A Season of Reckoning

Contents

Chapter One - Beginning Again - One More Time

Chapter Two - Falling in Love for the Last Time

Chapter Three - Preparing for Change – Otra Vez

Chapter Four - Changes Begin Again

Chapter Five - My People’s Problems

Chapter Six - Sam Puts Out a Call for Rough Men and Women

Chapter Seven - War Whoops, Wolves, and Wailing Women

Chapter Eight - Festival in Honor of Pancho Villa

Chapter Nine - Season of Reckoning – Pancho Villa Style

Chapter Ten - Rough Men Fight for Life and Family

Chapter Eleven - Shootin’, Plannin’ and Bakin’ Pies and Dressin’

Chapter Twelve - Seneca Flies and Pancho Rides !!

Chapter Thirteen - The Time is Now

Chapter Fourteen - Emergency Alert – 24\7

Chapter Fifteen - Success !!! and Surprises ?!?

Chapter Sixteen - Horses, Bullwhips and Shots Fired

Chapter Seventeen - San Angelo, Los Alamos, Langley, White House

Epilog - Shivaree!

About the Author

Chapter One

A gust of West Texas wind blew across the cemetery and the floral arrangement on the steel gray casket fluttered. Potted plants arranged around the lowering device released their flower petals into a small dust devil. It was mid-September, but it was still warm at the Paint Rock Cemetery. The dry wind carried tiny swirls of dust from the pile of dirt dug from the grave site, now partially covered with mats of green plastic grass. Scalloped edges of the green cloth canopy popped in the strong breezes. Though faded and a bit worn, the canopy covered the grave and the eight or ten people standing under it, providing shelter from the sun.

The tall skinny Baptist preacher stood and read the 23rd Psalm and prayed a short prayer. He spoke briefly about Claire, her life and her love of fishing. He continued with a brief homily and read that passage from Numbers about letting His face shine upon you and giving you Peace. The preacher prayed the benediction and stated that the service was now concluded. The few folks in attendance gathered around Sam and patted him on the back, offering up words of consolation, support, friendship and condolence.

A fishing buddy offered up his vacant garage apartment, saying, Sam, what are you going to do now? I guess you have a few decisions to make, but there’s no rush, is there? You know, our son joined the Marines, and his apartment is sitting empty. We’d be glad to see you put it to use – for as long as you like. No charge, of course. I am really serious. I do hope you’ll think about it, but Barbara and I will understand if you can’t.

Sam only smiled and nodded his head. There were no tears today; everyone slowly walked to their pick-ups and cars and drove away. Sam, the preacher and the Funeral Director remained, to oversee the next step. Sam thanked the preacher and gave him a hundred dollar bill, as the casket was lowered into the grave. Sam told the Funeral Director he appreciated his handling of everything and that he could leave as well. He assured him he would stay until the grave had been closed and any details attended to. Two young Mexican boys took the tent down and loaded it in a pick-up, along with the chairs, plastic grass and the lowering device. While the boys were loading up, Sam took a final moment to peer into the grave and whispered, Adios Claire.

The backhoe belched black diesel exhaust, scraping dirt into the grave. Sam squatted down and smoked a Camel cigarette as he watched the young Mexican skillfully operate the backhoe. The grave was all covered in a few minutes. Sam offered the potted plants to the boys for their families, thanked them and then slowly walked back to his pick-up. He drove through the small cemetery and then the mile and a half back to Claire’s house.

Claire Reeves had died of the cancer a few days before, after a tough fight that lasted five months. Claire seemed to be a normal, healthy sixty-three year old woman when Sam met her on the banks of the Concho, fishing for whatever would bite. For the first three months, Claire seemed healthy, happy and active. They went fishing together nearly every day. After a month, Sam gave up his apartment in San Angelo and moved in with her.

Claire had 1300 acres and an old ranch house that was pretty nice. Her husband had died about 15 years ago and she lived alone until she met Sam. She leased the land out to a local rancher and he ran a bunch of cows on it. Though she had no children of her own, her husband fathered several, prior to their marriage. After he died, his children had asked her to move out of the house and offered a small settlement. Claire refused and remained in the house. She maintained custody of the house and land, which she could not sell. Per her husband’s will, she could continue to reside there until her death. Then, house and land would, of course, go to the children.

Sam turned his truck on to the long driveway, lined with several mature pecan trees, and he could see several vehicles parked outside the yard fence — one was the Sheriff’s official car. Sam backed his truck up to the front gate of the yard fence and killed the engine. A silver Mercedes, parked in the shade of one of the largest pecan trees, sat with its engine running. Several people occupied both the front and back seats. Under the cover of dark tinted rolled-up windows, someone kept fiddling with the air conditioner.

As soon as Sam stepped out of his truck, Sheriff Billy Sims and his Chief Deputy, Walter somebody, blocked the yard gate.

Sam, we have an eviction order here for you. You must be out of the house and off this land by sundown, Billy said. He was clearly uncomfortable delivering this message.

Sam looked at the two o’clock sun through the filter of pecan tree branches, then at the Mercedes, and back at Billy, and nodded his head one time. The local lawyer, Dan Redding, stood near his Town Car listening, before he approached Sam. He boldly charged ahead and briskly walked over.

The family has asked me to accompany you – to make sure you don’t take anything that belongs to the estate, declared the pompous lawyer, carrying a handful of legal-sized papers.

Sam, we’re sure sorry about Claire. You understand about all this, don’t you? Billy said.

Yeah, I understand all this, Billy. Tell that Son-of-a-Bitch lawyer I ain’t no damn thief and he better stay out of my way. And tell them leeches over there that I don’t want a damned thing that belongs to them – and on anything else, they can just kiss my ass! Sam answered.

The door to the Mercedes slowly opened and the youngest son, fortyish, got out and took a couple of tentative steps toward Sam. Before he could say anything, Sam spun around to look at him, his dark eyes blazing.

Sam said, "Do you really want to talk to me today? Have you been sleeping through this?"

The son stammered through a brief condolence and a sort of apology. Red-faced all the while, he was wary of Sam.

Sam hesitated, nodded, and said You’re obviously the pick of the litter. Thanks for remembering your manners. A man has to respect the passing on of a life. Gracias.

Now shaking his clenched wad of papers in Sam’s face, the lawyer tried to project some authority, You’ll have to take care of all the medical bills and funeral bills, as well as all the utility bills, he said, trying to get the last word in.

To hell with you! All the bills are already paid, Sam said. He turned and walked through the front gate. Walter followed him through the gate and into the house.

I saw you the other night at the Dairy Queen with that pretty Mexican girl that works at the Wash House, Sam said.

Yeah, we’re talking about getting married, probably next June, Walter answered enthusiastically.

Get out! I can’t believe a girl that pretty would marry your old ugly ass, laughed Sam. But, good for y’all and good for you and many congratulations, said Sam, as he handed two suit cases to Walter, and grabbed another two. They carried them outside and put them in the bed of Sam’s truck.

After a few more trips carrying cardboard boxes and a few green large garbage bags, they finished loading the truck. Sam tied a tarp down, with Walter’s help, and was ready to go. He slammed the tailgate of his truck closed and turned to the Sheriff. He shook his hand and thanked him, and then repeated the process with Walter.

Where you headed? Walter asked.

Damned if I know, right off. I think I might try Mexico for a while. You boys take care, Sam said, as he got in his truck and cranked it up. He gave the Mercedes and its occupants a tip of his hat. He roared out the long driveway, kicking up dust. He did not look back, nor was he tempted to.

Sam had been with Claire when the old Doc in San Angelo gave her three months to live. Claire had cancer of almost everything by the time she’d consulted him. She just wanted to keep on fishing for as long as she could. Sam had helped her die and she died hard. From diagnosis, she’d lived five months and eleven days. Most every day of that time, they’d fished on the banks of the Concho with cane poles.

About the only thing that Claire would eat was fried fish she and Sam had caught. Claire lost down to about 85 pounds. Sam would carry her down to the river bank and set her chair up in a shady spot. And sometimes she just slept from the dope the old Doc had prescribed for pain. Hospice and Sam had helped her die. Sam had great respect for Hospice and had made a sizeable donation before Claire died.

Sam pointed his truck west on Highway 380, toward the big city of Veribest, Texas. As his big Dodge 2500 pick-up, with supercharged Cummings diesel, ginned along, Sam pondered the death of Claire. He had not been close to a dying person like this before. This up-close experience with death had been violent, bloody and painful. It was instinctive to try to get away from it as soon as you could. Putting distance between death and him felt like the thing to do.

Sam DeLeon was a retired Houston Police Sergeant and had been retired for more than twelve years. He did contract work for a very exclusive private investigation firm in Houston, although he had taken extended leave during Claire’s illness. The Agency mainly consisted of employed retired officers from HPD and other state and federal law enforcement agencies. The rich and shameless of Memorial Drive and River Oaks, and other rich areas of Houston were often their clients. Their success brought in clients from the wealthy of Dallas, Midland, San Antonio and Austin, virtually from all over the state. They used this professional investigative body to solve problems their friendly neighborhood patrolman or city detective didn’t have the time or the expertise to solve.

Sam was not convinced the CIA, FBI, Secret Service or any other agency in the U.S. could do a better job than his firm in conducting criminal investigations. He tapped his brakes to disengage the cruise control, when he saw the speed zone sign ahead. The big city of Veribest, with its 40 souls, passed quickly into his rear view mirror. He continued on toward San Angelo and the source of the best burgers anywhere – the Whataburger. He had not eaten one in almost a year and it had been just too long. After eating his Whataburger, which was great, he gassed the truck up and bought two cartons of Camel Wides and several bottles of water.

Sam drove on to U.S. Highway 67 and headed southwest, at about five miles over the legal limit. The sun was in his eyes, so he pulled down the brim of his straw Resistol and figured he should hit Interstate 10 near dark. Sam was realizing Claire’s death had really spooked him; he sure didn’t want to die like that. He figured if he got the Big C, he would only hang around as long as the dope worked. Then he’d eat a 12 gauge, #1 buckshot - in a nice, airy, outside location — so nobody would have to clean up afterwards. His mind now more at ease, he felt ready to begin thinking about other things.

After passing Big Lake, he quit thinking about Claire and tuned in a good country station that played a lot of golden oldies. He heard ole E.T. singing about waltzing across Texas and Merle singing about turning 21 in prison. It almost made Sam stop at one of the honky-tonks along the way and drink a little beer. It felt great to enjoy the music - one of life’s pleasures. It had been quite a while since he’d felt like celebrating anything. Inspired, he put a favorite Billy Joe disc in the CD player, cranked it up full blast, and listened to him pour out his considerable heart and soul.

He hit I-10 before the sun went down and stopped the truck about a hundred yards before he got to the intersection. He lit a Camel and considered his choices: East, toward the Hill country, San Antonio and Houston – or West, toward the Texas Rockies, the High Chihuahuan Desert and El Paso. After about two minutes of thinking and smoking, Sam made a right-hand turn on to the feeder of I-10 West, and continued up the entrance ramp. He eased the truck up to eighty, punched his cruise button, and headed into the awesome colors of a West Texas sunset.

Although he had planned on stopping in Fort Stockton, he turned back on to Highway 67, off I-10. Sam drove toward Alpine - mountains in the distance outlined by the setting sun; it was spectacular! Enjoying the drive, things were finally feeling a bit more normal and he felt more like himself. More music from Billy Joe, a poet, was in order.

Sam arrived in Alpine after dark, surprised to feel hungry again. He stopped at a favorite café he knew, La Casita. The food was always fresh and tasted home-cooked, as if he were dining at a relative’s house. He had their Mexican plate and two cold Lone Stars, and it was all delicious. Sam now knew for sure, that Margaritaville was calling him and he was ready.

He gassed the truck up at the Town and Country, drove through Alpine and headed toward Marfa, by the Twin Peaks, through Paisano Pass, to Marfa on Highway 90/67. In Marfa, he turned left on to 67, and was just about 60 miles from Ojinaga, in Chihuahua, Mexico. When he passed the old silver mining town of Shafter - now a ghost town, he could see lights from Presidio and Ojinaga on the Rio Bravo.

The Customs Plaza on the U.S. side blazed with light when Sam slowly drove past, and on to the International Bridge over the Rio Grande, and on to Mexican soil. Border guards on the Mexican side asked where he was going in Mexico. He told them, in his best Tex-Mex, that he was just going to visit a few days and drink a bunch of Indios. Although he was a DeLeon, Sam’s mom had been an Anglo and did not speak much Spanish. Sam had learned the language in a basic, but piecemeal, fashion. It was not classical or lyrical sounding, but Sam communicated very effectively. The younger, sharp guard was pleasant and helpful.

Sam asked him if there was a good fish place nearby. This was mainly for future reference since he’d eaten only a few hours ago. On the other hand, his appetite, recently suffering, clearly was back. He liked to eat fish, but hadn’t since Claire got too sick to eat it anymore; he found he was looking forward to it again. The guard directed him to a café a couple of blocks away. Sam then asked about a hotel or motel where his truck would be behind a gate at night. The young Mexican answered, waving him through to Mexico.

Sam found the hotel easily and checked in. After his shower and a change of clothes, he walked across the street to a Cantina. A very pretty Mexican woman, probably in her early or mid thirties, served his two bottles of Indio, his favorite Mexican beer.

Sam didn’t let any grass grow and plunged ahead, asking, Where is that fish place from here?

It’s really close, just a block over and a block down – and the fish is good, she answered.

Sam was pleased that her English was good, since his Spanish, as noted, was not a thing of beauty. He said What time do you get off? Maybe you could show me the café and we could have supper together?

She responded with a great smile, but declined. Sam took it in stride, left a good tip, and made the short walk over to the little restaurant. It was a working man’s place; the food was cheap and the beer was cold. Sam figured it probably would not be recommended by Martha Stewart as a favored dining site. However, this did not keep him from eating a bit of fish and drinking a few Indios.

Ojinaga was one of Sam’s favorite Mexican border towns. The city didn’t have the hustle of Nuevo Laredo or Acuna, or any other border town that had all kinds of tourist attractions. This lack of titty bars and dives suited Sam very well. He slept well and was up early, looking for a coffee pot. He found the French bakery and ate two pieces of pan dulce and drank three cups of good coffee.

When he returned to his hotel room, he found the same woman he’d met at the Cantina last night. She was making his bed when he opened the door and stopped in this tracks.

In Sam’s experience, the females you meet in a beer joint at night, after having a few beers, don’t look near as good the next day in broad daylight. But this one was different; she was even more beautiful in the daylight.

Good morning, he said, from the doorway.

Good morning, she said, smoothing the bed without looking up. When she turned from the bed and saw Sam, she was clearly surprised. I didn’t know you were staying here, she continued.

I didn’t know that you worked here, Sam replied.

Did you find the fish place and have a good supper? she asked.

I did and the fish was wonderful and the beer was cold. All that was missing was you, he said with a big smile.

I don’t work at the Cantina tonight and I’ll be off from this job at two. Does the offer still stand for supper? she questioned.

You bet it does. Maybe we can get together after you get off and you can show me around Ojinaga a little bit, Sam said.

The young woman didn’t answer right away. Sitting down on the bed, she clasped her hands in front of her and spoke. The father of my children lives in Santa Rosa – my village – about sixty miles upriver. He is not my husband, and never offered to marry me, but is extremely jealous of anything I do. He is a very dangerous man; he stays drunk on Mezcal or high on Crack, when he can get it, and he has a pistola.

Well I sure don’t want to come between you and your man, or cause any trouble for you, Sam lied.

We would not be seen by his sorry friends if we could go to a little higher class place to eat, she suggested.

The highest - you call it, Sam smiled.

I’ll meet you here at your room at three, and I’ll show you the big city of Ojinaga, she said, enthusiastically.

That’ll be great. By the way, I don’t know your name, Sam said.

Everybody calls me Tita, she declared.

Tita, I am glad to meet you and know your name. My name is Sam DeLeon, he said as they shook hands. The handshake was almost electric; he held her hand long as he could without seeming forward.

See you at three, Tita said as she left, pushing the work buggy to the next room.

Sam made a few calls on his cell phone. He arranged for a mailing address in the Far West Texas\Border area. Since he had no firm plans, it seemed the prudent thing to do. He ended with a call to Bud, his boss, and talked to him for several minutes.

What the hell are you doing in Mexico? Bud asked.

I figured after losing Claire, I ought to spend a few days in Margaritaville and dream some of those refried dreams.

Be careful, Sam the Lion, that you don’t catch a dose of clap down there. Cuidado! Bud counseled.

I’ve been here since yesterday and ain’t even seen a working girl and sure ain’t looking for one. I’m thinking about settling in this part of the country. It’s hot, but I like it, Sam admitted.

At least you would be closer to that oil patch over around Midland and Odessa – and could keep an eye on those oil field thefts we’ve been having out there, Bud said.

I could do that from down here, as long as it wasn’t too long an assignment, Sam agreed.

We have had some boxcar burglaries in that area as well. Let me give you some names and numbers, so you can contact a few people out there. I’ll get the info together in a couple of days and send it by e-mail, Bud said.

Might as well send me the case files too. Box 301 in Van Horn Texas is where to mail them. No e-mail for now. I’ll be off-line for a while, but don’t know where I’ll be staying yet or for how long, Sam advised.

Address noted. Leave them Mexican women alone, said Bud.

Hell Fire, I already have a date with the prettiest woman in all of Ojinaga, this afternoon, laughed Sam.

I don’t doubt it, Bud said and hung up the phone

Sam had a good head of hair, mostly silvery gray, and he kept it a little longer than he used to. He liked it to flip up in the back and show a little curl. He decided to hunt up a barber shop and get his hair trimmed and his boots shined. He asked at the desk and was directed to a shop just around the corner.

The old barber popped the cloth and swung it around Sam’s neck. He told him he only wanted a trim, but by the time the barber gave his sales pitch, Sam had signed up for a haircut, shampoo, and shave. He enjoyed the experience. The barber even clipped the hair out of his ears and nose. In the mean time, a young boy worked on his boots while he was in the chair.

Sam felt good when the barber finally allowed him to get out of the chair. The barber had quoted a price of $5.00, U.S. and said he would pay the shine boy. Sam gave him a $20.00 bill and told him to keep the change, and then he gave the boy a five. Sam walked out to the streets of Ojinaga, feeling like a brand new hombre.

Sam went to a taco stand and had a couple of tacos and an orange drink. He was looking forward to the evening and was surprised by this, considering recent events. Back at the hotel, he showered, and was ready when Tita arrived at three o’clock, sharp. They walked down to his truck, and he opened the passenger door for Tita. He held her arm as she got in, since it was so high off the ground and she was petite. Sam cranked the truck up and turned on the A/C.

First, you are, once again, very beautiful – muy bonita. I do thank you for agreeing to spend an evening with me. Now, where shall we begin? Sam said.

Smiling, she answered, Turn right when you pull out from the hotel. I’ll show you homes of the muy ricos of Ojinaga.

They drove through neighborhoods with tree-lined streets and saw everything from small adobes to grand mansions. The wealthy there lived in mansions as impressive as those in River Oaks in Houston or as fancy as in the wealthy Dallas neighborhoods. There were Mercedes and BMW’s, as well as burro carts. They drove by the main plaza and the church.

Is there a restaurant you like that has a bar, where we could have a drink and talk? Sam asked.

Yes. Take a left at the next block and I’ll show you, Tita said. She directed him to a parking area near some shops that were dark and already closed. Only one door was lighted, but had no name on it.

They entered and were greeted by a man in a tux. He escorted them down a long hall to the saloon, where they took a small table across from the bar. The gentleman in the tux snapped his fingers and a white- jacketed waiter came to the table and took their order. Tita wanted a big Margarita and Sam ordered a double gin martini. The bar was old but comfortable, with a lot of dark wood and brass. It was quiet that time of evening and seemed like a good place to talk.

Sam and Tita told each other about their lives, or at least some of it. Sam lied a little, and maybe Tita did too. He told her the truth about being a retired Houston Police Sergeant, and that he did private investigations for a company in Houston on occasion. He asked her not to tell anyone about his past or that he still worked cases once in a while. He told Tita he was looking for a place to retire to, while not on assignment, which was the truth. They ordered another drink and talked some more.

The alcohol seemed to put Tita in a truth-telling mood and she told Sam about being raped by Jose Ramos in her village. She became pregnant with her oldest boy Edward. She was later raped several times and had two more boys by Ramos - Tomas and Geraldo, known as Buddy. As she told her story, Sam watched her expressions and her animated speech as she waved her arms and balled up her fists.

I know I am telling you too much, but I am afraid for you, because Jose is so crazy. And even though we just met, I don’t want to cause you trouble, she admitted.

They finished their drinks and were escorted to a table. Tita asked Sam to order for her, since she’d never been to this place or any other fancy place like it. She’d only heard of this place and wanted to impress Sam. They looked at the menu together and Tita read the prices first. She worried it was too expensive and thought they might go to another place. He responded by ordering a bottle of good Mexican wine.

They started with a shrimp cocktail and salad. Sam ordered a filet for Tita, and a rib steak for himself and they had a delightful meal. They declined dessert but had a cup of coffee after they’d finished supper. A trio played as they ate – piano, violin, and base. Sam picked a slow waltz and asked Tita to dance.

I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music. I only know Tejano or Conjunto dancing, Tita said.

You just hold on to me and you’ll do all right, Sam said.

It was a little awkward for a couple of minutes, but soon they were gliding around the dance floor with the best of them. Tita would not leave the dance floor until they danced two more dances, and that was fine with Sam. They made quite an attractive couple and smiled a lot. After a while, Sam even tried to dance to Conjunto music and did pretty well. Though only half Mexican, he was still a real Mexicano with a love of his background and culture.

After they left the restaurant, Tita was still feeling good and so was Sam. I want to show you one more place in Ojinaga, she said. Her eyes glittered with excitement.

Tita directed Sam along the main route out of town toward Chihuahua City. They had driven for a pretty good while when she told him to turn on to a dirt road that well traveled. They bumped along for nearly a mile before she instructed him to turn right, and park away from any other cars or trucks. Sam could see it was an overlook of some kind. He doused his truck lights and parked the truck away from the other vehicles in the area.

Tita jumped out of the truck, ran to the driver’s side, and opened the door for Sam. She took his hand and led Sam to the edge of the overlook. With a sweep of her hand, she announced, The Pearl of the Desert – Ojinaga, Chihuahua, Mexico.

Tita bowed, sweeping her hand across the night landscape, sparkling with the lights of Ojinaga. She continued, The valley of the Jumano – that have been here for almost 4,000 years – farming this land, the stomping ground of Pancho Villa.

It was a beautiful view and Tita tried to help Sam find the hotel where he was staying, but couldn’t. She said Well, I guess I’ve told you most of the things you see in travel brochures. This place up here, though – is not for tourists, but it is popular with the people that live here. Young people come up here to make love and drink beer. Sometimes, couples are planning to marry. But sometimes it’s just, well, you know, about the sex…

Sam had to ask, Do you come up here a lot?

No. I have only been up here with my girlfriend, when she tries to track down her boyfriend, Tita laughed and leaned against Sam.

The breeze was cool and Tita snuggled up to Sam and he put his arm around her. They carefully walked along the edge of the cliff, looking out over Presidio and Ojinaga. It was an altogether romantic setting, with stars twinkling in the dark sky above. They even saw a couple of falling stars, and one even had a long tail. They kissed and kissed some more. Sam felt like a high school boy again. He had not felt like this in decades, if ever. Tita wanted more kisses and stood on her tip toes to kiss Sam on the chin and cheeks, and gnawed at his mouth.

You have very sweet kisses, Mr. Lion. Muchísimo dulce, Tita said, about an inch from his nose, and kissed him again.

Sam, of course, was equally enthusiastic and thought her kisses were like honey – a favorite of his. Life can really surprise you, especially when you least expect it. And sometimes, the surprises are good, or in this case, even great.

We better get back to town, I guess. I have to work a double shift tomorrow and I need to get some sleep. Can we come back up here again sometime? Tita asked.

Well, I couldn’t make it again before tomorrow, Sam said.

They drove back in relative silence. They’d both enjoyed the evening and were thinking about those kisses. When they got back, they kissed good night, standing behind oleander bushes.

Tita quickly walked to her room at the rear. In spite of being tired, Tita thought that sleep might not come right away. She had not met anyone like Sam before and was a little surprised, but delighted, with the man she’d found him to be. His respectful, gentlemanly manner and obvious regard for her was very appealing, even magnetic.

Sam went to his room, with all kinds of thoughts and feelings. He was amazed and downright astonished at this turn of events. He closed the door, sat down, and exclaimed, Shit! out loud. Sleep? Not too likely, he thought, not any time soon.

Chapter Two

He tried to sleep, but it was fitful and ultimately pointless. He started watching the clock at about 3:30 - noting every fifteen minutes’ passage thereafter - until 5:30, when he got up. After his shower and shave, he walked around Ojinaga, enjoying the cool of the morning. He was in a reflective mood, though. Sam thought about Tita and Claire and women in general. He felt lonely this morning. Sam was not one to hang out with his male friends, to drink beer and hustle women. Sam seemed to be happiest when he was with a good strong woman and they were facing life together.

The law decided a long time ago that a whore is only a whore when she plied her trade, and not when she shopped at Neiman’s. When she shopped at Neiman’s, Saks, or Lord & Taylor’s, she was a lady. Sam had met many whores in his life – most of them during his years on the vice squad. The idea that a whore could be a lady was not a contradiction to Sam. He had discovered that some were ladies. He was quite an appealing man, and there usually were some available females around. There had been women through the years and some were of doubtful character.

Sam didn’t consider himself to be woman crazy, but he liked the ladies and they liked him. He felt at his best when attacking life, and helping some lost soul that needed a man of his quality. Sam liked that feeling. He was lonely now and thought he could recognize a lonely female. Sam’s quest was not for sex: Sam figured sex was for lovers, not for casual relationships. Although he would have liked bedding down with Tita last night, only because she was hot and beautiful, it wasn’t his style. The dating game was long past for Sam; he didn’t like it when he was young and still didn’t like it. He didn’t think it should be a game at all.

Sex was truly a poor platform to build a relationship on, Sam thought, because it couldn’t carry you through the other demands a relationship had to endure. He didn’t care for females that used their sexuality as a commodity, doling it out to gain some type of advantage or hold on a man. That type of woman usually didn’t like Sam either. Sam liked real women, with spontaneity, personality and enthusiasm. Sam preferred that sex have some spontaneity and real desire and that it not be just at bedtime, fulfilling some imagined obligation.

Sam knew the strength of the male sex drive, but had little knowledge of the woman’s sex drive. Sam had often heard the old cliché, ‘Treat a whore like a lady and a lady like a whore.’ He had decided it was just so much bullshit. He figured he didn’t have to listen to somebody else’s bullshit, or read a book, or see a video, to know how to treat, or react to, a grown female.

Sex is but a moment in a lifetime of real love and mutual devotion. Now, marketeers employ sex as the primary motivator for almost any product and manage to build markets on sex alone. With sex so diminished in the eyes of many, the irony is: many other people are that much more obsessed with it and by it. Sam didn’t care for men in constant pursuit of sex. To him, such behavior revealed weakness and a gross misunderstanding of interpersonal relationships between men and women.

Sam never professed to know much about the female psyche, but he knew enough about the female soma, how it acted and reacted, to have enjoyed many mutually-fulfilling and exciting relationships. He’d heard the typical tales about bringing a whore to multiple orgasms, but they were usually tales from young men trying to be manly and cool. Mostly, the tales were as ridiculous as the line that the whore returned the money after services were rendered.

Sam enjoyed nature and had a personal preference for the great outdoors. He drew a greater pleasure from sex performed outside in the open air; it sure beat sex in the motel room or car. Sam knew it might be considered just a little quirky, but his partners liked it because it was outrageous. He thought it was just a very natural thing to do – Sex Alfresco. This reverie brought Tita back to the forefront of his mind. He had some confidence that if he and Tita spent some time together, sex would be a part of the natural progression of their blossoming relationship, and would have great meaning for them both.

Sam found a little café that had been a regular single family house. It had been converted into a café with seven tables. The cooking was done in the family kitchen of the house. He ate a man-sized breakfast of bacon, eggs, and refried beans - with a good homemade hot sauce and a stack of flour tortillas, and plenty of black coffee. After his sleepless night, this breakfast really hit the spot – tasty and filling.

The town was just coming to life and Sam liked to note what a town looked like when it first gets up. Ojinaga was in a hurry. Trucks of all sizes sped in both directions on the main drag. Many people were on the sidewalks, a few were on bicycles – and he even spotted two burro carts. There would be very few power breakfasts in Ojinaga today, but they were looking forward to La Entrada.

The citizens of Ojinaga were eager for the completion of La Entrada al Pacifico, that is ‘The Entrance to the Pacific.’ This major project promised to bring trucks and railcars through Ojinaga and into Texas. They would come from the Pacific Rim, avoiding the congested ports on the left coast, the Canal, and shipping overland by rail and container trucks. The rich would profit big, and the crumbs would trickle down to the working men and women of Ojinaga. Businesses would be started by men with an entrepreneurial spirit.

Tons of cocaine would flow through Ojinaga into the U.S., never touched by Mexican hands, from the Orient and Colombia. The China White was the preferred heroin of the moment and lots of it was streaming in. Tons of pills, of whatever variety was most popular, were popular shipments as well. Not only would the revenues of these new ventures trickle down to the people of Ojinaga, but all the unpleasant things that go along with dope business would also inevitably trickle down.

There would likely be graft and corruption among government officials, with thugs and misfits running around town, oppressing and threatening people. What due process the people of Ojinaga had, would be perverted and certainly diminished. Ojinaga had earned a bit of a reputation for smuggling and related drug activities. Interdiction was up along the border in general and around Ojinaga.

Political pressure from both sides of the border was finally tightening things up, and making it even more difficult to drive vehicles to cross dope. It was becoming more attractive to use the expendable mule. Sam was not on a quest to rid the world of cocaine, heroin, Ecstasy, methamphetamines, or anything else that folks run up their noses or shoot in their veins, or smoke in a pipe. There were tragedies at both ends of the dope business, and more than a few in the middle.

Sam had worked many cases of addiction of the rich kids in Houston, mostly girls