Bienvenido Bienvenido

Doug Donnan

Executive Editor GTNW/nMNI-GENRE+MAGAZINE!

goodtimesnewsweekly

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

                                                                                     

Bienvenido! Bienvenido!

by

Doug Donnan

            

 [ Somewhere along the Arizona/Mexico border ]

    

     “How many of them did you say was comin’ through chief?”

     “Hell I don’t really know or give a rat’s ass!” Fredricks almost shouted. “We’re

only in it for the dinero now amigo…the money! All this secure the border crap just

ain’t workin’ out. It’s all just a lot of hogwash. A lot of dedicated and honorable

border agents are gettin’ themselves all shot up, killed, for nothin’. Let the bastards

come on in I say. If they wanna’ pay us under the table to get into this crazy country,

I say fine... buck-up. ‘Greenbacks for Wetbacks’…that’s my new motto. And by the

way Brandt, not a word out of you about any of this to anybody or I’ll see that you end

up walkin’ a bulls eye beat out  in the badlands of east L.A. …comprende?”

     A full alabaster moon looked down on the midnight desert scene. It being a mute,

indifferent witness to this clandestine subterranean border crossing.

     “Sure chief, I understand. But how can we be sure— 

     “Sssh, listen up!” Fredricks cut in as he bent down and presented an ear inside

the rusted opening of the yawning corrugated drainage pipe. “Ya’ hear that? They’re comin’ through. That’s them alright, scramblin’ and scurryin’ for the promised land in the good ol’ USA. They’re all talkin’ tacoese and runnin’ for their lives!”

     “Whatta’ we do now chief?”

     “You just keep yer’ eyes on that damn pipe hole. I’m gonna’ blink my flashlight

inside there. Pretty soon a big ass bag is gonna’ come flyin’ out. I want you to grab

it and then we’ll both hightail it for the Jeep over by that dry arroyo where we left

it. You got that?”

     “Sure, I understand. How much money you figure will be in the bag?” Brandt

tried with an idiotic grin.

     “Just never you mind about all that amigo. You just get it, and then we’ll both

haul ass outa’ here for our ICE wagon…comprende?”

     “Hey, lookee’ there!” Brandt popped with a childlike squeal. “There’s the bag!”

     “Go get that Goddam thing and let’s vamoos outa’ here’!”

     Brandt broke after the tumbling canvas bag like a junkyard dog chasing a feral

cat. He swiped it up and the twosome lit out through a prickly platoon of surrendering

armed saguaro cactus and disappeared behind a long, sway-back golden sand dune.

     Gone like ghosts.

     Far above a stealthy, swept winged autonomous drone searched and surveyed the

entire scene below with highly sensitive infra-red eyes. Its lofty, omenous presence

was not unlike that of some patient buzzard circling a long ago abandoned shit wagon.  

                           

___ The End ___