Jose's Bad Day or Border Dreams

"She's dead and buried." His brother said before hitting him and breaking his nose.

Jose knelt bright red blood pooling on the steaming stones. His brother apparently was still pissed about Rita, and the baby not being his.

His brother throw a bundle of bills at him some fluttered into his simmering blood. "Half of what she had and I never want to see your dog fucking face again. Her last words were Where's Jose? What's taking him so long?"

His brother slammed the door. Jose gathered the blood speckled money it looked like about five thousand bucks. He'd need it to get back across the border.

His wife just went into early labor and her sister had just called and said it wasn't going well. And then she hissed what the fuck you doing in Mexico anyway, fucking Jose?

Jose took some flowers to his mothers small grave and said a few prayers for her tired soul. But he had to move and move fast if he wanted to trek across the border tonight.

As he walked from the crumbling graveyard past a pair oe wailing black covered old women he planned his border crossing in his mind. He had done it dozens of times but it never got any easier.

And he was older...and he was tired. So damn tired he just wanted to lie down. He tried to reach his wife on his cell. no service, damnation.

He needed water..he need energy bars. He needed socks and foot powder. He needed a good knife...

The teenager was flying on his small scooter trying to call his girlfriend when he ran off the road and clip Jose on his right leg.

The scooter tumbled, twisting and turning the kid flew and flipped cracking his head. Crying, crashing Jose flew into a small shrine of road rocks left to mourn some dead man splattered on this very spot.

The kid rose like a cat, blood from a gash rolling red down his panicked, pallid face, and ran away madly weaving through the chipped tombstones and dead flowers.

The cop careened to the scene as Jose was writhing on the rocks holding his knee, holding his hip, holding his nose, trying to gather his wits.

"You okay?" the jowly sweating cop said. "You don't look so good."

The cop lite a cigarette. Looked at Jose's leg."Anything broke? Want a smoke? Your leg looks fucked up." He leaned in closer.

"Yep its fucked up. Maybe broke. No bones sticking out though. That's always a bonus" He blew smoke. "You don't look like a fellow with insurance. You have any money? the kid he's gone, the scooter its stolen. He's not gonna pay. I know a Doctor if you have cash. Say five hundred to fix you up."

Jose tried to stand, couldn't and crumbled. "Okay...I have cash."

"Good." the cop smiled teeth black and missing. "And a hundred delivery fee more me, okay?"

"Okay.." Jose grimaced as the cop grabbed him and helped him to his car.

The doctor look drained. The doctor looked drunk. The doctor looked deranged. The doctor looked debauched.

"Five hundred bucks." the doctor said without emotion. "Up front..."

Jose handed him five hundred blood covered bucks. The doctor handed him a half empty bottle of cheap tequila and said drink.

Jose drank.

"It seems broke but my x ray machine is broke. So I wrap the knee. Splint the shin." The doctors shirt was stained he moved his hands and smoked as he talked. "Take these...." He tossed him a vial of unmarked pills. "And get to a hospital."

The Doctor began cleaning his abrasions hard. Jose grimaced.

"Take the pills with the tequila." The Doctor mumbled. "You want crutches? I have some. three hundred bucks, hand made by a craftsman. Me!" he said and laughed suddenly and hard at his own joke then began to cough uncontrollably.

"Excuse.." The Doctor said and downed a long tequila shot and winced then hacked some more. "Excuse..."

The one crutch was cracked but Jose didn't care as he hobbled towards the cantina.

Inside a bored barkeep watched a soccer match and sweated heavily. A big American man sat solemnly sipping beer bottles with a grinning whispering large Mexican man.

Several men were entranced with the soccer match. Jose felt like crying. He popped a pill and tried his wife. No service. Jose felt tears rolling and he put his head in his hands.

"What's wrong, friend? You bet on the wrong team, eh? or is it pussy problems?" The large Mexican was looking at him and grinning. "Life can't be that bad, eh? Your alive in a cantina, eh?"

Jose wiped his face. Be a man he thought. "My mother just died, my brother broke my nose, and my wife is sick in Kentucky and some asshole just hit with a bike and broke my fucking leg..."

"Oh..that sure sucks. Have a beer." The man handed him a beer. "What the fucks in Kentucky?"

"My wife..."Jose said and drank half the beer in one swallow. It tasted delicious.

"But what do you do? You a jockey or something?"

"I shovel horse shit in a stall..."

"Oh that sucks.." The man extended a big hardened hand. " I am called Villa. You have money I can help. I get you across the border today for three thousand. You have three thousand?"

Jose nodded his head and finished his beer.

"Really? Three thousand?" Villa grinned. "Then we go." he yelled to the American "Me and my friend must go? You be okay?"

The grim American nodded and drank a shot.

"He has pussy problems too." Villa said as they walked to his large new truck. "Everybody has pussy problems. Even in Kentucky there is pussy problems."

Villa was counting the money grinning. "Good. Good. We go, my friend." A forty five was stuck in waistband holster. Jose stared.

"No worry about that man. Villa is your friend. My good friend is going across the border near noon so we must move. We must get you back to your Kentucky pussy. How is Kentucky pussy anyway? You giving it to a gringo girl? Gringo girls need Mexican dick." Villa opened a beer and began drinking it. He handed one to Jose.

"Hydrate my friend..See we will never beat the gringos with our guns but we will beat them with our cocks." Villa patted first his pistol then his crotch. "You do Villa and old Mexico a favor when you get to Kentucky. You fuck, fuck, fuck every gringo bitch you can find. You just fuck, fuck, fuck all them gringo girls. You find Ashley Judd you fuck, fuck, fuck her. They like brown dick you see and that's how we will win. Not by the gun, no gringos are still good at killing but not so good at fucking no more, no we fuck, fuck fuck...the gringos girls and we brownize them you see? They become us, we become them, we brownize them. Yes we fuck the USA away. Fuckings better then killing, no? So you fuck for your friend Villa, you fuck Kentucky for him."

Jose just stared. "My wife's Mexican. She's a maid."

"So what...fuck the gringo bitches. You'll see Villa's plan is brilliant. We will win." He finished his beer and burped loudly. "We here..."

Inside some men were working on a large green truck. Villa called a small muscular heavy tattooed man aside and whispered and pointed at Jose. The man nodded.

Villa called Jose over. The tatted man had Indian features and dead, black eyes. "This is Loco he will take you." Villa pointed to a small man huddled in the corner. "You do not go today."

The man began to speak. "Don't argue with me. My friend has problems you go Saturday instead. So" Villa turned to Jose. "Good luck my friend and remember to fuck Kentucky for me...and Mexico. Fuck the USA away. It will be better then the fucking Alamo."

Villa turned to leave. "Oh and tip Loco first its always a good thing..." Villa laughed and left.

"We don't have much time." Loco said.

Jose handed him two hundred blood stained dollars. Loco said nothing and pointed a scorpion tattooed hand to a gas tank stuffed with wrapped packages. A small sad looking balding man stood beside it staring with wet eyes. He appeared to be praying softly to himself.

"Listen and do not talk because I do not have time." He followed Loco. "Lay in there."

Jose stared at him.

"Now! We don't have time..."

Jose laid in the tank. The sad man crawled in beside him. Loco began stuffing packages in while speaking softly.

"Have no fear I have done this hundreds of times. We put the tank on the truck. We build quickly around it. We move fast to the border. The truck is run by gas through the window wiper fluid container. We have enough to make the border then the safe house. It will be cramped but you will survive. You will be able to breath. The journey will be hot but it will be quick.:

Loco tossed them so water bottles as they lay down in the tank bed eyes wide, panic close at hand. Jose thought of Rita.

"You must not panic. You must breath. Breath." Loco breathed deep. "To panic is to die. Panic is death. Fear is death. The border smells fear. It feeds panic. Feed neither demon. And most importantly make no sounds. Speak no words."

Loco hissed "Shhhhhussssss! To speak is to die. Are you ready?"

They nodded. "Good. Seal them."

Before the tank was closed a slender, solemn girl rushed forward and handed them small medals.

"St Christopher... " She whispered. "Will protect... you."

She was beautiful Jose thought as they sealed the tank and he disappeared into blackness . So beautiful....