Last Train to Tijuana
Gerry’s mind was rolling back and forth, in and out of consciousness with the
last images of the dirty streets and trollish women. More reflections flashed
in front of his dozing mind of large, bare breasted women in sombreros while
skinny little men passionately kissed each other in the shaded tavern with
crumbling walls, all just before his mind blacked out, and now he awoke on the
lumpy gurney. His head throbbed with an obscene buzzing and his loins screamed
with that urgent itchiness his bound hands could not scratch. Straining against
the straps across his chest and around his limbs, he attempted to concentrate
on the girl that captivated his eye and talked him into crossing the border
from San Diego into Tijuana, but her face was obscured by long, dark hair and
her sinuously callous giggle; his conscience thoughts seemed to swim and strain
to tread water, grasping at straws.
Edger A. Franklin was a Boatswain’s Mate second class, USN, stationed
onboard an unnamed destroyer that he refused to reveal; his friends back home
in Wyoming used to call him Gerry. It was a matter of principal, considering
the classified operations his ship had engaged in on its last deployment to the
Persian Gulf. In Gerry’s mind divulging the vessel’s very name would be a
breach in national security; it was a personal standard he took pride in even
though it wasn’t necessary. He met Jillian, the long and tall Hispanic woman
with the cherubic smile and the angelic voice in a bar in Chula Vista on one
especially solitary, lonely Friday night where his weekend liberty led him away
from the military base full of single sailors, like himself, and the mundane
uniform order of navy life on and around the 32nd Street base with
its shore patrol, the abundance of Navy dependent wives and kids, and the
overabundance of salt, rust, and grime which was Gerry’s job to ensure was
scraped to the scuppers and over the side.
Jillian was distant at first, and
though Gerry tried not to, he couldn’t help himself from staring at her honey
colored thighs and buxom figure. As much as he wanted to saunter over and offer
to buy a drink, he sat and nursed his beer, keeping his cool. Suddenly she was
seated right next to him, smiling and gazing at Gerry with her arousing brown
eyes.
“Hi sailor.” she said, leaning her head over onto her hand, her elbow braced up
from the bar. Her legs were crossed over at the knee and her blouse was
unbuttoned low enough to give Gerry a good shot at her well tanned cleavage.
“What cha’ doing over here, all by yer’self?”
“Trying to figure out how to ask you if I can buy you a beer without disclosing
how short my hair is cut.” Gerry’s heart was racing as he turned and faced
Jillian after watching her for about half an hour. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, just looking for a good time.” she answered while consciously bobbing her
head back and her chest forward a little. “Buy me a drink?” She motioned to the
bartender as she spoke.
“Anything she wants, ma’am.”
She ordered a rum and coke. Forty-five minutes later they were alone on the
dance floor. It was uncanny how their conversation went. Everything that Gerry
said led to Jillian revealing more of her seemingly friendly personality with
her big toothy grin and the blatant flesh of her chest. Eventually they sat
back down to the bar and she said she had to go home.
“Let me take you home.” Gerry offered. “I’m fixing to call a cab.”
“Don’t be silly, I have a car and I can drive you home.” she replied. “You live
on the base, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” The young man answered with a concealed belch. Looking back, her
guess of his specific military home was one of several first indications that
Gerry should have recognized as unusual. But he was so glad to be with a girl
after being just another squid in San Diego that he didn’t pay any mind. He
never saw anything coming at all, except the possibility of a date with the
pretty woman the next day.
Taking his hand, Jillian led Gerry to a stylish black sedan that had an
apparent dent on the passenger side quarter panel. She produced a key and
opened her door, opening the passenger door for him from within. Gerry was
having a good look at the dent in her car, and after the opening of the door
got his attention from the dent back to the girl, he climbed into what he
assumed was Jillian’s car. It took a second, but she drunkenly managed to get
the key into the ignition, and she squeaked erotically when the engine smoothly
roared into life. Putting the car into gear and stomping on the gas, Jillian
managed to operate the clutch just enough to get the car moving down the
deserted Chula Vista streets. It occurred to Gerry that she wasn’t too
experienced at driving her car and operating the clutch; another
semi-recognized indication that Gerry paid no mind to.
As the car made its way to the
freeway and headed north, passing stop signs, stop lights, and a police car in
the process of giving some guy a sobriety test by making him do some weird
thing with his finger and nose, Gerry started talking to her. He told her the
name of his ship and about the interdiction operations he was involved with in
the Persian Gulf. He bragged about being one of only three coxswains who drove
the boats to the ships that were being interrogated, and he offered to fix the
dent in Jillian’s rear quarter panel, maybe next week. And he told her that he
was unmarried, unattached, and that he would like to see her again if she would
like. Jillian’s broad smile rose to a grin and a giggle as Gerry also admitted
to having one rum and coke too many, and that he thought he might be going to
be sick.
“Do I need to pull over?” she asked.
“No, I think I can maintain.” Gerry
answered. Then he asked her again. “Would you like to go out with me tomorrow,
Jillian?”
She said that she’d love to, and when
she finally got to the front gate of the base she pulled the fancy little car
to the side of the road. Reaching into her purse, Jillian pulled out a white
index card and wrote her name and her phone number down in red ink, adding a
flourish of a cute little heart next to her name. She handed the card to Jerry
and told him she had the day off tomorrow and to call her around eleven AM. He
nodded and put the card in the breast pocket of his shirt. Just before he got
out of the little black car she reached up and grabbed his head, pulling him
toward her, and she planted a big sloppy kiss on his lips and tongue.
Lloyd Jones, Chief Gunners Mate, was
the officer of the deck of the front gate of the Thirty Second Street Naval
Base, and he watched the girl in the black car plant the kiss on the guy before
he climbed out and slightly staggered toward the entrance of the base. After
the guy got out of the car, the back wheels skidded and the car roared down the
street, the tires squealing as the car had to stop at the red light of the next
block. When the guy got to the actual gate, Lloyd perused the young man’s ID
card, asking if he could make it back to his ship alright.
“Oh yeah, chief.” Gerry replied with
a goofy smile. “Got me a date tomorrow, man!”
“Well, you take care there, buddy.”
the Chief ordered.
“Aye-aye, chief.” Gerry replied.
“Have a good evening, shipmate.”
Lloyd watched the young petty officer
trudge back toward the docks on his way to his rack deep within one of the Navy
ships, almost a mile’s distance from the gate. This kid was like so many that
lived their lives onboard the ships and around the operational base, trying to
serve their country and attempting to do well for the command, for the folks
back home. It was within the bounds of this base that Lloyd found himself
serving shore duty after a very ugly divorce, and it was his job to train and
lead young petty officers like this BM2 Franklin kid, to look out for them as
best as he could. But once these guys left the safe perimeters of the military
base they were at the mercy of the surrounding populace, of which Lloyd
discovered firsthand how a whole lot of people out there literally preyed on
these lonely young sailors. Lloyd’s attention was stolen by a young black woman
with a broken nose that had mysteriously appeared, asking for help - for a cop.
The next morning Gerry was up at six
AM just like any other day. His brain was pounding and the blood that pumped
through his head brought a sharp agony with every beat of his heart. But coffee
was the cure-all for all ills; at least that’s what the First Lieutenant always
said. Gerry didn’t have duty, the division’s spaces, the flight deck, helo
hangar, and the foc’sle were all squared away, well there were deck apes up
there with brooms, and Gerry had himself another day of liberty to look forward
to before taking over the duty the next morning. After a hearty breakfast and
six cups of coffee, which he never kept track of, Gerry got himself a shower
and a shave. Ten o’clock the Petty Officer of the Watch struck four bells, one
of those time honored traditions that Gerry really loved about the Navy, and
ten minutes later he was on the dock, heading for the pay phones. When Gerry
dialed the numbers that Jillian had written bellow the erotic heart in red on
the index card, she answered on the third ring.
She sounded delighted to hear from
him, as if his call was completely unexpected. He didn’t think he’d gotten that
drunk the night before, but he also didn’t remember revealing what ship he was
on or his role in interdiction ops in the Persian Gulf. He did remember the
little black car that she had a lot of trouble driving, and that it had a dent
that he had offered to fix. And he sure remembered her tanned cleavage, her big
brown, smiling eyes, and her agreeing to go out with him that day. When Gerry
asked Jillian if she wanted to go to the mall and see a movie, she said sure.
She also said that Tijuana might be fun as well.
“Well, can you meet me at the mall
downtown?” he said, painfully aware he had no car to speak of. “Or would you
like to pick me up? I can pitch in for gas.”
“Pick you up? What are you talking
about?” Jillian’s answer was a little confusing.
“I can pop out that dent in the rear
quarter panel for ya’.” Gerry offered. “It wouldn’t take but a couple of
minutes.”
“Oh, the Mazda.” she replied. “I
can’t use that today. It, …it,… it has a flat. Don’t you have a car?”
“Uh, no, I don’t.” Gerry almost
stammered his inadequacy of not having wheels. He had meant to go out and buy
one, but he lost track of time while working his tail off on the ship. “I can
easily hire a cab.”
That changed Jillian’s tune. Gerry’s
apparent grasp of hard cash brought an unexpected reply that should have raised
the red flag that there was the smell of a scoundrel about her. Still the image
of her lovely smile and buxom figure rose to the top of Gerry’s mind.
“Tijuana! Let’s just go to Tijuana!”
Her exclamation was almost as joyous as her surprise that Gerry had called her
back in the first place. “We can take a train down there. We can get something
to eat and see a movie, and we can have a really good time for next to
nothing!”
“Well, I’m not so sure about going
there.” Gerry answered. “I’ve heard stories…”
“Don’t be silly, sweetie.” Gerry was
finally starting to notice that Jillian was spreading it on thick. “All you
need is the right guide. Tijuana’s a great city and you can have a great time!
Come on, don’t be a stick in the mud.”
Gerry could almost see Jillian’s
frown through the phone line. He’d heard stories of sailors disappearing
without a trace in that place, and there was a standing order that all
personnel E-3 and below were required to inform the command of any trips across
the border. But Gerry was an E-5, and Jillian had smiled and showed him some of
her great cleavage and actually drove him to the base; all these thoughts raced
through his mind beneath his sentient comprehension, but all he could really
see in his mind was her apparent pout at the other end of the phone.
“Okay, why not?” he replied. “Where
do you want to meet me?”
Jillian gleefully told him to take
the “A” train at the “Blue Line” station that would run south to the border
station of “San Ysidro” where Jillian would meet him about one thirty PM. She
said that he could change his dollars to pesos across the border where he could
get a better deal. And she finished by asking Gerry to buy her a pack of
Marlboros, another indication that he just brushed off as her personality and
one of the perks she required for giving Gerry the bounty of her affections.
Gerry was standing in the sunshine,
waiting at the “San Ysidro” station when Jillian finally showed up. It was
funny that some guy drove up near the station in a big, white F150 pickup with
a grin on his face, and the next thing Gerry knew Jillian was standing next to
him. She actually rapped her arms around him, giving Gerry the full benefit of
her large bosom.
They crossed the border into Mexico
on foot, crossing some bizarre bridge that spanned some weird gully. Once
passing into a square with several different shops, where young men spoke of
how good a “friend” Gerry was to them and what great wares they were selling as
bargain prices, Jillian showed Gerry the bounty of her malicious scowl for the
first time when she led him away from the ‘friendly’ vendors in that first
square. The first store that she took him to was a drug store where she
purchased some kind of pills for her ‘female problems,’ drugs of which she did
not reveal the names of. It took a few minutes for the Mexican druggist, a
really old lady behind a barren counter, to take Jillian’s veiled prescription,
and in the meantime Jillian wanted to get something to eat from a similar
street vendor that she’d malevolently shunned a few blocks away. She got Gerry
to buy her a corn dog and convinced Jerry to eat a cheeseburger that looked
tasty enough but tasted like it was made of some mystery meat gone bad.
After she ate her corn dog Jillian
disappeared while Gerry struggled to consume the gross hamburger. He
finally ate the last of the burger and Jillian was still gone somewhere,
probably getting her prescription for her ‘female’ stuff. Another fifteen
minutes or so went by, and Gerry started to think that Jillian had ditched him.
He was walking back toward the border and the square of “friendly” vendors when
Jillian ran up to him.
“Where the hell have you been?” Her
question was heated, laced with anger and accusation, another indication of
something amiss that finally raised one of Gerry’s eyebrows.
“Where the hell have you been?” Gerry
replied. “You just disappeared for over a half an hour without saying anything.
And you want to know where I’ve been?”
“C’mon Steve, I mean Gerry; please
wait!” Jillian was almost pleading. “I had to go to the bathroom, and that fool
headed druggist got my prescription wrong, and I got lost, and I’m sorry!”
“Steve? Who’s Steve?” Gerry asked,
his raised eyebrow seeking a new height.
“Steve? What are you talking about?”
Jillian answered, her anger turning to what appeared to almost be grief. “What
are you accusing me of, Gerry? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m nobody, no one. And I’m heading
back to San Diego.” Gerry replied, slowly walking and waiting for her to come
clean.
“All right, I’m sorry.” Jillian
yelled to everyone on the Tijuana street, as well as to Gerry. “I was talking
to my daughter, checking on her. Okay? I have a kid, so you can just go on and
f**k off!”
Gerry stopped walking and turned
around to face Jillian.
“Okay, so you have a kid. So what?
You think that matters to me whether you have a kid or not? I thought we were
going to come to Tijuana and see a movie and have a good time and all this and
that. And the first thing that happens is you disappear for over a half an
hour!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry!” Jillian
was almost in tears. “Okay, just go.”
The premise of another long weekend
alone, walking the streets with nowhere to go and nobody to see rushed into
Gerry’s mind, and he relented.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He said
loudly. “I didn’t know, I didn’t understand. But I do now. Let’s just go on and
have a good time. Is your kid okay?”
“What do you care?!” Jillian’s answer
was almost a cry for help from a little girl, the little child she seemed to be
regressing into.
“I care!” Gerry shouted. “I care for
you, at least I’d like to if you’ll let me.” He took her bait like a brook
trout attacks a well-delivered lure for its shininess. “What’s your kid’s
name?”
“Her name’s Claudette, and she has
the flu.” Jillian’s eyes were filled with tears but her heart was filled with
delight. “My mother’s taking care of her.”
The small spat was alleviated by
having a beer at a little tavern, like every building seemed to be in downtown
Tijuana, with crumbling walls and smiling, friendly vendors. The imported brew
had a label that stated Heineken, but the bottle was served open and tasted
domestic. That didn’t matter to Gerry because Jillian was no longer upset, and
there was still the promise, the hope of romance and happiness with the
attractive woman.
After the beer Jillian took Gerry
through a cavalcade of shops and stores and galleries, finally ending up at an
outdoor café where apparent friends, acquaintances, welcomed Jillian. The menu
professed “excellent cuisine” carefully spelled out in English, apparently for
Gerry’s specific benefit. Gerry ordered two more beers and the daily special
for dinner as a small band began to play quaint ethnic music. Jillian got up
and was sitting at the bar of the place, talking to some queer looking guy,
when suddenly a young man, about the age of eighteen or so, dashed up to where
Gerry was sitting with a bottle of tequila in his hand that had a metal
bar-spicket in the opening and a whistle in his mouth, loudly blowing it. A
Mexican woman stepped up behind Gerry, pushing her b***s into the back of his
neck and leaning his head back with her hands while the young man blowing the
whistle poured straight tequila into Gerry's startled mouth and straight down
his throat. Afterwards the young man demanded ten dollars for the ‘double
shot.’
Gerry wasn’t prepared for the tequila
and it went straight to his head, slurring his speech and clouding his vision.
Reaching into his wallet he looked for a ten dollar bill but all he had was
five twenties. He handed the young man a twenty, saying he was going to need to
get change when the young woman grabbed his head from behind, mashing the back
of his neck with her b***s again, and the whistle resumed its high pitched
squeal as the tequila bottle was hoisted by the young man and the clear, strong
liquid was efficiently delivered down Gerry’s gullet. Gerry pushed back from
the woman and the short man with the whistle in his mouth, protesting with his
coughs and gasps. He looked for Jillian but she was gone, and a crowd had
gathered in the small café. It took determined effort to push his wallet into
his back pocket. As he sat back down an explosion of stars erupted from the
back of his now fully inebriated head, and darkness enclosed his eyes in a
heavy shroud of black.
The next thing that Gerry realized
was that he was in a different bar, a strange place where women were scantily
dressed and seemed grossly wrinkled and aged. The next thing that came to
Gerry’s groggy attention was Jillian, sitting in a chair near his and staring
at him with an amused grin on her face. Reaching down to see if he still had
his wallet or his keys, it became evident that he was no longer wearing any
pants, shoes, or a shirt. Looking down to see if he was still wearing his
underwear, another determined effort, he saw that some unknown person was kneeling
between his legs, and as astonishing as it seemed, this person appeared to be
artfully performing felatio on him, although he did not feel a thing. The
person had grey, thin hair and a very large, bulbous nose.
“Gerry!” he heard what he believed to
be Jillian talking right next him. “Gerry!” He moved his brutally drug induced
head to the side and looked at Jillian, who continued to speak to him in a
voice his mind could barely distinguish. “My old friend Antonio likes the taste
of your c**k, and he’s paying three hundred dollars to take it home. They’re
also going to pay, let’s see, … two hundred for your liver, another hundred
fifty for each of your kidneys, and six hundred for your heart, all of which I
will receive twenty five per cent for! Now that’s some righteous bucks, as that
hunk Sean Penn would say, don’t you think?”
All Gerry could do was to grunt and
push up against the ropes that bound his hands and feet.
“That’s four hundred bucks, a*****e.
Thanks!” Jillian looked at Gerry with the same malignant scowl she looked at
the vendors at the first square across the border, except this was no scowl but
an evil grin that would’ve normally alarmed the normally apprehensive BM2, but now
his mind and body were completely numb, encapsulated and useless. He tried to
mouth the word ‘why,’ again and again, but his body was severed from his mind,
almost as readily as his phallus was soon to be cut from his crotch.
“You asked about Steve, remember
Gerry? Steve?” Jillian’s voice was like a distant radio echoing from the decks
below to his ears. “Well Steve’s a guy that got away. The son of a b***h
actually threatened to kill me before he ran away like a coward. But that’s
alright, there’s always dumb s***s like you that I can earn a living by selling
their body parts down here. I had to f**k Steve, the son of b***h. Which is why
I get to f**k you; well through Antonio there.”
Gerry couldn’t help listening to
Jillian’s cackling laughter as she walked away; the last comprehension before a
bright light came from above, claiming his soul to oblivion.
Zero seven hundred. Quarters on the
foc’sle to muster the duty section of the United States Naval destroyer. By
zero seven thirty only one sailor was missing; BM2 Franklin - UA, unauthorized
absence. Two days later a missing persons report was sent to NCIS, the Navy
Criminal Investigative Service, on one Edger A. Franklin, BM2, for desertion;
the report stated it was very unlike him and that command was concerned.
Later that Wednesday afternoon a
young marine brought a new girlfriend of his to the Navy exchange, where she
bought some clothes and a new watch. Private First Class Leblan was proud to be
seen with such a pretty Hispanic woman. Being a strong, young fellow, and from
the way she walked Jillian just might be his first real lover since joining the
US Marine Corps. She’d made reservations at a hotel in Tijuana for that Friday,
and the young man could hardly wait for the weekend to come.
SR Urie
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