Chapter 1
Rayando El Sol
Scratching At The Sun
My eyes flash open and it takes a while for things to come into focus. The surroundings aren't familiar and I wait for my human Bio-Computer to provide me with the necessary information. One revelation that I am certain of and I can lay odds on, is that I am not in jail. Always a good thing. I hear a woman singing , dishes clanking, birds chirp and squawk outside the window, dogs bark and a solitary rooster crows off key. I recognize the voice singing "Rayando el Sol" while doing dishes. It’s my close friend and smuggling partner Becky. Now the events of the past evening start gelling together. I’m at Becky’s house in Nogales Arizona , a mile north of the Mexican border. I take notice of less than half a bottle of Mescal on the brightly multicolored serape covering the table next to the bed. There’s an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts also a few roaches and a mirror with a pile of Cocaine. Tecate beer cans are strewn across the floor like dead soldiers. Proof a battle against sobriety had taken place. Drugs, alcohol and I remember a couple of prostitutes, friends of Becky’s hermosa cousin Bianca. I take comfort in knowing nothing out of the ordinary took place. Just another night of the usual. Suddenly like a bee sting a frantic search for my wallet and other personal items ensues. I locate my pants under the bed and discover my wallet minus one hundred and eighty five dollars. My passport and other identification along with my credit cards are still there. Gracias a Dios,(thank God) an expression I use often however, I am far from being a religious man. One man's religion is another man's belly laugh as far as I’m concerned. I expected the money to be gone. The other personal items are far more important. I snail crawl out of bed and wrestle with my pants then my shirt. I don't see my shoes and they hardly seem to matter at this space in time. I head for the bathroom. Gotta piss like a poisoned race horse. I take a look at myself in the mirror to see if my disheveled state is noticeable and notice my chest through my unbuttoned shirt. In large red letters that I assume is lipstick is written "Papi Rico" and "Dame mas" (give me more) I hope there's video, I don't recall any of this taking place. Upon finishing my business I slap some cold water on my face and make my way toward the kitchen. Becky stands in front of the sink belting out the song, “mi muero porti viviendo sin ti" ( I’m dieing for you living without you) Mana She's a short, heavy set Mexicana with typically skinny legs. She spent two and a half years in prison for running marijuana across the border. After something like that you'd think she'd give it up but the money is too fucking good. It always keeps you coming back for one more last time. "Well good morning lover boy! You were in rare form last night.” she shouts. "Jesus Christ Becky can ya keep it down. I am nursing an ass kicking hangover." She laughs and gives me a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. “I love you, you clown. Sometimes you make me laugh so hard I pee my pants. “ she giggles "And other times?" I ask. "Do you really want me to answer that? Now what do you want for breakfast? This kitchen isn't open all day." "Breakfast! Are you kidding me? I am seriously sick! I poisoned my self on half bottle of Mescal.” I whine She breaks into a low chuckle and then a healthy loud belly laugh. "Half a bottle! You mean two and a half bottles. You and the muchachas were pouring 'em down last night." She testifies "Ok eggs and refried beans it is. Here's some coffee, it'll make ya feel better." " Hey Beck, what time is it? Have you heard from Rafa?” I ask. "It’s 3:45 in the afternoon October 17th 1989." "And what....?" "It’s Tuesday" She answers before I can finish slurring my question. "And Rafa?" "Haven't heard from him hun. Sit tight, he'll call." she reassures. Ok, so here's the skinny, the lowdown, the whole ball of wax. I know, such trite expressions. I’m waiting on a load, eighty kilos of cocaine to drive to San Francisco. It crossed the border yesterday morning and sits in a van on the United States side for a day or so to observe if it’s been tracked. #END# Judge Santiago Burdon ©2013 Word Count 785
Comments