Chapter 29

Table of Contents

The Love Machine clunked and clattered its way uphill toward the crusty caravan of off-road vehicles blocking the heavily rutted road ahead. The straining motor backfired and threw out a puff of noxious white smoke from the tailpipe, making Tony wonder how many other people, those making a pilgrimage up here to admire the pristine glory of mother earth, were gross polluters like him. Then he saw the size of the conclave ahead and wondered if he should be worrying instead about making a U turn back down the hill. He feared no man but hell, you had to pick your battles.

The decision came a little too late. He was getting old, he was losing his instincts. Just as he swung the wheel to begin heading in the opposite direction, in his rearview he saw that three other members of the Freedom Frontiersmen had already worked around behind him, blocking his retreat.

"Mother fuckers," he growled. Oh well, he would just have to bluff his way out. Wouldn't be the first time.

Of course,Eddy was standing on the roadside ahead, smiling and smacking his chewing gum open mouthed, revealing magnificent dental work. Tony pulled up along beside him and put on a fearless grin to match, then rolled down the window for a fist pump.

"Well, well, well." Eddy beamed. "Look who turned up. Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah, fancy that. What up homey."

"You're a hard man to find when you want to be. Going camping?"

"What, are you the forest ranger now? Is this a convention for people trying to conserve water, let's save the planet by never taking a bath? Aren't you kiddies a little far from your usual playground?"

As usual, Eddy's smile was relentless and disarming. "Tony, Tony, Tony you always was the clever one, wasn't you. What I wouldn't give for your gift of gab. I would have been G Gordon Liddy or F Scott Fitzgerald, or whoever that famous lawyer is who only uses his initials."

"I think you mean F Lee Bailey," Costello said from the sidelines.

"That's it, that's the one, thank you for that," said Eddy, but his grin turned down its volume just a little. "So where were you going, Tony?"

"I was heading up north toward Nunya."

"Nunya? Whereś that?

"You know, Nunya fucking business!" They both laughed hysterically, all the while Tony thinking what a pendejo this guy was for falling for that tired joke about 30 years after it first came out. Then the laughter petered out, and Eddy stood there looking at him.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?"

"Well where were you going?"

"I told you. You want me to repeat the same stupid joke? What are you, the cops, pulling Mexican guys over just because they're out driving around, looking at the scenery? You guys aren't the only ones who get to go camping. You know who camped here first, right here in this same spot?"

Eddy grinned and popped his gum. "I give up. Who camped here?"

"Cochise," Tony said with dead seriousness. "Mother fucking Cochise."

Eddy put his hand on the Love Machine and leaned in closer. "You're telling me mother humping Cochise parked it right here to go camping?"

"Yeah, he parked his Winnebago right over there where that asshole is standing, defiling sacred ground. I'm half Apache, you know. I got a right to be here, but you mother fuckers are seriously pissing off the thunder gods by polluting their sacred mountain."

Eddy had no desire to be talked off point like this. "You're half Apache and I'm straight outta Compton. Look Tony, we got some things to discuss."

"Like what?"

"Like your critter collection, for starts."

"What, you a game warden now too? What do you care about my critters?"

"Oh, I am intensely interested in all the wonders of the natural world. And I overheard somewhere you added a new critter to your collection, recently."

Tony considered. "I did get a new critter, as a matter of fact. It's called a Catalina Eddy bug. It's a worm that shits out of its mouth then tries to crawl up your asshole."

Eddy took his hand off the Love Machine and leaned back. "Well, I imagine it's awful lonely in the desert for those Catalina Eddy bug, just looking for a cozy dark place where they can get out of the sun. Put yourself in their shoes, except they ain't got shoes because they're worms! But I'm thinking more along the lines of two-legged critters. Have any two-legged critters come crawling out of the desert around where you are?"

"Where I am? I'm here, in case you didn't notice. And if you don't mind, I think I'll be leaving. I'm not in the mood for camping anymore. You guys fuck up the scenery."

Eddy leaned in again. "How inhospitable, not to mention anti social, that you don't want to share these grand vistas of our lovely planet with these humble working people gathered here. But perhaps I should have been more specific. This two-legged critter would have crawled out of the desert a few months ago, while you were still a resident of Cornudo's newly remodeled hospitality establishment, the Gasden Motel. Come on Tony, tell us where the kid is. I think you’re hiding him somewhere with you.”

“I’m not into that sicko human trafficking shit. Why don’t you ask someone who is. Why don’t you ask your jefe Danny.”

Eddy grimaced. Any implication that he was not his own man rankled him.

“I have spoken to your brother about the matter, under the auspices of our mutual partnership. Mr. Valero assures me he knows nothing about any such child. He has his feelers everywhere around Cornudo, and the child is not there. Which means, he is probably under your tender care. Strikes me as odd that you would up and take a vacation, right about the time news of this kid comes out. Where is he?”

“Everything about you strikes me as odd. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm out of here." Tony grabbed the wheel of the Love Machine, but Eddy reached in and shut the engine off. Tony reared back and punched Eddy in the chin, but in the confined space couldn't get any extension. Eddy staggered but did not fall. His smile grew even broader.

"Well now we're going to have some fun. Get him out of there, boys!"

The militiamen of the Freedom Frontier stormed the Love Machine to do their patriotic duty. Tony bit, kicked, grabbed for testicles and poked at eyeballs, but was overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The Freedom Frontiersmen pulled Tony out by the legs, then stood him up with his face against the side of the Love Machine. Looking upon Tony in this helpless posture, Eddy once more began to pontificate.

"Such a shame we can't all be friends and help one another when need arises. I'm afraid the good Lord looks down upon his little children and weeps in times such as these, when we have to play rough to get results."

Tony's heavy breath drew little halos of condensation against the chassis of the Love Machine that instantly evaporated into the thirsty desert air. He continued to struggle and kick and curse, but there were at least five goons with a hand on him, and a dozen more forming a ring around his body, lest he should try to bite his way out, which he was known to do.

"Now let's see," said Eddy. "I believe we had some unfinished business to attend to, from the last time we were camping in this shady vale. Drop his britches, boys!"

"Get your hands off of me you fucking faggits!" Tony roared, but the Freedom Frontiersmen were already unfastening his belt and unsnapping his trousers, whooping in anticipation.

Eddy stood with a huge bulge in his khaki shorts, being clearly up for the occasion, but like the revival preacher he once had been, he had to fire up the faithful before the come to Jesus moment. "Let's see, what was that Star Wars movie where that smartest man in the world put some kind of alien bug in that dude's brain to get him to talk? I think we'll do something like that here, except we'll stick the bug up his butt. Then maybe he'll talk."

Eddy began to undo his belt. Costello rolled his eyes. "It was Star Trek Wrath of Khan. I think you're trying to say the most interesting man in the world, not the smartest man in the world, except it wasn't him either, it was Ricardo Montalban. Ricardo Montalban died in 2009. The most interesting man in the world is Johnathan Goldsmith. You got to be careful with that kind of stuff. You offend people and stereotype ethnic groups."

Eddy´s hands stalled on his zipper, which he had been in the process of pulling down. "Goldsmith? You mean to tell me the most interesting man in the world is a Jew? Hold him down good, boys."

"I'm going to chop off your testicles slowly, you goddam homo," Tony hissed through his clenched teeth.

"Now now Tony," Eddy said in a soothing voice. "I just want you to know we are strictly opposed to sodomy as a general rule, and only employ it as a last resort to punctuate a point. I think you will find that it only hurts the first time. If you have been going to the doctor for your annual finger wave, as recommended by current medical guidelines for men your age, that should ease the transition significantly. I don't think this will last long. There's something about you that gets me real excited."

The men of the FF screeched and hollered, waving their weapons like a band of mujaheddin atop a captured Soviet tank. Eddy finished pulling down his pants, and had just placed his member against Tony's bare cheeks when a warning rose from the throng.

"Border Patrol!" the cry sounded.

Three jeeps were driving up the hill, flashing lights.

"Where the hell did they come from?" Eddy grudgingly retracted his zipper. "Somebody tipped them off. Let him up!"

The Freedom Frontiersmen released their grip on Tony, who slid his own pants into place before turning a threatening scowl toward Eddy.

"Now Tony," said Eddy. "we don't have to get law enforcement involved in our misunderstandings.”

"Don't worry," Tony answered. He had murder in his eyes. "I'm going to kill all of you myself, one by one. Law enforcement will only get in the way. They will want me to respect your civil rights, and I don't plan on doing that. The more I violate your civil rights, the better it will be. You’ll wish it was just a butt fucking, when I get done.”

The three jeeps parked so they could block the escape of the FF. Six agents got out, wearing only sidearms. Their firepower looked pathetic alongside that of the Frontiersmen, but the FF wasn’t dumb enough to shoot at Federal agents.

"What's going on here?" asked Hal Owen, looking like Spud Webb playing point guard on the all undersized NBA first team.

"Morning, Hal," said Eddy, keeping his hands down in his pants to cover his persistent wood. "Funny how we keep meeting like this. You're an awful long way from Yuma, aren't you?"

Hal didn't answer. His grim face indicated that he would prefer to ask the questions. Eddy went on. “We were just having a little picnic, officer. A regular multicultural picnic with our friend Tony here. The Freedom Frontiersmen is all about multiculturalism.”

Hal rubbed his beard stubble and surveyed the unbathed riff raff around him. "It looks like more of a lynching to me. What happened?" he asked Tony.

"Oh, we really were having a fucking picnic," Tony said.

"Well gentlemen, I hate to rain on your little picnic, but as a Federal officer on Federal land, I am going to ask you all to leave. There’s a high fire danger today. No picnicking. Clear it out."

"You got it, big man," said Eddy, but he gave Tony a cross-eyed we'll talk later look.

As the militiamen groaned, cursed and spat their way into their various conveyances, Hal leaned into Tony, who was sitting on the front seat of the Love Machine with his legs hanging out the door. The word Love in the car's moniker had almost taken on a new meaning, but he was just glad these fuckers had not found the kid. The other kid, Mike, must be keeping him safe. Maybe the pussy-whipped bastard had more brains than he gave him credit for. "Don't get too close," Tony warned Hal. "I've had enough with dudes leaning all over me today. I don't want to throw up on your spit-shined shoes. But my asshole thanks you it is still a virgin."

"Listen Tony," Hal said softly. "I'm going to escort you down this hill, then I'm going to give you a head start to Mexico. You got to go down there and hide."

"What are you talking about? I ain't going to Mexico. I ain't done nothing wrong. Let that faggit baboon go to Mexico. Hopefully they'll butt rape him down there, just the way he likes."

The volume of Hal's voice lowered still more. "They've got your fingerprints on the tarp they took off the dead body of that woman they found in the desert. And your DNA is on it too."

Tony squinted - not from sunlight, but from bullshit.

"Dude, I was framed. Somebody stole that tarp out of the back of the kid's truck. It has my DNA because of, you know, reasons of personal intimacy. But I didn't kill nobody. You know that, or you wouldn’t give me a head start.”

"I do know that," said Hal. "That's why I'm giving you this chance to run. AZ Public Safety is going to railroad you. You've got to get out now."

"Well ain't that some shit," Tony complained. He pulled himself into the car completely and shut the door. "This sucks."

"Only for a little while. We'll clear your name."

"Fuck off," said Tony, smiling as he flipped his friend a good natured bird, before turning the vehicle back down the hill.

"That's the spirit," said Hal.

As he bumped and jostled his way back to the highway, Tony's mind raced with plans on how he was going to evade the law. The Love machine had good clearance, but a very weak suspension. Each violent rut ended with Tony coming down hard on his rear end, causing his outraged ssshole to pucker defensively.

Tony wallowed in a lukewarm pool of uncharacteristic self-pity. His whole life he had been kicked around from place to place, swept out at the point of a boot like a stray dog. Since his mother died he had only been half-ass accepted by her kinfolk, tolerated like a bastard waif that had crawled in from the desert. Had he, in fact, crawled in from the desert? People had told him, mostly drunken assholes in bars who had come out on the losing end of a battle of wits or fists, that his mother was not even his mother. She had found him wrapped up inside a clump of cactus. Or a coyote had dragged him in from the creosote by the scruff of the neck. The legends about him abounded, and he had never denied them, because they enhanced his mystique. Some of the older Mexican viejas even crossed themselves when he passed by, murmuring that he was a demon from the desert. Some of these busybody old women avered that a particularly hot southern wind had impregnated his mother, who was probably a witch.

These questions about his parentage, or lack thereof, had given Tony a fuck you attitude toward everybody.

He didn't have time to think about that now. Fiddle-dee-dee, he would think about that tomorrow. Right now, he had to come up with an escape plan. Sadly enough, he couldn't cross the border in the loveless Love Machine. Every law enforcement agency from here to Texas had his plates and would be looking for him. Luckily, he knew of an abandoned drug tunnel in Santa Cruz county, once used by his brother before the heat started spying on it. He would park the Love Machine in the rickety aluminum warehouse where the tunnel started, then crawl through to Mexico.

But shit, he just couldn't leave without warning Mike to be careful, could he? For some reason, Eddy was on the prowl for the Little Fucker. Why was that? Why should he care about the boy? Because he and his merry band of fudge-packing goons had killed the kid's mother, that's why. Rumors abounded surrounding the FF killing harmless folks. Immigrants had been found dead, literally in the shadow of aid stations. That's why the illegals called them lobos blancos, white wolves, because they would harry the heels of migrants, wolf pack style, until they collapsed of exhaustion. This incident with Little F's Mom confirmed it. Eddy suspected the boy had seen something and he wanted him gone, just in case he could communicate. The heartless bastards weren’t past killing a kid.

Tony was pondering all of these things, wondering whether to return to Cornudo to warn the kid or dash to Mexico to save his own hide, when flashing lights again showed up, this time in his rearview mirror.

"Shit, already?" he said.

Santa Cruz County Sheriff Dustin Diesel was so thoroughly tired of the whoop of helicopter blades that he heard them even when they weren't there. The resonating sound had been so completely battered into his brain that he feared it had been permanently planted into his brain, like tinnitus, but with helicopter whoop. Well, at least it drowned out the ringing in his ears caused by Doris's persistent, high pitched shrieks. Even so, he wished the Feds would find whatever they were looking for and wrap this up, because his job was hard enough already.

Dustin Diesel had been quite happy being Sheriff of sleepy Apache County, but Doris insisted he run for the top spot in Santa Cruz, because that's where the action is. How, she said, do you think Sheriff Joe in Maricopa started making national headlines, by hiding his head in the sand? Dustin didn't want to make any headlines. He didn't need any Rolling Stone reporters riding his ass about abusing drug-dealing, murderous, sociopath thugs that needed to be locked up. But Doris was nothing if not persistent. She constantly hung the threat of going back to mother over his head, even though her mother was 20 years in the tomb. That didn't deter Doris, she swore she would join Mama, one way or another, if Dustin shamed her by settling for a mediocre jobs.

All of this stress made Dustin's heart flutter. He reached over into the cruiser glove compartment for his vial of heart pills. His doctor told him he was 50 pounds overweight, a cardiac arrest waiting to happen. To increase the burden on Dustin's strained ticker even more, now he had this extra extra-curricular activity to contend with. He wished he had the temperament to tell the Feds to go straight to hell, and to tell Doris to go straight to her Mama, if she felt so inclined.

Dustin was cruising in a south westerly direction on highway 82, just northeast of Patagonia. The rolling brushland of the high desert whipped past his window. When he was a boy, he had liked to go on secret birdwatching expeditions in these hills. He had told his folks he was going quail hunting and taken his shotgun, but had never shot a thing. Instead, he spotted new birdies in his binoculars and scratched them off in his little book. Of course, he couldn't tell his folks that. They would have wrote him off as a queer. He sure did miss those days.

Up ahead in the distance, instead of a shimmering light, Dustin saw the slowly growing silhouette of an older model SUV, what one would call a gross polluter, spewing puffs of toxic smoke into the otherwise clean desert air. The vehicle was right about where Dustin had calculated it would be about this time. He turned on his flashers.

The driver put on a little burst of speed and then finally slowed down, apparently having realized his rusty, smoke spewing jalopy was no match for the sheriff's police cruiser.

The Ford Explorer pulled to the side of the road. Dustin pulled in behind, but he didn't call in the plates. As he got out he carried his shotgun along as a precaution because this was the Gadsden Purchase, after all.

"Hello, officer," a smiling Tony Vargas said. "Would you like to see my license and registration?"

"Sir, I would like you to get out of the car, and put your hands against the vehicle." Tony complied cheerfully, and Dustin put the handcuffs on him. "I am arresting you the murder of Rashil Babouk," Dustin said after he cuffed him.

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Photo by author, from harbor freight catalog