Finnegan's Week by Joseph Wambaugh Read Free Book Online Page B

exploded. “I must be a fuckin moron! Shoes! I let you talk me into takin a million pair a useless fuckin shoes !”
    â€œTwo thousand,” Abel said. He’d counted while Shelby had stacked. “We got two thousand. Más o menos .”
    â€œTwo thousand fuckin pair a shoes! Now what?”
    â€œJoo going to see, Buey,” Abel said, confidently.
    The ocean along the Silver Strand reflected coral and turquoise in the sparkling light. Abel drove carefully, knowing that Coronado P.D. motor cops patrolled the boulevard because of sailors who piled up their cars on that dog tooth of a highway, returning drunk from Tijuana.
    When the bobtail van left the strand and turned toward 1-5, south toward Mexico, a flock of screaming gulls flew directly over them heading toward the Tijuana slough wildlife refuge that borders Imperial Beach on that southwestern tip of the United States. One of the reasons that geese, gulls, and other waterfowl frequented the estuary was because of the raw sewage that seeped into it from the Tijuana River that wound along the international border. Many a bird had plucked a morsel from the slough and died from it.
    After driving silently for a while, Abel Durazo looked at his worried partner and said, “Do not worry, ’ mano . Sometimes I borrow truck all night. But only when Mary say okay. See, I haul for guy een Tijuana. I haul for him vegetables and fruits back to San Diego. I make few dollar. Boss, he don’t know, nobody know. The guy got paperwork for all produce. I go down, I come back through Otay Mesa crossing. No problem. Never.”
    â€œDon’t nobody ever wonder why a waste disposal van’s haulin produce?”
    â€œLong as you got paperwork, nobody care what truck say on door. U.S. Customs peek eenside sometime. Sometime no. See fruits, vegetables, paperwork. Truck ain’t stole. No problem.”
    Shelby studied the handsome young Mexican and said, “Fuckin her, ain’tcha? You’re slippin Mary the ol’ muscle missile, you little dickhead!”
    Abel giggled and said, “I geev her nice present when I take truck to Tijuana. Perfume, sometime.”
    â€œI bet she’d like my pink projectile,” Shelby said, showing his tooth-gap. “That bitch must be at least seven months pregnant, but I always did like little baby hands helpin me. Hey, that reminds me, you know how to paralyze a woman from the waist down? Marry her!”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œNever mind. You Mexicans don’t understand jokes. I guess if Mary’s old man ever comes home early you can run outside and start mowin the lawn. Tell him you’re the new gardener, right?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œFergit it, dude. I’m wastin my fuckin humor.”
    The ox turned his cap bill forward to signify he meant business , and he said, “So how’re you gettin me two grand today?”
    â€œWe go to Tijuana. My friend, he buy our shoe for three dollar a pair.”
    â€œWhat? These shoes must cost sixty!”
    â€œEeen Mexico, three dollar. Right now . Cash.”
    Shelby said, “Two thousand pairs times three bucks is six thousand. How come I only get two? ”
    Abel watched the big trucker nervously chew at a callus on his fat thumb. Filthy. The calluses were filthy like the rest of him, but Abel liked the ox, filthy or not.
    â€œU.S. Customs, they don’ worry about trucks that go south , but we got to pay Mexican customs. Mordida .”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œBite. Mordida .” Abel made the motion of a fist clamping shut.
    â€œGraft?”
    â€œYes,” Abel said. “We go through San Ysidro gate. I know customs man. We borrow boss money from last job. We put boss money back when we collect for navy shoes.”
    The job to which Abel referred was the pickup at Southbay Agricultural Supply where Shelby had received an envelope containing $500. Shelby mulled it over for a