Dove Season (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco) (25 page)

The noise of the bikes and quads would telegraph our arrival even at a half mile. So we would have to walk them through the sand, using them only as our getaway.

Bobby and I got out of the Ranchero and untied the tie-downs holding the vehicles onto the trailer. Buck Buck and Snout pulled up next to us and got out, doing the same thing. Snout gave me a big wave and a smile. Buck Buck farted loudly and then laughed. I loved those idiots.

When I had asked them to join me, the entire conversation had gone like this:

Me: “Fellas, Alejandro took Juan.”

Them: “Let’s go get him.”

Me: “It could be dangerous.”

Them: Laughter.

Walking uphill on the side of a sand dune is hard enough, earth giving and sliding down right under your feet, the ground like liquid. Sinking calf-deep, it’s hard to maintain balance while at the same time making any kind of forward progress. But when you’re also trying to walk a dirt bike through the porous sand, it feels next to impossible. When I tried to show off by mentioning what a Sisyphean task this was, Bobby agreed that it was about as much fun as having an STD.

It took a disastrous first dune for me to get the hang of it: don’t go straight up, but at a gradual, zigzagging angle. In the deep sand, the wheels did little good. I ended up dragging the bike most of the way. Buck Buck and Snout didn’t have any better time with the quads, but they weren’t complainers and muscled through it.

Downhill was easier, but that’s because it consisted mostly of falling, sliding, and burying myself in the sand at the bottom of each dune. Gravity fucked with me coming and going.

It took the better part of two hours to travel what I guessed to be about three-quarters of a mile. Tomás’s directions were predictably perfect. We followed Orion’s belt and whatever the group of stars to the left were (he had only drawn them). Cresting the top of a particularly bastard dune, the Gordons Well Geothermal Plant came into view. Its yellow lights illuminated the desert haze around it.

We all sat down on the sand, the eerie glow of the multi-structure complex creating a hypnotic effect. It was hard not to think about what would happen next, and I assumed that’s where everyone else was. With all the necessary preparation, I hadn’t had much time to think. Which was probably a good thing.

Bobby broke the silence. “We’re going to have to kill Alejandro.”

My mind raced to come up with an opposing argument. I didn’t have much luck.

Nobody said anything for a minute.

Buck Buck finally broke the silence. “It is what it is.”

“There’s got to be another way,” I said.

“World won’t miss him. Be a better place, more than likely,” Bobby said.

“Is that our decision?”

“Tonight it is,” Bobby said.

I sat on the sand, absorbing the truth of it. There was no way that Juan, Angie, or I could have any peace if Alejandro was still around. He would always be a threat. And right now with Juan as his hostage, I knew that he had to go.

I dug my fingers into the sand, letting the grains run over the back of my hand. I slowly lifted it, letting the sand run off. I kept a small pile on the back of my hand and then brushed it off.

We said nothing for ten minutes, passing a flask around and staring at the lights of the Oasis. I almost jumped when Buck Buck broke the silence.

“I got so much sand in my butt crack,” Buck Buck said, “I could shit a castle.”

Snout laughed and then said, “I got so much castle in my shit that I could sand a butt crack.”

It didn’t matter that it was more about the fear and exhaustion. At that moment Buck Buck and Snout were the funniest men on the planet. I laughed with them, Bobby joining me soon after. The laughter was contagious. Very quickly I couldn’t even remember what I was laughing about. I was laughing at the laughing. And every time I tried to stop, every time I tried to catch my breath, it only made it worse. A whole new wave of hysterics rose. I almost rolled off the hill I was laughing so hard. Trying to wipe away the tears, I stuck a fingerful of sand right into my cornea. It stung like hell, but only made me laugh harder.

But even in my hysterical state, I couldn’t shake the nagging foreboding. The Big Laugh always seemed to bring tragedy with it.

Apparently there wasn’t a whole lot that one could steal from a decommissioned geothermal plant. Or at least that’s what the scant security measures suggested. A chain-link fence surrounded the grounds. Little more. No razor wire. No dogs. None of those cool red laser beams from the movies. Just crappy schoolyard chain-link. Easily climbable chain-link.

Snout was pissed. He was the one who had lugged the bolt cutters through the dunes.

There was no visible movement on the grounds of the facility. Not even wind. On the trek through the dunes, I had created an image of a movie POW camp with guards walking the perimeter. In reality, the guards were probably sitting in an office somewhere, drunk and reading pornography. If they were awake at all. It wasn’t like they were expecting us.

The five main structures of the power plant didn’t exactly loom over us as much as they squatted. Three massive warehouse-type buildings abutted two enormously wide, but short smokestacks. The warehouses had loading docks and multiple doors. My guess was that these were where the generators were housed. Catwalks, staircases, and pipes connected all the buildings like an enormous hamster cage. There was even a strange wheel. Its function was beyond me. A double-wide temporary office stood on its own just south of the main facility.

The floodlights were blindingly bright, their hum the only sound. I was glad I hadn’t bothered to get decked out in black. I would’ve stood out even more.

We left the motorcycles and quads out of sight in a gully about fifty yards from the north fence. We hid beneath a long windbreak of tamarisk.

“According to Tomás, there’re only two, three guards at any one time. But no way of knowing how many people they’re housing,” I said. “Tomás said coyoteing dips in the summer. But a lot of smugglers use the Border Patrol’s aversion to the heat and getting out of their trucks to their advantage. You got to love a wily criminal’s ability to adapt.

“The guards are definitely armed, but it’s not like they’re badasses. They’re just regular guys who had a good idea. They’ll be interested in protecting their investment, but probably not enough to get hurt. They shouldn’t give us any shit, as long as we just fuck with Alejandro.”

“We can try talking to the guards first,” Bobby suggested, surprisingly nonviolent.

Buck Buck and Snout laughed.

“Don’t got nothing to offer,” I said. “Alejandro paid them. And from what Tomás suggested, this service don’t come cheap. Especially if they see he’s got a kid with him. I ain’t got money like that.”

“They’ve got to be thinking that’s his kid and he’s on the run,” Bobby said. “If they know they’re accomplices in a kidnapping, maybe they’ll balk.”

“You’re talking about Guantanamo candidates. Their list of felonies is long and federal. Who knows who they’ve let into the country?”

“If I were them and knew what was what, I’d leave Alejandro, the kid, and us dead in a ditch,” Buck Buck added.

“Easiest way to get rid of anything,” Snout seconded. “Bury it in the desert.”

Because getting in was simple, most of our plan was about getting out—and getting out quickly. We used the bolt cutters after all. If we had to leave in a hurry, which seemed inevitable, then a big hole in the fence was easier and faster than a climb.

Although light filled most of the compound, there were still enough pockets of shadow that we could stay out of sight. Not that there was anyone looking. We still hadn’t eyed a single person.

The plan was to split off. Buck Buck and Snout would take a look in the far warehouse building. Bobby and I would check out the double-wide and then hit the nearest warehouse. If all went smoothly, which none of us were planning on, we would meet at the northwest corner of the middle warehouse and go in together.

We would communicate only in an emergency and by text message. I can safely say that this was the first time that I was glad for that particular technology. And the first time I had found a unique function for it. Who knew that texting would be a boon to covert infiltration?

As Buck Buck and Snout made their way across the grounds, Bobby and I quickly investigated the double-wide. No light came from the windows. It was either empty or its occupants sleeping. It didn’t take us long to learn which.

The snoring shook the walls. The man-made vibrations had both weight and girth. Bobby gave me a wide-eyed look, impressed. There could be only one person in the office. Nobody else could have slept through that kind of storm. And if anyone were awake and not stone deaf, they’d have woken up the beast or gone insane. It sounded like someone was strangling a nine-foot-tall goose.

Bobby slowly rose and peeked through the bottom corner of the window. He ducked back down, shaking his head. It wasn’t Alejandro. I wasn’t surprised. I don’t know why, but I hadn’t figured him for a snorer. We continued to the nearest warehouse building.

Bobby and I crouched in the sunken truck ramp of a wide loading dock. Multiple rolled steel garage doors and a couple of standard doors led into the building. Concrete and steel were the predominate building materials. None of the main buildings in the facility had windows. That was obviously a problem. That meant we were going to have to enter the building Monty Hall–style without any idea of what was behind door number one.

We worked under the assumption that the Oasis guards and their guests had a level of overconfidence in their safety. Why guard doors if they weren’t expecting anyone to come through them?

We didn’t even know which buildings were being used to house people. However, we did know that if we came in contact with anybody, we’d have to improvise. Bobby had a recently modified sawed-off, and I had Pop’s shotgun. That made improvising a little more interesting and, in some ways, predictable.

I did a sloppy stomach roll up onto the four-foot-high loading dock, neither graceful nor particularly quiet. Bobby made it look a lot easier, shushing me as he rose. We walked slowly to one of the rolling doors. Very gently I put my ear to the steel, trying to get a sense of any activity within the building. I waited for what felt like a full minute, but was probably closer to twenty seconds. I heard nothing and shook my head. Bobby head-nodded to the standard door twenty yards away. Bobby put his shotgun to his shoulder, pointing the barrel to the ground. I put my hand on the doorknob, waiting for Bobby’s signal.

Bobby took three quick breaths and then nodded. I turned the knob. It was unlocked and made a loud click as I pushed the door in an inch. I cringed from the sound and then quickly opened the door. Bobby slipped in. I followed him into the darkness, lifting my shotgun.

We stood in an abandoned office that now appeared to be used as a storeroom. It was filled with boxes, but thankfully, no people. I kept the door open a couple inches for the light. There was only one other door. It led further into the building.

“It’s like playing Doom,” Bobby whispered. “We can only go forward.”

“There’s nothing about this that’s a game,” I said. “Not a fucking thing.”

“Settle, Jimmy. We’ll get the kid back.”

“This isn’t a game,” I repeated.

“You keep telling yourself that.” And with that, Bobby opened the door and moved quickly into the deeper darkness beyond.

Once I closed the door, it was pitch black. And while we had flashlights, it didn’t feel prudent to turn them on. That was until I almost brained myself on a low pipe. My head made a distinct coconut sound that made me think of the Three Stooges. The four of us were kind of like the Stooges. And if we were, I’m pretty sure that made me Shemp.

Rubbing the bump on my head, I listened into the darkness. It was dead quiet.

Bobby whispered, “Ain’t nobody going to just sit in the dark like this. There ain’t nobody in here.”

I had to agree. It was like being blind, seeing nothing but black with your eyes wide open.

Bobby turned on his flashlight and gave the building a quick sweep. The interior of the structure was the size of an airplane hangar, the beam of light swallowed by the darkness after thirty yards. A massive dormant generator filled the center of the structure. The rest was pipes. Lots of pipes. Big pipes. Little pipes. They were everywhere. Even an engineer would have a hard time figuring out all their functions. I’m convinced that some of them had no function, but were only there to complete a certain industrial aesthetic.

“Let’s walk around, make sure,” Bobby said.

I nodded.

“Did you nod?” Bobby asked. “Cause in the dark, nodding don’t communicate dick.”

“I nodded,” I said.

“I just nodded back,” Bobby said, and then he walked deeper into the building, waving the light into the corners.

I kept my shotgun at the ready, trying to maintain focus through fear. The pipes and shadows made hallucinatory beasts as the light passed. I concentrated on Juan.

Five minutes later, we were waiting at the northwest corner of the middle warehouse. Hidden in the shadows of some rusted equipment, Bobby and I waited for Buck Buck and Snout. The quiet was as alarming as every slight sound.

Five minutes after that, still no Buck Buck and Snout. I gave Bobby a tap on the leg with the barrel of my shotgun. “You think something happened to them?”

“They’re too dumb to get caught.”

“Sometimes I’m not sure if you hear the things you say,” I said.

The not-so-quiet vibration of Bobby’s cell phone echoed from his front pocket. Bobby smiled and dug it out. He read the face.

“The boys say they found a tunnel. Think it leads to the smokestack things. They’re going to check it out and we should go in here ourselves.”

“They texted all that?” I leaned in, trying to read the message.

“No. It just says, ‘Found tunnel.’ And ‘tunnel’ is spelled wrong. I inferenced the rest. ‘Found’ is spelled wrong, too.”

Second verse, same as the first. We entered into the building the same way as the previous warehouse through the office door, assuming correctly that the layout would be identical.

Four stained mattresses lined the floors. Half-eaten bags of pork rinds littered the floor next to juice boxes and empty beer cans. A bucket full of piss and soft shit gave off an ammonia stench so strong my eyes watered. I stood completely still for a moment and concentrated on not puking.

The air was thick with flies. The sliver of light from the half-open door sparkled off their iridescent bodies. The poorest man’s fireflies.

Bobby lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth. He put a hand on the knob leading into the warehouse. He blinked tears from his eyes and opened the door.

I followed him into the light.

It took me a long second to realize the difference from the other warehouse. The lack of darkness. Every light was on in the building, the maze of pipes and equipment sharply visible. I wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. I turned to Bobby to say something, but stopped when I saw his finger on his lips.

He walked slowly along the wall of pipes that made one side of the makeshift hallway along the perimeter of the building. It turned into a winding maze, but my tour of the previous warehouse gave me some sense of direction. I followed closely behind Bobby, keeping the barrel of my shotgun trained at the ground. With each step scattered noises grew louder. Some kind of machine was running. An engine or a venting system.

We continued slowly toward the sound. Cold sweat dripped from my hair down the middle of my back. I was jonesing for a cigarette.

We rounded a corner. Red light. Bobby and I froze.

It wasn’t a machine. It wasn’t Alejandro or Juan. It was seven tattooed and scarred South Americans huddled on the ground in deep sleep. Their rhythmic breathing softly purred in the hollow space. The innocence of their positions made them appear angelic. The black guns that each of them clutched in their listless hands ruined that effect.

One of the sleeping men had a yellow, red, and blue flag tattooed on his arm. I made a mental note to look up the country of origin when I got home. That is, if the same man didn’t end up killing me.

Green light. Bobby and I took a quiet step back. Not quiet enough.

Flag Tattoo opened his eyes. He stared at us with that early morning glaze. Seeing, but not yet comprehending what was in front of him.

“
Quién?
” he mumbled.

We didn’t hang around to answer. Bobby and I hauled ass back the way we had come. I had to keep one hand on Bobby’s back to keep from tripping over him.

As we neared the office door, the rustle and voices grew louder behind us. Swearing and barked directions in Spanish. But the voices weren’t loud enough to hide the sound of a different group of voices in front of us. While the voices behind us were belligerent, the voices in front of us were laughing and seemingly unaware.

Five armed Mexican men stood at the office door. The very same office door that was supposed to be our exit out of the building. The Mexicans stared at us with amusement and surprise when we rounded the corner and came into view.

Bobby stopped. I tried to hit the brakes, but slammed into his back and fell on my ass. I scrambled to my feet.

The Mexicans laughed at my pratfall. Then they noticed our shotguns. Then they heard the voices behind us. Then they stopped laughing.

Bobby looked behind us, voices and footsteps growing loud. He turned back to the Mexicans and trained his shotgun to the ceiling.

He shouted, “
Llene tu manos, hijos de las chingadas
,” and fired two quick rounds. The deafening sound rang in my head and echoed throughout the building.

The Mexicans hit the deck, reaching for their guns. The footsteps behind us stopped.

Bobby took off back toward the South Americans. No time for questions, I followed and prayed he had a plan.

The moment we were out of view of the Mexicans, Bobby fell to the ground, crawled under the nearest pipe, and scuttled out of view into the center of the building. I didn’t need an invitation. I dove under the pipe right behind him.

We crawled quickly, staying below the maze of pipes. At points the squeeze was so tight that exposed bolts tore at my shirt and back. We kept moving. I focused on the soles of Bobby’s feet, my face inches away, keeping pace. Even when his heel brushed my chin, I made no attempt to broaden the gap.