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“He said they kept one van away from the others, and they kept one of the black men at the door the entire time. But to answer your question, he said no, they saw no white women.”
I said, “What color was the van?”
“Light blue.”
“I don’t guess he knew where they were going next, did he?”
Derek nodded, “Bakersfield.” He started the engine and we left Mojave with Hondo and I watching for the two cartel members as we passed the city limits sign.
Chapter 5
The drive was uneventful, and as we passed through the mountains and out into the Central Valley, the agricultural fields surrounding Bakersfield glowed in various shades of green, with each field showing a specific color within its brown, dusty road borders.
Derek said, “This is a huge area to check. Any ideas?”
I said, “Drive through the fields, find any likely people and ask them. Only thing I can think of at this stage.”
No one else said anything, so that’s what we did. We got sullen looks and silent people, then a few friendly people willing to talk but
knowing nothing, a foremen who wanted us out of their work area, and a couple of undocumented men who asked us to take them to Los Angeles, saying they would make it worth our while.
Later, at another field, we stopped near three older Hispanic women beside a small fire covered with a metal grate propped up on bricks. Meat roasted on it, along with peppers, onions, and a pot of homemade tomato salsa. They sold small, delicious tacos. Two women patted out the corn tortillas as we watched and the third woman put them on a flat sheet of tin on one side of the fire to cook. They didn’t know anything either, but we all bought tacos and relished every bite as we continued searching. I ate five. Hondo called me a glutton, but I didn’t care, they tasted that good.
When the sun’s edge dropped behind the western mountains, Derek said, “We can’t do any good in the dark. I’ll get us rooms for the night and we can start again in the morning.”
Troy said, “The Padre Hotel is a good place to stay.”
We made it to the hotel just as the sun disappeared and city lights glowed. Troy made a grand gesture at the front desk, saying to the woman behind it, “I’ll pay for it all. You boys don’t have to want for anything while you’re with me.”
I thought about his cut in allowance and said, “Cristal Champagne for each, please. Have them send it up.” Troy paled a little. I made a fist and bopped him on the shoulder, “It’s a joke, Troy Boy, I’m yanking your chain.”
He didn’t look too sure, but said, “Hah, that was a funny one, Ronny.” The others grinned. We agreed to meet a half hour later and find somewhere to eat, and after that, a place where we could talk about what we needed to do next.
We wound up eating at the hotel, in the Belvedere Room, which had excellent food. I ordered the Tiger Prawns and slapped Hondo’s hand for trying to pilfer one off my plate. After eating, we went to Troy’s room to talk, something called The Oil Baron room, and space enough for all of us to be comfortable. It even had a wet bar, which Troy evidently enjoyed upon check in as I spotted four tiny vodka bottles lying on their sides, all of them empty.
We were all tired. For several minutes we sat in silence, drinking whatever concoction Troy put in front of us. Mine was something in a clear, beer-like bottle called a Lime-a-Rita. It tasted okay, but not something I’d order on my own.
Troy broke the silence first, saying, “I used to have some great times in this town, back when I was a teenager. My friends and I would pile in a van and leave the beach after riding some waves at dawn to come up here.”
I asked, “What was there to do up here for a teenage surfer?”
Troy pantomimed taking a drag on a doobie, “Some fine grass around Bakersfield when we were kids. And cheap, too, because of the Mexicans. They never had a lot of money, which was good for us, because we didn’t have any, either. They had friends in Mexico that sent the grass up to them.”
Hondo said, “Sounds like a way for you to make some bucks, too. Buying up here and selling in Los Angeles.”
Troy looked at him, not smiling. “I did that a little, yes. Made enough to pay for acting classes, and a few other things.”
Hondo nodded but didn’t say more. Derek said, “I’ve only been in the Central Valley a few times. I grew up in Nebraska, and came to L.A. right after college. I lucked out, thanks to Archie, who helped me get a part in a sword and sandals movie. I played a mute gate guard, didn’t have a single line, but I made some friends and kept working. Funny, I’ve never been back to Nebraska, not one time.”
“Do you miss it?” I asked.
“Not really. My family is all gone, and the friends I had then have moved. This is my home, now.”
Troy asked Hondo, “What about you, where are you from?”
Hondo pointed at me and said, “We’re from a small town west of San Antonio.”
“And then you came here?” Troy asked.
