Wheelman's Swan Song

Wheelman's Swan Song Word count 1,470

Smooth sailing into Los Angeles after I pass through Buckeye. I'll be relieved to get off this stretch of Arizona Highway 85. It's a short thirty five miles from Gila Bend to Buckeye. I'm taking this way to bypass the Phoenix Interstate 10 exchange.  We called this route Hell's Portal back in my Marijuana smuggling days in the late 70's. The reason It was referred to as Hell's Portal is because during summer months it wasn't uncommon for the temperature in Gila Bend to reach 112 degrees and Buckeye a cooler 108 degrees . However you always run the risk of encountering a cop roadblock. It was much more common on Highway 25 New Mexico Las Cruces to Albuquerque just outside Truth or Consequences to be faced with a roadblock. There've been quite a few runners I've met in my time that had been or knows of somebody that was busted there. I avoided that route no matter how many extra hours or miles were added to detour around that cursed ill fated stretch of highway. Just the name of that town was enough to cause me to panic and break into a cold sweat. 'Truth or Consequences.'Back in the early days I had a spotter running ahead a good five miles or so. He'd keep me notified on my Midland Walkie Talkie (later they were stolen) to the  status of the highway ahead.My cruise control is set to 55.  I definitely don't want to be pulled over for speeding  by a Local Barney. It would be an embarrassment I could never live down. It'd horrifying if I were to be busted by a Barney. No fucking way, if I'm going down it'll be by D.E.A., F.B.I, A.T.F. or State Police, not a Barney.   What am I doing imagining my demise? Enough of that type of thinking, don't want to jinx myself. I turn on the radio and quickly turn it off.  Fucking ABBA, I absolutely hate that band and they haunt me wherever I go.  If you're a fan of that shit, I'm embarrassed for you. Slipped in a cassette of the New Riders of the Purple Sage . They are always an excellent choice on any occasion.' I'm just a lonesome L.A. cowboy. Hanging out and hanging on.'It's close to three hundred fifty miles to L.A. from Buckeye, roughly seven hours. I should hit Shaky Town around 4:00 Cali time, right before rush hour. Then another five hours to Sacramento where I can unload these 78 kilos of Cocaine I'm carrying and relax. The stress is tremendous and as I get older it becomes greater to bear. I took some time off recently to shedd  the nervousness that builds up and weighs down your soul from this smuggling business. If you think it's all; swanky Hotels, beautiful scantily clad women,  a never ending supply of one hundred dollar bills, fast sports cars, parties every night with expensive liquor and all the free drugs you can handle, then you've been watching too much TV.  It's long nights of sleeping with one eye open and keeping the other on your gun. You're constantly  looking over your shoulder watching your back. You're the only friend you've got and not sure he's one you can trust. There's all types of gangs, corrupt Cops, Informants, the Mob, Cartels,  Russian Mafia plus you never know when your own Patron (Boss) or a Soldier will give you up to pay off a debt. Everyone is suspect. My mantra, "never trust anyone!"  I can't trust myself most of the time, how can I put my life in the hands of someone else?  .I was sure I was finished with this type of work but as usual my decision became under scrutiny.  El Jefe (the Chief) personally requested for me to make this run as a special favor. After all he is family and the money is too damn good to turn down.  So the promise that I made to myself would have to be put on hold.,You know what I'm talking about.  Promises are like New Year's Resolutions, made with the sincere intention to be honored, broken as a result of an unfulfilled reward for the sacrifice. A week before this Run I was playing Bingo with my friend Becky and her family at the Catholic Church in Nogales, Arizona. The Priest running the fleecing, made an announcement saying he wouldn't be there next Saturday because he would be attending the National Catholic Priest Convention in San Francisco.  When I was informed of my destination for the load I thought of the perfect ruse. I had used it before on a couple of occasions and it worked like a gypsy's talisman.  There's a priest getup that is authentic I took from the church when we were cleaning out the basement for the Bingo games. I was wearing a clerical collar and had on the black cassock as well. I looked authentic, never receiving doubting look from anyone I met on my journey. The finishing touch was a  Bible placed on the dashboard.The bypass around Los Ángeles was amazingly free of traffic and I was now on Interstate 5 heading north toward Sacramento.  I'm twenty five minutes from Fresno with about half a tank of petrol.  It's time to start looking for a comfortable place to stop and gas up.  I  never let the tank get below half, another one of my 'Runner's Rules'. You don't know when you might need to make a run for it or get detoured without a gas station on route. Always smart to have near  a full tank.Im looking for a spot with a low profile.  I see a sign for a Mobil Station with a restaurant open 24 hours, and the old logo of a Pegasus is displayed on the sign.  I consider it a positive omen. First I  did reconnaissance, driving around the parking lot, then discovering  three  California State Police cruisers parked near the restaurant. Good omen my ass. There's two Smokies standing outside and give me a wave as I pass by. I respond with a short wave back acknowledging their friendly gesture.  I parked the van at the pumps and walked inside to pay the cashier for the gas. I put a twenty on the counter indicating  pump three to the attendant. She looks up from the cash register and smiles. "Hello father, how you doing today?" She asks. "Just fine my dear. Thanks for your concern." I answer back. "What order are you associated with? Franciscan?” She probes. I am sure you thought  I wouldn't be prepared for this type of inquiry but you're so very wrong.  "No my dear I’m with the order of Augustinians. In fact the only Augustinian church in southern Arizona."   I take notice of two Highway Patrol Officers standing behind me waiting to pay their bill. "Arizona you say. awfully far from home. Whatcha doin 'in these parts?" She asks. I’ve painted myself into a corner of a round house. "I’m sure these officers would like to get on their way." I tell the busy body. "No father, we're not in any hurry. Where ya headed? " he asked."Going to San Francisco for the National Catholic Priest Convention. It starts tomorrow and we're raising money for the Red Cross as well." I had done my homework."Here's a donation, for the Red Cross. I'm sure they'll make good use of it." He  hands me a five dollar bill. The other officer and two more walk up and hand me cash. "This really isn't necessary, but I appreciate your generosity. I am sure the Red Cross will appreciate these funds. Who do I identify as the donors?" I questioned.  The tall one resembling Randolph Scott,  You know, the cowboy actor; "Go West Young Man" "Jesse James" "Central Division California Highway Patrol Troop 435." He states proudly. “And the Fresno CHP Academy." The other Cop says.The fucking what? I scream inside my mind.  What luck, I picked a great location to  visit. There's a State Police Academy here?  This town is filthy with 5/0 slithering around. "Here I’ll write it down for you father." Says the busy body. "Are you driving the Gray Ford Aerostar?" The runt of the litter says.The Randolph Scott cop surveys the gas pumps and spots my van. "There it is." He declares while paying his bill. Busybody hands me the handwritten information and nods her head with a smile. "Bless you my dear."  " Hey Father, you know there's a piece of black plastic hanging out the back door. You don't want that flapping around." Randolph Scott comments.Shit the black plastic is what I've got the Kilos covered with. It must've  fallen out at my last stop when I checked to make sure the load was hidden." Thanks for pointing it out. I'll take care of it right away. So long and thanks for your generosity.""Come on, we'll give you a hand."" No need, I can handle it." " Nonsense, we'll help you out."So here I am exiting the gas station with four California Highway Patrol Troopers accompanying me to inspect the van loaded with seventy eight  kilos of Cocaine.        JSB