to Interstate Highway 10, which ran from San Antonio to El Paso, and also thought it likely they would stay on the back roads. Parker loosened his Ithaca Model 12 pump-action shotgun and his Winchester Model 70 .30-06 rifle in their holders attached to the dashboard and was unwrapping one of his imported Mexican Te-Amo cigars when the Mazda crossed the intersection, still headed north on County Road 621. He slipped his cruiser into Drive. Pedro was driving with Galindo in the front passenger seat and Manuel sitting in the back behind Pedro. Pedro checked his rearview mirror and announced, "There's another police car behind us." Galindo and Manuel turned in their seats just in time to see Sheriff Parker put on his roof lights. Then Galindo made the first in a series of mistakes. "Lose him," he ordered, and Pedro floored the gas pedal, letting all of the Mazda's 120 horses loose on County Road 621. Behind them, Sheriff Parker chuckled as the Mazda shot forward. Knowing that County Road 621 went straight as an arrow for the next ten miles, he stayed behind the Mazda as he lit his cigar. Then he goosed the accelerator and activated the 300 horses that lived in the ram-charged Dodge 440-cubic-inch engine under the sheriff's hood. Ten seconds later Pedro, Galindo, and Manuel were staring at the shotgun barrel the sheriff was holding out the passenger window as both cars proceeded north, side by side at 110 miles an hour. "What should we do?" Pedro asked, panic-stricken. Galindo made his second mistake. "He doesn't know anything about us, probably thinks we're just speeders. Keep going. They don't shoot people for speeding in the United States." But Sheriff Parker did know something about them. Although he wasn't particularly fond of Deputy Foster because Foster had threatened to run in the next election for sheriff, Foster was still a lawman and entitled to a certain amount of respect, which these three gentleman certainly hadn't given him. And although he didn't understand Felix's preference in vehicles, Sheriff Parker had still liked him since Felix was a lifelong resident of Val Verde County, a registered Democrat, and, incidentally, a second cousin to Lyndon Baines Johnson, twice removed. And perhaps most important, although these three men in the car next to him were theoretically in the United States of America, they were actually in Texas. The shotgun blast tore into the side of the Mazda, peppering the driver's side with buckshot and causing multiple lacerations to Manuel's face and left side. As the sheriff pumped another round into his shotgun, Galindo made his third mistake. "Ram him," he ordered Pedro. It is doubtful that Galindo had ever seen the TV commercial that proclaimed Mazda to be the safest car in America, and if he had, he probably didn't know that this claim is based on driving a 2,000-pound test Mazda into a solid brick wall at five miles an hour, not into a 3,000-pound Dodge Police Cruiser Special while traveling at 110 miles an hour. The Mazda careened off the side of the Dodge like a billiard ball off a rail. As it bounced out of the drainage ditch that ran along the side of County Road 621 and headed into the desert, it overcame gravity for a full four seconds before it reentered the atmosphere and headed back to earth in an unhealthy nose-first attitude. At the moment of impact, Galindo, Pedro, and Manuel exited their vehicle via the windshield. The Mazda teetered on its nose, threatening to crush the three recent occupants, then fell back, landing on all four wheels with Galindo, Pedro, and Manuel lying in front of the car. Galindo was the first to wake up. Bleeding from the head with his face a mass of abrasions, at first he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened. He stared stupidly at his two unconscious companions lying on the ground next to him and then down at the gun still in his hand. It all came back to him as he saw the police cruiser on County Road 621 make a slow U-turn and head back toward them. Galindo forced himself to his feet and staggered into the desert. He heard the cruiser stop on the road behind him and heard the door open and close. The next thing he heard was the sound of the .30-06 round pass over his head. And then Galindo made his final mistake. Gun in hand, Galindo turned around and irrevocably enrolled himself in the patent-pending Sheriff Jefferson Davis Parker Weight Reduction Program, a program that operated on the theory that to lose a lot off weight quickly, first you have to gain a little. Galindo momentarily gained an ounce as the .30-06 round tore through his chest, broke two ribs, severed his aorta, and exited his back. But as his body lay faceup on the ground, Galindo lost four pounds when most of his blood was soaked up by the sand as it flowed from the new large hole in his back. Sheriff Parker's mood darkened as he approached the two men lying in front of the heap of scrap. His cigar had gone out. With every molecule in his body screaming in pain, Pedro could still hear him say, "Goddamn Mexican cigar. You silly people just can't do anything right, can you?"