El Billete Manda

The low riders cruised the streets, blanketing dust onto their chrome wheel hubs. Off to the side, La Mala Vida. Distinguished by its collection of choppers resting on it’s curb. The metal grated door, making the bar feel more like a renovated home than an actual establishment. In the back, a singular, dimly lit pool table. A stack of cash lying loosely over the corner pocket. A gathering of Marines, anxiously standing at attention. Before he even pocketed the black eight ball, Rudi was making his way around the table to gather his winnings.

“Good game fella’s,” Rudi said. A skip in his final step before reaching the cash. As if to kick start his legs.

“Whoa, not so fast,” said one of the boys, pool stick still firmly grasped in hand. The other bikers followed suit and closed in on Rudi.

“That was some game you played there. If I had a few less cerveza’s, I would’ve been sure you was hustling us.”

“Hustling? That was a lucky shot. You had a three ball advantage most of the game.” Rudi, money in hand, pointed back at the table, hoping for a brief moment to make his way towards the door.

The men closed in on him. He heard the latch on the bar entrance slam shut just before feeling the heat of a rapidly approaching knuckle to his face.

He came to on a hospital bed. His hand found his eyeball and a searing pain scorched through him at the touch. Madeline walked into the room in that moment.

“Here take these,” she said, extending one hand with two white pills in it, then grabbing the water cup from the tiny side table. Rudi ignored the water and threw the two pills into the back of his throat.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“A couple hours,” Madeline replied. “Hector broke up the fight but those guys beat the shit out of you before he could get back there.”

Rudi could feel a couple ribs were broken as he sat up in the bed. Grimacing, he yanked out the tubes and wires that were on, and in, his body.

“You’re going to need to stay here another night,” Madeline pleaded, reaching to replace the IV line.

“Can’t. Gotta get out of here. I got work.” Rudi said.

“Work? What are you gonna do, hustle more ranchers? Sling coke?” Madeline reached into her scrubs pocket and pulled out a small Ziploc bag.

“You’re lucky I snagged this shit before the cops did a thorough search of you, little bro. Cops aren’t missing an opportunity to lock another Mexican up around here.”

Rudi snatched the bag out of her hand and shoved it into his jeans pocket.

“I got real work,” he said. “One that’s gonna net me more than a couple hundred bucks from selling dime bags.”

“When are you going to get out of that life, Rudi? What would Abuelita say if she were here.”

“What do you think I’m doing, Madi? This is the one. I can feel it. With this job, I’m leaving all this behind.”

“I hope you’re right. I can’t find you in one of these beds with a sheet over your face, like every other bastardo that crossed into El Paso.” Madeline hugged her brother. Squeezing tight enough for Rudi to yelp out in pain.

“Remember that pain, because if I see you back in here, it’ll be ten times worse.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be a new man next time you see me.” Rudy got up from the bed, grabbed his red and white flannel shirt from the coat rack and walked out of the room.

***

“You are not taking my girl away from me! You get that?”

Boon heaved his Coors Light to the other side of the trailer, the can exploding cold beer onto the yellow, cigarette stained walls.

“Stop with that shit!” he yelled into the phone. “You know I’ll get the money. If you leave Texas with my baby girl, I swear to God!”

He heard a click on the other end of the phone and slammed the receiver into the wall mounted handset. The phone missed the latch and fell, lying limp, bouncing against the wall.

Boon left his trailer and lit a cigarette. Pressed his back against the aluminum side of his trailer. He slumped to the ground. Looking out into the vast emptiness of the desert where he chose to plant his trailer, he pondered how much more he had left. His ex-wife’s voice still lingering in his ears.

“She needs a doctor. If you’re not going to do anything, I’m getting her the fuck outta here.” she said over the phone.

And Boon knew she was right. He knew he was nothing as a father. And that it was his selfishness that was keeping his daughter from getting the proper care she needed. Selfishness and money. Holding the cigarette in his mouth, he reached into the pocket of his Levi’s and pulled out a blank, white business card. On the back, handwritten, read ‘Friday. 10am.’ Boon shoved the card back into his pocket, took a long drag of the Chesterfield, and slammed the trailer door shut.

***

The whirl of heavy machinery and gigantic trucks filled the air in the office. At the desk, was Salazar Garcia, a mid-level boss of the Medellin cartel, who fancied himself ‘King of El Paso.’ He was a small man. With a small head. He smoked a cigar roughly the same size. A thin mustache delicately draped across his greasy lip. The rest of him clad in florescent neons and shiny golds. Seated neatly across, sat Rudi and Boon. Rudi, outfitted with fresh bandages, his flannel shirt, baggy black jeans and white Air Jordans. Boon, dressed relatively similar, although appearing completely different. A flannel shirt and blue jeans. This time paired with rough boots and a light brown cowboy hat. His Chesterfields nestled into his shirt pocket. Salazar sat back in his chair and puffed his cigar.

“I’m very glad you two could come. You should be too. I have a very lucrative job.”

“Get on with it,” Boon muttered, slumping down in his chair and stretching his legs.

“I’m in, whatever you need Sal,” Rudi revealed a little too eagerly.

“A shipment of cocaine,” he paused, puffing his cigar, “a large shipment of my cocaine, was hijacked two nights ago. I would like you two to go retrieve it.”

“With the kid?” Boon huffed. “Like hell that.” Boon leapt from his seat, pushed the folding chair aside and started walking toward the office door.

“Boon…” Salazar sang. “I’m calling in the favor for this one.”

Boon halted. Gritted his teeth. Clenched his fist. And walked back to the chair.

“You’ll need him anyway. I know who stole my drugs and I know where they are,” he flicked his wrist at Rudi, “Kid, leave us a sec. Go wait at the Jeep. She’s gassed up for the trip.” Salazar winked in Boon’s direction. Rudi exited the office.

Salazar placed his cigar down and leaned over the desk toward Boon.

“You are taking that kid, because he’s no use to me no more. You got that?”

Boon most certainly “got that.” The favor wasn’t the drugs. The favor was making sure Rudi died along the way. But Boon was in this business long enough to know that he was a soldier. Take orders and swallow your questions. He nodded.

“The fucks that took my shipment are wannabe Hell’s Angels. Small gang. Six, maybe seven. They operate out of some shithole saloon outside Vegas. You get there, you get my drugs, and you take care of that kid along the way.” Salazar slid a chain of keys across the vinyl wood desk top. Boon snatched the keys off the desk, planted his feet and made for the door. Outside, he put his sunglasses on, pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. He tossed the keys to Rudi and said, “You’re driving.”

***

The pair sat in silence for over an hour. Rudi, gingerly studying each ridge and nub of the leather wheel on the ‘84, green Jeep Cherokee. It reeked of alcohol. Not drinking alcohol, isopropyl, Rudi thought. Almost enough to make him gag. He rolled the windows down to let the fresh desert air seep in. Doing so slowly, as he thought this was sure to break the palpable tension in the car. Boon simply glanced over to Rudi, plucked a cigarette from his pocket and lowered his window as well. Rudi, half thought the car was to blow when Boon flicked the lighter on. This little dance seemed to ease the atmosphere a bit.

“Dunno why Sal said this car was ‘filled up’? She straddling zero.” Rudi said. “Gonna need to pull into the station over there.” He pointed without letting the grip of the wheel go.

“Good. Do it quick.” Boon responded.

They crossed the yellow line in the road into the only structure for miles. Rudi pulled into a pump and ran around to Boon’s side of the Jeep to open the cap. Boon handed him a twenty through the window.

“Here, take this.”

Rudi grabbed the bill and wandered into the station. Boon got out and opened the trunk. He lifted the thick wool blanket that lay there, revealing a bountiful stash of handguns and shotguns. Boon grabbed the Colt 1911 and a loaded magazine, sliding it into the weapon. He strapped a holster around his chest, shut the trunk and walked to the driver side of the jeep and got in.

“Ah good, you drive. My eyes can’t go any longer.” Rudi walked back to the pump and removed it from the car. Through the window, he tossed a bag of chips at Boon and opened the passenger side door. Climbing into the seat.

“Thanks,” Boon muttered, taking note of the pistol handle jamming into his ribs. They crossed the yellow lines and back onto the endless highway.

“Hey,” Rudi started, “I just want to say that I gotta lotta respect for you. I’ve heard a lot about you, man.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you have,” Boon responded sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Rudi jumped back in, ignoring Boon’s unpleasantness.

“When I first started with Sal, this life was everything to me. But now…” he paused. “I didn’t have no money growing up. ‘Specially after we actually crossed the border and started living here. This job, this job with us, this is gonna change my future. I’ll be able to get ou…” he paused again, this time peering over to Boon. Boon looked over to him, his teeth gripping a cigarette.

“Get out before you can’t,” he said, taking a long drag before flicking the cigarette out to the desert. The pair where silent again.

***

They arrived at the saloon a few minutes to midnight. On the outskirts of Rancho Charleston. The faded letters spelling out ‘Saloon’ still discolored the wood above the rotted awning. The moving light beams through the plywood door, telling them the gang was inside. They drove the Jeep off the main highway and parked it behind some brush about half a mile down.

“What are we…” Rudi began to stammer but Boon was already feet on dirt, heading toward the trunk. Rudi quickly opened his door and followed to the back. The hatch opened and Boon ripped off the woolen blanket, revealing to Rudi the weapon stash they had been couriering for hundreds of miles.

“Shit! This has been back here the whole time.” Rudi exclaimed, grabbing the barrel of the sawed off shotgun that sat front and center. Boon ripped it out of his hands before Rudi had the chance to examine it.

“You’re not touching the guns,” he said. Sliding the blanket and it’s contents toward the front of the Jeep, Boon outlined the perimeter of the saloon with his middle finger on the liner of the trunk.

“I’m going to flank around the back. There should be a door or window that I can get in through. The case is in there somewhere. I just need time to find it. I need you to create a distraction. Get each motherfucker in there looking to the front of the bar. Shouldn’t be hard, seeing as you’re Mexican, and they’ll probably be pissed to be breathing the same air as you.”

“But shouldn’t I have a gun? What if they come after me?” Rudi said.

“No gun.” Boon replied sternly, moving to grab something from the driver side. In that moment, Rudi anxiously grasped for the snub nose .38 special resting closest to him. He eyed the revolver’s cylinder and could see it was at least partially loaded. Quickly, he shoved the weapon into the back of his jeans and pulled his shirt over. Boon returned, sliding a hunting knife into a sheath around his thigh. He distractedly re-fitted his holster to his body and placed a second 1911 into its right side.

“You ready?” Boon asked.

“Listo.” Rudi replied. And the two began the walk through the desert to their saloon oasis.

***

“Wait 30 seconds for to get around and then draw their attention,” said Boon, crouching low. Rudi nodded.

Boon shuffled to the back side of the bar where he spotted the rear entrance.

The door slammed opened, old wood making contact with old wood, creating a loud bang, as a leather clad biker stumbled out. Boon hugged tight to the wall. The biker wandered a few yards from the saloon. Boon could hear the zip of his black jeans and the stream of piss hitting the desert rock. Boon made no hesitation. In two strides, he was on the biker, knife unsheathed as he brought it down into the man’s neck. The biker could not react. His body fell limp into Boon’s arms as he caught him and laid him quietly overtop the man’s own urine. Boon turned and made toward the door. He could hear Rudi’s voice inside.

“I’m just looking to take a break from the road. Maybe get a cheap drink before I lose all my money in Vegas.” Rudi said, slurring some of the words for effect.

“This is a private club,” one of the bikers said. “You best turn around back through that door, muchacho.”

“Aw come on. I’ve been on the road since this morning. You boys got any whiskey back there?” Rudi staggered towards the bar and leaned over to look at the row of bottles stashed underneath. One of the bikers approached him and pushed him back. Rudi threw his hands up.

“Whoa… alright pal. Hint taken.” Rudi slumped back into a chair adjacent to the entrance of the saloon. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just rest hear for a second before getting back on the highway.”

Boon could hear Rudi’s performance as he searched the back rooms of the decrepit saloon. Most of them nothing more than ash trays of old cigarillos and broken beer bottles. But one stood out. The one with the door closed. It was unlocked, as Boon twisted the knob and slowly opened it. Seated at the desk, legs outstretched, was another biker. Boon in a brief moment spotted the breifcase in the corner. The biker caught sight of him. Boon slipped his right hand into the opposite side holster, rose and fired. The bullet sank into the man’s neck, however the deception was gone. Boon hustled to grab the case then back to the office door to set up a position. The five bikers stood frozen in the main hall of the bar. Trying to comprehend the drunk Mexican that stumbled into their unwelcoming saloon and the gunshot that rang out behind them.

Rudi instinctively flipped the wooden table over and threw himself behind it. He pulled the snub nose out of his waist band and urgently tried to understand how to use it.

Boon, sensing the confusion, charged out from the back office, both pistols now in hand. He fired three quick shots, removing the most immediate bikers to his position. He slid and ducked down behind the back of the bar. Another man threw himself over the bar, landing mere feet from Boon. Boon tossed the guns to the ground and before the biker could collect himself, buried the knife between his ribs. The man fell back to the floor when Boon heard another gunshot. He looked up to see the final biker aiming his weapon directly at him. But the biker did not move. His face went flush. He fell over the bar and slid to the ground. Boon rose to find Rudi standing, his snub nose .38 special pointed at the bike, wisps of smoke streaming off the barrel.

Boon got to his feet and walked over to retrieve the briefcase.

“Is that it?” Rudi asked.

“This is it.” Boon replied. “Good job ki…”

Another bang ran out. Boon’s head dropped to his chest, his fingers finding fresh blood saturating his shirt. He looked to Rudi to find him again holding his pistol extended. This time, aimed at Boon. He fell. Dropping the briefcase at his side.

Rudi remained stunned, disassociated, behind the overturned table. A few rapid breaths and he gathered himself. He walked across the bar. Reaching down first for the briefcase. He knelt and flipped the latches open. Inside, the leather lined case was filled with bags of white powder. More than one hundred thousand dollars worth. His rapid heart rate increased even further. Boon’s eyes were shut. Rudi reached into Boon’s pocket to retrieve the keys to the Jeep. He struggled for a few seconds. His hands trembling and sweating. Finally, he found his grip and began to pull the keys out, when he heard a low, raspy breath, and felt a cold hand latch onto his wrist.

“Leave this world.” Boon whispered, his head wilting to the dusty boards.