Into the Beautiful North(42)

“Like a giant dragonfly,” Vampi intoned, as if they all hadn’t thought that very thing.

They walked a quarter mile and rounded a bend and were illuminated by the brutal glare of two headlights and a spotlight that switched on and blinded them. The truck was parked right in the middle of the road. If the lights hadn’t come on, they would have walked into it.

“Hello, amigos!” a voice called from behind the lights. “This is the US Border Patrol! You are in the United States of America illegally! You are under arrest! Everybody come on over and keep your hands on your heads. Slowly, now. Stay calm. If you have papeles, now’s the time to break ’em out!”

He got on his radio, spoke some numerical coordinates.

Said: “I’ve acquired five clients, over.”

The helicopter came back and hovered above them. Its prop wash knocked Nayeli into Yolo. She squinted up into the light it shot down at them. They were caught in light. They couldn’t move. The copter moved off and scanned the scrub around them. Its deafening noise receded until she could hear voices again.

Agent Anderson was shining his light in Tacho’s face, and he had one hand on Vampi’s arm. Another SUV was bouncing at them from the north. Good old Agent Smith was over there. He and Anderson went to the same Bible study when they weren’t out in the bush, collecting bodies.

“Yanqui bastards!” came a wail from the south.

They all looked.

“?Cabrones!”

“What the heck?” said Anderson.

The helicopter was lighting up Atómiko.

He stood at the edge of an arroyo near the fence. Nayeli could not believe they’d walked so much and were still right by the fence. How was that possible? In the dark, she’d imagined they were already halfway to Los Angeles.

Atómiko swung his pole at the copter.

“Come down here and get me, puto!” he was yelling.

The Camarones crew started to giggle.

The migra agent stared over there and shook his head.

“What’s wrong with that guy?” he asked Tacho in Spanish.

“He’s an idiot,” Tacho said.

“You know that knucklehead?” asked Smith.

“He’s our guardian angel,” Vampi said. “I’m a vampire. We’re on a mission from God.”

“Great,” Anderson said.

Smith looked the friends over, looked back at Atómiko, shook his head, and said to his cohort, “This ain’t a full moon, is it? ’Cause the crazies are out tonight.”

He put his handcuffs back on his belt.

“Behave,” he told Tacho, wagging his finger.

“I will. It’s that one out there you have to watch out for.”

They all watched Atómiko do some daring staff moves on his little hill. He danced backward, holding his staff across his chest. The two Border Patrol guys seemed to really be enjoying the show.

“Sweet moves,” Smith commented to his friend.

“I am Atómiko!” the Warrior shouted to them.

He struck his chest. He raised his staff. He cried, “!Nayeli rifa!” They were all impressed. Nayeli rules. She blushed a little.

The agents looked at her and raised their eyebrows in appreciation.

“You Nayeli?” Smith asked.

She nodded.

“A love story,” said Anderson.

“We are just friends.”

Atómiko turned, and he ran, and he greatly pleased all the gathered watchers when he stuck the end of his staff in the dirt and pole-vaulted over the fence and vanished back into Mexico.

“I’ll be darned,” both Border Patrol agents said.



They were herded into the back of the migra Expedition. Smith helped Candelaria up. “Watch your head,” he said. “Hey. Didn’t I see you last week?” Nayeli didn’t know the agents spoke Spanish. Candelaria nodded. “I bet you were happy to see me again,” he quipped.

“Don’t you ever take a day off?” she asked.

“I always take Sunday off. Try coming back on Sunday.”

He closed the back door and climbed in. Candelaria had her face against the metal grille.

“I will try on Sunday,” she called.

“Oh, good!” he replied.

He muttered into his microphone. Nayeli heard “five bodies” and “clear” and “over.”

The truck pulled out.

“I will send you a postcard!” Candelaria shouted over the engine noise.

The agent laughed.

They pulled a brush-clearing U-turn and got back on the road and chased their headlight beams down the dark valley.



They stopped and watched two migra agents beat the holy hell out of a boy in a checkered shirt. “Well,” Smith said. “He must have done something bad.” He seemed embarrassed. Yolo and Vampi started to cry. They were terrified and mortified—it was not in their life plans to be arrested and dragged around in the back of a wagon like criminals. Kenny jumped out and helped the two in the road subdue their client. He put his knee in the small of the kid’s back and pinned him to the dirt while they yanked his arms behind him and cuffed him. They got him back up. Blood was running from his nose. He tried to kick the nearest agent: the agent theatrically shook his finger in the boy’s face and hauled him into the gloom.