Randy White - Night Vision

“I keep trying to tell you the best news,” the girl had said to him. “My mother was working in restaurants and cleaning houses. But then she went to work for a very rich man and has been traveling a lot-which is probably why I haven’t heard from her. She didn’t tell anyone the man’s name. But she told someone’s niece that the man’s company makes movies. That she was going to become an actress! This was about two months ago, which is probably why she had to get a new telephone. My aunts or brother will know more when I talk to them. Didn’t I tell you that my mother is beautiful?”

Squires thought, Uh-oh… understanding immediately why Tula’s mother hadn’t told anyone her employer’s name. Either no one had revealed the name to her or the woman was too ashamed to admit it. Every Mexican in Florida knew that Laziro Victorino was a badass gang leader and the only films he had an interest in were porno and snuff films.

That gave Squires a sick feeling in his belly. She could have been talking about some other guy who made movies-but he strongly doubted it.

Tula’s mother must have been damn hard up for money to make such a decision, which wasn’t unusual for Mexican women who sent money back home. But to go to work for the V-man? It had to be more than just needing cash, Squires decided. Maybe she’d gotten hooked on crank or crack. No telling, but a lot of Mexican girls did after getting into porn or prostitution.

Squires remembered the little girl sniffing the little doll she’d found and saying her mother had one just like it. It didn’t prove the girl’s mother had been entertained by Victorino or Frankie, sitting in their trailer, drinking margaritas laced with Ecstasy. But it sure made it a strong possibility.

There was also an even more disturbing possibility, but just thinking about it made Squires feel queasy. That he’d been the one who’d entertained Tula’s mother-the Mexican chula in his sex dream. So Squires had changed the subject by handing Tula his iPhone, saying, “Call your aunt what’s her name. Tell her you’re okay. Where’d you say they’re living? Do it now because we’re going to lose reception the moment I turn off the road to my camp.”

“We’re not going back to the trailer park?” the girl asked, surprised. “That’s what I told the priest. That’s what I told everyone, that we’re returning to Red Citrus.” She hesitated. “I would feel better if I could sleep on my own cot and get my things. I have a book there I read every night before I turn off the light.”

Squires shook his head. “The camp’s closer, and I need a drink. We’ll get your things tomorrow.”

Guessing what the girl was worried about, he added, “Don’t worry, you’ll have your own bed. And all the damn privacy you want-as long as you promise to stop talking so much. What about calling your aunts?”

As Tula giggled in her seat, excited to be dialing her aunt, Squires thought about details. He wasn’t good at geography, but he’d done bodybuilding shows all over Florida. Tula had mentioned Ocala and Venice. They were both north, off Interstate 75, which was right on the way if they were driving to Mexico.

Damn… it was a big decision. Leaving the country had seemed like a smart thing to do earlier when he’d been drunk and scared shitless. Now, with the girl laughing and chattering in Spanish to her aunt, it suddenly seemed all too real. Like the idea was closing in and smothering him.

How would he feel riding with a bunch of wetbacks all that distance? His truck was a double cab, so there’d be enough room. Hell, Mexicans were like folding chairs. You could pack twenty of them into a Volkswagen. And it wasn’t like he’d be breaking any laws, since he’d be driving a load of illegal immigrants back to where they belonged. Still, the prospect seemed so foreign to him that he began searching for an alternative.

But no matter how Squires viewed his situation, he couldn’t get around the fact that if the cops questioned Tula about the dead Mexican girl, they’d arrest him for something, probably murder. Laziro Victorino was in the back of his mind, too.

Then Squires thought about the way the girl had described her village. It was quiet and clean, she’d said. A place that was high in the mountains where it was cool, and closer to God.

Squires told himself he didn’t care anything about God. But he was sure sick of Florida, where he’d been doing stupid, illegal shit, always feeling guilty- a dirty life, Tula had described it, and the girl was right.

All his problems would be solved, though, if he took Tula and her family to Mexico. No more murder rap, no worrying about cops busting his steroid business, no more of Frankie’s bullying, and of her sick, twisted ways.

Squires reminded himself that he had around sixty grand in cash-plus a few grand more he’d stolen from the two white guys last night. That was more than enough money to kick back at some Mexican beach resort for a month or two.

And if he liked the place, maybe he’d invest some of that money in starting up a first-class steroids lab-a place where it was legal to use and make gear. Hell, he could hire Tula and her family to keep the place clean and do office work. The girl was strange, but at least he knew that she’d never steal from him or lie to him about the books.

Okay, Squires thought to himself, Mexico it is.

Goddamn, that felt good! He’d finally made a decision. It put a little smile on his face until Tula handed him his cell phone as if the thing was broken, telling him, “I can’t hear what my aunt Isabel is saying anymore. She was right in the middle of telling me something important when we got cut off.”

“I told you, we don’t have good reception out here,” Squires replied.

“But I wanted to hear what she was telling me!”

As the man slipped the phone into his pocket, he paid attention because the girl sounded so serious, which is why he asked her, “What’d she say that’s got you so riled up?”

Tula replied, “My aunt said an important woman called her tonight. A woman who works for the government helping immigrants. She was very worried because she said the police are looking for you and me.”

Squires felt his heart begin to pound. “Your aunt said that?” he asked.

“No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. The woman said they’ve been talking about us on the radio and television all night. Some kind of special alert for children. It has a color in the name.”

Squires whispered, “Shit! An AMBER Alert.”

Reacting to the expression on the man’s face, Tula added quickly, “Yes-but it’s okay, don’t worry! The first thing my aunt will do is call the woman and tell her that you are my friend. She’s probably talking to the woman right now. Telling her that I’m very safe and happy. My aunt promised.”

Squires said, “Jesus Christ, an AMBER Alert. What next?” but was listening, wanting to hear better news.

Tula told him, “Then my aunt will call the church and speak with the priest-she knows him very well because she picked tomatoes in Immokalee for a season. His name is Father Jimenez, and she will ask him to telephone the police tonight and tell them the same thing.”

“Talk slower,” Squires said. “Tell the cops what?”

“That I’m with you because I want to be with you. So no one will be worried. My aunt was so relieved to hear my voice, she was crying. But she promised me, so I know she will do it.”

Tula held up the paper she was carrying. “In the morning, I will call the woman myself. I have her number here, too.”

Squires took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before he said, “Maybe you should call the immigration woman now. I can back up. Usually, reception doesn’t go to hell until I get to the gate.”