Lorraine is on the road back towards Black Mt.
Lorraine was exhausted from the long ride on the donkey cart that had brought her to this cantina in a dusty Mexican pueblo. She was a little drunk from passing the wine skin back and forth with the driver in the hot sun. She was sunburned in spite of the SPF 50 sunblock that was part of the Chanel make-up she wore. Her beautiful clothes layered on her like a flamenco dancer were soiled and even a bit snagged in places. Her designer shoes were muddy and scuffed. And she was hungry. A dozen tacos would be good right about now, she thought. But mostly she was eager to get back to the US. Mexico had been amazing, but the sick dogs of America needed her.
The greasy guy wearing a backwards baseball cap and rocking a thick five o’clock shadow and breath that smelled like garbage told her that he could take her home, but that it would cost her mucho money. She had no cash, but had grabbed the jewels that El Chapo had given her before she ran away. She pulled a small handful of these from the Vuitton purse on her arm and plunked them on the small round cafe table.
The dark little eyes of the man grew wide. “Oh Dios Mio!” he exclaimed, slapping his palm against his forehead. “Where you get these, Signora?”
Something told Lorraine not to mention Chappie’s name. He was such a well-loved and respected businessman, and she wasn’t sure if this man would be loyal to him or would help her. Surely Chappie was searching high and low for her already and perhaps this man was helping him track her down. She couldn’t take a chance. “I inherited these from my grandmother,” she lied.
“Is strange,” said the man. “You got these from your abuela and they look just like the ones my abuela wore before she was killed by a very bad man.”
“Amazing coincidence,” thought Lorraine. “Will these jewels be enough to pay my way back to the US?” she asked.
The man thought for a minute, and then answered, “Enough for me, yes. But I will take you to the Mules who will sneak you across the border. You will pay them too. Much more.”
“Not more donkeys!” Lorraine thought. “But I am an American. Why do I have to sneak across the border?” she asked.
“Border is closed up tight,” said the man, shaking his head and stuffing the bright jewels into the pocket of his jeans jacket.
Lorraine ordered a dozen tacos and a cerveza and wondered, “I am going to have to sneak across the border of my own country? If they catch me, where will they send me? Back to Black Mountain or to a detention center? This is crazy. I’m an American, dammit.”
