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The Coyote and a One-Armed Man

By B.D. Lawrence

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Prologue

Hector Miguel Placido watched his daughter Consuela with mixed emotions. Pride, sadness, anticipation. She sat ramrod straight at the end of the bench seat in the back of the twenty-year-old Chrysler 300. He sat on the other end, his wife Rose and his son Miguel wedged between them. With every bump of the rough dirt road, she bounced. Her head swiveled back and forth, her dark eyes wide as she soaked in the passing landscape, even though there was nothing but sage, cactus, and dirt on all sides, all familiar sights. But this was the farthest she’d ever been from home and at the end of the long, sweaty journey was the promise of a new life, a life of freedom, of getting out from under the ever-present oppression of the cartel. America waited only about twenty more miles ahead.
Sadness lingered in him because Consuela was growing up so fast. Only thirteen, but she looked like a young woman. Wavy black hair that fell between her shoulder blades. Wide dark eyes. Puffy lips that never seemed to stay completely closed. And too many curves for such a young girl.
Pride battled sadness as he recalled how she’d handled herself in their neighborhood. Every time she left the house the boys and young men encircled her like drones around their queen bee, buzzing with excitement and, he had to admit, lust. She’d been coquettish, even flirtatious at times, but she’d always known where to draw the line. He’d only had to put the hammer down when the seventeen- or eighteen-year-olds became too forward. They feared him, or rather they feared those he worked for.
But no more. That was over. Time for a fresh start. The entire family shared the anticipation. Seven years he’d saved from the meager earnings he’d made cutting powder for the cartel. Seven years and he finally had enough to pay the coyote to get them out. And he was leaving with permission from his bosses. No looking over their shoulders. Of course, they got their cut of the fee.
Consuela caught his gaze and smiled. Such white, even teeth. A miracle considering where she grew up. He rarely showed his uneven, stained teeth. Somehow Consuela had always found a way to stay beautiful, to primp and preen. No makeup. No lipstick. But she’d found a way.
Hector frowned. Out the driver’s side window, he watched a gray four-door Jeep drive fast toward them. A heavy cloud of dust trailed behind it. Their driver shouted. Their coyote, a wiry man with a pock-marked face and thinning greasy hair, swore. He yelled at the driver to accelerate. Minutes later, he yelled for the driver to stop, resigned, Hector assumed, to not being able to outrun the Jeep. They stopped and waited.
Within a minute, the Jeep pulled to a stop about five meters from them. Hector discerned four individuals in the Jeep. A large man dressed in khaki shorts and a black T-shirt, wearing a shoulder holster with a black semi-automatic, exited the passenger front door then opened the same side rear door. Another man, not quite as tall, and much thinner stepped out. The driver’s side rear door also opened and another large man, also with a semi-automatic in a shoulder holster, khaki shorts and black T-shirt stepped out. This man and the first man walked to the front of the Jeep and stood, arms crossed, legs slightly spread. The thinner man stayed to the right of the bodyguards and approached the car. He stopped a meter away and gestured toward their car, indicating he wanted someone to join him.
The coyote swore again but got out of the car and walked around the front toward the thin man. He threw his hands in the air. With the windows closed to keep the dust out, Hector could not discern the words, but heard the coyote yelling. The two bodyguards watched his every move. The thinner man didn’t say anything. He had a slight grin on his smooth face. His black hair was greased back. He wore an off-white linen shirt, light tan slacks and penny loafers. When the coyote finally reached the thin man, he spoke. Hector could not read lips and could not hear anything. This went on for several minutes, the thin, well-dressed man speaking, their coyote listening, his shoulders drooping farther with each sentence.
Finally, the coyote shrugged, hung his head, turned, and returned to the car. He got in and told the driver to drive. As soon as they started moving and the Jeep did not follow, Hector let out his breath. He looked at each of his family members and nodded, half smiling. They all looked relieved and nodded back. Nothing else was said for the next half hour.
The car stopped about five hundred meters from the border. A tall, metal fence was visible on the horizon. It stretched left and right as far as they could see.
The coyote jumped out and opened the rear passenger door. In his other hand he held a long flashlight. “Hurry, out. All of you.”
Hector climbed out. Rose followed, then Miguel and finally Consuela.
“Follow me,” the coyote said.
Hector had never been given the man’s name. The man had even told him just to refer to him as the coyote if he had to get his attention. The coyote walked on a footpath the led between two hills. The family followed. The driver followed them. The trail went up about a hundred feet, then back down until they reached a pile of rocks. They could go no further without quite a climb. The coyote bent over, whisked some sand away exposing a metal handle, which he pulled raising a wooden hatch. Carved stairs led down. The coyote stepped into the tunnel and turned on his flashlight. Hector sent Rose in first, followed by Miguel, then Consuela. He followed last. As soon as he’d descended the eight or so steps, the driver closed the hatch behind them, but did not follow them. Hector and his family followed the coyote, who said nothing, for about ten minutes, until they reached a similar set of carved stairs that led up.
The coyote went up the stairs and knocked on the hatch. Someone opened it. He stepped out. The family followed. Waiting for them was another man who also looked Mexican. Stockier than their coyote, shorter, wearing cargo shorts and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. They had come out of the tunnel behind another mound. The two men led the family around to a road where a similar Chrysler 300, this one dark blue, waited for them.
“Get in.” The coyote gestured toward the car.
Hector’s family climbed in the back seat preserving the same order as before. Hector first, then Rose, followed by Miguel and finally Consuela.
The coyote climbed in the passenger front seat and immediately took out his cell phone. His fingers danced on the screen then he put the phone to his ear. After a brief pause, he said, “We’ll meet you in about sixty minutes. You know the spot.” He put the phone back into his pocket.
More driving. Nothing much said. Bouncy, dirt road again, but Consuela seemed to bounce all on her own, so excited was she to be in America. Rose gripped Hectors hand tight. Miguel looked forward, then back, then sideways. Again, nothing new to see. Nothing looked different than home. Still, this did not dissuade either child from taking it all in.
After about an hour, they stopped and waited. The driver turned the engine off but left the power on for the radio to play. With the car off, the heat encroached. Air spewing from the vents turned warm. The car smelled of old cigarettes. Consuela and Miguel continued looking all around. Minutes later another car, this one an even older sedan, gray splotchy paint on the hood, arrived. The coyote got out, as did the driver of the gray sedan. Another Mexican looking man, taller than the coyote, bigger, younger. They spoke for a minute, then the coyote returned to the car. He gestured to Hector to open his window. Hector pushed the button and the window slid down.
“You, only you, get out of the car,” the coyote commanded.
Hector complied and followed the coyote to a point halfway between the two cars. The driver also got out and stood between Hector and his family, his thick arms crossed, a scowl on his face.
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” the coyote said. “You’ve paid us, what, ten grand so far?”
Hector nodded. His stomach boiled. Despite the one hundred plus heat, a wave of cold washed over him. He crossed his arms to prevent himself from trembling. His mouth went dry, and he became intensely aware of the burning sun on his head through his thinning hair.
“We need another ten grand now.”
“Why?”
“Your bosses said so, that’s why.”
Hector looked over his shoulder at the car. The driver blocked most of the view, but he could see Consuela, nose pressed against the glass. She smiled at him. He turned back to their smuggler. “I only have five and that’s for us to get started. To live here in America. The agreement was I had six months to pay another ten grand, then six more months for the last.” He sucked in a deep breath of hot dry air. “I don’t understand why you’re changing our agreement.”
The coyote stepped closer. Hector heard other footsteps behind him, two pairs. Both of the other men also stepped closer. He started to feel claustrophobic, helpless, terrified. Not for his safety, but for his family. What would these men do since he didn’t have the money?
“Please. Give me three months to get the next payment.” He glanced behind himself.
The man behind and to the right of Hector put his hand behind his back. No doubt gripping a pistol. A couple more footsteps sounded behind him and then he felt hot breath on the back of his neck.
“Do you have the next payment now or not?” the coyote asked.
Hector stared at the ground and shook his head.
“Well, I am a reasonable man, and I too want to get the rest of my money.”
Hector looked up, feeling hopeful. Maybe he’d accept the three months.
The coyote waved at the man behind Hector, who turned and went to the car. Hector remained frozen, staring at the coyote. Car doors opened behind him.
“Not you,” the driver said.
Hector’s stomach lurched. He wanted to turn around, but the coyote’s stare locked him in place. Footsteps crunched on the hard dirt. Rose stepped to his side and took his hand. She was trembling and not trying to hide it. Miguel clung to her other side, his head buried in her flowered skirt.
A car door opened and closed on the car behind him. Again, he grew hopeful, but after a few seconds when he heard no footsteps that hope evaporated.
“You will go with Sanchez.” The coyote pointed to the gray sedan. “We will keep your daughter until you can pay us the next payment.”
“No.” Hector stepped forward.
Sanchez closed the gap between them, bringing his hand out from behind his back, holding a black semi-automatic.
“Don’t worry, my friend, we’ll take good care of her.” The coyote locked stares again with Hector. “You have my word, no one will touch her. Now go. Enjoy your new freedom. The sooner you get work, the sooner you get your daughter back.”
Sanchez gestured with the gun. Hector finally found the courage to turn and look at the car they’d left. Consuela still had her nose to the glass, but her smile was gone. Her eyes were wide and pleading. As Hector, Rose, and Miguel slowly, painfully made their way to the waiting sedan, tears dripped from Consuela’s eyes. She slowly shook her head, her mouth opening and closing. As they reached the other car, Consuela pounded on the glass. She tried to open the door but could not. Through the glass muffled shouts of “pappa” and “momma” drifted through the oppressive air. Hector lowered his head, unable to watch. Sanchez opened the car door. Miguel climbed in. Rose followed. Hector just stood there, shaking his head, a moan flowing from his gut to his mouth.
“Noooo.” He whirled around and tried to run to Consuela.
Sanchez slammed him in the head with the broadside of the gun. Hector reeled. Sanchez grabbed him and forced him into the back of the car and slammed the door. He then got in and drove away.
Hector managed to right himself and looked out the back window. The last thing he saw was the coyote climbing into the front passenger side and Consuela pounding on the rear window, screaming. No sound reached Hector’s ears, but a shrill piercing wail surged through his soul.

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