I'm an exile. I fled from Mexico in a hurry. The reason was just a tragic, unexpected accident. I didn't have time to pack anything. Straight from the accident, I ran away to the US. I couldn't say good-bye to anyone, not even to my mom.
I was riding a crowded bus with my girlfriend. We were standing in the middle aisle, when a man started groping my girl from behind. He was near the exit with his back close to the door. When I saw him touching my girl, I pushed him so hard the doors opened and he fell out of the moving bus and then a truck ran over his head when he hit the pavement. It was an awful sight, his brains scattered all over the ground. I can still hear the sound of his cranial bones cracking.
My first reaction was to escape the scene, the town and the country.
Now, I’m living in the US with another identity and without the slightest chance to return to my family. My former girlfriend is married and has three kids. I’m bet she doesn’t even remember my face.
My name is Pablo I live in Visalia, Ca. in the central valley, near Fresno. I’m an illegal alien in this country, I shouldn't be spreading this information because they charge two thousand dollars to help you cross the border. I live on the second floor of a twelve-unit apartment building on Santa Fe Street, in a decrepit neighborhood. I’ve been working at the Rescue Mission for the last three years. I drive a forklift, separate donated items, and put price tags on them. I used to live in L.A., but rent and expenses were too high for my budget.
Last week, I received a phone call from my cousin Julian. He wants to join me. He was my best friend. He's four years younger than me. The plan is to meet in San Isidro at a McDonald’s, on this side of the border. He's twenty two years old.
I love L.A. even more than Randy Newman does. The moment I see Magic Mountain on the Interstate 5, I know I’m back home. The freeway looks like an ocean of cars, with lots of beautiful girls everywhere. Even the San Onofre nuclear plant dome seems friendly.
Now, I’m living in the US with another identity and without the slightest chance to return to my family. My former girlfriend is married and has three kids. I’m bet she doesn’t even remember my face.
My name is Pablo I live in Visalia, Ca. in the central valley, near Fresno. I’m an illegal alien in this country, I shouldn't be spreading this information because they charge two thousand dollars to help you cross the border. I live on the second floor of a twelve-unit apartment building on Santa Fe Street, in a decrepit neighborhood. I’ve been working at the Rescue Mission for the last three years. I drive a forklift, separate donated items, and put price tags on them. I used to live in L.A., but rent and expenses were too high for my budget.
Last week, I received a phone call from my cousin Julian. He wants to join me. He was my best friend. He's four years younger than me. The plan is to meet in San Isidro at a McDonald’s, on this side of the border. He's twenty two years old.
My next-door neighbor Mark asked me for a favor when he learned I was going to Tijuana. He wants me to pick up some marijuana from a friend in L.A. I met Mark two years ago, he's a nice guy, so I agreed.
It takes about six hours to get to Tijuana. I was anxious to go because I enjoy long drives. I’ll be taking Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Bob Marley, the Doors, and others with me.
I love L.A. even more than Randy Newman does. The moment I see Magic Mountain on the Interstate 5, I know I’m back home. The freeway looks like an ocean of cars, with lots of beautiful girls everywhere. Even the San Onofre nuclear plant dome seems friendly.
Julian gained some weight, mostly muscles, since I last saw him. He said he crossed on his first attempt. Did I mention he's lucky too?
We still have to go through another checkpoint in San Clemente. I told him we needed to stop behind a warehouse or somewhere dark, because I needed to hide him in the trunk. The immigration checkpoint was deserted and free to go, so I kept driving. I thought about playing a little joke on my cousin. I got off the freeway a few miles ahead in a rest area, and went to the farthest place where nobody could see the us.
I parked the car and walked out. I went to the rear and slammed the trunk. I yelled out loud in Spanish, ‘No señor oficial, no hay nadie en la cajuela se lo aseguro, por favor déjeme pasar, soy ciudadano americano.” (“No sir, officer, there’s nobody in the trunk, I assure you, please sir let me go, I’m an American Citizen”) When I opened the trunk, Julian had a look of terror, he was shaking, and his pants were wet. I kept laughing until my jaws hurt.
Julian said the joke wasn’t that funny, but I laughed until we reached the Hollywood sign.
I heard they grow excellent marijuana in Topanga Canyon. Hippies used to love this area. From the valley to the beach, this highway is really nice. Ten miles of beautiful curves and mountains, deep green canyons and precipices. The weather gets cooler as you get closer to the ocean.
I heard they grow excellent marijuana in Topanga Canyon. Hippies used to love this area. From the valley to the beach, this highway is really nice. Ten miles of beautiful curves and mountains, deep green canyons and precipices. The weather gets cooler as you get closer to the ocean.
When we arrived, Pete was a little high already. He met us with a friendly smile and two beers. He rolled a fat one while inquiring about our mutual friend. After I gave him an up-date, he said Mark used to live here with him. Until the day Mark burned the weed patch. He said Mark was so high, he pushed the barbecue grill by accident and started a fire, then, he panicked and took off. He said that was the last time he saw him.
That day, Pete was making a delivery in Van Nuys. When he came back the firefighters had the fire under control. They didn’t charge him with any violations. They just told him to never leave the barbecue grill unattended, and they said, “and please don’t grow anymore weed.” Pete said they were high and in a good mood.
By the time he finished the story, we were also high and in a good mood. I made a comment about his marijuana, ‘powerful shit man, powerful shit.’ and Julian asked me, ‘qué quiere decir eso?’ (what does that mean?) and I told him in a mellow way, "caca poderosa hombre, caca poderosa" and we started to laugh. Then, I told Pete the story about the fictitious Immigration officer and he laughed so hard, he couldn’t roll his next joint. After three more joints and three more beers, we were ready to take off. “Powerful shit man, powerful shit,” was my way of saying farewell to Pete.
By the time he finished the story, we were also high and in a good mood. I made a comment about his marijuana, ‘powerful shit man, powerful shit.’ and Julian asked me, ‘qué quiere decir eso?’ (what does that mean?) and I told him in a mellow way, "caca poderosa hombre, caca poderosa" and we started to laugh. Then, I told Pete the story about the fictitious Immigration officer and he laughed so hard, he couldn’t roll his next joint. After three more joints and three more beers, we were ready to take off. “Powerful shit man, powerful shit,” was my way of saying farewell to Pete.
It was getting dark when we got in the car. I was high as a kite. My mouth was dry and I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt happy because I had my cousin Julian with me. He was smiling too and that made me smile even more. I couldn’t concentrate on the road very well, my eyes were squinting. I had my face close to the steering wheel like an old lady. I was following the painted line in the middle of the road with hundreds of curves ahead of me. I was trying to concentrate on the double yellow line, not in the incoming cars, or the side of the road, or Julian’s conversation only on the double yellow line.
I was thinking what a long strange trip it’s been. I felt comfortably numb, driving on the long and winding road. I smoked two joints before I smoked two joints, and then . . . fuck, my mind’s not helping. I just want to get out of these curves. Wow! I’m so thirsty. Oh finally, Top o’ Topanga, the highest point between the ocean and the valley. I still consider this city to be mine but I wish I were in Visalia instead. At the Green Olive having a beer, or two, or three in a row.
Wishing to reach the city streets to make my fears disappear turned out to be in vain. I encountered a different kind of fear. All I see now are millions of red lights!
Wishing to reach the city streets to make my fears disappear turned out to be in vain. I encountered a different kind of fear. All I see now are millions of red lights!
Not all red lights are traffic lights, but I'm confused and I want to use the breaks constantly. I panic again and slow down until I pull over at a liquor store to buy some snacks and a six-pack of sodas. After a little while I feel brave enough to continue, and I say to myself, “Once I get on the freeway, everything’s going to be just fine, just wait and see.”
Once on the freeway I feel a whole lot better. But immediately, a new problem emerges. The car is not moving, it’s the freeway that’s moving! We're just floating in my car! The Earth is circling fast, all I'm doing is keeping the car in the middle of the lane and watch the world come at me. It's the weirdest felling, I'm hallucinating. Fuck! Powerful shit indeed. Julian doesn’t seem to notice the kind of trip I’m having.
After what seemed like an eternity, we reached Frazier Park, at the top of the mountains, another great area at the end of the hills. From here we can see the San Joaquin Valley and two straight lanes of black asphalt, beautiful too.
We’re getting closer to home and the effects of “la caca poderosa” are fading away. My brain begins to function properly. I’m gaining control of my little shitty cerebellum. Only then, I capture what Julian is saying, “. . . and that’s how they got my partner and put him in jail.” and all that occurs to me to say is, “Oh, I see, that’s very interesting.”
When we finally exit the freeway I check the time and feel good that we still have time for a couple of beers. So, we head for the Green Olive, my favorite bar. While ordering our first beers at the bar, I notice a beautiful girl, she’s wearing white gym pants, skin tight and adjusted to her fine looking body. You can see the curves of her nice ass; I can tell she’s not wearing panties, and that makes her look even hotter.
After three beers, Julian asks me how to say in English, “me gusta como se te ve tú pantalón,” (I like how you look in those pants) but instead of the right translation, I told him, ‘se dice’: “You have a lovely camel toe.” Then, he practices the sentence a few times, and after gulping the rest of his beer, he gathers all of his courage and goes to her.
I can’t hear Julian’s voice from this end of the bar, but I can see her slapping Julian on the face. I start cracking up even before he comes back and sits on his stool, and he says to me, “Pinche cabron pendejo!” And when I translated what he just told her, he starts laughing too, then he goes back to her and says, “sorry, amiga, sorry” now, she knows that Julian was just an innocent victim.
Outside, while I smoked a cigarette in a dark corner, I saw a couple of guys coming out of the bar too. I've seen one of them in my building, he lives right below my unit. We see each other all the time, but we never talk. I don't like him at all, I'm sure the feeling is mutual. He has a swastika tattooed on his neck. The another guy looks like his replica, baggy black pants, black boots and white tank top, both of them have big muscles. They’re half drunk.
I watch as they come out, stumbling a little, and before they cross the street, a black guy pushing a shopping cart walks by in front of them, and for no reason, they push him to the road, to the path of an incoming car.
The car runs over him, the driver never stops. My downstairs neighbor notices me before they run away. He knows that I saw them, and I know I'm in trouble. I go back inside to tell Julian we need to leave right away. I didn’t mention to him what I just witnessed.
I know I'm in deep shit. I’m his next victim no matter what. I have to get him before he gets me.
When we get to the building, from across the street I check for any signs of danger. Everything looks normal and quiet.
I know I'm in deep shit. I’m his next victim no matter what. I have to get him before he gets me.
When we get to the building, from across the street I check for any signs of danger. Everything looks normal and quiet.
His room is dark, so I assume he’s not back yet. Once in my apartment, with my little jig saw I make a small hole on the floor under my couch. Julian asks what I’m doing, “I’ll tell you know later, let’s go to sleep. We need to find you a job tomorrow.”
In the morning, I push the play-back button in my brain and I get a blurry vision of yesterday’s events. Julian sleeps on the floor, next to the couch where I slept. I feel a cold sweat when I remember about the supremacist piece of shit.
I remove the couch out of the way to make a hole on the drywall ceiling of the unit down below, the hole is about the size of a quarter. When I look through it, a sudden shiver runs through my body. My downstairs neighbor is inside the little hole. He’s sitting on his couch. He’s looking up, with drywall dust on his hair.
I remove the couch out of the way to make a hole on the drywall ceiling of the unit down below, the hole is about the size of a quarter. When I look through it, a sudden shiver runs through my body. My downstairs neighbor is inside the little hole. He’s sitting on his couch. He’s looking up, with drywall dust on his hair.
My immediate reaction is to get the gun I keep under the couch, then I put the barrel in the hole and pull the trigger. When I look back again, he has blood coming out of his left eye. My cousin wakes up with a look of terror and says, “qué pasa, qué pasa?” (What's going on?).
As I put the little piece of hardwood floor back in its place, I tell him what I witnessed last night in the bar, then he calmly says: “good, it was either you or him.”
He’s one of those friends you can call at three in the morning to get you out of jail or to take you to the hospital, or even at more critical times, when you need help to kill your worst enemy. He'll never question your motives. If you’re lucky, you would only get one friend like that in your entire life. At the same time, you wouldn't like guys like him as your enemies.
When he was a teenager, a stray dog bit his ankle right above his shoe. He was bleeding and in pain, but he followed the dog and kept going for miles, relentlessly, stubbornly, until the dog couldn’t go on any longer. The dog was so exhausted; he just gave up and accepted his fate with resignation. Then Julian knelt down, grabbed the dog by his mouth and forced it open until he broke his jaws.
The dog kept walking aimlessly around the neighborhood for days. Unable to control his mouth, he died of thirst and starvation in less than a week.
A few minutes after I shot my neighbor, someone knocked on the door. Two cops were investigating a shooting downstairs and asked if we heard or saw anything. I told them I heard a gunshot, and that I saw a guy running away from the building. And then I gave them the description of the skinhead’s friend.
“Thanks guys, you’re good citizens, thank you very much for your cooperation and your valuable information.” they said.
After they left, I told Julian: “I’m glad I killed that mother fucker,” Julian must have liked the sound of what I said, because he kept repeating over and over, “Maaddaa faackaa, maddaa faackaa.” pronouncing it without the ‘r’ sound at the end. I knew he’d be saying those words all day. When we left the apartment we stopped next door and gave the weed to Mark. He asked us if we wanted some, and of course we declined. Just thinking about it makes me shiver, and then Julian says, "caca poderosa, hombre, caca poderosa."
“Where did you get that money?” I anticipated an incredible story.
“Bank robbery,” he said.
“I went to this bank, I think it’s called Bank of the Sierra. I gave a note to one of the tellers, but she couldn’t understand it because I wrote it in Spanish, so I called a Mexican looking guy waiting in line to come and translate it. Then she gave me all this money, almost seven thousand dollars. Then I gave three hundred dollars to the guy that helped me and left.”
“I went to this bank, I think it’s called Bank of the Sierra. I gave a note to one of the tellers, but she couldn’t understand it because I wrote it in Spanish, so I called a Mexican looking guy waiting in line to come and translate it. Then she gave me all this money, almost seven thousand dollars. Then I gave three hundred dollars to the guy that helped me and left.”
“What did the note say?” I asked him in complete disbelief.
Then, he gives me the crumpled note,
“Este es un robo dáme todo tú dinero o exploto toda la dinamita que traigo alrededor de mi cuerpo bajo mi ropa.” [translation] This is a robbery, give me all your money, or I’ll explode all the dynamite that I have around my body under my clothing.
“Este es un robo dáme todo tú dinero o exploto toda la dinamita que traigo alrededor de mi cuerpo bajo mi ropa.” [translation] This is a robbery, give me all your money, or I’ll explode all the dynamite that I have around my body under my clothing.
“You crazy mother fucker! We need to do something right away.” I said.
After a long lecture, (surely in vain) I made him wear a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap and I gave him another shirt. I burned the note and threw the T-shirt he was wearing in the trash and took him to the barbershop. When the barber finished, Julian looked in the mirror and said, “I like it, I like it.” He was completely bald and unrecognizable, but still handsome.
After a long lecture, (surely in vain) I made him wear a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap and I gave him another shirt. I burned the note and threw the T-shirt he was wearing in the trash and took him to the barbershop. When the barber finished, Julian looked in the mirror and said, “I like it, I like it.” He was completely bald and unrecognizable, but still handsome.
At work, I asked the trash collector driver if he could find a job for Julian, he says, “Yes, they need another driver”. When I say that Julian doesn’t have a driver’s license, he says, “no problem, neither do I,” and when I say that Julian doesn’t have any papers or work permit he says, “no problem, neither do I.”
Another thing I like about Julian is that he likes to save money, he never spends more than what he makes. He told me that half the money he ‘collected’ from the bank is mine. There’s no use saying no, I know he’d get mad if I refuse.
Later, while having breakfast at Denny’s and reading the paper. I come across an article about a black homeless man who was run over by a vehicle, it says, 'A hit and run.’ Also, there’s an article about the shooting in my building and the killing of my neighbor. And next to it, a picture of the ‘killer’ (his friend). There’s another picture of the detectives receiving a medal from the Mayor, for their excellent investigation leading to his arrest. There's another article about a bank robbery, and a blurry picture of Julian taken from the surveillance cameras, it mentions that they arrested one of the robbers.
In another table, a woman keeps staring at us, she's attractive and elegant. She must be in her early forties. She approaches our table, and without asking for our permission, sits with us and says to Julian, “I know you! I know it’s you, even without hair I know it’s you.”
“Excuse me lady, what are you talking about? What do you want from us? I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I say to her without having the slightest idea of what’s going on.
“My friend doesn’t even speak English.” I say.
“My friend doesn’t even speak English.” I say.
“I knew I was right! I just knew it!”
Then with her index finger straight up against her mouth and nose, and with a softer voice she says,
“Shhh, don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything to anybody, but this guy just robbed my bank last week.” she continues, “I’m the manager of that bank. I want to make a deal with you guys. I need you to rob the bank again, but this time there’s 25,000.00 dollars involved.” then she grabs the newspaper, points to Julian’s picture and says, “That’s him” and takes her pointing finger towards my cousin.
“Shhh, don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything to anybody, but this guy just robbed my bank last week.” she continues, “I’m the manager of that bank. I want to make a deal with you guys. I need you to rob the bank again, but this time there’s 25,000.00 dollars involved.” then she grabs the newspaper, points to Julian’s picture and says, “That’s him” and takes her pointing finger towards my cousin.
“Okay, let’s say for a moment that you’re right,” I say, knowing there’s no use denying it, “what’s your proposition?”
“Okay, here’s the deal, I have a gambling habit. I gamble with other people’s money. Our costumer’s money. I visit the Palace Casino in Lemoore all the time; I’m in deep shit. I know sooner or later they'll find out I'm swindling money from the bank. I keep going back to the casino thinking that I can win the money back, but I keep losing. I swear that if I get even I'll quit for good. So, my plan is this, you come and rob my bank, I'll make sure everything goes smooth. I tell you what time to go, what teller to go to. I'll make sure she has 25,000.00 dollars ready for you. You just come with your little note, but this time you must write it in English. I'll just report a higher amount and we all win. By the way, my name is Linda, and I don't need to know your names."
She sure is a smart woman. I agreed with her plan, I gave her my number, and says she'll call me next Thursday. I then translate everything to Julian, and he gets real enthusiastic about it.
She sure is a smart woman. I agreed with her plan, I gave her my number, and says she'll call me next Thursday. I then translate everything to Julian, and he gets real enthusiastic about it.
Julian bought a car and began to work for a waste management company in Dinuba. They collect trash around a rural area. I know he’ll be okay. He’s worked in so many different jobs and keeps learning so much stuff that at this point, I bet he can even apply to NASA for an astronaut job. But anything is better than passing notes to bank tellers, saying he wants to blow up their banks.
On Thursday, I received a phone call from Linda, “Okay, everything is set for tomorrow at 5:55 P.M., make sure you're our last costumers. I’ll be working the cash register number four, don’t worry about anything. Everything will be fast and easy,” then she adds, “after that, we won’t get in touch for a few weeks. I’ll call you later.”
On Friday, we showed up dressed as city workers wearing brown boots, yellow helmets, yellow safety vests and dark sunglasses. We carry heavy duty black plastic bags, half full with light trash, mostly newspapers. There's no need to carry guns. We left the car half a block away from the bank. Julian seems unaffected for what we’re about to do. I’m a little nervous, but I don’t show it.
She was right, piece of cake, in and out in two minutes. Linda was at the cash register. We just gave her the note, and she gave us a small, white canvas bag. It must be the easiest bank robbery ever.
Boom, just like that, we're out of there, after I drove for a couple of blocks, I heard an alarm going off. Could it be the bank alarm?
Later that night, we met with Linda, and gave her the unopened canvas bag with the money, and she gave us twenty five thousand dollars in cash. Sweet!
Boom, just like that, we're out of there, after I drove for a couple of blocks, I heard an alarm going off. Could it be the bank alarm?
Later that night, we met with Linda, and gave her the unopened canvas bag with the money, and she gave us twenty five thousand dollars in cash. Sweet!
The following day, on my lunch break I grabbed a hamburger from Carl’s Jr. and went across the street to the Green Olive for a beer, to celebrate my growing bank account. I took my sweet time and enjoyed my lunch. Later, as I drove out of the driveway, I saw a patrol car passing by, the cop turned around and followed me. And of course, he pulled me over.
“Driver’s license and registration, please.” he says.
The cop, a tall white guy with a bald head, and menacing looks. But I'm not worried at all. He goes to his car to check for my record, and after a few minutes he comes back.
The cop, a tall white guy with a bald head, and menacing looks. But I'm not worried at all. He goes to his car to check for my record, and after a few minutes he comes back.
“Are you drunk?”
“No!” I replied.
“Well, I just saw you coming out of that bar. I know you weren’t drinking milk, so I’m going to ask you again, are you . . .
“I just told you! I’m not drunk!” I replied.
Right away, I regretted it. I just made a huge mistake. You should never interrupt a cop; you must never interrupt a cop if you don’t want to end up in jail.
Right away, I regretted it. I just made a huge mistake. You should never interrupt a cop; you must never interrupt a cop if you don’t want to end up in jail.
“Step out of the car motherfucker, I think you’re drunk.” he orders me. Now I know he is insanely pissed off.
“Officer I just told you, I’m not drunk. I only had one beer with my hamburger!”
“Shut the fuck up motherfucker, you’re going to be drunk in fifteen minutes.” he said, while handcuffing and pushing me to the back of his cruiser. Then he drove behind a Sears store, next to a boarded up warehouse with a deserted parking lot. He parked his patrol car, went to the trunk and came back with a bottle of whiskey. He said,
“Drink it, you piece of shit, or I’ll kick the shit out of you,” he said while putting his baton against my neck. I know I lost this battle, so I obeyed him and start drinking.
“Drink it, you piece of shit, or I’ll kick the shit out of you,” he said while putting his baton against my neck. I know I lost this battle, so I obeyed him and start drinking.
This is what a rape must feel like.
“Look all around you, not a soul in sight to save you.” then he went to the driver’s seat and got a CD from his glove compartment. Freddy Mercury starts singing out loud, "thum, thum, thum, another one bites the dust, another one bites the dust, and another one gone and another one gone . . ."
I used to love that song, now I’m going to hate it forever.
When Julian comes to bail me out next day and I told him the whole story, he says, “maaddaa faackaa, we need to find this maadda faackaa,” and adds, “We’ll get him ‘primo,’ I swear, we’ll get him.”
The following day, amazingly enough, I found the stupid cop on the front page of the newspaper, being honored by some ladies from MADD. (Mothers Against Drunk Drivers) The Visalia chapter was giving him a medal for most drunk-drivers arrested in the Tulare County. I felt my blood boiling inside my veins; his name is all over the place. Good.
There’s another article in the paper: “Another bank robbery, this time they escaped with 125,000.00 dollars.” Oh, Linda you’re such a smart woman.
There’s another article in the paper: “Another bank robbery, this time they escaped with 125,000.00 dollars.” Oh, Linda you’re such a smart woman.
I found the cop’s address in the internet. You don’t need to be a genius to find anything or anyone in the internet. I got you fucker!
In the morning, we drove by his house. He lives near Farmersville, on a new housing development. We found him mowing his lawn. His patrol car was in the driveway.
With broken English, signs or signals, Julian was supposed to ask the cop to follow him. A drunk driver had just crashed his car against a tree.
In a secluded empty field I had the front end of my car lashed out against a tree. From the distance, it would appear that I crashed on the tree. My chest leans against the steering wheel. My gun is hidden between my legs.
When the cop and Julian arrive, the cop comes to my window and asks, "Are you okay?
When the cop and Julian arrive, the cop comes to my window and asks, "Are you okay?
With gun in hand, I come out of the car, and pushed him to the back seat and say, “If you don’t do as I say you’re dead in a second motherfucker.”
In the back of the car we tie him up and cover his mouth with duct tape. In a few second we’re out of there. As I drive away, Julian keeps him down, with the gun against his head.
“If he moves, even just a little bit, shoot him in the head Julian. I’m sure he knows we mean it because he stays still. Then, we head for Dinuba, where Julian works.
Instead of going straight through the city, I take a longer route through the fields. We drive across two-way highways, cornfields, and orange trees. When we arrived to our destination, the sweet taste of revenge fills all my senses.
The big yard is enclosed with a chain link fence. Several trash trucks are parked neatly inside. The place is locked on Saturdays. Nothing else to see for two miles in the surrounding areas. When we get the cop out of the car, I proudly say to him: "Look all around you, there's not a soul in sight to save you."
He wrestles and complains when we try to put him in a residential trash container. He calms down a bit after Julian hits him in the head. His vertical body barely fits inside. Julian goes in the truck and operates the controls, the cop looks petrified when the thick metal arms slowly approach the container.
The extreme despair is evident in his eyes, his muffled screams and expressions seem to be coming from a silent film. I especially enjoy the moment when the container is horizontal, just before it drops him. Then, a heavy muted sound is barely audible when his body hits the truck's metal floor. When Julian turns the compactor on I put my ear close to the truck to hear the cracking sound of his bones being crushed.
The sound must be similar when you step on a cockroach, only a million times louder.
The big yard is enclosed with a chain link fence. Several trash trucks are parked neatly inside. The place is locked on Saturdays. Nothing else to see for two miles in the surrounding areas. When we get the cop out of the car, I proudly say to him: "Look all around you, there's not a soul in sight to save you."
He wrestles and complains when we try to put him in a residential trash container. He calms down a bit after Julian hits him in the head. His vertical body barely fits inside. Julian goes in the truck and operates the controls, the cop looks petrified when the thick metal arms slowly approach the container.
The extreme despair is evident in his eyes, his muffled screams and expressions seem to be coming from a silent film. I especially enjoy the moment when the container is horizontal, just before it drops him. Then, a heavy muted sound is barely audible when his body hits the truck's metal floor. When Julian turns the compactor on I put my ear close to the truck to hear the cracking sound of his bones being crushed.
The sound must be similar when you step on a cockroach, only a million times louder.
Julian needs to make many more stops to fill the truck with three tons of garbage. This was his first stop. I envy his job, it must be extremely satisfactory.
Mark says he is amazed at Julian's progress. He points out that he’s been here only a few months and he already has a job and a car. He’s dating gorgeous girls and more amazingly; he’s communicating in English. Then I mention that one of our Mexican neighbors has been here for more than twenty years and can’t say "shit" in English.
A few days later Kim showed up in our apartment. She was crying and had a bloody nose. Her upper lip was split open and swollen, she had a black eye too. She said her ex-husband beat her.
“The fucking bastard can’t leave me alone. It's not the first time he hits me, but it sure is the worst,” she says while looking at herself in the bathroom mirror.
“If I call the cops, he’s gone by the time they come,” still sobbing, she continues. “He lives in Madera, but every time he comes to Visalia to visit his buddies, he gets drunk and ends up in my house. And then he begs me, 'come on honey; take me back, I know I can make you happy, you know you need me'. Stupid asshole, I need him like I need a dead rat in my ass.” she says.
Julian and I begin to laugh. She laughs too, but complains right away: “ouch” cupping her jaw with her hand.
“If I call the cops, he’s gone by the time they come,” still sobbing, she continues. “He lives in Madera, but every time he comes to Visalia to visit his buddies, he gets drunk and ends up in my house. And then he begs me, 'come on honey; take me back, I know I can make you happy, you know you need me'. Stupid asshole, I need him like I need a dead rat in my ass.” she says.
Julian and I begin to laugh. She laughs too, but complains right away: “ouch” cupping her jaw with her hand.
“You know, I’ve seen a ton of movies about abused women, and most of them end up dead. If I try to defend myself, he just hits me harder. I just don’t know what to do anymore.” she says.
“You’re going to be okay Kim, we’re going to help you, he’ll be out of your life soon, you’ll see.” I say.
Julian is mad as hell but doesn’t say a thing. After we fix her a little, we give her two shots of tequila and four aspirins. Then, she falls asleep with her sore body and all.
“I think we can plan something around this fog we’re having, like for example . . . ” and in ten minutes Julian finds three different ways to get rid of him.
In the morning I explained our plans to Kim “Just get him drunk and bring him to us. Call him and say that you’re going to give him a last chance, tell him to come to your house to celebrate the reunion and get him totally drunk.”
“Okay, that shouldn't be so hard, and then what?”
"Just get him drunk and bring him to us. But he needs to be all fucked up drunk. okay?"
Once I made sure she understood, I say, “It’s going to get foggy tonight, make sure you bring him around midnight, when the fog is at its heaviest.”
After she left I went to see Mark and asked him if we could use his van.
After she left I went to see Mark and asked him if we could use his van.
Sure enough, Kim showed up at midnight. “Okay guys, I got him in my car he’s all fucked up, he's completely gone, now what?” she says, full of satisfaction.
Then Julian and I carried the son of a bitch to the rear of the van. Kim will drive the van to Delano, a small town, thirty miles south of Visalia.
The fog is so heavy, we can only see about hundred feet in front of us. Julian and I are in the rear of the van keeping an eye on the stupid guy. A couple of miles past Delano, I told Kim to pull in front of an eighteen-wheeler, and then we just pushed the guy out of the van.
The fog is so heavy, we can only see about hundred feet in front of us. Julian and I are in the rear of the van keeping an eye on the stupid guy. A couple of miles past Delano, I told Kim to pull in front of an eighteen-wheeler, and then we just pushed the guy out of the van.
As simple as that, the motherfucker won’t be hitting any defenseless girls anymore. When I close the van’s back door, I see Kim’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. She doesn’t seem surprised at what we just did.
In the morning during breakfast, I make a comment about a story I’m reading on the paper. A funny story, well sad, but also funny.
“A local young athlete from a local high school basketball team was surfing in Australia. He was floating on his surfboard face down and pushing the water with his hands. And then, a shark bit off his left hand. Somehow, he managed to swim back to the beach and survived. He came back to Visalia after spending a week in an Australian hospital. Hundreds of students received him at the baseball field, where they brought him from the airport in a helicopter. When he came out, he saluted the crowd with his right hand, and he got his hand chopped off by the helicopter blades.”
Then Julian made one of his typical silly comments
“Man, how is he supposed to wipe his ass now?”
Edmundo Barraza
Visalia Ca. May-30-2011
Visalia Ca. May-30-2011
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