Pipeline (11 page)

Deciding
to go to the cantina and play stupid white woman for a while, I started my
truck and looked around to make sure there was no one coming before I pulled
away from the curb, waiting as another tractor-trailer rumbled by. I hadn't
seen it at first, but a metallic blue-gray Mercedes 380 SL was following the
truck. Shit, I thought. If I had hit that sucker, my insurance premiums would
have doubled overnight. The Mercedes stopped briefly at the plant gate, and the
guard waved it through. As I watched, it pulled in next to the Lincoln.
Refocusing my camera, I snapped off a couple of shots of the Mercedes. The
driver of the Lincoln came out of the plant entrance and walked to the driver's
side of the Mercedes, leaning down and speaking to whoever was driving.
Finally, the car door opened, and the second driver got out, but my view was
blocked by the Hispanic man as they walked back into the plant.

After
waiting for a second tractor-trailer to pass, I made a quick U-turn and drove
toward Rafael's Cantina. The cantina was a stand-alone building squeezed in
between two larger buildings, and all three looked run down. No pride of
ownership here. Fiesta lights hung under a faded striped awning, which was held
up by dented aluminum poles. I had no trouble finding a parking space near the
cantina and guessed that most of the workers who frequented the businesses
along the street couldn't afford vehicles. In fact, the only things on wheels
that I had seen worth owning were the two that had pulled into the ABP parking
lot. Throwing my jacket over my camera case, I looked around inside the truck
to make sure there wasn't anything in sight that might entice someone to break
in.

As I
got out, a small group of four or five men walked past my truck, speaking in
subdued voices and glancing at me out of the corners of their eyes. Illegals
almost never looked directly at you, thinking perhaps that someone could tell
they were illegal by simply looking into their eyes. Two of the men turned into
the cantina while the others kept walking.

Rafael's
Cantina was pretty much what I had expected. I'd been in a hundred places like
it before, and whether they called it Rafael's Cantina, Omar's Casbah, or Hans'
Biergarten, they were basically all the same —poorly lit, smoky places where
men and whores hung out trying to get a cheap drink, or a cheap trick, or both.
Although there were bare light bulbs scattered around the room, they couldn't
have been more than twenty or thirty watts each. Approximately twenty men were
gathered around the bar working on brown and green bottles of beer. A
hand-lettered sign over the bar advertised the finest Old Mexico had to offer
in the way of beer and announced a special on tequila. I was adjusting to the
dim lighting and looking for a place to sit when I heard a familiar voice.

"Lookin'
for a seat, sugar?" Lena said.

I
nodded, and Lena lumbered off, motioning for me to follow her. I was amazed at
the ease with which she negotiated her way around the cramped tables and loose
hands. She stopped on the far side of the room next to a vacant booth and
waited for me to reach her. I slid into the booth and waited for a menu.

"What
can I getcha?" she asked without producing a menu.

"What
do you recommend?" I asked with a smile.

"I
don't recommend nothin' in this dump, 'cept maybe the beer, and it's only
lukewarm."

"Got
any enchiladas?"

"Yeah,
but Rafael did the cookin' today."

"Then
bring me that and a Corona Light with a twist of lime."

"What
you doin' here so early?" she asked in a low voice as she wrote down my
order.

"Didn't
have anything else to do so I thought I'd check out the town while it was still
light."

"How
you figurin' to kill four hours? Ain't like we got no floor show or
nothin'."

"I'll
just observe and see what turns up."

"Only
thing likely to turn up in here is more cockroaches."

She
left with my order and returned with the beer a few minutes later. She had been
right about its being lukewarm, but it was wet.

"You
stick out over here like a sore thumb. You so white, you practically glowin' in
the dark."

"I'll
try to sit farther back in the shadows." I chuckled.

Before
we could say any more she was off again. I watched her work the room, laughing
and talking to some of the other customers who seemed to honestly enjoy her
company. A couple of them had already reached their quota of beer and made
clumsy grabs at her ass, which she managed to deflect with a laugh. When she
reached the bar, she handed an order sheet to a dark, unsmiling Hispanic man.
He looked middle-aged, but most of his face was obscured by shaggy black hair
and a mustache that needed trimming. It drooped down the sides of his mouth,
giving him a perpetual frown. He handed her a tray full of beer and food, which
she dropped off at various tables before setting a large plate of steaming
enchiladas down in front of me.

"You
wanna 'nother Corona?" she asked.

"Yeah,
why not."

"Don't
burn your tongue," Lena said as she turned to walk away. Stopping, she
looked at me over her shoulder. "You find anythin' crunchy in them
enchiladas, just keep chewin' and wash it down quick. Otherwise it might crawl
back up."

Although
there had been a smile on her face when she said it, I was tempted to examine
the enchiladas more closely before taking a bite.

By
ten-thirty, my truck was the only vehicle parked along the street. I had been
killing time outside for nearly forty-five minutes when I saw Lena leave the
cantina, accompanied by an older Hispanic man who waited for her before walking
up the street toward where I was parked. I got out and leaned against the hood,
waiting for Lena to make whatever introduction needed to be made. The man
looked like he was about my age, mid-fifties, and he never stopped looking
around. He hesitated as they got closer to me, and Lena reached out and grabbed
his shirt to move him forward.

"This
is Juan," she said as she thrust him toward me. His eyes were cast to the ground,
and I knew he was an illegal.

"Juan
Doe, I suppose," I said with a smile, but the remark sailed over both
their heads.

Juan
glanced up at me cautiously without speaking.

Nudging
him, Lena ordered, "Tell her what you tol' me. She don't give a shit if
you an illegal."

"I
worked at ABP," he said with a fairly heavy accent.

"You
don't work there now?" I asked.

He
shook his head. "They laid me off when I got hurt."

"How
did you get hurt?"

He
pulled a hand out of his jeans pocket and held it up in the light for me to
see. The ends of four of the fingers on his left hand were missing, and there
was a red, swollen scar across the palm of his hand. From the looks of it, I
estimated that the damage had probably happened a month or so before. As soon
as I had seen his hand, he plunged it back into his pocket.

"How
did it happen?"

"Saw.
The chain it move too fast."

"They
hang the meat from a movin' chain. Then increase the speed of the chain to
increase production," Lena said matter-of-factly.

"I'm
sorry about your hand, Juan. Can you tell me how you got your job at ABP?"

He
nodded and looked around again. "I come across border with other men from
my village. A man, he take us to San Antonio where we get papers saying we can
work here. Then he bring us here."

"How
much did you have to pay?"

"Eight,
nine hundred American dollars. Now I got nothin'. No money, no job."

"Do
you know the names of the people you paid the money to?"

He
shook his head. "Only the man who speaks for ABP."

I
looked at him and waited.

"Tell
her the name," Lena ordered.

"Felix
Camarena. He hire workers for ABP."

"Did
you meet him in Mexico?"

"San
Antonio. He bring papers to us and give money to the coyote for us."

"He
paid the coyote after you paid the coyote?"

"Si...yes."

"You've
mentioned this Camarena guy a few times in your notes," I said to Lena.
"Did you get his name from other workers besides Juan here?"

"They
all know Camarena. He don't work at ABP. They hire him to bring illegals
in," she answered.

"They
hired him to bring workers in," I corrected. "There's still no proof
the company knows they're illegal."

"Then
them people runnin' ABP are stupid. You think there just be workers layin'
around dyin' to work in that stinky place?"

"Maybe
they think they're illegals, but don't want to ask too many questions about
where Camarena finds them."

Lena
poked Juan again and said, "Tell her 'bout your brother."

"He
work for ABP, too."

"Will
he talk to me?"

"He
in 'Braska."

"Nebraska?"

"Yes.
Big plant there. Bigger than this. Many men from my village go there."

"And
they all came through San Antonio and Camarena?"

"Yes."

While
I was pondering what Juan had just told me, a car moved up the street toward us
causing Juan to jump back into the shadow of the closest building and press
himself against the wall as if hoping to blend in with the aging bricks. I
glanced around and saw the white Town Car I had seen earlier at the ABP plant.
As it passed, it appeared to slow down momentarily before speeding up again and
moving down the street away from us. When my attention returned to Juan, he was
still in the shadows.

"I
go now. Can't stay here," he said.

"What's
wrong with you?" Lena asked him.

"Camarena,"
he said, looking in the direction of the Town Car. Before I could ask another
question, he slipped around the corner of the building and disappeared into the
darkness.

I
had gotten the message and looked at Lena. "Looks like this was your last
day slinging beer and enchiladas around the old cantina. Get in your car and
I'll follow you. I hope Rafael isn't expecting two weeks' notice."

Chapter
Thirteen

I
SPENT THE following two days in San Antonio digging into the background of ABP.
They were one of the Big Three meatpackers in the United States and ran their
business in a way that would have made Upton Sinclair proud. They had large
meatpacking plants in five Midwestern states. In every case, they bought out
local meatpackers and expanded the plants, produced around the clock, and
eliminated union packers, giving me a new appreciation for the meat at my local
grocery store.

ABP
and the other big meatpackers were bringing in eighty billion a year in meat
sales and had recently diversified into prepackaged meats and the overseas
markets. Asian markets, in particular, were ripe for American beef, and ABP had
been one of the first to tap into that potentially huge market. Elementary math
got me into bigger numbers than I knew existed. ABP, and probably the other big
packers, were shelling out a small fortune for workers. Someone was getting
that money plus what the workers themselves paid to enter the country
illegally. Millions were exchanging hands in order for the companies to make
billions. I could see why someone had wanted to stop Kyle, or anyone else, from
digging into the story, and I felt the familiar thrill of investigating a story
returning.

I
made copies of information I found on microfilm, mostly old newspaper articles
about the ABP buyout in Mountain View. Other than a couple of stories about how
the community had benefited from having a large company in their midst, the
company had managed to keep a relatively low profile.

I
was packing my bag Friday morning, preparing to return to the ranch, when I
decided to call Sarita.

"Ventana
Middle School," a woman answered in a bored voice.

"Yes,
ma'am. I'd like to leave a message for Ms. Ramirez."

"Which
one?"

"Sarita
Ramirez."

"She's
in class now, but I can put a message in her box."

"Tell
her that Joanna Carlisle called. If she wants to talk to me, I'll be at the
Holiday Inn near Santa Rosa Medical Center until just after lunch. Room four
sixteen."

"I'll
give her the message," the woman barely got out before disconnecting me.

I
had absolutely no idea whether Sarita would call me back or not but figured I
should let her know that I hadn't ignored her request. I finished packing what
few clothes I had with me and lay back on the bed to look over the material I
had found. Less than half an hour later, the phone next to the bed rang.

"Hello,"
I said.

"Ms.
Carlisle? This is Sarita. I just got your message."

"I
wanted to let you know I was in town. I've been doing some background research,
and I'm leaving for the ranch this afternoon."