Dove Season (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco) (24 page)

“The Oasis,” Tomás said. “That’s where Alejandro took the boy.”

Tomás and I sat in the back seat of his SUV. Big Piwi drove, his mass wedged behind the steering wheel. He barely slowed to give a nod to the Border Patrol officer working the crossing. Membership has its privileges.

“The Oasis,” Tomás repeated.

“What is that? Like a bar? A night club?”

“No. It’s a problem. It’s in Gordons Well.”

“That’s in the sand dunes on the way to Yuma, right?” I asked, remembering the name from my youth. “There’s nothing out there. How can he be there? The old plank road and a bunch of quads and dune buggies.”

I took out my pack of cigarettes. I could feel Tomás watching me as I fumbled with the torn opening at the top of the soft pack. As I dug my nails into the filter end of a smoke, I looked up at Tomás. He gave me a brief head shake. I put the cigarettes back in my pocket.

Tomás said, “It’s the south end of the Algodones Dunes. Runs close to the border. Right where the All-American turns north. A remote point of entry without the danger and inconvenience of crossing the canal. Some of the dunes are in Mexico. It’s a serviceable place to cross. But only for the well-equipped. Very dangerous for anyone else.”

“I know where you’re talking. It’s nothing but sand. There’s no shade, let alone anywhere to hide,” I said. “But I got a feeling if it’s got a nickname like ‘the Oasis,’ I’m about to find out what’s what.”

“In the old days, Gordons Well might have had a well. Now it has a geothermal plant.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I went on a field trip out to one of them when I was in fourth grade.”

“And it’s not just any geothermal plant,” Tomás said. “But the crookedest little geothermal plant in the world.”

By the time Big Piwi had pulled into the parking lot of Morales Bar, Tomás had given me the lowdown on the Gordons Well Geothermal Power Plant Project (or the GWGPPP, if you can believe it).

Commissioned by the Department of the Interior in the early seventies and run by a joint effort between the state of California and Imperial County, the power plant ran quietly and efficiently for its first thirty years of operation. Until the last couple of years. It seems that three years ago, due to the power plant’s proximity to the All-American Canal and the San Andreas Fault line, there were concerns about the effect the plant was having on the Imperial County water supply. The EPA came in and in a surprising display of efficiency began their testing and issued a temporary delay of all energy production at the facility. That temporary delay became indeterminate when they found high mineral counts, particularly sulfur and phosphates. The engineers and employees of the GWGPPP were redistributed to the other power facilities in the area, leaving a skeleton crew of security guards to mind the plant.

The security staff proved to be both entrepreneurial and original. Nobody knew how it started, but those remaining men at Gordons Well went into business for themselves. And they didn’t open a lemonade stand.

Location, location, location. The men at Gordons Well realized that the forty-acre power plant could function as a welcome refuge for a select group navigating the desert. Its remoteness provided both privacy and convenience. Since the christening of “the Oasis,” drug traffickers, coyotes, and all variety of smuggler had used the facility as a safe haven from the desert and the authorities. For a price, of course.

The rules were simple. Pay the toll and you are welcome. By the day or by the hour, rates were adjustable. At congested times, four or five groups would use their services simultaneously. While they tried to keep rival groups apart, conflicts had been known to arise. Violence was discouraged; however, it was often difficult to avoid. The unwritten rule was that any troublemakers were banned from returning. At least the ones that weren’t buried somewhere in the dunes.

The Oasis guards had created a business that was to everyone’s advantage. It was in nobody’s interest to upset the balance. The criminals who used their service couldn’t replace the guards, and the safe haven saved them time and money. Most were eager to pay. As long as nobody got greedy, everybody would profit. The services were simple: time out of the sun, food, and water. But more importantly, they were Switzerland, an accepted neutral country where you could hide your gold or yourself. As long as you had the money.

In fact, Tomás had admitted to using their services himself. He avoided specifics, but I got the impression that he was a frequent flier. And for that reason, he could not help me in my apprehension of Alejandro and Juan. As much as he wanted to get Alejandro, he didn’t feel justified in violating the trust that he had developed with the Oasis guards.

Tomás said, “Once it’s gone, it is never coming back. The desert gets more treacherous to cross with each year, and the Oasis plays a vital role. Not only for my personal business. The impact on my relationships would be damaged. If word spread that my actions caused the closure of the Oasis, it would be costly.

“You cannot call anyone for help. No police. No
La Migra
. Nothing. No one. Their participation would not only jeopardize the life of the boy, but mine as well. The people that rely on the Oasis are many and unmerciful.

“The best I can do is to ensure that Alejandro remains within the perimeter. There is only one road into the facility. I can promise that Alejandro never leaves the dunes. But getting your brother back, that’s up to you.”

As I got out of the back of the SUV, I turned to Tomás.

“That guy,” I said, “the one that you tortured for this information.”

“What about him?”

“You lied to me, didn’t you?”

Tomás didn’t say anything.

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

“No,” Tomás said, glancing at his watch. “He’s already dead.”

It didn’t take long to give Bobby, Buck Buck, and Snout the abridged version. Sobering them up was a different story. Whose bright idea was it to leave them in charge of Morales Bar?

And that’s how I ended up sitting in the passenger seat of Bobby’s Ranchero, heading east on Highway 8 toward Yuma. I wished we were going to Yuma instead of a crooked geothermal power plant somewhere near the halfway point. Bobby was banging his head to some Molly Hatchet tune that wasn’t “Flirting with Disaster,” steeling himself for whatever was to come. I would have turned it down, but I knew better than to touch the original Philco in Bobby’s ride. Snout and Buck Buck were behind us in Buck Buck’s pickup.

I had my posse and we were equipped, hauling trailers carrying two ATVs and two dirt bikes. And in the back of Bobby’s Ranchero were duffel bags filled with every weapon we could find. We were armed to the teeth with all things explosive, ballistic, sharp, and deadly. There was even a sword in one of the bags. A fucking sword. If I wasn’t so juiced on my own fear, if this wasn’t really happening, if a small boy’s life wasn’t at stake, I would have felt ridiculous.

It was just after midnight with only the slimmest slice of moon. I looked at the desert, dimly illuminated by the stars. The scrub and chaparral devolved to sweeping barren sand dunes in the blink of an eye. The change was not gradual, but severe. Even in the day, there would be no visible indication of life.

The song ended, and Bobby turned the dial on the radio to a low roar. His hand trembled slightly. He caught me looking, made a fist, and gave me a light punch on the leg.

“Give me a smoke,” he said.

“You don’t smoke,” I said. “And definitely not in your baby.” I stroked the dashboard.

“Shut up and give me one.”

I shook a cigarette out of the pack and handed it to him. He rolled it in his fingers and then gave it a long sniff. He put it in his mouth unlit and sucked on it.

Bobby laughed to himself. “Remember when we found that pack of cloves in junior high? Smoked like all of them in an hour. That’s the highest I ever felt, ’cause I never felt nothing like that. All spinny and laughy. Then I puked out my spleen and both my intestines until I was heaving air and what tasted like my own piss. Kept me from smoking no more. The smell of cloves still kills me. Hell, I smell pumpkin pie and I get queasy.”

“That’s what cloves are for,” I said. “It’s like the cigarette fairy plants them for dumb kids like us to find.”

“All that shit we did. All the trouble we got in. When people talk about memories, that’s the shit they’re talking about. All the crazy shit. Hell, most of the time, all I remember is laughing. Laughing our asses off. But I got no idea what we were laughing at.”

“You’re my best friend,” I said, matter-of-factly. “You know that, right?”

“I never forgot,” he said.

We didn’t say anything for a minute or so.

Done with the silence, I turned to Bobby and said, “You going to smoke that thing or just fellate it until it grows from a king-size to a 120?”

He gave the cigarette a long look and then handed it back to me. “You’re right. Can’t let a car this cherry get all smoky.”

“Thanks for doing this,” I said. My tone had turned serious without my conscious consent, bringing us back to our current situation.

“Didn’t even have to think about it, bro. Uncle Bobby can’t let anything happen to his favorite new nephew.”

Knowing we were close, I felt the need to go over the plan. To go over our reasoning. To just go over everything for the millionth time. I needed to make sure that as crazy as this was, that crazy was best.

“We’re doing the right thing, right? Tomás is right, right? Alejandro won’t do anything to Juan until he talks to me. If he wants my money, then he has to call me to get it. And if we can get to him before he calls, he’ll be completely off guard. He won’t know what hit him. We have the element of surprise. He thinks he’s in his Fortress of Solitude, but we’re about to hit him right in the Batcave.”

“Okay, I’m going to interrupt you right there. The Batcave thing was too much,” Bobby said. “Calm it down. Have a drink.”

He handed me a flask. I wasn’t sure that was a good idea, so I took a quick swig. The tequila burned, painfully mollifying.

Bobby shook his head and said, “Griselda is going to be pissed we didn’t go to her. It’s not that this shit is illegal—she’s used to that. It’s just insulting. Like we don’t trust her. I know Tomás said no cops, but fuck him if it means helping the kid. Seems like they’re trapped. We call the cops, the cops show up.”

“Yeah, the Imperial County Sheriff’s Department deals with hostage situations all the time. Their negotiator probably doubles as the janitor.”

“More qualified than us,” Bobby shrugged.

“You’ve been to one of those plants. There’re like ten big buildings. Scattered. That gives anyone any length of time to get rid of any kind of evidence. The cops show up, Alejandro just ditches the kid. All they got him for is being here illegally. They chuck him back to Mexico like a too-small bass. And Juan’s body is hidden in some pipe deep in the heart of the plant. Plenty of nooks and crannies. Nooks big enough to hide a 747. Don’t get me started on the fucking crannies.”

“And we can get in and out without being seen? We’re like ninjas now?”

“Better chance than any cop or government fucker who don’t give a shit about my brother.”

“Griselda gives a shit.”

“I didn’t mean her,” I said.

“What makes a Mexican woman want to be a cop? Crazy. Girlie likes a challenge.”

“You two work, don’t you?”

Bobby laughed, easing a little of the tension. “When and if she finds out, she’s still going to be pissed. Maybe even more pissed than when I tried to do it with her in the front of her patrol car with a drunk
cholo
passed out in the back.”

“That never happened.”

Bobby gave me a look that told me it might have.

I said, “How about you do what I’m going to do with Angie. Keep my mouth shut. If we get Juan back safe, she ain’t going to care about any kind of bullshit we pulled. Right now, they don’t even know Alejandro took him, that he’s in any kind of danger. Let’s get him back. Let’s worry about that. First we make sure everyone’s okay. Then we make up a solid lie.”

Bobby gave me a look out of the corner of his eye. “You going to lie to Angie?”

“No,” I admitted.

“You love her,” Bobby said, poking me hard in the ribs.

“I never said I didn’t,” I said. “I never said I stopped.”

“That’s awesome, bro.”

“Okay, thanks. But suddenly, I feel like I just walked into a tampon ad. I love the shit out of her, but it’s time we put on our man pants.”

“Let’s crank it up.”

Bobby quickly turned up the dial, and Bread’s “Baby I’m-a Want You” blared from the speakers.

I gave him a look, but he just shrugged, saying, “Mix tape.” We let it play, not so much banging our heads as gently swaying.

We pulled into the large dirt expanse of the Imperial Sand Dunes Recreational Area just outside of Gordon Wells. In any season other than summer, there would be dozens of RVs and tents scattered in the make-do parking lot. But in early September, only the hardcore fanatic braved the thousand-degree, no-shade heat to ride a man toy in a giant sandbox. That night there were two RVs and a pickup with a dune buggy on a trailer. A bonfire burned at the north corner of the hardpack. From the look of the men around the campfire, my guess was that the RV occupants were hunters wisely using this as spillover parking. Because it was not an official campground, there were no fees. And while the dunes had no life, the All-American Canal banks a mile away were solid dove killing grounds.

We parked as far away from the other vehicles as possible, staking our claim at the southeast corner. The Oasis was about a mile through the dunes where the sand leveled out and gave way to scrub.

If we took the single road that led to the Oasis, we’d be detected. Surprise was our only advantage. We were going to have to approach the facility from the back. Through the dunes. A direction no one would be expected to take, even if they weren’t expecting anyone. Whoever was going to the Oasis would either come from the west road or from the border to the south. We were going to hit it from the north, trekking at night Boy Scout–style and using the stars to lead us until the lights of the facility became visible.