Incident at Baja

20 May

–This one guy may be alive, said Wolfie.
–Let’s go. Let them be. Someone may be staking them out.
This was in Baja, south of the border. There were three of them. One was a woman. The bodies had started to decompose.
–This guy may be alive. I think I saw him breathe. I’m telling you.
The car had California plates. The man who might have moved looked dead dead good. He sat up motionless in the dusty car. The windows were all down. It looked like someone had taken a bottle of blood and spilled it all over the man. His pants were orange with it. The air had oxidized the blood. The sun dried it. Or something. Whatever you call it.
–Let’s go. Someone may be staking them out. Drug dealers. Federales. Anyone. Let’s go.
This was in Rosarito. Wolfie had ingested a hit and a half of lysergic acid diethylamide. He couldn’t be trusted in his judgment of the scene. The trio in the Caprice looked almost mummified. No chance anyone could have been alive. They were dried up by the sun and heat. It looked like they were executed, except for the driver. A large rock had been used to gauge his torso. There was evidence of a fire that may have been part of his torture. Shards of a burned sweater or shirt still clung to the man’s forearm. Despite, they looked quite peaceful, though. To me. I was young. I didn’t know much. They looked like what I thought the bodies in New Orleans above-ground mausoleums, left to be sun-dried, might have looked like. Made of leather. Fake, almost. Shriveled. There was a cloud of dust forming at the horizon.
–Let’s go.
At the front of it I saw a green VW beetle, racing toward us. A taxi.
–Let’s go, for Chrissakes.
Wolfie thought it was a giant toad. Someone was taking a taxi to the scene. The Zetas. Who. Osiel Cardenas Guillen. Being driven in a taxi. It was a ridiculous notion.
–Come on. Jesus.
We left and went south. At Santa Rosalía we took the ferry across to Quaymas, then went down to see a friend in Ciudad Obregon who had promised us cocktails and lobster with a view. Wolfie was amazed at the sight of mud huts on the side of the road. It reminded me of villages in my country. Wolfie bought an ounce from our friend, and I made out with a bottle of tequila from Nuestro Orgullo. The incident was not reported in the papers. We checked La Cronica and La Voz de la Frontera. There was nothing.

(Author’s Notes)


7 Responses to “Incident at Baja”

  1. Slyboots 20/05/2008 at 7:44 PM #

    I like your stories about Wolfie. He always sounds on the verge of delamination. And I always presume that everyone with him is likewise, by proxy.

  2. (S)wine 20/05/2008 at 9:59 PM #

    Sly, interesting choice of words there…delamination. I always saw Wolfie as having so many layers, or rather, shedding off his skins like a snake, in every installment or story. I believe in earlier pieces he’s dead. In others he’s not. It’s strange living with characters; most of them go away for a while, then come back to haunt. Some stay away for good.

  3. zombieswan 23/05/2008 at 1:11 AM #

    Hey, have you seen this place?

    It struck me as something you would dig.

  4. (S)wine 23/05/2008 at 1:15 AM #

    Nice. Thanks for the tip.

  5. Anonymous 27/05/2008 at 10:25 PM #

    great job, but that’s no surprise you’re a very talented writer. bukowski202

  6. Erin O'Brien 28/05/2008 at 3:13 AM #

    I am so thrilled to have seen the “author’s notes” section that I just don’t know what. It’s like being in on the secret or something. And THEN I saw I WAS LINKED in there!


  7. (S)wine 28/05/2008 at 4:56 PM #

    Erin, I have had this on this site FOREVER, but from my stats it seemed no one noticed. So I decided to include the link to the page at the end of every post that has notes. It is supposed to be a bit of an “inside info” kind of page. Sometimes it’s expanded backstories. Mostly it’s just me bool-shitting about motivation and inspiration and all that junk that goes along with writing.

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