The Right Side of Wrong (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-five

Me and Pepper were sitting on the edge of the porch to keep away from all the crying and carrying on. Grandpa hadn't been gone more than ten minutes when Mr. Tom Bell drove up and hurried out of his truck. “Is what I heard up at the store true?”

It was almost dark and there were still fifty men standing in the yard.

Always in charge, Mr. O.C. spoke up. “That depends on what you heard, Tom.”

“That Cody is in a Mexican prison and Ned's on his way down there to get him out.”

“That's the size of it.”

“Has anyone called the embassy, or the Rangers?”

“I did. The man at the embassy said they'd start working on it, but it might take a while. I spoke to a Ranger captain down in Waco, and he said he'd call back as soon as he knew something. That's about all I know to do.”

Mr. Tom stuck his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. “Ned will be like a fish out of water down there.”

Ike couldn't stand not being in the conversation. “Listen, listen, I said I'd go help, but he didn't want nobody except John Washington.”

“I'm afraid this will get worse before it gets better.” Mr. Tom kicked the toe of one boot with the heel of the other while he thought to himself. “Either one of them speak Spanish?”

“Na'er one.”

Mr. Tom nodded. “O.C., you remember that envelope I gave you a while back?”

He frowned. Tom had dropped by not long after he returned from the Valley the last time. He brought a sealed envelope bearing instructions to only open it in the event of his death. “Sure do.”

“Keep it handy. I'm going down there to help. I speak the language, and know those people.”

A dozen hands went up to volunteer, but Mr. Tom shook his head. “Nope, I appreciate it, but I need to go alone.”

Judge Raines studied Mr. Tom's truck for a minute. “Tom, that truck of yours won't make it down there and back again. You were smoking pretty bad when you came up the drive.”

He sighed. “I'll get as far as I can.”

Mr. O.C. pitched Tom a key. “Here, take my car. You need something reliable, and I imagine you better hurry as quick as you can.”

Instead of arguing, Mr. Tom returned the pitch with his own truck key. “I'll run to the house and get a few things. I'll let y'all know what I find out when I get there.”

***

It was full dark when Pepper and I watched Mr. Tom drive to his house in Judge Rain's 1948 Chrysler. Pepper stood up. “Come on.”

“Where we going?”

“To Mexico.”

“Are you out of your ever-lovin' mind?”

“Well look, titty baby. Our Uncle Cody is probably being cut up by Mexicans right now, and they're probably making him eat hot peppers until his butthole burns like fire. I bet Grandpa would have asked us to go if he'd thought about all we can do for them down there.”

“You're an idiot.” I lowered my voice so the men in the yard couldn't hear our whispered conversation. “What can two kids do?”

“We can meet up with Grandpa and Mr. John when we get there, and handle things like phone calls. We can fetch hamburgers when they're hungry, take notes, and run errands. You've seen how police departments are on television. People are always needing stuff done. That'll be
our
job.”

“How do you think we're gonna get there, even if I said your bonehead idea was a good one?”

“We'll stow away in Mr. Tom's borrowed car. We can both lay down in the back floorboard and cover ourselves with a quilt. Mr. Tom will think that Judge O.C. left some stuff in there. It won't be his, so he'll leave it alone.”

“You're crazy.” Despite my argument, I found myself behind her. That's how Pepper always gets me in trouble, she starts talking, I drag along behind to argue, and the next thing I know, we're getting kidnapped, or watching shootouts.

The women were in the kitchen, but the living room was almost empty. Pepper slipped inside, and came back out a few seconds later with two folded patchwork quilts in her arms from Miss Becky's quilt box. She handed me one, and we disappeared around the house, out of sight from the adults.

“Uncle James will give us a whippin' over this.”

She didn't break her pace. “After what happened last summer, whippin's don't scare me none. You've had 'em before. Besides, Daddy won't whip
you
.”

“For this he might.”

Once behind the house, we hurried down the hill, across the highway, and ducked into the woods. We knew the trails there like city people know the roads in their neighborhoods, so even in the darkness it was easy to make our way to Mr. Tom's house. Hootie wasn't with us. When so many people showed up at Miss Becky's earlier in the day, I'd locked him out of the way in the corn crib.

We were still arguing in whispers when we reached the edge of the woods. “Everybody will be scared to death when they can't find us.”

“We'll call first thing when we get to Mexico tonight. By that time, we'll have to let Mr. Tom know we're with him, and it'll be too late to bring us back. Then Mama and Daddy will know they can come on down to the border and help with Uncle Cody when he gets back across the river.”

“How long will it take to get down there?”

“Aw, it doesn't take more than two hours to get to Dallas, so probably another couple of hours or so after that. We'll be there long before daylight. It's better than sitting around here and listening to them crying. You don't want to hear this for the next two or three days, do you?”

We stopped in the woods and watched Mr. Tom come out of the house and drop his heavy trunk in the back of the judge's car. When he went back inside, Pepper snuck through the yard, opened the car door, and we quickly crawled into the back seat.

She pulled it closed and we winced at the loud click as the latch caught. We waited, but nothing happened. I pushed open the back vent windows to get more air and we curled up on each side of the hump, in the deep wells of the floorboards. Pepper threw one of the quilts over me, and then covered herself with the other.

All four windows were open to catch the breeze. A skeeter buzzed overhead, looking for a way under the quilt. Mr. Tom came back outside and pitched a suitcase onto the backseat through a window. Something light hit me on the arm. I realized it was his hat.

Pepper was right. Mr. Tom slipped under the steering wheel without looking under the quilts, and started the engine. It cooled off right smart once we got on the highway and the air started moving when he sped up. I heard a quick honk in greeting, and knew we'd passed our house.

Despite my worry, I felt good about what we'd done.

We were barely past Arthur City when I dozed off under the quilt and slept until we were in Central Texas.

The only problem was, how were we supposed to know the Mexican border was fifteen hours away?

Chapter Thirty-six

Two haphazardly parked sedans in front of the crumbling brick and stucco façade of
Las Células
looked as if they'd been baking under the strong sun for years. The Texas lawmen paused in front of the Mexican jail.

The ominous building reminded Ned of The Walls unit in Huntsville. Both he and John had visited the bleak southeast Texas prison on numerous occasions. Ned wondered at the irony of relying on two children to guide them through the process of negotiating with the police. He studied John for a moment before going in. “You reckon you ought to stay out here?”

John crossed his massive arms, the material of his khaki shirt stretching across his shoulders. “Nawsir. I pretty much stick out like a sore thumb no matter where I am, so I'll stay with you and these youngun's.”

“Just thinkin'…”

“I know.”

Yolanda grabbed the black iron knob with both hands and gave it a twist. The thick wooden door opened into a dark interior, and she entered with George right on her heels.

Ned and John stepped inside the much cooler building, hesitating for a moment to let their eyes adjust. Only two small windows near the tall ceiling at the front of the building allowed light into the stark area. Two bare bulbs hanging from exposed wires added pale, yellow light to an equally pallid desk lamp casting few rays through a thick coat of dust.

The stink of fear and misery leaching from the peeling brick walls was almost overwhelming.

A bored guard occupied a battered desk in the middle of the room. John closed the door behind them and the young man glanced up from his girlie magazine. John quickly scanned the empty room, noting a steel door behind the desk.

“
Qué quieres
?” the guard crossed his arms. The giant Negro unnerved him so much he barely noticed the old bald man with him.

Yolanda took two steps in front of the men and spoke in rapid-fire Spanish. “These Americanos do not understand you. I am here to speak for them.”

The guard turned his attention from John with a dismissive snort. His obvious insolence quickly angered Ned, who hated not understanding their conversation.

The guard's eyes finally fell on Ned. “What do these…people want?”

“They are here for to get their
sobrino
who you have locked up in this miserable place.”

“Is the
sobrino blanco
or
negro
? We don't have many
negros
in our prison.”

“Blanco.”

“What's this gringo's name?”

Surprised at the obvious question she hadn't asked, Yolanda spoke to Ned in English. “What is the prisoner's name?”

“Cody Parker.”

For the first time, the guard addressed Ned directly in Spanish. “
Cómo sabes que lo tenemos aquí
?”

He waited for Yolanda's translation.

“How do you know Cody is here?”

“He called. Said he'd bribed a guard to make one phone call home.”

Yolanda gave the guard a cold stare. Somehow Ned knew the spunky little gal wasn't one bit afraid of the guards. “
La mordida
.”

The young man snickered.

“Tell him I want to see Cody and to pay his bail to get him out.”

Yolanda rattled a long string of Spanish, and the Americans knew she was saying much more than Ned's simple demand. At one point her voice went up and Ned thought he recognized a couple of her words.

“John, I believe she's giving this feller a good cussin'.”

The deputy's face wrinkled in a grin. “This here's a little brown Pepper.”

The guard answered with an angry snap. She ripped right back into him, and he paused to think for a long moment. Ned was a little nervous, wondering if she were making some deal he wouldn't like with the man in a language he didn't understand.

The guard finally picked up the phone's receiver, the only other object on the table besides the tattered and well-thumbed magazine, and spoke for several minutes. The person on the other end had much more to say, and he listened without another word, then hung up.

“The
Capitán
will be here in
un momento
.”

Seconds later, the exterior door slammed open behind them and two uniformed police dragged a sweating prisoner inside. The man in custody was so drunk he couldn't stand on his own, and they yanked him roughly across the floor. As soon as the young guard saw them, he picked up the phone and spoke quickly. With a rusty groan only seconds later, the steel door leading into the jail swung open on tired hinges A mustached guard grabbed a handful of the drunk's filthy hair with a laugh and helped haul him inside.

The door slammed shut, leaving Ned and John to wait even longer.

“A moment” the guard promised stretched into half an hour. Ned was steaming mad when the bolt was thrown from the inside.

An incredibly handsome officer appeared, looking as if he'd stepped out of a Hollywood movie magazine. Black hair perfectly cut and combed, manicured fingernails, and dimples when he smiled, the man was in direct opposition to what Ned expected.

The officer finished chewing, swallowed, and spoke in heavily accented English while wiping greasy fingers on his pants. “I am
Capitán
Fernando Guerrera. I am the
comandante
here. You may come in now.” He waved with the other hand toward Ned and John.

The children started to follow, until the officer's sharp voice brought them to an abrupt stop. “No!” was all Ned understood as Yolanda and the man dove into a hot and heavy exchange.

Again Ned's frustration increased at his failure to understand the Mexican language. Yolanda wagged a forefinger at the officer until finally angered, he spent a full two minutes shouting at the youngster. Her face registered defeat. Frightened, George drifted behind the two Americans.

Yolanda fixed her attention to Ned. “This pretty pig says that Jorge and I cannot go any farther than this room. He says there are things in there that are not fit for children to see, but he knows you don't speak our language and I think he doesn't want me to tell you what he says in there.”

“Well then, how are we going to understand him?”

She shrugged.

Guerrera beamed and his dimples etched deeply into his smooth brown cheeks. “I talk good
Americano
.”

“I bet,” John muttered.

“We don't have any choice, John.” Ned extended his hand toward the open door. “All right, then. Show us the way. You kids wait outside, I might want to visit with you some more before we leave.”

“We will, because you owe us five
pesos
each,” George reminded him.

“Dollars,” Yolanda snapped. “They are worth more than
pesos
.”

“That's right, I do.” Ned brushed the boy's hair with his fingertips and they entered a long, tiled hallway.

Guerrero turned left in the weak light from frosted pendulum fixtures and led the two Americans past a number of peeling doors. Grit crunched underfoot from decomposing concrete. A large rat watched them through one of many holes left by missing yellow-green tiles. They came to a door indistinguishable from the others. The stench of sewage and unwashed bodies rolled around the nearby corner. A constant buzz of men's conversations told Ned where the cells began.

Guerrera opened the door and indicated they were to enter. Again, a single bare bulb hanging from a wire cast a harsh light. A battered wooden table sat in the middle of the room. Ned recognized stains on it for what they were…blood. One chair waited on their side. Obviously, prisoners weren't expected to sit. A closed door behind the table had never seen a coat of paint.

Flies buzzed in the still air, many more lit on the table to explore the stains.
Capitán
Guerrera rested against the dirty wall and crossed his arms. “The prisoner will come
un momento
. Do you have money?”

Ned shook his head and waved at a pestering fly. “I don't even know how much his bail is.”

Guerrera shook his head. “You should have brought something to pay us for our trouble.”

Fury rose hot and prickly along Ned's neck. Instead of answering, he removed his hat and wiped the sweat with a handkerchief. “We'll talk to a judge about his bail after I see Cody.”

After a long moment, Guerrera translated the statement in his head. He drew a sad sigh. “Oh, no,
señor
. There is no judge. The trial is past and the prisoner has already been sentenced. He will be taken to our prison down in
Allende
where he will remain for ten years.”

Ned was stunned at the announcement. Arguing was useless. Only higher authorities in the Mexican government could dismiss the charges. The officer before them had no authority to make any changes in the conviction.

The law was the law.

Only it didn't work that way where they stood south of the border.