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At the plaza, Bobby rolled down his window and several men sitting in the shade of a small mesquite waved and called to him, “Hola, Roberto.”
He stopped and walked over to them, leaving Hunter in the car with the windows down. He called to a young boy and gave him some money. Hunter watched the boy scamper across the plaza and enter a small, whitewashed adobe with faded black letters above the door that read CA INA.
Faint music came from inside. Hunter recognized the song, El Lobo Y La Tejana. Jesus Christ.
The boy emerged holding six dripping wet beer bottles clutched to his chest. Bobby took them and gave all but one to the men. He gave the boy a tip that made the child grin before he ran away to join some friends. Bobby and the men talked for several minutes, the men using their hands to gesture as they talked. When he was finished, Bobby shook their hands and slid into the Land Cruiser.
“Whew, I should have left the keys with you,” Bobby said as he started the car and turned the air conditioner on high. He pulled his shirt away from his chest and wiggled it to cool himself. “Not real good news,” he said as he turned on the road that led out of the village and continued downriver. “The three women came into town last night with the Barbosas, you know them?”
“Heard of them. Small time is about all I can remember.”
Bobby nodded, “Yeah, that’s them. Most of the time they make their money stealing livestock from the Texas side and selling it over here. Sometimes they shoot the cattle, take the best cuts and sell the meat. They’ll smuggle people, too, but not that often. Usually do it around Consuelo, that area, across from Maravillas Canyon on the US side. Bad thing is, most of the time they just take all the money the aliens have and leave ‘em, and there’s nothing at Consuelo anymore but a few abandoned jacales.” He glanced at Hunter, “The other thing is that they tend to do what they want with women who don’t have men with them.”
“How far is it to Consuelo, and how far do you think we’re behind ‘em?”
“Thirty more miles, maybe. I figure we’re an hour or so behind.”
“You need to cut the time,” Hunter said. She waited a moment as Bobby sped up, then asked, “What do they look like?”
“You can’t miss them. They’re brothers, but look like twins. Big bellied, lots of curly black hair and sideburns down to here,” He touched the bottom of his jaw. “They’ve got eyebrows that look like one big caterpillar, you know, growing together between their eyes, and they have big droopy moustaches. They’re both over six feet, weigh two-eighty or more, big and fat, but bull-strong, too. They both think they’re real ladies’ men.”
“You better push it a little harder.”
***
Anda and the two women sat close together in the back of the old Suburban. All the seats were folded down and they were positioned in the middle of a debris pile comprised of oily rags, rusty tow chains, bent nails, a plastic milk crate filled with pots, pans, a half-full sack of charcoal briquettes, and a large box of wooden matches. Quart cans of oil, empty and full, rolled around. There were used spark plugs, a leaky plastic jerry can sloshing half-full with gasoline, empty beer cans, dirty styrofoam Dairy Queen cups with the plastic lids and straws still in them, a plastic funnel, and several worn and oil-smeared adult magazines among the mess. The Barbosas swigged steadily from a canteen. Anda smelled tequila along with gas, oil and filth.
The two women were worried, being the main object of the Barbosa’s leering remarks and promises of what was to come. The oldest woman was close to tears. Jesse Barbosa put his big hand over the backrest and squeezed the woman’s thigh through her dress, massaging it and moving his hand high, his fingers pushing the cloth between her legs. She tried to shove his hand away and Jesse said in Spanish, “You know you want it, mamacita, and I’m going to give it to you.”
Johnny Barbosa, driving and looking in the rearview mirror at them, grinned and said, “We’re going to make a sandwich out of you. You’ll be the meat, we’ll be the bread. I bet you like that, uh?”
Jesse said to the other woman, “Don’t worry, baby, we’ll have plenty of fun with you, too.” He then looked at Anda, and talked to his brother in English, “Maybe save the kid for last. Break her in right with some real men, uh, Johnny?” They both laughed and took turns on the canteen.
Ten minutes and much constant groping and talk later, Anda watched Johnny moving his head to the left and right, looking for a good place to pull off the road. She made a small hand motion for the women to move to the side, and then she scooted closer to the front. Both of the Barbosas looked at the road ahead.
Anda picked up the biggest empty Dairy Queen cup, took off the lid and moved the cup against the plastic jerry can. She took a rusty nail and twisted the point against the side, making a hole where the gas came out in a small gold stream into the cup. When it was full, Anda slid a towel-sized oily rag under the stream, but didn’t plug it. She put the plastic lid back on the cup and held it between her knees while she reached in the milk crate for the box of matches, never taking her eyes off the two men.
Johnny pointed to a dirt trail that cut off and went into a small clump of mesquite and head-high brush fifty yards off the river road. They slowed and turned on it, Jesse building himself up, saying, “Oh yeah, gonna be sweet time now. Gonna be some sweet time, yeah.” The Suburban slowed to a stop, hidden from the road by the mesquite and greasewood.
As the two men turned and looked over the backrest, Anda swung the gas-filled cup in an arc. The lid popped off and gasoline hit both men in the face and covered their chests, the dashboard, and much of the front seat and floorboard. Anda opened the door beside her and struck a match, holding it outside, away from the fumes.
The sound of the match caused both men to stop sputtering and wiping at their faces. They blinked at Anda through tears streaming out of bloodshot eyes. Anda held the match with the tip a little down, letting the yellow flame work up the wooden stem. She told the women to get out, and they scurried through the other door, trotting twenty yards away before stopping and looking back.
Anda backed out of the door and stood with her head bent
a little to look in at the men. The match was going well, with a strong yellow flame.
Johnny said, “Okay,” like he understood, “We’re leaving.”
“No,” said Anda, and she tossed the match on the towel-sized rag as she jumped away.
A muffled Whump blew out the rear window, and translucent yellow flame licked high out of the open doors and windows. The Barbosas yelled and scrambled out on their hands and knees, circling to meet each other at the front of the car, with the tequila canteen dangling from Johnny’s neck like an Olympic medal.
The back of Jesse’s head was on fire and the soaked hair burned fierce and fast, the flames fluttering from his head like yellow flags in a breeze.
Johnny’s shirt oozed smoke as if it was ready to combust, but no flames showed. He took off the canteen, tossed it down and tackled Jesse. They hit the ground and Johnny tossed handfuls of gravel and dust on Jesse’s head to put out the flames.
Anda walked toward the men with another match and motioned them ahead of her. The car was roaring now, and they moved further from the heat. Some of the brush and grass ignited, sending white smoke to blend with the black cloud boiling from the vehicle. Anda had the men sit under a mesquite.
