Escape from Mexico Read online

  ©2019 Matthew A. Hladik. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other

  noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 978-1-54397-102-6 (print)

  ISBN: 978-1-54397-103-3 (ebook)

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Part Time Job

  Chapter 2

  School

  Chapter 3

  Full Time Job

  Chapter 4

  Mama

  Chapter 5

  Eduardo

  Chapter 6

  Ariana

  Chapter 7

  Marcos

  Chapter 8

  The Last Night

  Chapter 9

  Trip to Camp

  Chapter 10

  Camp

  Chapter 11

  A Walk in the Sun

  Chapter 12

  Maria

  Chapter 13

  Alone Again

  Chapter 14

  Evil Draws Near

  Chapter 15

  Chasing Carmela

  Chapter 16

  At The Mall

  Chapter 17

  Paul

  Chapter 18

  The Last Bus Ride

  Chapter 19

  The New Job

  Chapter 20

  Karen Arrives

  Chapter 21

  Marcos

  Chapter 22

  Karen

  Chapter 23

  Home

  Chapter 24

  The New School

  Chapter 25

  Supplies for Home

  Chapter 26

  Crewcut

  Chapter 27

  The Girls Alone

  Chapter 28

  The Giant Awakens

  Chapter 29

  Crewcut

  Chapter 30

  At The Mall

  Chapter 31

  Emilio and Lucas

  Chapter 32

  Search and Seizure

  The Search

  Chapter 33

  Mike Comes Home

  Chapter 34

  Karen and Carmela go to the fair

  Chapter 35

  Mike and Carmela

  Chapter 36

  “Something Wicked This Way Comes”

  Chapter 37

  Mike’s Meeting

  Chapter 38

  At The Ranch

  Chapter 39

  The Attack

  Chapter 40

  Marcos Halts Action

  Chapter 41

  The Media

  Chapter 42

  The Wedding

  Chapter 43

  Marcos Returns

  Acknowledgements

  A Sincere thank you to

  Tom Cantillon, Teacher

  And to my

  Writing Group

  Chapter 1

  Part Time Job

  Ariana stood on a busy corner of an intersection all day selling flowers to tourists. When the stoplight turned red, she walked along the sidewalk with a bouquet held high, as she called, “Flowers, beautiful flowers, fresh flowers.”

  She moved back along the line, three or four cars, in the hope of making a sale before the light turned green. When someone rolled down the window she stepped off the curb.

  “Three dollars for this bunch. I can make a special bunch if you want to pull over.” If the transaction took too long, the drivers behind beeped their horns in irritation.

  Carmela worked for Ariana on weekends. After Carmela’s father deserted her and her mom, the extra money helped toward the never ending influx of bills.

  For two weeks, Ariana trained eight year old Carmela in the art of the hustle and the sale. Ariana also taught her many things about being street wise. “Don’t get too close to the car, just close enough to reach the money. Wear an elastic band on your wrist. See. Like this.” Ariana pulled at the elastic band on her right wrist. “When they hand you a bill, say out loud what the bill is, for example, ‘Change from five, or from ten.’ Put the bill under the elastic band.” Ariana took a bill from her pocket, placed it on the back of her hand, and slid it under the elastic band.

  “See, just like that. If they claim they gave you a larger bill, you’ll have their money right in front of them. When you take money, make it obvious what you’re doing with it. They’ll know they can’t cheat you. Never put the money away until after they’ve gone. Smile all the time. Be extra nice. Sometimes the honest ones will give you a tip.”

  Ariana turned to the flower cart and opened a drawer where she kept scissors, ribbons, tissue paper, tape, and elastic bands.

  “Hold out your hand,” she said, and slipped an elastic band on Carmela’s wrist. “You do the next sale for good practice.”

  On the third week, Ariana placed Carmela on a street corner two blocks away, close enough to be watched. If it looked like someone giving her trouble, Ariana could run over there in a hurry. At the end of the day, they deducted the cost of the flowers sold, and as they split the remainder of the money, they talked.

  Ariana soon became a new friend and surrogate mother.

  On a section of a dirt road on Carmela’s way home, three young boys stepped out from behind some bushes, and blocked her way.

  The bigger one in the center said, “Hey, girl. Where d’ya think your goin’?”

  “I’m going home.”

  “Not this way, you’re not, unless you pay the toll.”

  “What toll? I’m not paying you anything. This isn’t your road.”

  “I’m making it my road. You don’t pay. You don’t pass.”

  Carmela tried to walk around them, but the leader said, “Grab her arms.”

  Carmela struggled and yelled, “Let go of me. Help! Somebody help me!”

  As the leader came toward her she tried to kick him, but he stepped to the side. She squirmed with all her might as he searched her pockets until he found the one with the money.

  She yelled as loud as she could. “Put that back, you cockroach.”

  He counted it and said, “Wow! Jackpot, boys, we made a day’s pay.” He took a single dollar bill and pushed it back into her pocket. “Here. We don’t want you to go away broke. Come back and see us real soon. Okay, boys, let her go.”

  They ran toward the slight embankment leading to the bushes, but not fast enough.

  Carmela grabbed a handful of rocks and hurled them as fast as she could. “You scum. I’ll have the police on you.”

  She hit one of the smaller kids in the back just before they disappeared into the shrub growth. He yelled “Ow”, but kept on running.

  After being robbed, she went crying to the old gardener she worked for a couple evenings per week.

  “Stop that howling,” He said. “What’s the problem?”

  After Carmela told him what happened he said, “Well stick up for yourself.”

  “How?” she cried.

  “You got fists don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then use them. Come over here, and I’ll show you what to do.”

  He had boxed professionally, and each time she finished her work for him, he taught her more about how to protect herself. Years later, thanks to his training, she won twenty dollars in her first official fight.

  Right away, Carmela used what he taught her about fighting by protecting he
r money from the bigger kids that waited to ambush her on the way home.

  Now, before walking home, she put singles in different pockets, so the robbers never got it all. Larger bills she kept in her shoes. Any money they found on her, cost them split lips, black eyes or scratches. Her fierce fighting earned their respect, and soon after, they let her pass unharmed. A broomstick from the garbage, cut in half, kept any new robbers at bay.

  After some experience, Carmela learned to size up people by listening to them speak a few sentences. Some people are book smart and people stupid. But, even at her young age, Carmela had the gift of discernment of persons. She knew by instantaneous insight the quality of character. Sometimes she perverted this gift for personal benefit, but it also rang an alarm bell in her heart in case of danger.

  One day as she waited on a pedestrian customer she overheard a couple in a convertible one car back from the stoplight.

  “Oh, Honey. Look at that cute little Mexican girl selling flowers on the corner. Let’s pull over. Look at her black hair, it’s…, it’s…, iridescent. A little waif out in this heat, trying to make some money. Be sure to give her a little extra.”

  Carmela sensed another opportunity to practice her acting skills. She knew when to disregard Ariana’s advice to always display a big smile along with happy, happy talk from the little foreign girl. She slumped her shoulders a little as she turned from the sidewalk to the curb. Carmela had on her sad face as the car pulled up alongside.

  The woman said, “Hello, little girl.”

  “Hello. You buy flowers, please?”

  “Yes. Two bunches.”

  The beautiful lady wore a short sleeved print dress with a pearl choker on her neck. She appeared cool under a wide brimmed straw hat with double red ribbons trailing off the back.

  After making two bouquets from the assorted flowers, Carmela said, “I put extra red flowers to match dress and ribbon in hat. You pretty lady.”

  “Well, thank you. Tell me, are you out here all day in this heat?”

  “Yes, all day weekends.” With the back of her hand, Carmela wiped the sweat off her forehead.

  “Don’t you have a hat to protect you from the sun?”

  “Can’t pay for one. I have old towel. When it get bad, I put it on head.” She held up what anyone else would have considered just an old rag.

  “Oh, dear! Is it worth your time? Do you make good money on the flowers?”

  “My boss get all money. He pay me twenty five cents an hour. They’re his flowers. He count when I leave in the morning. At night he count what’s left. If money not right, he take from my pay.”

  “Is this how you earn your spending money?”

  “Money go for food. Father run away so I try help. I buy rice and beans before go home.”

  “You don’t have any other food in the house?”

  “Don’t keep food in apartment. Rats eat it.”

  Carmela could tell by the startled look on the lady’s face that the story had the intended impact. Her broken English dramatized her tale of woe. She continued to tell the couple about her miserable dilapidated apartment and if she got up to go to the bathroom at night, she put her shoes on first so she wouldn’t step on the roaches in her bare feet. Before she went into a room, she would turn on a light to give the roaches time to scatter.

  She had the undivided attention of the couple. For added effect she wiped a false tear at the corner of her eye and forced her voice to crack when she talked about her poor little brother born with a defective leg because her mother used a lot of drugs during the pregnancy.

  “He can’t walk, but he happy boy. He play on floor all day. Sometime nice tourists give me tip. On good day I have money to buy him little treat.”

  Carmela saw the lady’s eyes brimming with tears. This is a good time to stop. Back to business. She told them the cost of the flowers and touched the lady’s hand as she handed them to her.

  The gentleman took the money from his wallet. Carmela had done a good job of evoking his sympathy, too. As he reached across the seat to hand Carmela the money he said, “Keep the change.”

  The woman took off her hat. “You take this. It’s almost noon. You need the protection.” She asked her husband for an additional ten dollar bill and handed it to Carmela. “You buy yourself and your brother a nice treat tonight. Goodbye, Sweetheart.”

  They pulled away and Carmela waved until they were out of sight. She took off her shoe, folded the ten dollar bill and put it in her sock under the arch of her foot.

  Carmela felt no guilt about fabricating an invalid brother. On the contrary, she had done a good deed. That lady went home happy. She had a story she’d repeat to friends at cocktail parties about the poor urchin living in such squalid conditions south of the border.

  Of course, Mrs. Nice Lady wouldn’t fail to mention how generous they were. Carmela imagined the lady saying, “Why I’ll bet that little girl never had that much money in her hand all at once.” She would tell her friends, “That little girl danced on the sidewalk all happy, and then started to cry. She couldn’t stop thanking me. “You good people. Bless you. You nice lady.”

  Carmela adjusted her new hat for maximum shade. She turned to see Ariana, two blocks down, watching her. Ariana spread her hands out, palms up, as if asking, “What’s going on?”

  In response, Carmela made a fist, raised her arm, and pumped it up and down twice, like pulling on a train whistle; their signal for “Everything okay.”

  A fast learner, Carmela developed her expertise in playing tourists to get extra money. For ten years Carmela worked part time, saving for that wonderful day when she could pay her passage across the border.

  The cute little eight year old faded into the past, and in her place stood a shrewd, eighteen-year-old street fighter with a knock-out body.

  Chapter 2

  School

  Eighteen year old Carmela, a senior, walked into the classroom toward her assigned desk in front of Juan Diego. She gave him a dirty look as he stared at her breasts.

  “Eh! Carmela. You lookin’ fine today, baby.” He grabbed his crotch, moving his hand up and down, “What say we meet after school. I show you somethin’ else that’s fine.”

  “Shut up, you pig.” Her dark eyes locked on his. She did not move.

  Carlos and Rodrigo laughed at Juan at first, but now they kept quiet as they waited for him to do something. A few seconds later, Juan broke off from her fierce gaze. He lowered his head and his eyes moved to his nervous hands as he rested them on top of the desk. “What a bitch,” he mumbled to himself. “Can’t even take a joke.”

  Carmela sat down.

  The class whispered among themselves.

  Carlos reached over to tap Juan on the shoulder. “Man, you been dissed.”

  Juan’s cheeks burned as he waved off his friend.

  Miss Romina, the English teacher, closed the door. “Good morning class. Settle down. Take your seats. Open your books to page 187. Today we will learn how to ask directions in English.”

  Within minutes of listening to the drone of her voice, most of the class stared out the window, daydreamed or watched the clock above the blackboard.

  Carmela paid attention. She spoke English very well, but wanted to learn more to get a good job when she crossed into Arizona. From there she would make her way northeast, far away from the Mexican border. No matter how hard it proved to be, she would realize her dream to be rich.

  Besides her schooling, what Carmela knew of English she had learned from selling flowers on the street corner to American tourists on vacation; at first a little faulty, but after years of practice, smooth enough to interact with understanding. She improved every day and tried to remove any trace of an accent. She believed it would give her an advantage for getting a good job in America.

  Miss Romina addressed the class. “For homework,
do the exercises at the end of the chapter. Also, there will be a writing assignment that I’ll put on the blackboard in a minute. I’ll need two full pages due by the end of the week.”

  The class groaned.

  Juan tapped Carlos with a pencil to get his attention. Juan held his two hands in front of his chest, making squeezing motions. He pointed to Carmela’s back.

  When the teacher turned to write on the board, Juan leaned forward, brought his hands under Carmela’s arms, around front to cup her breasts. His pleasure lasted two seconds.

  Carmela twisted at the waist, bringing her right elbow back at full force. Since Juan still leaned forward, the blow caught him high on the cheek bone. Stunned, he released his grip. By the time he straightened up, Carmela had leapt from her chair. She pummeled him with her fists. She had him pinned. She blocked his legs so that he couldn’t swing them out to get up or to kick at her. Every time he tried to get up, she pushed him down.

  The classroom erupted. One of the girls screamed. All eyes turned toward the scuffle. “Fight, fight, fight,” they chanted. Many of them left their seats to get a better view.

  At the first sounds, Miss Romina stopped writing and turned from the blackboard toward the commotion. She yelled, “Stop it! Stop it! Somebody help!” She tried to get down to them, but couldn’t get through the wall of kids surrounding the fight. Miss Romina ran into the hall to call for help. Phoning the office would take too long. The teacher from the adjacent classroom responded. Both women were still unable to penetrate the human wall.

  Carmela raked three fingernails down Juan’s left cheek. The sight of his blood infuriated her all the more. The bloodlust brought flashes of the past, and what she did to fend off her stepfather, when he beat her into submission before he raped her.

  Juan brought his arms up to ward off her fists, but Carmela had the advantage as she towered over him. She rained down rapid blows.

  Juan threw a lucky left jab. He meant it as a block, but it caught Carmela on the mouth.

  The taste of her own blood produced an explosive reaction. She grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the desk.

  Even above the chaos, she heard the crack of his nose a second before the blood spewed forth. Bright red splashed on the desk, on the floor, and on his shirt. Juan cupped his hands over his nose, but that didn’t stop Carmela. She kept punching as if in a trance. Her knuckles bled as she repeated, “You pig! You pig! You pig!”