La Noche de la Chankla: Henchmen
Chapter 14
“Abuela!” Javi yelled, while pounding on Luna’s bedroom door.
Her eyes opened in confusion, having no idea what time it was or when she had finally fallen asleep. The sun was up. That was apparent from the glare on her window, but she was groggy and was having trouble focusing on her little wind-up alarm clock with an analog face. “10:32”
Shocked by how late she’d slept, she slid out of her bed, still wearing her clothes from the previous night, and opened the door to see why Javi was so frantic. “Qué traes, mijo?”
“There are men in suits at the door, Abuela!” Javi told her, looking worried.
“Dónde está Luisa?”
“She went to work and Spider took her.”
Given that Luna was already dressed, she tried to shake off the sleepiness and went to the door to see who it was. Just as Javi had said, she found two men in cheap suits on her porch. “Yes? How can I help you?” She was annoyed by the visit, but, as was her custom, she tried not to be rude.
“Mrs. Cervantes?” asked one of the men, the smell of cheap aftershave floating into the door on a slight breeze.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Cervantes, we’re from the FBI. We’re investigating an anonymous report of a murder.”
“Ay, sí,” she said, suprised. She believed that the arrival of the FBI would begin to set things straight, a warning to the Church of the Silver Moon, although she thought it unlikely that they would discover who murdered her friend, Inez Martinez, and was unsure of why they had come to her.
“You knew Inez Martinez, correct ma’am?” the agent continued.
Confused as to why the two men had not asked to come in, she answered, “Yes.”
“And you went to the school to see her on the day of her death, correct?”
“Sí, we had a meeting about my nieto,” Luna responded, growing more disconcerted.
“English please, ma’am,” the agent chided her.
Luna’s alarm bells went off with that comment. While it was possible that the two federal agents spoke no Spanish, it was unlikely, as they must have been from either an El Paso or New Mexico field office. Moreover, nothing she had said had been unintelligible given the context, and the other agent appeared to be Hispanic. It suddenly dawned upon her that the FBI was not there to get information about Martinez’s death, but to question her … as a suspect. Now she understood why they had not asked to come in, and she began to worry about Javi.
“What do you need from me, officers?” she asked directly.
“Agents,” the man corrected. “Mrs. Cervantes, where were you the night of Martinez’s death?”
“I was here … agents.”
“Can anyone testify to that, ma’am?”
“Ay dios mio. I was home the whole night. My nieto … my grandson … was with me. And you please call me ‘Ms. Cervantes.’”
“Ma’am,” the agent responded, completely ignoring her request, “your grandson is a minor and open to suggestion.”
“Qué? What are you saying? My grandson does not lie,” she responded, now with a detectable tone of defiance.
“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to come in with us to the office.”
“No, I do not think so,” she said. She was now sure that these men had been sent by the Church. Do you have a … Como se dice? … a warrant?”
“We don’t need a warrant, ma’am,” the agent replied, getting impatient.
“Yes, you do!” Luna asserted.
“No, ma’am, under the PATRIOT ACT, we can detain you without a warrant for suspected domestic terrorism … and, Ms. Cervantes, we believe that you are an illegal alien.”
“WHAT!?” she yelled, as her head began to swim, “Illegal? Terrorism? I am a US citizen! I was born here!”
“Can you show us your birth certificate, ma’am?”
Luna had never had a copy of her birth certificate. She had never needed one. She had always proven her identity with bills and her social security card, which had been lost when she’d accidentally left her purse on the bus and someone had taken it. She’d never replaced the card, nor did she know how to do so.
“Ay, no. I do not have a copy. Pero I was born in Las Cruces. You can check … "
“No, ma’am. Since you don’t have any way to prove your citizenship, you’ll have to come with us … NOW.”
At her wit’s end and fearful of leaving Javier alone, at the mercy of the Hounds, Luna began to weep. “But I have done nothing …”
Spider’s purple ramfla came tearing down the dirt drive and pulled up behind the agents’ unmarked car. He instantly knew it was a law enforcement vehicle but not the cops, and got out of his lowrider slowly. “Señora Luna, qué pasa?” he asked, looking the agents up and down.
“They want me to go to their office … pero Javier …! " she answered through tears.
“What’cha need to take my tía for, monos?”
“Lorenzo Chavira?” the agent asked, while the other, who had yet to speak, walked up next to Spider and began patting him down. Spider, being used to police harassment, let him do so without argument.
“Sí, qué quieres?”
“You’ve got a traffic warrant,” the agent said, heavy with the implication that, if Spider interfered, he’d be run in.
“So what, Holmes? You ain’t the popo.”
“Spider!” Luna chastised him. She realized that she was going to be taken in no matter what, and she needed him to behave so that he could stay with Javier. She again addressed the agent, “If I go willingly, will you leave my nieto with Spider?”
The agent thought about it for a second. He knew what Spider was and figured he could easily trump up a drug charge, but it was a hassle. “Yes.”
“Okay. I will go then,” Luna asserted. “Spider, please … por favor … watch Javier. Keep him safe!”
“Nobody’s gonna mess with my vato, Luna,” Spider answered her.
Luna looked for Javier in the house behind her. “Mijo, I have to go for a while. Get the piedra de luna from my room and keep it with you.”
Javier wanted to cry, but he was embarrassed to do so in front of Spider. So he put on a brave face. “Yes, Abuela.”
* * *
Sitting quietly at a table, in an overly-bright room with a large mirror along one wall, Luna prayed. The agents had not let her get her purse, and she did not have her rosary. She had the strong sensation that Luz was there too, but she felt that the agents had not brought in Xochitla and she hoped that Xochitl would go to her house. The emotional turmoil that she was experiencing was also causing her to experience what she could only describe to herself as energy waves, which she was trying to control. When they came, the lights in the room flickered, and she was unsure if it were her or faulty wiring causing it.
The same two agents entered the room, the one who had done all the talking, a repulsive man by sight and in demeanor, taking a seat across from her at the table.
“You went to the school to see Martinez because your grandson had been accused of sexual harassment, is that correct?” he began.
“Yes, but my Javi did nothing.”
“But he was suspended?”
“Yes.”
“So you had motive to attack Martinez,” the agent said, seeming to be gloating. It was a ridiculous conclusion, but Luna could not deny the connection.
“I would never hurt Inez! Robertson made her do the horrible thing.”
“Zedekiah Robertson?”
“Yes.”
“Zedekiah Robertson says you killed his dog for revenge.”
“WHAT? I did not kill a dog!”
“He says you shot it and threatened to do the same to his daughter.”
Aghast by the lies, Luna exasperatedly sought her mind for some means of proof that Robertson was lying, but the lie was so outrageous that there was no defending it. “I didn’t know he had a dog and I do not own a gun,” she said, truthfully.
Reaching into a black attache case, the second agent handed the first some documents. “Is this you?” the first agent asked, as he spread some photographs across the table, pushed himself away from the able, and smugly crossed his arms.
Sure enough, what lay before her appeared to be photos of her in front of Robertson’s house … with a gun. That the photos were assuredly fakes would not matter to the agents. She knew it would not, and she knew better than to try to make the argument. A feeling of hopelessness arose in her stomach, as she realized that the Hounds, unable to get rid of her through magic, planned to have her locked away, away from her daughters, away from her friends, and away from her grandson.
Staring at the mocked up images, Luna wanted to appeal to her mother and the moon for help, but, as she experienced another wave of energy, her mouth formed an altogether different word. “Delere!”
“Qué dices?” the other agent said, speaking for the first time. He didn’t know what she had said, but the and his partner had been warned about her.
Luna looked up at him, “I don’t know why you show me blank papers,” she responded.
Looking confused, both agents started, and fell upon the table, where they found nothing but blank card stock.
“God damn it, Fuentes, where are the photos?”
Fuentes checked the case, but there were no other photos in it, and he shrugged.
“Screw it!” the sunburned and slovenly agent cursed. “Give me the weapon!”
Reaching back into the case, the second agent handed the first something in a clear baggie. It was a small gun.
“This has your prints on it and the ballistics match the wounds on the dog,” he smirked in triumph.
“How do you have my prints?” Luna asked calmly.
“They’re in our records database. You provided them with the bio scan when you got your license.”
Luna was incredulous. “I never did a bio scan. I have had my license since I was younger and just send them dinero for a new one. No one bioscanned me.”
“It doesn’t matter! Your prints are in our database and they match!” the agent screamed, becoming unhinged. “They match the gun and prints found at Martinez’s.”
All apprehension had vanished from Luna, chased away by anger and the knowledge that she held the words, and she now found the agent’s performance humorous. But she knew the prints were serious accusations and let the feeling in her soul find another word. “Mutatio,” she uttered, as if she were shocked and praying.
“What they hell is she saying, Fuentes?” the first agent swore at the other.
“It’s something in Latin … I’m not sure. Probably part of a prayer,” Fuentes responded.
“Don’t you speak Mexican?” the first agent demanded.
“Latin is not ‘Mexican.’” Fuentes answered with annoyance.
“Didn’t I tell you to speak English?” the repulsive man roared at Luna, trying to intimidate her.
She smiled at him. “I speak English. First you show me blank papers. Now you show me a toy? Is this a joke, señor?”
Dumbfounded by her sarcasm and extremely agitated, the piggish agent fumbled with the baggie, and, to his dismay, found a plastic gun in it.
He glared at Fuentes, who, even thought they had their orders from the Church, had had enough of his partner and glared back. “Looks like you might have been drunk when you tagged that, Mike.”
Having now turned the same color as the fire extinguisher on the wall, “Mike” was completely apoplectic. “You think this changes anything, you goddamned … you … WITCH? … It doesn’t matter,” he said more calmly. “I can keep you here as long as I want.”
Quietly looking at the table but refusing to show anymore fear to the servants of evil, Luna responded, “If you must. But you could just let me go since you have nothing.”
“I don’t need anything!” “Mike” railed anew. “You’re a goddamned witch, and I can hold you for anything I want to accuse you of, you damn wetback!”
“Hey! ‘Partner!’” Fuentes spoke up, angrily. “I don’t like what you’re saying. We’ve got our orders, but I don’t want to hear that mierda again. Got me?”
“Mike” ignored his partner and glared at Luna maliciously, and then, seething, said in a low tone, “I’m going to send you and your witch friend over to Fort Bliss, as a rendition, and I’ll keep you there until we’ve made up enough to have you both executed in Texas. What do you have to say about that, witch?”
She met his eyes, locked on to them until he was forced to blink. “Audite me!” The command echoed through the room, and a blank expression came across the faces of the agents. “Nos liberate!” Luna ordered.
* * *
The tan, unmarked car pulled away, leaving the two women by a bus stop in the middle of Las Cruces. Dark blue, gray, and billowing, the clouds seemed to be signaling the coming of a tropical storm, but it was colder than it should have been. Chilled by the dampness, they made their way to a Mexican restaurant nearby. There always was one, as the clientele was ensured and there was next to no overhead. It was a real hole-in-the-wall, converted from a national fast food chain that had gone under, the kind of place that tourists would certainly avoid, but, the kind of place that invariable had the best, and cheapest, food.
Entering the establishment, Luz had to sit down, the terror of what had just happened to them finally coming to rest upon her, compounded with the night in the square. It was unbelievable, but, in the grand scheme of things, something that happened people regularly. Neither woman had their purse or any money and looked a little hectic after their ordeal. Luna went to the counter and asked to use the phone, which, after assaying the strangers and gleaning that something had happened to them, the woman behind the counter, who was also the proprietor, let her do.
Luna called home and was greeted by Spider’s voice.
“Bueno.”
She had never been glad to hear it before now. Explaining to Spider that she and Luz had been let go but left with no way to get home, Spider told her to wait there. Luna then joined Luz at a table. The owner brought them chips and salsa and some sodas.
“No, no!” Luz exclaimed, with embarrassment. “No tenemos dinero.”
But the owner, a large woman in her late 30s, who had had her own share of difficult times, understood that the women had not come to eat and didn’t care if they had any money. She just wanted to help in the only way she could think of to do so, and she didn’t ask any questions. She just wanted them to know that they were welcome.
Luz and Luna, although not hungry, at the chips and salsa out of gratitude, and waited for Spider. And, when they saw the purple ramfla pull up, they again thanked the owner profusely for letting them wait there.
Running to Luna, Javier was the first one out of the car. “Abuela!”, he yelled, “I thought you would never come back!”
She held her nieto tightly. “I will always come back,” she whispered to him, knowing that she meant it in more than one way.
On the ride home, Luz was uncharacteristically quiet. She did not ask Luna what had happened at the field office. She knew Luna had done something, having felt it, but she could guess what it had been and knew that there was little way to explain it. They were, once again, out of the Church’s claws, at least for a little while. But the Hounds would never rest. They knew it.
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