Angels in Heaven

shenanigans with the U.S. consul. Then a checker cab to
the airport. Then home, sweet home. How does all that grab you, you old
Panther, you?”
    He gave a tired smile and shook his
head.
    “Fuckin’ incredible,” he said. “I
still can’t believe we’ve got this far. I never really thought I’d get out of
that place. After nine months, if you’ve had a good record, you can earn a few
cents a day in the jute plant. It took me another nine months to save enough to
pay a guard to get that letter out, and then I was never sure it’d get to you.”
    “Try writing direct the next time,” I
said. “I’m in the L.A. phone book.”
    “How’s Sara?” Benny asked.
    “Seems to be holding her own,” I
said. “She’ll need a couple of stitches in there sometime, but I’d sure hate to
stop and hunt up a doctor now.”
    Billy cleared his throat.
    “Eh, Vic,” he said, turning around to
face me. “You’re not going to like this, but I have to make a quick stop before
we leave town.”
    “What do you mean, I won’t like it? I
love it,” I said. “I think it’s a great idea. Let’s all stop for a couple of
hours and have a fucking picnic on the grass in front of that Memorial de la
Patria. Are you nuts, Billy?”
    “Over a quarter of a million bucks,”
he said, “is how nuts I am.”
    I whistled.
    “So?” he said.
    “So I’m thinking,” I said. I had
Sara’s head on my shoulder, and I said to her, “Sara, help me think.”
    “Vic, I need five minutes, that’s
all. You’re going south anyway, I’ll just hop out at like Eightieth and
Eighty-fifth and be right back. Hell, that can’t hurt. And I want to get
something out of all this except jaundice and new dentures.”
    “Who doesn’t?” I said. “Listen,
Billy, what were you in prison for anyway?”
    “You could call it contraband.”
    “Contraband,” I repeated. “Rolls
smoothly off the tongue. What kind of contraband, Billy? You can trust me. I’m
only the guy who saved your ass.”
    “You could say, illegal contraband,”
he said.
    “That clears that up,” Benny said,
taking another left onto the street behind Jorge’s shop.
    “I’ll give you this much, Billy,” I
said. “Let’s make it to the truck first, then we’ll see how it goes.”
    “Sure, Vic,” he said. “Anything you
say.”
    A minute later Benny pulled up in
front of the old wooden gate that barred the entrance to the alleyway that led
to the rear of his friend’s hammock emporium. Billy opened it, then closed it
behind us after we’d passed through. The Jorge family transportation was parked
right in front of us. A ragged tarpaulin had been stretched over arched
metal supports and then lashed down over a load of hammocks. Benny beeped his
horn twice. Jorge and one of his boys, Carlos, I think, immediately emerged
from the small warehouse behind the store and beckoned us out. We got out, me
carrying Sara. All available manpower then unloaded our luggage. The son backed
the Chevy down the alley in preparation to dumping it somewhere a long way
away. Jorge gestured us toward the truck.
    The truck’s interior was piled high
with close-weaves and a few hundred not so close, but a tunnel of sorts had
been left on one side. Jorge, Benny, and Billy pushed the luggage in first, and
then I followed it, with Sara awkwardly on my knees. Jorge & Co. had
prepared a hollowed-out section up front, walled by strong cardboard boxes; it
was surprisingly roomy, and enough light was filtering through so I could make
out the floor was covered with blankets, and also spy a long rubber-covered
flashlight and, in one corner, a box of provisions. I couldn’t make out where
the portable TV was; it dawned on me that perhaps this wasn’t the first time
Jorge & Co. had done this sort of thing.
    I made Sara as comfortable as I
could; although it was far from chilly in there, I wrapped a blanket around her
to try to reduce the chance of shock. I could hear Benny, Billy, and Jorge
arguing about something outside; then in came Benny up the tunnel. Jorge
plugged the tunnel entrance from the outside with a leftover plastic bagfull of
hammocks, then the cab doors slammed and we were off, and it was Cancún or
bust.
    “Where’s Billy, and why?” I asked
Benny, as if I didn’t know.
    “He’s up front where he can jump out
easier,” he said.
    “Oh, God, that’s all we need,” I
said.
    “Cheer up, amigo,” Benny said. “So
far so terrific.”
    “Yeah,” I had to admit, and