Dark Moon Crossing (7 page)

There was nothing to do but wait, so I rolled the window down all the
way and stared out at the mountain-rimmed valley. I really had nothing to
complain about. Who could ask for a more beautiful setting?‌ It was blissfully
quiet, and as the cooling wind fluffed my hair and whispered through the tall
desert grasses, I filled my lungs with the fragrant scent. I sat there for at
least ten minutes until the bull grew bored with me and leisurely wandered into
the brush. All right! I shoved the car into gear and stepped on it, hoping to
catch up with Lupe. I’d only gone a mile or so when I saw two vehicles ahead
pulled over to the side of the road. One of them was hers. When I got closer,
shock zapped my heart. Lupe was leaning against the side of her car, arms
folded tightly, talking to a tall, burly man clad in a khaki shirt and slacks.
Uh-oh. The large letters on the side of the white and green vehicle parked
behind hers proclaimed U.S. Border Patrol. All four of her car doors were
open, as well as the trunk. Her bag was on the ground beside her, the contents
strewn about.

I mouthed a silent, ‘Oh, my God!’ as I drew alongside them and Lupe
shifted her gaze to me. Her usual burnished copper skin tone had faded to
ashen gray and I prayed that I was the only one who noticed that behind her
expression of subservient impassivity lay a hint of panic. Filled with an
awesome dread I waved and parked my car in front of hers. Stay cool, I
cautioned myself as I got out and strolled towards them. And be prepared to
lie your head off. “Is there some kind of a problem?‌” I asked, keeping my
voice light, my face impassive. He couldn’t hear my heart thundering, could
he?‌

“Afternoon. Do you know this woman?‌” the man asked, inclining his
blonde crewcut towards Lupe, while absently flicking what looked to be her
driver’s license between his fingers.

“Sure do. She’s a friend of mine.”

“And how do you know each other?‌”

“We work together at the
Castle Valley Sun
newspaper.”

“Is that so?‌” His close-set green eyes reflected profound doubt. “And
what’s
her
position?‌”

It irked me that he continued to talk about Lupe as if she weren’t
standing right next to him or was a person of so little consequence that he
could not address her directly. I swallowed my annoyance. “She works in our
advertising department.”

One sandy brow crept higher. “Full time?‌”

“Yes, sir.” My gaze strayed to his nametag that read Hank Breslow, and
then back up to meet the unwavering suspicion in his eyes.

“And you are?‌”

I issued him a bright smile even though my mouth was as dry as
cornstarch. “Kendall O’Dell. I’m the editor of the paper. So ah…what’s going
on?‌”

“You tell me.”

I edged a glance at Lupe who stood silent as a stone. I wasn’t sure
what kind of a game he was playing and I didn’t really care for his impudent
attitude, but I knew we were treading on quicksand. “We came down to do a
story on the…um, rally in Arivaca this weekend.” I silently thanked Walter and
maintained an expression of stoic calm.

Some emotion I could not fathom flickered behind his steady gaze.
Wordlessly, he lowered his eyes to study the driver’s license again. The wind
sounded awfully lonesome whistling through the tall straw-colored grass and I
was very conscious of our isolation. Suddenly, I felt resentful towards Lupe
for putting me in the position of having to lie for her, but then a twinge of
guilt chilled me. Hadn’t I voluntarily injected myself into this situation?‌

“Where did you say you were born again?‌” the agent asked, finally
shifting his attention to Lupe.

“Florence, Arizona.” The falsehood slipped out with practiced
ease.

“And your mother?‌”

“Hermosillo.”

His eyes bored into hers. “Have you got a copy of your birth
certificate with you?‌”

At that, I had to bite my tongue to keep from jeering, ‘Oh, come on.
Who carries their birth certificate with them in the car?‌’

Never flinching, she fished something from her wallet and extended it
to him. “I have my Social Security card. Will that help?‌” The slightest inkling
of indolence surfaced in her smoky almond-shaped eyes. She knew she’d won. So
did Agent Breslow.

He made a show of studying her card, just to keep her on edge, I think,
and then handed it back to her along with her driver’s license. “You ladies have
yourselves a nice day,” he said, squeezing out a synthetic smile. A glimmer of
skepticism still persisted in his eyes as he climbed into his Chevy Tahoe,
slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, revved the engine, and then ever so
slowly cruised away.

When he was out of sight, I turned back to find Lupe’s show of bravado
dissolving as she slowly slid to her haunches and took in great gulps of air
before pinning me with a look of terrified rage. “Where were you?‌” she
screeched.

I felt foolish and impotent. “Well, you see, there was this big bull
in the road, and there wasn’t anything….”

“That guy just came at me out of nowhere,” she cut in through clenched
teeth. “If you’d been here with me this wouldn’t have happened.” She clapped
her hands alongside her head and collapsed to the ground as if her legs would
no longer support her. “Holy Mother of God,” she murmured in a quaking voice,
“I was afraid of this. Do you know how close that was?‌”

Stung
by her accusation, my face warmed with guilty embarrassment. “Lupe, I’m really
sorry. I got here as soon as I could but you see this bull wouldn’t let me get
past…” The excuse sounded so silly, I halted my explanation and fired a
question at her. “What reason did he give for stopping you?‌”

She
looked up at me ever so slowly. “Reason?‌ What reason would he need other than
the fact that I’m Mexican?‌”

I
knelt beside her. “Okay, Lupe, calm down. Fortunately, nothing happened.
You’re gonna be okay. I’m going to be with you the rest of the trip.”

“What
about when I go home tomorrow night?‌ If we had come in the same car, he
probably would not have stopped me.”

I
put out a hand to help her up. “You don’t know that for sure. Be realistic.
With the situation down here as volatile as it is, you might get pulled over
again whether I’m here or not. Anyway, you seemed to have your ducks all in a
row or he wouldn’t have dropped it.”

She
took my hand and clambered to her feet. “I did do pretty good, didn’t I?‌” she
said, a faint grin brightening her grim features.

“Your acting skills are to be commended,” I agreed
dryly, but the heavy weight in my gut reminded me of how tenuous her situation
was and could be again any time in the future.

I helped her get her things back into the car and I led
the way this time. On the outskirts of town, I noticed a Border Patrol vehicle
parked behind a clump of mesquite on a dirt side road. As we drove past, I
glanced at the occupant and a feeling of apprehension pooled in my belly.
Agent Breslow was sitting inside with his field glasses trained on us. Was he
spying on us, making sure our alibi was accurate?‌ I suppressed an impish
desire to wave at him, instead refocusing my attention on the road. It would
not be wise to piss this guy off.

It was almost one o’clock by the time we pulled into
what I’m sure was normally the sleepy little town of Arivaca. But, not today.
Among the rows of cars, pickups and motorcycles parked along the main street,
vehicles from the Pima County sheriff’s department stood out prominently.
Uniformed deputies were out in full force, and only blocks ahead I could hear
angry shouts from a sizeable crowd gathered in front of the La Gitana Saloon to
my left. They waved placards that read TACO BENDERS GO HOME! THE KNIGHTS OF
RIGHT ARE PREPARED TO FIGHT! BEANERS STEAL AMERICAN JOBS! THE ONLY SOLUTION
IS WHITE REVOLUTION! On the opposite side, a smaller contingency of counter
demonstrators screamed back while brandishing their own signs—AMNESTY FOR
ALL! DOWN WITH WHITE RANCHER BIGOTS! DISCRIMINATION IS THE REAL CRIMINAL! A
news crew with microphones in hand stood beside a white van sporting call
letters from a Tucson television station. Nobody looked very happy.

I glanced in the rearview mirror at the look of fear
plastered on Lupe’s face. While the situation presented an enticing story
angle for me, I could only imagine what she must be thinking in light of her
close call with the Border Patrol. Now she would have to endure the hateful
slurs and degradation of her heritage just to get through town. Even with the
umbrella of protection afforded by sheriff’s deputies, it did not seem like a
great idea. Why hadn’t I thought this out ahead of time?‌ Even though our trip
would have taken longer, we could have traveled state route 286 directly to
Sasabe and avoided this messy situation. No wonder she’d been so
apprehensive. She knew what the score was far better than I did. “What an
idiot you are,” I muttered under my breath.

I waved her down a side street, got out and walked
back to her. “Due to the ah…circumstances, I think it’s best if you leave your
car here and we’ll go on to the mission in mine. We can pick yours up later or
tomorrow after this thing breaks up. Okay?‌”

Lupe angrily swiped at the ribbon of tears trickling
down her cheeks. “Why?‌ Why do they hate us so much?‌” she asked in a voice
shaking with emotion. “Why should it be a crime to want to work hard so we can
send money home to feed our families?‌ That’s not a lot to ask for! Can’t they
understand that people…” she paused, swallowing hard, “that some people are
willing to die for such a small dream?‌ I think this problem cannot ever be
solved.”

Being a White, legal, well-fed Irish-American citizen
whose ancestors traced back to the seventeen hundreds, made it difficult for me
to place myself in her shoes. “Hey, never say never,” I said, trying to
bolster her spirits, even though I silently agreed that there did not appear to
be an equitable solution at hand anytime soon. “You stay here. I’m going to
scope out the situation and ask one of the deputies if there’s another way to
get to Sasabe other than driving right though the middle of that mob.”

“Okay.” Her voice was faint, devoid of hope.

I left her sitting there with the doors locked and
hiked back to the main street. Oh, man. What was I getting myself into?‌ The
cries of the assembly grew louder with each step. Dozens of curious onlookers
stood about listening to speeches and there was sporadic applause and cheers
mingled with harsh rhetoric shouted from both sides. I shouldered my way to
the front for a better look and a little ripple of recognition snaked through
me when I read the name on one of the inflammatory signs. ARIZONA COALITION OF
RANCHERS SUPPORTS CHAMP BEAUMONT! HELP PROTECT PRIVATE PROPERTY RIGHTS FOR
AMERICAN CITIZENS! OPEN SEASON ON WETBACKS!

Beaumont?‌
Wasn’t he the rancher Tally had visited several times these past few months?‌
Could he be the same person Walter had mentioned, the one who was now in legal
trouble regarding an episode with some illegals, as well as the target of a
lawsuit filed by an advocacy group?‌

I
studied the divergent group with interest. This was not an all male crowd.
There were women of all ages present and I was frankly startled to see a
sprinkling of dark Hispanic faces among the opposing groups. But then, why
should I be surprised?‌ I’d learned during my previous trip to southern Arizona
that many of the Mexican-American families also resented the influx of
illegals, especially the criminal element. But it was particularly unnerving
to note that the most vocal protesters among the throng of Stetson-hatted
ranchers were a menacing band of tattooed skinheads. Fists to the sky, they
used bullhorns to shout out harsh threats of death and destruction directed
towards the smaller group of Hispanics who were flanked by well-dressed whites
comprised of men and women that Tally would have dismissed as ‘a bunch of
lily-livered liberals.’

The very character of the air had changed. It fairly crackled with
palpable levels of hostility and indignation, obliterating the sense of peace
I’d experienced such a short time ago. Walter was right. This was a volatile
situation that could easily get out of hand. As the noisy throng pressed
closer, my claustrophobia began to bother me big time. I looked around for a
way out and my heart gave a little jerk of surprise when I recognized Hank
Breslow among the sea of faces. My lips tightened in irritation. Had he followed
us into town?‌ And, if so, why?‌

Jostled and shoved as the crowd lurched forward, I had a hard time
keeping him in sight. He was in a heated discussion with someone, but I could
not see who he was addressing. Just then, a young woman with bright raspberry
hair and enormous multicolored tattoos on both biceps shoved a clipboard into
my hands. “Sign this, and we’ll throw this wetback-loving bastard out of
office,” she snarled, her silver-ringed nostrils flaring. Her T-shirt read
AVENGE BOB SHIRLEY’S COLD-BLOODED MURDER!!

Confused,
I stared at the form and read the explanation above the signature lines. It
was a recall petition for Congressman Lyle Stanley. I remembered vaguely that
he’d been pressing to ease border restrictions and that he was also married to
a Hispanic woman who was the daughter of the Mexican consul in Douglas. I
declined to sign and she hastily swiped it from my grasp.

My
apprehension level rose as the expressions of the crowd grew more intense and
the shouting escalated. Part of me longed to stay and report on the unfolding
drama, but I reminded myself why I was here in the first place. When an egg
splattered on the forehead of a guy standing not two feet from me, I decided it
was time to go. I turned around and pushed my way to the fringe as law
enforcement officers waded into the fray.