Dottie and Bree: Episode 16
“Dottie, do you feel the latch?”
“It’s right here.” Bree heard a slight click before the trunk flung open revealing the glorious desert morning light. They squinted, covering eyes with hands and forearms and emerged into the newness of dawn. Both unscathed, they kneeled in the trunk of the red Mustang hugging and screaming and kissing one another.
“We made it! We made it to Mexico!”
They both saw a shimmering line in the sand with large multi-colored glitter letters spelling “M- E- X- I- C- O”. There was no border guard or fence to scale with barbed wire as they had expected; they had outrun the police and the Koreans and the Devil. They were home.
Bree bounced out of the trunk and onto the roadway looking back at Dottie. She was wearing different clothes and her plastic heels were unstained; her blonde curly hair glimmered in the sun. She slightly remembered Dottie’s roots being exposed and her own body covered in blood, but none of that mattered now as she ran her tongue over her teeth and smiled with every tooth in place. They were safe, and the churro stand in the distance beckoned with neon lights and large arrows pointing and mariachi’s playing “Don’t Stop Belivin’” as men in sequined sombreros danced and kissed at them in Spanish.
Bree reached into the trunk and found her small jar of viscous pinkish liquid. “I’ve been saving this for when we get to Mexico.” She winked and took a slug of her salty tears and blood mixed with liquid acid then handed it to Dottie who held and sipped with both hands, wiggling excitedly back and forth on her feet like a six year old.
The sky swirled with a million colors as the glitter kitten army escorted them across the border past cacti who waved and sung 80’s tunes. Their path was surrounded by the horns of defeated bulls and bullfighters danced along side them and promised safety with delicious accents. They turned to see the devil and his minions on the other side of line cursing and stamping their feet in the rising dust cloud.
Dottie and Bree cried and laughed and skipped holding hands into the beautiful future.
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“Quanta questa es tu madre?”
“Anoche, tu madre estaba cinco pesos, puta.”
“Estoy echando mendidas, pendejo.”
“Diez – cuatro, Senior.”.
Jesus owned his tow truck. He inherited a large sum of money upon his father’s death and refused to gamble it away in Vegas; he wanted to make something of himself before going back to Mexico to marry his one true love and save her village with his American success. He hated his past profession as a carpenter.
He was 66.6 miles out of Vegas when he saw the abandoned white Ford Taurus on side of the 15 south. Surrounded by desert, he couldn’t imagine where the passengers might have fled to. This area had no call boxes or rest stops or mini-marts. It was a deserted stretch of highway.
Jesus pulled over.
He noticed blood on the driver’s seat and a trail along the pavement to the back where a ninja star wedged in the keyhole. Pulling it out with pliers from his toolkit clicked the latch to reveal two dead hookers in the trunk. They lay at unnaturally broken angles with seven thin brown cigarettes strewn about them. One was slashed and cut and lay in a pool of thick blood while the other had white rings caked around her nose and blood crusted on her mouth and chin. Both had missing broken bleeding flingernails.
There were scratches along the inside of the trunk and dents from feet and fists and pounding; they had tried to call for help.
They had tried to escape.
Jesus could not save them.
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