Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

“Sadie, please,” she said as they shook hands. Sadie had her own office. It was small, but comfortable.

Horace leaned across the desk, indicating he didn’t want to be overheard by anyone. “I understand you can land people in Portland.”

Sadie looked up, surprised. She had done so in the past for a hefty fee, but things were different now. “May I ask why you want to emigrate?”

“Let’s just say my life depends on it,” Horace said. “How much will it cost and when can we leave?”

Sadie didn’t answer at first. She stared at her desk and took a deep breath. “My fee is ten thousand dollars.”

Horace was surprised. “I was told it was about one thousand.”

“One thousand dollars is the fee for the tourist flight.”

“What if you didn’t land? What if I parachuted out of the plane?”

“That was done once before that I know of. The pilot came back without his passenger. Questions were asked. That pilot lost his license, paid a hefty fine, and served a short prison stretch.” Horace just looked on matter-of-factly.

“What other options do I have?”

“If I take you there, we’d land. Then I could never go back. I lose everything. I wouldn’t even consider it except that New America is a great place. I planned to go back there someday. Can you be ready in a week?”

“I’m ready right now.”

“I need a week to make my own plans. Meet me here this same time next Tuesday.”

“Okay.”

“I need the money tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow or there is no deal. You said you were ready right now, or did I misunderstand you?”

“Fine.”

Horace would have to sell his car. When the day of his departure arrived, Horace went to Sadie’s office, but she wasn’t there. He asked around and somebody mentioned that she was arrested. Oh my God , he thought, we were found out .

Just then a man walked up to him. “Mr. Hayfield?”

“Yes.”

The man showed Horace his badge and identified himself as Detective Ferris. “Mr. Hayfield, you’re under arrest for espionage.” Hayfield froze.

At the local precinct in Salinas, Detective Ferris tried to question Hayfield, but Horace was a savvy businessman who knew never to answer questions without his lawyer being present. A frustrated Ferris shoved the phone over to him and told him to call. Hayfield preferred his own mobile phone, which had his lawyer’s contact information. His lawyer promised him a reference to a local attorney, who then called Hayfield and promised he’d be there in the morning. Horace was taken to a cell and told he’d stay there until he was ready to talk to the detective.

The next morning a man identifying himself as Stuart Hessfield showed up and got Hayfield out on bail, but he would have to answer some questions. Stu promised he’d be there with him.

Detective Ferris interrogated Hayfield for several hours about why he was leaving Old America, what he was going to do in Portland, and when he was planning on returning. Hayfield answered all the questions truthfully and the district attorney was satisfied that he wasn’t a spy. Nevertheless, he was told not to make any more attempts to enter New America or he’d be re-arrested.

Hayfield was curious as to how he was suspected in the first place. Detective Ferris smiled and said he’d seen a lot of people try to sneak across the border over the past three years. “First they find the border is blocked, then they try to sneak across, by air, boat, or their feet. To do this, they have to sell their possessions that they couldn’t carry. We’ve alerted all the auto dealers and pawn shops in the area to call the police whenever a customer wants to dump their car instead of trading it in. That’s what happened with you. The dealer bought your car, called me, and figured you’d be let out within a few days. He has your car all set to resell it back to you for a nice tidy profit for himself.”

“But Sadie?”

“Same thing with her. When she tried to sell off everything we picked her up.”

That son of a bitch , thought Hayfield. It’s a fucking racket they got going here. Damn, I wished I’d thought of it.

Hayfield bought his car back and his luggage was still in his old room. He was out the ten thousand dollars he gave Sadie Meriwether, and a few grand more to the dealership. Furthermore, he was back to square one, still trying to figure a way across the border, and not much wiser for the effort.

Next, he went to the boatyard to see if someone could carry him to any shore in New America. He talked to a man named Phillips and asked him how much he’d take for the job.

“Nothing,” was his answer. “I’ve had two men take a few thousand dollars for the job. They left in the middle of the night; just a five mile trip across the border. The first guy to try it was chased by the Coast Guard and arrested. The second guy was shot and his boat exploded. You won’t find anyone else around here who will take the chance.”

Great! Now what am I going to do? Hayfield thought about it for a little while and concluded that maybe there were better opportunities to get across from a different spot. So Horace got into his Mercedes and headed north, but it was the same situation. The roads to New America were all blocked.

He continued to move northward until he reached Idaho. Then he got on Route 86, and took it toward Piper City, where, once again, the roads were blocked. Horace thought he might be able to bribe a border guard. He approached the duty officer, but was chased out of there before he could even make an offer. He searched for side roads that might get him across, but mostly they dead ended. A frustrated Horace Hayfield stopped at a motel for the night and contemplated his next move when there was a knock at his door. He answered it, figuring it must be housekeeping, but a man he never saw before was standing there. Horace thought he looked kind of goofy.

“Are you looking for a way across the border?”

“Who are you? Who sent you? How do you know what I’m looking for?”

“May I come in? I can explain.”

Hayfield let him in. He was tall and thin and walked with an odd gait. “My name is Milo. May I have a bottle of water, please?” Horace gave him the water.

“May I have something to eat? I ain’t et all day.” Horace made him a sandwich, and then waited for the man to state his business.

“You’re looking for a way in, right?”

“Let’s just say I am.”

Milo just nodded up and down as he wolfed down the sandwich. “I understand, sir. I know a way across.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” Horace was getting impatient. Christ, finish the blasted sandwich and get on with it.

“My fee is a thousand bucks.”

What, just one grand? Christ, all these hucksters . “How do I know that if I give you money you won’t just take off with it and leave me stranded somewhere?”

“I’ll take you there. You drive and I’ll show you where to go. I’ll take half now and the rest when we get there.”

Hayfield was hesitant to spend still more money. Yet, he knew he’d need somebody’s help. Hayfield was a self-made entrepreneur—mostly from commercial real estate. He had millions and he had to get across. “When will you be ready?” he said.

“I’m ready right now.”

“I have to get the cash. When is the best time to go?”

“Tonight—around midnight.”

“Be here then and I’ll be ready to go.”

Milo Hoopenmiller drove with Horace Hayfield, giving him directions, until they wound up at the end of a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood community. Just ahead was a forested area. Milo pointed to the trees. “It’s about three miles to the border.”