Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen

Bob, a worn-out refugee from corporate America, is now hiding out in the Chihuahuan Desert. He worked his way through community college during and after a five-year stint in the U.S. Marine Corps before spending forty plus years slaving away (as I’m sure he will tell you) in executive positions at Intel, Digital and Unisys. He took up creative writing as a retirement hobby and says he writes just to consume space on his hard drive but I think he secretly hopes that someone might actually read and enjoy his ramblings. See what you think.

Just as I had done weeks before I sprint to the door, struggle with the lock and finally yank the damn thing open only to find our favorite coyote, Carlos, grinning in the moonlight.

“Hola Carlos.”

“Hola Señor Bob.”

“I’ve got some people I’d like you to meet Señor Bob. Only five this trip.” He says as he turns to face this little group of frightened and nervous people huddled together in my front yard. “The lousy economy in the U.S. is killing my business. If this keeps up I might have to find a real job.”

“Come on in, I’ll have Josefina whip up something to eat.”

“Oh no señor, thank you but … but we’re not hungry. Maybe a beer por favor.”

He turns and addressees the group in a rapid fire Spanish that’s too fast for me to follow. They all follow Carlos into our living room and just stand there looking scared and ready to run. I tell them to take a seat and offer to get them either water or beer. I know from past experiences that they are all too nervous to choose from any more options than two.

Josefina comes out in her robe and introduces herself to everyone and immediately heads to the kitchen. I holler, “They ain’t hungry, grab some beers and come on back in here.”

Josefina looks halfway presentable in her robe and slippers. The time she spent in Mexico must have rekindled her girlhood sense of modesty. No such luck with Boner, he comes out with his boner looking like it might actually rip a hole right through his knee-length nightshirt. His bulge looks even bigger than I remember it somehow. That can’t be unless all of that attention, if that’s what you call it, he had on our trip caused it to grow even bigger or if possible get just a tad bit harder.

I’m trying to figure all of this out when Carlos interrupts my pondering with, “You know Bob; I can’t find any Mexicans that want to come to the U.S. any more … not for any price.”

His small gang of migrants looks pretty much like those he’s led in the past except for this one little old lady dressed in little old lady clothes. She even has a little-old-lady scarf drawn tightly over her head and tied at her chin with a granny knot. It doesn’t get any more little-old-ladyish than that. She hasn’t said anything to anyone even when we were introduced. She just stares at Boner’s boner and with such intensity I’m afraid she might keel over and die of … of, what would you call it … boner obeisance … or maybe boner wonderment would be a better …

Carlos continues with his report on how bad the coyote business is, “These folks are all from Guatemala, except the old bruja here.” He says indicating the old woman, the one totally absorbed with Boner’s boner.

If I remember my Spanish, bruja means a witch or an old hag and I’ve only heard it used when describing evil witches. They don’t seem to have any fairy Godmother, good witch stories in Mexico or at least I’ve never heard any. Like most uneducated rural peoples Mexicans are very superstitious and brujas are a big part of their culture.

Carlos is on a rant. “Thank God the people in Central America haven’t got the word yet about how bad the U.S. economy really is. Mexicans, on the other hand, are coming back to Mexico from the U.S. in droves. It’s easier to find jobs at home than it is in Chicago or Denver or … or Minneapolis for God’s sake. I never thought I’d see it … reverse immigration. I’ve got to start a reverse coyote gig somewhere in California, probably East L.A., and smuggle these folks home. What do you think, Bob?”

“I don’t know Carlos, President Obama keeps telling us the economy is improving and our unemployment numbers keep coming down. I don’t know if that means less people are unemployed or not. I’ve heard the argument that new unemployment claims are down because people are taking part-time and lower paying jobs and foregoing their unemployment benefits. If that’s the case then those folks are taking the jobs that would have previously gone to your customers.”

“That’s what I think is going on.”

Josefina comes into the room with some nachos and her homemade, too-hot-to-eat salsa. I watch as one of our female guests dips a tortilla chip into Josefina’s salsa, takes a little bite and then makes a face of pure agony before spitting it out into her hand as she frantically searches for her water. It’s always fun to see our guest’s reactions to Josefina’s concoctions The old bruja is so obsessed with Boner’s boner that she misses her chance to sample Josefina’s fiery salsa.

“The Mexicans returning to Mexico all complain that they’re deathly afraid of being denied their rightful free healthcare in the U.S. Your hospital emergency rooms are clamping down on who they treat and actually demanding payment. What’s up with that? I thought they had to treat everyone that showed up in their waiting rooms regardless of their citizenship.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that too and I’ve heard the argument that our free healthcare to illegals is one of the factors contributing to bankruptcy our healthcare system,” I say. “The problem is not their citizenship, or lack thereof, it’s their lack of any viable healthcare insurance. Just add our 12 million alleged illegal immigrants to the 50 million plus uninsured Americans and you see the real problem, no healthcare for the lower ranks of our society. My country has a healthcare system that excludes one fifth of its population.”

“I still don’t understand how the so-called greatest country in the world can have a healthcare system and more importantly a mindset that ranks below every other highly developed nation. How can you live with the fact that one fifth of your people don’t have access to healthcare? What is Obama doing about all of this?” Carlos asks as if he actually expects an intelligent answer.

Boner jumps up from his chair in the corner and spills his beer as he charges with his boner bouncing into the kitchen to join Josefina. The old bruja follows right behind him without taking her eyes off his bouncing boner. Do you think that she still has those female hormonal issues and the sexual cravings of a much younger woman … nah not at her age?

“Barack Obama set out to do two things, to somehow deal with the 50 million or so uninsured Americans and to address the fact that healthcare in the United States costs twice as much as equivalent healthcare anywhere else in the developed world.”

“Why does it cost so much?”

“For a number of reasons but basically the system is broken and probably unfixable. The insurance and pharmaceutical industries wield too much power along with the healthcare providers themselves to allow us to bring about the kind of changes required.”

“Holy shit, no wonder my countrymen are coming home as fast as they can get out of there.”

“That’s not the half of it. Our Republican majority is totally obsessed with solving the budget deficit by cutting the so-called entitlement programs like Social Security and Medicare without addressing or even discussing the two wars we can neither afford nor win. Fuck our old people we need that money to kill terrorist, unseat tyrants, referee civil wars and to shove democracy down the throats of infidels. That’s the American way.”

“Do you want to come back to Mexico with me, I can get you in?”

“I’m about ready to. I don’t want to live in or be a part of a country that has the priorities that mine has. Being the world’s military power and getting involved in every other country’s internal affairs is our highest priorities. The quality of life of our citizens takes a distant second place to exercising our military muscle around the world. I’m ready to …”

My rant is interrupted when the old bruja springs to her feet, races over to Boner, grabs his jutting boner through his nightshirt with both hands and drags him, boner first, into his bedroom and slams the door. We all look at each other and then back to Boner’s door in silence. No one has any idea what just took place or what’s going on in Boner’s bedroom. The silence is broken when the all too familiar Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja starts ringing though the house. Soon it is MIMI KUJA, MIMI KUJA followed by the loudest AHHHHHHHH any of us have ever heard. We all just stare at each other wondering what is happening when Boner comes out of his room with a frown … a frown … on his face and in his nightshirt which now hangs normally without his tell-tale bulge. What the fuck is going on? I start to stand when Boner speaks.

“Damn that was good and it was, as I was … a long time in coming.”

Before I can comprehend what just happened the old bruja appears in the bedroom doorway wearing nothing but this huge, and I mean huge, toothless grin. She looks to the ceiling as if she’s about to praise God, raises her right arm in a salute and screams, “Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja.”

“Your citizenship?” asks the gruff ICE agent at the huge Juarez/El Paso border crossing.

“U.S.” I say.

“And you sir?” he asks indicating Boner.

“Marekani.”

“Huh.”

“That’s Swahili for the United States,” I add.

“Huh.”

“What are you bringing back from Mexico?”

“Only memories, sir.” If he only knew.

“Okay, have a nice day.” Don’t you hate it when people that could care less what kind of day you’re having, say that to you?

“Thanks, you have a good one too.”

It feels good to be going home. I hope Gustavo, God rest his soul, was right about Josefina. I can’t wait to see her. Boner’s huge grin has worn down to a little smirk. I guess it was all of that bloodshed and seeing his friends dead at his feet that toned down that huge grin the Dona put on his face. Chui was his buddy and don’t forget he had an hour session with Brenda back in California. Remember, she couldn’t sit down, walk or talk afterwards. Ah, to be young again.

The drive from El Paso is a couple of hours of nothing. Maybe it’s because we’ve made this trip so many times that it seems more like one mile repeated a hundred times.

Boner perks up and his grin broadens as soon as we turn onto the gravel road that leads to our house. As we coast to a stop behind the house César comes bounding over the bushes charging our car with his head down and horns forward. Just as I brace for the impact he skids to a halt raises his head high and lets out a full volume NEAHHHH. Boner jumps from the still moving car and tackles César and they roll over and over in the dirt screaming, “Neahh, Mimi nina nyumbani, neahh, Mimi nina nyumbani, neahhh …”

Just as I step from the car our back door swings open wide and Josefina sprints to my welcome arms. You’d think we’d been gone for years to earn this big of a welcome home. It feels good to be holding Josefina and knowing that she’s truly glad to see me.

She drops her arms from around my neck and struggles to pry Boner and César apart. Boner is wrapped around César yelling Mimi nina nyumbani, Mimi nina nyumbani when Josefina reaches into the pile and lovingly tugs on his boner with just enough pull to get his attention. He lets go of César jumps up and hugs Josefina like a bear in heat. César shakes off some dirt and comes up and rubs his back on my thigh in a cat-like gesture. As usual, Boner gets more of everything than me, even welcome-home greetings.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you guys are home safe and sound. You’ve been hanging with some pretty bad people and bad shit is happening down in Mexico,” are Josefina’s first words once we’re seated in the kitchen and she’s poured us each a cup of her undrinkable coffee.

When I tell her about Chui and Gustavo she pauses and looks off into space as if she’s searching for these two somewhere in her own private spiritual world. I don’t need to look; I saw them in their pools of blood on the floor of that club in Juarez. Boner sits his coffee mug down and his smirk actually turns downward into a silly little frown as a tear runs down his cheek.

As I raise my cup of Josefina’s coffee I think of Chui and how he would be proud of us for using Josefina’s undrinkable coffee for his final toast. “Here’s to Chui and Gustavo, may they have crossed their last border and finally put down their heavy packs. A nuestros amigos.”

Boner jars us from our sorrow by taking an exceptionally loud gulp of his coffee. We turn to him and his huge grin tells us our moment of mourning is over.

I say, “You were worried? Not nearly as much as we’ve been for the past …

“I wish I could have called but my position with the Sinaloa Cartel was precarious at best and I was afraid to do anything that might look like I was not just another loyal employee. I knew if I called you you’d come running and screw everything up.”

“What was there for me to screw up?” I ask.

“Go look in our bedroom and see what I brought you back from Mexico.”

I race to our bedroom, see my gift on the bed and tear back into the kitchen. “You got me the Ukrainian 336-24, hand held surface-to-air missile launcher, the missile launcher of my dreams. Oh, Josefina how could …”

“Yeah, and I got you 24 missiles ― they’re out in the barn. And … and I made a little over a hundred grand for all of my trouble.” She says proudly.

“How did you … did you … I mean … how …” I stammer in my excitement.

“It’s a long story. Let’s see if I can shorten it for you now. I’ll give you all of the details later after I’ve heard all about … what was it … Humpty Dumpty in Phoenix, XXX rated movies in California and a live sex extravaganza in Tijuana. Oh, I almost forgot … your meeting with the dragon lady in Juarez. Those stories sound a lot more interesting than mine.”

“Yeah but … but …” is all I can say.

“Okay, if you insist. Can I get you anymore coffee or would you rather have a beer?”

I opt for the beer while Boner has his second cup of Josefina’s God-awful coffee.

“Let’s see, Gustavo woke me shortly before dawn with his knife at my throat and whispered for me to get dressed for a long hike and join him in the kitchen. Oh yeah, he also said that he would be in Boner’s room with his knife ready to remove Boner of his boner if I didn’t obey and obey quietly.”

“Takatifu shit.”

“Holy shit is right.”

“Anyway, we trekked out of here in the dark with those really heavy packs. I didn’t think I could carry mine but Gustavo kept prodding me with his hiking stick and threatening me with his knife.”

“How far did you hike?”

“I don’t know but it seemed like many, many miles. Finally Gustavo called someone on his cell phone and when we got to this country road there was a car waiting for us. I thought he would let me go then but he begged me to help him with his negotiations in Phoenix. I told him I’d do it if he would agree to two things. First, he had to put his knife away and never threaten me again and second, he must let me do all of the negotiating. He closed his knife and never opened it again. As we rode to Phoenix I had him tell me everything he knew about the drug business and the so-called drug war. By the time we got to Emilio Sanchez’s I was a bona fide drug trafficker and clearly in charge.”

“How did César get wrapped up in all of this?”

“He followed us when we left the house and I tried everything I could think of to chase him away. I think he sensed I was in trouble and he wasn’t going to leave my side. Finally, I didn’t want to leave him out there along the road so he hopped in the back seat with me.”

“How in the hell did you get him across the borders?”

“If you think that’s tough, try smuggling a Ukrainian 336-24 missile launcher and 24 missiles sometime.”

We talked and talked. Boner even told her of his many Mimi kujas and Josefina seemed more envious than surprised. She especially liked the story I told about Boner’s night in Hef’s bedroom with all of the Playmates. It seems that Hef offered Boner as some sort of gift to his girls for having to put up with him and his Viagra swollen eighty year-old semi-boner. He just sat in an easy chair he’d drug over to the foot of the bed and watched Boner perform with one babe after another. After about fifteen Playmates Hef crawled into bed next to Boner and Boner thought takatifu shit. But before anything happened Hef was sound asleep. He snored all through the remaining sessions. Crystal, the bitch, stood in the corner of the bedroom with her stopwatch making sure that every girl got twenty minutes and only twenty minutes with Boner. Oh I almost forgot, she put herself first in line and she had Boner all to herself for a full hour before Hef came in to watch.

Josefina skipped her nightly check of Boner’s boner and came directly to bed with me. She was wearing her lavender, see-through, baby-doll pajamas that I like so much.

I looked at the clock; it was 3:34 AM and I was now moaning Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja when someone started pounding loudly on our front door.

What the fuck just happened? Did she meet with me just so she could drag Boner off to her bed, it sure looks that way. I hope Boner’s gonna be okay. If he survived a night with 40 or so horny, large black women in the Watts projects he can surely handle one skinny drug baroness even here in the most dangerous city in the world. But what about the guy or guys she regularly sleeps with? Will he or they be jealous? Will he or they go on a rampage with their automatic weapons ablaze? I’d better have some tequila.

I move over to the bar and join the still nervous bartender. His shaking is a little less noticeably now but he’s … it’s then that I see the shooter glass in his hand and the bottle of high-end Patrón at his elbow on the bar.

“How about sharing a little of that with me?”

“Si señor, coming right up.”

The bartender nervously pours me a drink and hurries back to his stool in the corner. I down the tequila in one gulp and signal for another. The bartender isn’t looking my way he’s staring at the door like he’s expecting someone. I guess I can a wait a minute or two for another tequila.

“Ready for another?”

“Only if you’ll join me. I’m buying.”

“Si señor.”

The bartender drags his stool over to the opposite side of the bar from me, sits down and pours us each a generous shot of his best tequila.

I raise my glass in a toast and say, “Here’s to Mexico … Viva México.”

“Viva México,” he whispers.

He’s still shaking so I try to calm his nerves with small talk. “Pretty slow for a Sunday night. Is business usually this slow this late? I thought Mexicans partied the night away.”

“Maybe once señor but not anymore.”

He must see me as someone having something to do with the folks that were in here earlier. There’s no way I can see to convince him otherwise and there’s really no need to try. I have four more shooters in silence and stumble to bed.

I toss and turn too worried about Boner to sleep. What are we doing here in this dangerous city messing around with these drug people? They are bad, bad news. Chui warned me, which reminds me I should call Chui tomorrow and see how he’s doing. Note to self: Call Chui.

The sun beams through my 12th floor window like a searchlight. It’s nearly 10 in the morning. I wonder what time Boner will be back if ever. I’m worried. What if … what if Boner gets carried away and Dona Esmeralda ends up like Trixie. I can see the headlines now:

Drug Baroness latest
victim in drug wars

JUAREZ ― Dona Esmeralda was
found dead in her luxury apartment
by her maid this morning. The maid
reported that the Dona had a distant
look in her wide-open eyes and the
biggest smile on her face she has ever
seen.
The police have in custody a suspect
who was reported to be having sex
with the deceased when her body was
discovered. Nothing is known about the
suspect other than he keeps repeating
Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja over
and over. Sources close to the police
report that Mimi kuja is an Islamic
chant of some kind.

I’ve got to snap out of it, this kind of thinking will only get me more depressed. I order my usual room service breakfast, three beers and a breakfast burrito.

Half way through my third beer there is a knock on my door. I peer through the peep hole and see the two tough guys from last night. They don’t look like they’re ready to bust in, maybe it’s safe. I open the door and in walks Boner beaming with his I-just-got-laid grin followed by the two thugs.

“Asubuhi njema, Bob.”

“Good morning to you, Boner. Did you sleep well? Heh, heh.”

Before Boner can answer the bigger of the two tough guys speaks for the first time. “Señor, the Dona asked me to extent to you her apologies for not coming in person and to thank you again for her night with Señor Boner. I spoke to her just as the EMTs were wheeling her to the ambulance. She had trouble speaking with that big smile on her face but she assured me that she will be fine after a little rest.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the Dona. She was going to give me some information on how I can get in touch with my friend, Josefina.”

“Si señor, I have taken care of that for you. You are to meet your friends at the Club Tampico this afternoon at three. Thank you again, señor. Adios.

He turns and shakes Boner’s hand and says. “Vía con Dios, mi amigo.”

After the bad guys have gone I order some more beer from room service and call the number Chui left with me when he bailed out on us in the Tijuana traffic.

Chui sounds happy to hear from me and agrees to meet us at the Club Tampico this afternoon.

I’d like to ask Boner about his night with the drug king-pin … or is queen-pin more appropriate … but I know what he’ll say. He’ll just say Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja. If I could figure out how to get him to talk he might even tell me about Juicy Lucy … and how did Tony put it … oh yeah … She can wiggle her ass like she’s riding a jackhammer. What a thought.

We taxi to the club a bit early and get a table in the rear. I can’t wait to see Josefina; it’s been … ah … over two weeks since I’ve seen her and over two weeks since I’ve been with a woman. I don’t suppose I’d get any sympathy from Boner. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word horny. I suppose if you have his problem and can’t ever finish one sexual experience the next one must just seem like a continuation of the first. Can you imagine a life of one big unfinished sexual encounter regardless of how may Playboy bunnies or Juicy Lucys you …

“Señor Bob is this seat taken.”

I look up to see a gleaming Chui with his arms wrapped tightly around Brenda.

I jump up and give them both a hug before we sit and order more beer. Chui tells us about things at home in Juarez and Brenda goes on and on about her new life with Chui.

I’m happy for them, I think. I can’t get the image of Brenda having a penis out of my mind but who am I to judge. If Chui would rather have a penis, and a small one at that, than a vagina that’s probably way too big for him, then more power to him. I remember how Trixie made fun of his little, what did she call …

“Hello folks.”

I look up to see Gustavo looking like he just got caught stealing the silverware.

“Hello Gustavo, long time no see.”

“Dona Esmeralda’s main guy called me and told me that you wanted to see me. So here I am. Can I sit down?
”
Chui is glaring and fuming like he’s about ready to pounce on Gustavo so I turn to Chui and ask, “Is it okay if Gustavo joins us for a few minutes. After we talk you two can settle your differences in what ever way you deem appropriate.”

“I’ll give you fifteen minutes before I slit his pinché throat. Fifteen minutes and then he dies.”

A very nervous Gustavo sits down as far away from Chui as possible and still be at our table.

“We were expecting Josefina to be with you today. In fact she’s the whole reason we’re here now. Where is she?”

“I don’t know señor and that’s the God honest truth.” Gustavo says apologetically. “She told me she was going shopping yesterday and she never came back. She lives alone in an apartment near mine but I don’t keep too close of tabs on her. I went to her apartment this morning and she’s cleared everything out, everything. If I had to guess, I’d say she went home, back to your ranch to wait for you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because she loves you Señor Bob. I tried my best to take her from you but she is your woman and yours alone.”

“That’s good to hear. What have you two been …”

“Mimi nimepata pee. Mimi nimepata pee.”

Boner interrupts me by telling everyone he has to pee. I always try to accompany him to public rest rooms because there’s not telling what some pervert or fag might do once they see Boner’s boner.

“If you’ll excuse us for a minute Boner has to go to the men’s room. I don’t want you slitting each other’s throats while were gone. Brenda, can you keep these guys under control?”

“Sure Bob, I’ll bite off their dicks if they get out of line.”

“Ouch!”

I’m washing my face in the sink while Boner pees in the stall. I make him use the stalls rather than urinals as a safety measure. I’ve got to get a haircut; I’m beginning to look like a cave …

Gun shots! The sound of an automatic weapon echoes through the men’s room. The rat-tat-tat of rapid fire gunfire is bouncing off every wall. I dive under the sink and I look to see that Boner is flat on the floor. He looks up and smiles to show he hasn’t been hit.

Another burst and then silence, deadly silence. We wait afraid to move. I expect some drug-crazed gunman to bust through the men’s room door any minute now. Nothing, no gunman, no noise of any kind. I’m scared but I tip-toe to the door and open it a crack and peer out into the smoke filled hallway. Nothings moving but the gentle motion of the smoke. I open the door and see that Boner is right behind me. We creep down the short hallway and stop when we get to the club room. I look to our table and see my friends on the floor covered in blood and motionless in painfully contorted positions.

I can’t move. I’m too scared. Boner walks around me and begins to inspect the room. He runs behind the bar and he looks into every one of the booths before he drops to his knees next to Chui. He looks toward me and shouts, “Alisema, Bob, maiti!”

I walk over to the table in a daze. Boner lays Chui back down gently and moves over to Brenda then looks up to me as if to say something but doesn’t. I bend and it’s easy to see that Gustavo is dead. They’re all dead.

I rise and reach down for Boner.

“They’re gone, all gone. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We sleep in late on Sunday morning. I just assume that Boner could use the rest. Its 10 o’clock, maybe I should wake him, we’ve got a long way to go today. I knock on his door but there’s no answer. I knock again, no answer. Thoughts of Boner going home with Juicy Lucy like he did with Shakeina are racing through my head when the door opens and Boner greets me with his I-just-got-laid grin. I look over his shoulder to see a chamber maid in the same pose as I found Deputy Shut-the-fuck-up.

I race to this spread-eagle woman and immediately grab her wrist searching for a pulse. This seems to be my new job in life. I check their pulses after Boner humps them to unconsciousness. We’re in luck, her heart is beating but that’s about it. She’s frozen in the post-Boner thousand-yard stare and shit-eating grin pose that is becoming far too common. I push her maid’s cart aside removing a freshly laundered sheet to cover this poor girl’s nakedness and tell Boner to pack up; we’re outta here, hopefully before anyone misses this young lady.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone at the Blue Fox but we find the kitchen door unlocked. This is strange; no one leaves their doors unlocked in Tijuana, one of the most dangerous cities in the world. I stumble through the dark and bump into the bar only to find that the beer cooler is working just fine. I grab a couple of beers and we set off in the dark for Tony’s office. It’s over this way somewhere, down this hall, I think. Here it is. The door is slightly ajar so I push it open and reach for the switch on the wall.

The lights come on to my surprise but I’m not as surprised as Tony and Juicy Lucy are, they’re entangled on the floor in a very intimate position.

“Sorry … ah … sorry to barge in on you like this. We, ah, we didn’t ah know … the door was unlocked. Why don’t we … ah …go back to the bar and you can join us there when it’s convenient for you.” I say as I turn, close the door and race back into the dark.

That lucky son of a bitch, no wonder he never introduced me to Juicy Lucy he was saving her for himself. I pity the poor bastard that has to follow Boner. It brings new meaning to that old expression, sloppy seconds. He deserves it, that asshole.

We fumble back through the dark and find the beer cooler again. I can’t get the image of my Juicy Lucy wrapped around that scum bag out of my mind. These drug assholes are getting more pussy than Charlie Sheen. Maybe I should consider getting back into the drug business.

Three beers later the lights come on and Tony staggers into to the bar looking like he just crawled out of bed rather than up from his private floor show with my girl. Well maybe calling Juicy Lucy my girl is stretching it a bit but God knows how I’ve lusted after her.

“Gentlemen, what did I tell you? Did we have a good time last night or what? I haven’t got all of the money counted yet but I’m sure we set a new record for the old Blue Fox. Here’s two grand for Boner, he earned it and he earned it the old fashioned way. Heh, heh.” He says as he hands me a fat wad of bills.

“Thanks for the money but you promised me a contact name or a number in Juarez.” I said trying to hide the anger in my voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I called her and she’s expecting you later tonight.”

“You called Josefina?” I yell.

“No, no, not her, but she’s in touch with your precious Josefina.”

“Who in the hell are we talking about then?”

“Dona Esmeralda, she’s the big, big boss in Juarez. Here I’ve written her number down for you.” He says as he hands me a scrap of paper.

“Okay, we’re out of here. Tony, it’s been nice doing business with you.” I say as I grab his hand for a departing handshake.

“Kuwa makini, mwanamke hiyo ni tiger,” Boner says as he heads for the kitchen.

“Huh?”

“We’re on the road again. I miss Chui. He was more fun to talk to than Boner. Boner is sound asleep in the passenger seat with a grin that’s as wide as dinner plate. I wonder what he dreams about. Do you think he has sexual fantasies like the rest of us … even after his five hour orgy with twenty of Mexico’s hottest babes and oh yeah, I almost forgot, that chamber maid. Let’s see she had the blank look and the grin of somewhere over two hours with Boner but definitely less than the lethal four hours. Let’s say two to two and a half hours just to be safe. I don’t want to read about the death of a hotel maid in today’s paper. Boner’s room was registered in my name and paid for with my credit card. I can hear if now; “Well you see officer, my friend Boner has this problem; he humps women to death. Not with any malicious intent, mind you. I would call her death … ah … accidental … accidental, as a result of extreme over exertion, over exertion of her … her …”

“Ambapo ni sisi?”

“We’re about thirty miles east of San Luis. The next town will be Sonoyta.” I decided to drive east on Mexico Highway 2 rather than trying to explain what we’ve been doing in Mexico to the U. S. Immigration and Customs agents. I didn’t want to have to tell them that I’ve been drinking beer and tequila for the past week plotting a revolution with my good friend … er … what’s-his-name. Damn, I never did get his name while my friend, Boner has been humping half of the young women in …

“Vipi kuhusu pombe.”

“I’d like a beer too but there’s just a lot of nothing out here. We’ll stop at the first place we come to, so hang on.”

Driving in Mexico is tough enough but driving at night in a big Mexican city is almost impossible. We check into the Hotel Lucerna Ciudad Juarez on the Paseo Triunfo De La Republica. It’s one of the better hotels in Juarez but I think we’ve earned it. We’ve got plenty of Boner’s Mimi kuja money, as I now call it, so we might as well live large, well a little larger.

I call the number Tony gave me and introduce myself to whomever it is that answered. He runs off to talk to someone, hopefully Dona Esmeralda, and returns to say that they will meet us at the bar in our hotel at midnight tonight. That seems awfully late but I think back to my drug-pushing days and things were just getting started around midnight.

We’re so bored that we go to the bar at 9:30 just to make sure we’ll have a table big enough for whatever size of group shows up. There’s no need to worry we’re the only people in the bar. This fucking drug war is killing everything I love about Mexico and the lady I’m meeting with tonight is right in the middle of it all and … and may even be one of the causes of all of this misery.

Let’s see our first drug baron was a fag getting or giving, I’m not really sure which, blowjobs in the back seat of his car. Our second was a Hollywood sex fiend, humping porno queens and anything else he could get his pecker into. I wonder if he did Amazonia/Herman-the-Hunk both before and after her/his operation. And then our third drug king-pin was a bona fide tough guy, a tough guy in loud, tasteless clothes but on some school girl’s nostalgia trip. He pines for the good old days, the days when Juicy Lucy was queen and his Blue Fox was the place to …

“Hebu kufanya baadhi ya Tequila.”

“Nah, I think we’d better stick with beer until our meeting is over. I want don’t want to be shit-faced when we meet Dona Esmeralda.”

At midnight on the dot these two tough looking guys, right out of a film noir, come into the bar and slink around casing the joint as if they’re players in some comedy routine. They go out and come back following a very flashy, tall, super-model looking woman and two more thugs.

We both jump to our feet to greet our guest when the first two tough guys grab us and pat us down. They don’t know what to think of Boner’s boner so they jabber something in rapid fire Spanish to Esmeralda and she actually blushes. Boner’s boner made a drug baroness blush. How about that?

She raises her hand for a kiss like she’s some kind of royalty. I suppose she is down here. I kiss her hand and mumble. “Nice to meet you, I’m Bob and this is Boner he … ah … he doesn’t speak any language that …”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, and I’m extremely excited about meeting your colleague, Boner. My I sit down.”

“Takatifu fuck.”

“Huh?”

One of her stooges pulls a chair out for her and she sits, swivels away from the table and crosses her magnificent legs. I’m in love. She is probably on the long side of thirty, has raven black hair in a very fashionable do and she’s dressed to the nines. What a babe!

“So Bob, I understand you’ve been busy. Antonio told be about his big show. I’m so sorry I missed it. Maybe next time.”

The waiter interrupts us to take her drink order. She orders a champagne cocktail and her thugs all say they’re good or the Mexican equivalent.

“Yeah, you missed quite a show alright. But first I want to thank you for meeting with us tonight and If I could get right to the point … ah … about … ah … three weeks ago we, that’s Boner and my soul-mate, Josefina and I were entertaining a couple of guests from your country at our home just over the border in New Mexico when one of our guests … ah, how do you say it nicely … ah … enticed … yeah that’s it … somehow enticed my sweetheart, Josefina to accompany him on this business trip that he and my friend Chui were …”

“Yes Bob, I know the story and I also know of your adventures in Phoenix, Los Angeles and Tijuana. You’ve had quite a time. I’m afraid we have nothing as glamorous or as exciting planned for you here.”

The waiter sloshes a little of her cocktail over the side of the glass as he serves her. He is shaking. He’s scared to death. Do you think it’s her or is it her stooges that have him scared shitless? Whichever, he can’t wait to get back to the safety of his stool behind the bar. I wonder if he has a weapon back there.

“Boner, I love your name.” She says looking directly at Boner with those oh so sexy, bedroom eyes. She engages him as if he’s the only person in the room. My heart stops. What about me, I want to yell but bite my tongue instead.

“Antonio and Jose have told me so much about you that I couldn’t wait to meet you but it was the call I got from one of my colleagues, a Sra. Gomez, I believe you know her as, I’m almost too embarrassed to say, Juicy Lucy. She described your physical attributes in detail as well as the most enjoyable times she spent with you during your stay in Tijuana.”

“Takatifu fuck!”

“I hope that means that you want to fuck,” she answers quickly. “Sergio please escort Boner to my car. Bob, I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll talk then. Thank you for the drink and buenas noches señor.” She says as she stands and dashes from the room. Her minions have to run to catch up.

She never even touched her cocktail.

The week passes quickly. I spend a lot of time drinking in my amigo’s bar plotting the revolution with my buddy, the bartender. I’ve got to learn his name. Some day he’ll be a famous revolutionary and I won’t be able to take any credit for inspiring and coaching him unless I learn his name. Note to self: Learn bartender’s name.

I’ve also gotten to know the old barman at the Blue Fox and have really enjoyed his stories of the good old days. Almost all of our recollections of the so-called good old days are just sugar coated memories of the ordinary old days of our past; the boring old past that our very selective memory has enhanced over time. But I’m willing to bet that the stories he tells are really about the good old days, like the times he must have served me and my Marine buddies back in ‘65. Now that I think about it, do I really want to listen to this wise old man tell me how stupid and crazy I was in my youth? No, I want to keep my good old embellished memories just as they are and not tone them down with reality. He has hundreds of other stories to tell and I keep thinking that I should be taping our conversations. What a book I could write. Maybe after this is all over and done I can come back and really sit down with what’s-his-name. Note to self: Learn bartender’s name.

The action at the Boner Spectacular rehearsals is actually boring. I knew that porno movies got boring after a few minutes but I didn’t realize until now that live sex is just as boring as the movie versions; it just takes a little longer to get bored. I sip my beer shooting the bull with the bartender waiting for Juicy Lucy’s one big scene. She is my heart’s delight. I know ever inch of her body and I’ve seen every one of her moves and yet I can’t describe her other than … than …

“Señor Bob, did I ever tell you about the time the mayor and his much younger wife came in and were seated ringside. Everything was going fine and they seemed to be enjoying the show until Juicy Lucy grabbed the mayor’s head and shoved it into her chocha. The mayor played like he was resisting but Juicy Lucy had a good hold on him. She pumped her hips and he rode her like a vaquero on a potro bronco. Finally his wife had had enough. She jumped up on the stage and belted Juicy Lucy knocking her and the mayor to the floor. Lucy grabbed the wife’s dress and pulled her down on top of her. As the ladies wrestled around on the stage, pulling hair, scratching and screaming the crowd thinking that this was just part of the show cheered them on. Once the mayor figured out what was going on he piled on top of the ladies and tried to pull them apart. This pissed off this Marine who was rooting for Juicy Lucy so he jumped into the pile. It looked like we might have a full-scale brawl when Don Antonio jumps on the stage with this fire hose. It only took one squirt of cold water to break up the fight but sadly the show was over for the evening. We had water everywhere, the crowd was soaked and Juicy Lucy was too wet and beat up to continue. The mayor never came back to the club. I wonder why?”

“Was she, the girl in your story, the Juicy Lucy that’s over there rehearsing with Boner?”

“No señor, you see we’ve had many Juicy Lucys. That’s the name we always give to the star of the show. That Juicy Lucy over there with Boner is really Sra. Irma Gomez, a respected mother of two.”

How respectable can you be when you let perfect strangers lick your, what did the he call it … oh yeah … your chocha in public for a living.

Nine beers later they break for the day. Thank God tomorrow night is the big show, I can’t take much more of this hanging out drinking beer watching beautiful women have sex all day. Maybe if I got a little of the action things would be different but I’ve learned that’s not going to happen. Yesterday I asked Jucy Lucy … er … I mean … Sra. Gomez to have dinner with me after rehearsal and she had some excuse … oh yeah … she had to wash her hair or was it sit with a sick aunt, I can’t remember which.

Boner’s has had sex repeatedly with a couple of hundred women, and a couple of non-women I might add, on this trip and I got to go skinny-dipping with a playmate of the month. Do you think it’s my age or could it be something else?

Boner and I have dinner at the hotel just so we could have their famous Caesar Salad. They don’t really brag about it but they invented the Caesar Salad here at this hotel way back in 1924. The story goes that the chef had run out of his usual ingredients and had to make do with what he could find so he added the table-top tossing to make up for his make-shift concoction.

Anyway, the Caesar Salad was just okay as was the lobster and the Mexican side dishes. But the biggest surprise of all was the world-class Sauvignon Blanc from a winery right here in Baja. Great Mexican wine … who would have thought.

I toss and turn worried about the big show tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m worried, Boner can put smiles on the faces of twenty or so sexy little Mexican babes without breaking a sweat. Yeah, but he has a big scene with my Juicy Lucy and her “riding a jack hammer” ass movements. That’s the image I want to fantasize about as I fall asleep with my boner firmly in hand. Ahhh …

The big show is set to begin at nine. I haven’t heard a word from Tony on how the response to his ads has been or what kind of crowd he’s expecting. Once we get through this night and this show we’re outta here, off to rescue … no that’s not the right word … how about join up with … with Josefina. Damn I miss her.

You can see the lights from miles away. Tony’s got Hollywood search lights beaming up to the clouds and circling the sky. You’d think you were at a Hollywood premiere rather than a run down old Tijuana strip joint. You’ve got to hand it to Tony he thinks big.

Our taxi has to wait in line with a half dozen other cars just to get up to the front door where we’re greeted by two red jacketed valets or barkers or whatever. I’m impressed. Boner and I sneak around to the employee entrance into the kitchen where we find all of the showgirls huddled in what looks like a pep rally. They all turn and cheer Boner when he comes through the door and then run and kiss him on both cheeks European style; European style except for the subtle little tugs they give his boner when they think no one is looking. No one kisses me let alone gives my could-be boner a tug.

I leave the cast to do their thing and head for my usual stool at the bar. I can’t get out of the kitchen … the crowd is standing-room-only and fighting for the little bit standing room left. Every table is full and then some including the overflowing balcony. I fight my way to the bar where an army of bartenders and bar-backs are frantically trying to keep up with the drink orders. It takes a while but finally my old amigo sees me and signals for me to come around to the side of bar where he’s stashed a stool for me. I pull out the stool, my stool, and sit it at the end of the bar and take my first sip of the luke-warm beer this place has always been famous for. I liked it better when I was their only customer, at least the beer was cold and the music wasn’t so damned loud. The live music tonight is about ten times louder than the boom box they used all week in rehearsals.

The music peaks then stops and a bright spot light beams down from some where above over-illuminating Tony as he jumps on stage in a lilac tuxedo … I’m not kidding … a lilac tuxedo with a ruffled lilac shirt, a lilac tie and damn if he doesn’t have lilac colored shoes.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Señoras y Señores … the world famous Blue Fox is proud to present, for one night only, the newest and biggest, in more ways than one, sensation in the adult entertainment industry … here on our stage straight from his award winning performances in Hollywood …the one, the only … Boner.”

The crowd erupts with whistles, cat-calls, shrieks and deafening loud applause as I wonder what awards Tony is referring to.

“Sit back and watch as Boner takes on and satisfies scores of the most beautiful women in Mexico.”

The crown erupts again as Tony steps from the stage and the lights shift to this very attractive dancer gyrating to the overly loud music. She looks much better than she ever did in rehearsals. I guess it’s the makeup and her opening night costume. I can’t wait to see how Juicy Lucy looks under the bright lights.

The show goes on just like they rehearsed it but I’m blown away by the audience’s reaction. They yell and cheer at every bump and at every grind and as every article of clothing hits the floor.

The first dancer is making her way around the sides of the stage and offers a couple of customers a little face pie while the second dancer strips. As the second song ends Boner has his face squarely in the Promised Land. He looks just like any other ordinary gringo as he sits ringside wiggling his tongue in one of Mexico’s finest.

The crowd roars when the girls drag Boner on to the stage and lay him out for some serious face dancing but its nothing like the … roar … roar is the wrong word … how about … bellow, blast, bluster, boom, clamor, eruption, detonation, or rumble … okay, you get the picture … when they pull down his pants and the audience sees Boner’s boner for the first time.

After what seems like an hour the crowd finally quiets down enough so they can continue the show. I’ve never heard such a loud and raunchy group as this crowd. The entire 1st Marine Division doesn’t make this much noise. This place was always loud but what’s different now? I know it’s the women; I’ve never been in here when there were more than a handful of women patrons if any at all.

The cast all come on stage from the crowd on their cues but the two bouncers from out front have to fight off all of the other women that want to join in for a little bit of Boner. They look like the mobs that used to hound Elvis or The Beatles only these aren’t moon-struck teenagers they’re seriously horny adult women.

Finally Boner’s last lunge, his last stroke of the night, the lights dim and the bouncers escort him off to somewhere while the crowd stands for a standing ovation and begs for an encore.

I fight the receding crowd as I work my way back to the kitchen and the twenty or so grinning women.

The Hotel Caesar’s has been totally renovated to remove any trace of its old prohibition-era character and charm. It’s an okay place by Holiday Inn standards but it’s not the old Caesar’s that I remember. After about twenty minutes of staring at the far wall in my room I round up Boner and we’re out on the town.

There seems to be even more soldiers out at night. If you dropped in from outer space and didn’t know anything about the drug cartel wars you’d think that Tijuana was being occupied by some foreign army. Soldiers with automatic weapons are on every corner and truckloads more cruise up and down the boulevard. My guess is you’d see less military presence in Baghdad or Kabul.

“What do you think of Tijuana on a Friday night?”

“Takatifu shit.”

I need a drink to fight off or at least dull my growing depression. Sure, I’m depressed because of my nostalgia and all of the vivid memories this place has for me but that I can handle. What really gets to me is walking past one boarded up shop after another and only passing armed soldiers on these once busy sidewalks. This one street in this one city is such a vivid reminder of how fucked up this world really is. These poor people had so little during their boom times and now they have nothing.

I’m ready to head back to our hotel bar when we see the brightly illuminated sign of the bar we were in this afternoon, our revolutionary amigo’s bar.

“Buenos noche, amigos.” Our barkeep friend says as he raises his shotgun barrel towards the ceiling.

We sit on the same stools we did earlier and order two tequila shooters and two beers. My depression doesn’t stand a chance against straight tequila.

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation earlier and I have only one question for you,” says the barman. “Where do we begin or … or how do we start?”

“Great revolutions are often initiated by a single charismatic leader that has the unique ability to relate to the suffering of the common people, truly devalue their current state of affairs and paint a simplistic but vivid picture of a much, much better world. Imagine someone who could preach, in a language that everyone understands, how bad things really are and … and more importantly could describe how wonderful life will be without your drug cartels and all of their merciless violence. You know how bad off you are but have you thought about how bad off the country-at-large is with these drug cartels and how much better life would be like without them. That’s the crux of the whole idea behind a revolution.”

“Si, I understand but where do we find such a leader?”

“Read the papers, listen to the radio, watch TV and when you find or hear someone that is passionate about what you believe in, go and offer your help. His one-man revolution will then be two and through your efforts will soon snowball into many, many more.”

“No one speaks out against these evil drug cartels. They are too powerful and they kill everyone that gets in their way.”

“Yeah I know, but do you think it was easy for Gandhi or your own Pancho Villa … or maybe Emiliano Zapata, might be a better example … to get started. Anyway, once you’ve found your Zapata the people will be willing to sacrifice themselves and others for the better of the people. Remember, revolutions attract frustrated people, people who are dissatisfied with their current state, but are capable of a strong belief in the future.”

“Thank you señor, I will start looking for our Zapata. Can I get you another tequila?”

“No sir, six is enough for me and I see that all of our talk about revolutions has put my pal, Boner, to sleep. Adios mi amigo. Good luck with your revolution. I’ll be watching from just over the border and when you get things under way we’ll come back and give you a hand.”

“Thanks señor, I’ll be counting on you.

As we walk back to our hotel and pass all of these boarded up businesses I’m getting more and more depressed. The six tequila shooters didn’t do what I was hoping they would, they did the opposite, they heightened my foul mood. Maybe sleep will … will what? What I ask myself then I realize I don’t know.

The Blue Fox looks like a new place this morning … well maybe not a new place but at least it looks like it might actually be open.

All of the stage and audience lights are on. Cleaning crews are crawling all over the balcony clanging chairs and banging tables while Tony and this other pimp-looking guy are trying to talk over the noise to a dozen or so young women all clustered on the stage.

“Ah Bob and Boner I’d like to introduce Alberto, our producer and chorographer and … and all of these beautiful ladies are part of the cast. We’re just getting started but before we do I’d like Boner to show everyone his magnificent pito parado or as you say, boner.”

Boner is used to this by now and without any prodding from me he jumps up on the stage, drops his cape and his sweat pants and does a little pirouette for the gasping crowd.

Huge sighs comes from every corner of the room. The cleaning women appear to be as impressed as the performers. Tony and Alberto just stand with their mouths agape.

I break the monotny of their heavy breathing by announcing, “Not only does he have the biggest and hardest pito parado in the known world he has another unique talent that you’ll appreciate. He can keep it up, just as you see here, for an indefinite period of time maybe even forever. So don’t feel as if you must satisfy him, many have tried and none have succeeded including a bevy or Playboy Playmates and half the city of Watts. I feel I must warn you women that too much of Boner can be deadly. In fact I recommend no more than one hour with …”

“Thank you for that, Senor Bob. We’ll get started with our first rehearsal just as soon as a few more girls arrive. While we wait would any of you ladies like to come and inspect Boner’s truly magnificent boner.”

Every hand goes up and a line quickly forms. The cleaning women in the balcony are at a disadvantage but they soon make it to the end of the line behind the performers and the kitchen staff. The women all parade by Boner in a very orderly fashion, some stroking him lovingly, some bending to give him a little taste of oral while others are content to just look and admire. As I retire to the bar for a cold one I notice that many of the ladies are running back to the end of the line for a second pass at Boner’s boner.

After a dozen or so more girls arrive and go immediately to the boner line Alberto blows his whistle and stops all of the action.

“Okay ladies I want you all over here.” He says pointing stage left. “And you, Boner, I’d like to put on these clothes and take your position in that chair over in the audience just off stage right. Now which of you ladies are dancers? I mean serious dancers and not just bump and grinders.”

Four girls raise their hands and he has them all dance to a rock tune blaring from his boom box. It’s obvious that these girls are pole dancers and not members of the Tijuana Ballet but they’re good nonetheless. Alberto picks one dancer and asks her to step aside, studies the remaining three and then picks another one and stops the music.

He whispers to the two girls he just chose and announces to the group. “Okay listen up, here’s what we’re going to do. The music will start and Maria will enter the stage and dance one number in a sensual one-number strip tease. She will be followed by Alisa who will do the same thing while Maria starts working the crowd. When Alisa is completely nude Maria will be doing the world famous Blue Fox face dance on Boner who’ll be sitting ringside looking like any other patron. The two women will pull Boner on to the stage, lay him down and begin the act made famous by the Blue Fox. After ten minutes or so of face dancing they will both notice the bulge in his trousers and … and as they pull down his slacks and the audience gets their first look at Boner’s boner three more girls, you, you and you, will jump up to the stage from the audience tugging at your clothes as if you …”

“So what do you think, Bob? Asks Tony as he straddles an adjacent stool.

“I don’t know what to think about the dance routine, that’s more in your line of business. I do think however, that this beer could be a couple of degrees colder and who is that striking girl over there in the red sweater?”

Tony turns and looks over his shoulder at the girls and says, “No shit Sherlock, that’s the last woman to play the Blue Fox’s world famous Juicy Lucy. She can wiggle her ass like she’s riding a jackhammer. She gets guys off just by sticking their noses in it. I’m sure Alberto will use her at exactly the right time in the show. And … and Juicy Lucy will strut her stuff on stage at the Blue Fox to a filled-to-capacity crowd again. If things go well this week I might introduce you two.”

I try to fantasize what a session with the real Juicy Lucy would be like but I’ve had too many beers to think about anything other than finding the men’s room.

The music blares, the girls giggle and the show goes on and on. I haven’t heard a single Mimi kuja out of Boner so they must be doing walk-throughs, if that’s what you call dry-humping on stage. Tony and I talk about everything but the weather while I nurse my seventh beer.

I order my first tequila when Alberto blows his whistle and shouts. “That will do it for today. I want to see everybody back here tomorrow at … let’s see … ah … one PM. Oh yeah, come in costume. We might even have a little close contact just to put you girls in the mood so come prepared. See you tomorrow and try to be on time.”

I gulp my tequila shooter and watch Juicy Lucy’s magnificent ass as she sashays out the door.

We hale a cab to the Blue Fox. I can still remember the famous Blue Fox from my good ole days in the Corps. It was the wildest or maybe it was the most successful and the most visible of the wildest, but whatever it was, it was a wild night club, strip joint and whore house known the world over for its famous donkey show. I’ve outgrown my need to see another Tijuana donkey show so I won’t share it with you, but you get the idea.

The place is more run-down and tattered than I remember it but then again I don’t ever remember seeing it in the daylight before. The door is open but there is no one at the bar. The chairs are all turned upside down on the tables and the only light is coming from an array of neon beer signs that hang eerily over the bar. The place is dead quiet and spooky. If you really concentrate you can almost hear the raucous laughter and the rowdy cat-calls of the sailors and Marines as those oh so sexy girls strut their stuff around the center stage and … and is that a donkey I hear braying off in the …

“Takatifu fuck.”

We take a seat at the dark bar and stare off into this cavernous two-story room with its center stage and dainty little cocktail tables surrounded by a dark and haunting balcony. I remember that this very club was once known not only for its donkey show but for the shameful practice of allowing their patrons to perform cunnilingus on the dancers during their performances. They boastfully advertised this practice on billboards, t-shirts and bumper stickers with slogans like Eat at the Blue Fox, The Blue Fox blue plate special, Tijuana Pussy Posse and on and on.

I’m reminded of that old line ― If these walls could talk. If they could what do you think they would tell us? Would they tell tales of the debauchery and depravity of the patrons or would they tell of the desperation and degradation of the young women driven by economic necessity to perform those humiliating acts, I wonder.

“Can I help you gentlemen,” inquires a bartender so old he was probably serving drinks here during the boom days of prohibition.

“Yes we’d like two Dos Equis and we’re here to see someone.” I say as I fumble in my pocket for Jose’s note. “Ah … Señor Antonio Gutierrez.”

“Who should I tell Mr. Gutierrez is calling?”

“Tell him that Jose Verde in California sent us and … er … we’re Boner and Bob.”

“Here’s your beer gentlemen, enjoy. I’ll tell Don Gutierrez that you are here.”

The old man shuffles into the darkness of the back of the room.

“Here’s to Josefina and César. May they be safe?” I say as I raise my beer bottle for a toast.

Boner clanks my bottle with his and mumbles through his grin, “Ni kuhusu wakati.”

Whatever that means.

We sip our beer quietly in the dark. I now know this place is haunted, and haunted with the ghosts of the summer of 1965. I can see Juicy Lucy as she bumps and grinds her shapely nude body on stage to the delight of The Few, The Proud, The Marines. I can still hear the elevated roar of the crowd as she shoves her neatly trimmed pubic patch into the face of some eager-to-oblige Marine. These are the ghosts of my long suppressed memories ― my memories of the Marines that never returned ― the Marines who’s last taste of womanhood was Juicy Lucy.

“Sir, Don Gutierrez will see you now. You can bring your beers with you. Please follow me.”

We fall in behind this geezer and it takes what seems all evening to get to a surprisingly nice office in the rear of the building. Antonio is seated behind his massive desk poring over what looks like a local newspaper. He doesn’t look up until we are squarely in front of his desk and the old barkeep says, “Don Antonio, may I introduce Mr. Bob and Mr. Boner.”

Antonio jumps to his feet as if on cue and extends his hand in a friendly but business-like fashion. We both shake his hand as he says, “Please call me Tony. I’ve been anxious to meet you every since Jose called. Please, please sit down.”

Tony is dressed like, I wanta say a stock broker … but no … he looks more like an insurance salesman all spruced up for his annual awards banquet. He’s wearing an expensive but not very tasteful business suit adorned with a tie so loud it screams—LOOK AT ME, I’M RICH!

“Jose told me you made a really big impression in L.A. in more ways than one.” He says with a chuckle.

Another asshole who laughs at his own unfunny jokes.

“Fuck wewe pia.”

“Huh?”

“Thank you for meeting with us … ah … Tony. We’ve come to you on a most urgent matter. We are in pursuit of my lady friend, Doctor Josefina Bernstein, and our pet goat, César, who we believe are traveling with an employee of yours we only know as Gustavo. Jose Verde told us that he had sent them on to you in regards to some business matter. Any information you have regarding …”

Tony interrupts me with, “They were here and I gave her and the one you call Gustavo a new assignment. He and your lady friend should be in Juarez by now working on this new project. I’ll tell you how to get in touch with them but first I’ve got something else I’d like to discuss with you.”

“I can assure you, sir we have no interest in your business or in any business activity that involves Gustavo for that matter. Our only interest is to rescue Josefina and César from that kidnapper and return them safely to our home in New Mexico.”

“Rescue is hardly the word I would use. You might persuade Dr. Bernstein to come home with you but she is far from needing rescuing.” Tony says with a sneer.

“Would you please explain why you think that she is not being held captive by Gustavo? And, do you mean to imply that she is operating of her own free will and not under the influence of her evil abductor.”

“Bob, you don’t understand at all, do you?”

“What’s not to understand?”

“Josefina Bernstein is now clearly in charge of that duo. She took over for Gustavo and he now works for her. I hired her not Gustavo for my next big job. She’s in danger, sure, but not from who you think.”

“I’ve got to get to her and talk some sense into her. This business of yours is way too dangerous for a college professor and imaginative chef and a master boner checker. Where can I find her in Juarez?”

“There is no need to panic. I just spoke to her and she’ll be laying low for the next few days. I’ll tell you how to get in touch with her but first I’d like to discuss a personal project of mine with you. I have been looking for ways to resurrect the old Blue Fox and return it to its glory as the finest establishment of its kind in this part of the world. When Jose called me and told me about Boner and his exceptional and magnificent talents I knew he is the key to the renaissance of the Blue Fox. People will come from miles around; gringos will cross the border again to see my new floor show featuring your friend Boner.”

“Takatifu fuck.”

“I can see it now … lots of beautiful girls … all in choreographed scenes with Boner. Boner will flaunt his size and staying power in a number sexy vignettes right here on this stage … all to the roar of a standing-room-only crowd. It’ll be like the old days with the donkey show but much better. What do you think?”

“We don’t have the kind of time it would take to produce a show like that even if Boner knew how to act. It will take weeks to put together a show and I’ve got to get on to Juarez and see what’s up with Josefina.”

“Bob, Bob I want to schedule this show for Saturday night one week from tomorrow. That will give me time to put together a show and to get the word out. We’ll fill the house and the old Blue Fox will be back in business again.”

“Ah, ah … I don’t think …”

“Bullshit Bob, you can and will do it. I’ve got rehearsals scheduled to start here a 10 tomorrow morning. I’ve booked rooms for you at the famous Hotel Caesar’s and I’ve already got my publicity machine in high gear.” He said as he handed me a flyer. “By this time next week everyone in Tijuana and San Diego and half of L.A. will know about our big re-opening premier and the Blue Fox’s rise from the ashes.”

“Takatifu fuck.”

The flyer is a cheaply printed handbill featuring an old photo of the Blue Fox and a headline reading:

“Takatifu fuck.”

“I agree with Boner. Holy fuck is right. We didn’t agree to do this show and you got all of this underway without our agreement or our consent. I think it was presumptuous of you to automatically assume that we …”

“No it’s you that don’t understand, Bob. You don’t have a choice.”

“Takatifu fuck.”

I’m reaching down into that bulging neck-line and just begin to caress those magnificent tits when someone shakes me.

“Señor Bob, Señor Bob, Wake up. Wake up. It’s time to go home.”

Where am I? I’m shivering; I’m cold, so cold. I sit up to see Chui squatting beside me. I’m nude and shivering on top of a bunch of pillows. Chui is dripping wet. Oh yeah, I remember now, I’m down in the Playboy Mansion grotto with Lori.

“Where’s Lori?” Is all that I can think to say.

“It was her turn with Boner and she didn’t want to miss it. She stumbled across Brenda and me in the cabana as she was running up to Hef’s room and told me you were down here. I had to swim to get here and I don’t swim so good.”

The ride back to the our motel is quiet and uneventful except for Boner‘s constant subconscious whimpering, “Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja, Mimi kuja …”

Apparently, I’m the only one that got any sleep last night. My colleagues are both dead to the world. I shower and shave and start packing up my stuff when I see an envelope sticking out from under the towel I wore home this morning. It’s addressed to me. I open it and find a handwritten note and 50 crisp new one hundred dollar bills. Not bad for a days work. I unfold the note.

I pull the covers back to wake my associates and discover that Brenda is wedged tightly in between Boner and Chui. She has her knees pulled up to those huge implants and her ass pointed towards Chui. My guess is she’s not letting Boner anywhere near her ass again … or at least until she heals.

I rouse my grinning-in-their-sleep traveling companions and we head south. The trip is quite pleasant once you get through L.A.’s bumper-to-bumper freeway traffic. We creep along for a hundred miles or so in typical L.A. stop-and-go-and-stop-and-go traffic. How and maybe even more of a mystery, why … why do these people put up with this?

If you think the L.A. traffic sucks wait til you get to the US/Mexican border. Its seven lanes collapsing into six creeping lanes as the Mexican customs officials rummage through the incoming cars looking for contraband. The closer we get to the actual border the more Chui sweats and squirms. Finally he says, “Señor Bob, I can’t go into Tijuana. Those pinché assholes will kill me just to piss on my grave. Can I borrow some money from you so Brenda and I can catch a bus back to Juarez?”

“If you think that’s what you need to do. Here take a couple of hundred and write down where we can find you when we get back home.” I say as I hand Chui some money and a pencil.

We finally get across the border and are making that sweeping turn just after the bridge when Boner hollers for me to stop. I pull over and turn to the back seat only to see that Chui is having a seizure. He is shaking and Brenda is hanging on to him like a bronco buster to a wild stallion. She’s doing her best to calm him down using the only CPR technique she knows but I’m afraid her blow job, as lovingly as it’s being administered, is only contributing to his agitated state. I tap her lightly on the head and she rises, wipes her mouth and begins struggling with Chui’s fly. I hope she puts his manhood back before she yanks on his zipper. All of this attention or maybe it’s the cessation of Brenda’s activity seems to calm him a bit. Before anyone can speak he hops out of the car, dragging Brenda behind him, hands me a note, turns and runs across the street. Brenda turns and looks back at us helplessly as Chui yanks her out of the path of an oncoming car.

I yell, “Be safe, my friends.” But they are gone, lost in the congestion and bustle of this huge city, this city of one and half million desperate souls.

Boner and I don’t know what to say, so we just sit here on this busy avenue watching the traffic race by. Finally it dawns on us that Chui and Brenda won’t be coming back.

“Vipi kuhusu pombe.”

“Yeah, I could use a cold one too.”

We ease back into the frantic Tijuana traffic and I head to the public parking lot on Avenida De Revolución that I remember from my days in the Corps.

I read that Mexico’s drug war has really played havoc on the tourist business all along the border especially in the larger cities like Juarez and here. One report said that 75% of the shops on Avenida De Revolución, the main street in downtown Tijuana, have closed. I’m not sure I want to see what those thousands of senseless drug-related killings have done to my old town. I also read that the U.S. Marine Corps has declared Tijuana off-limits to the 40 thousand or so Marines stationed in Southern California. I can’t even imagine what life in the Corps is like without being able to slip over the border for a cold one. I could tell stories about my good ole days in TJ before we shipped out to Nam but I’ll save them for another day.

The parking lot is right where I remember it but its empty. I hope it’s open. It is, we park, pay the guy and start ambling up, or is it down (I’m never sure which) the avenue. Boner doesn’t look too out of place in his Count Dracula cape and his droopy sweat pants. He holds his cape closed in the front and no one notices his ah … ah … bulge. If I’d have thought this through we might have chosen a Zorro cape and mask. It might be a better choice for Mexico or … or … don’t bull fighters wear their capes over their shoulders when they’re not in the ring tormenting bulls. Yeah, Boner could have been a bull fighter … but … but then again how would we ever have gotten him into those skin-tight torero pants. Okay, his Dracula cape ain’t such a bad idea after all. It works.

There’s not a lot of foot traffic and about four out of every five stores, pottery shops, cantinas or old titty bars are closed and boarded up. Heavily armed soldiers seem to be everywhere. This famous street, once full of tourists, horny servicemen, street vendors and hustlers of all kinds, is now barren except for an occasional local and a host of nervous and scared looking teenage soldiers. This is a sad day for me. On my last visit here this was a hustling and bustling city and now it looks like the set for The Omega Man.

Finally we find a cantina that’s still in business, barely. We take stools at the bar and look around. We’re the only patrons in what was obviously once a tourist bar. Probably a titty bar by the looks of the elevated, dark and dusty runway. How many lovely senoritas danced here …?

“Ni nini tunaweza kufanya.”

“It’s too early to go over to the Blue Fox so I thought we’d have a couple of beers and relax. You must be worn out after the day you had yesterday. Let’s see you wrapped up after … what was it … eight to ten hours of … of … of movie making with Anal-Annie. You never told me … was she really like riding a mechanical bull with an ass …?”

“Takatifu fuck.”

I turn to see the bartender coming at us with a shotgun. I don’t know whether to duck or …

He points his sawed-off 12 gauge towards the door, lays it gently on the bar next to me and says. “Ain’t none of those drug cabróns gonna come in here and shoot none of my customers. I run the safest bar in town because I’ll kill their sorry drugged-out asses if they so much as poke their heads in my bar.”

“Takatifu fuck.”

“That’s reassuring, I’m glad to see that someone’s fighting back. I read in my local paper that some patrons of this restaurant in Chihuahua beat up this gun totin’ drug trafficker and tossed him out on his ass. I wish there were more like you and oh … we’ll have two Dos Equis.”

He continues talking as he gets our beer, “What else are we gonna do? The government can’t do anything. The cops all run an’ hide and our poor soldier boys are shakin’ in their boots. I don’t blame ‘em, the drug cartels have them out-gunned and out-witted most of the time. What are we going to do?”

“Nobody seems to have the answer to that question. I think the government’s plan is to dismantle the cartels at the very top, kill or capture the heads of the cartels and then break up their organizations from the top down.”

“And how’s that working?” The bartender asks as if he already knows the answer.

“Not very well at all. We hear about the death of some big time drug king-pin and we expect something different afterwards but nothing changes. Maybe you’re on to something. If we arm the little people, the people most affected by this mess, people like you; they will clean up this drug cartel trash in their cities.”

“I’d like to think so, señor but those pinché drug assholes know what they’re doing. They buy their respect in their neighborhoods by giving to the charities, providing for the needy and paying off the politicians and the police.”

“A little less than a hundred years ago you guys successfully pulled off an armed revolution. You overthrew the abusive land owners and the exploiters of your people. You could do it again. Where is Pancho Villa, now when we really need him?” I say with a chuckle.

“You know señor; I think you might have hit upon the answer. I don’t know how to start a revolution but maybe you could teach me. Here have another beer on me and let’s talk.”

“Takatifu fuck.”

“Did you know that the word revolution, or as you say revolución, is derived from the Latin word revolutio which means a turn around or a fundamental change in power or organizational structure? Copernicus named his 1543 treatise on the movements of planets around the sun De revolutionibus orbium coelestium. The term revolution later came to mean an abrupt change in the social order.”

I’m on a roll lecturing my new best friend and Boner on the little I know about revolutions. Their eyes are glazing over but I contiue on.

“Revolutions are power struggles between competing interest groups that occur when two or more groups cannot come to terms within the normal decision making process within their political system, and simultaneously have enough resources to employ force in pursuing their goals.”

”Kubisha mbali bullshit.”

“Eric Hoffer in his ground breaking The True Believer taught us that revolutions are brought about by passionate people willing to sacrifice themselves and others to achieve some idealistic goal. Revolutionary leaders must instill this passion in their followers by glorifying the past and devaluing the present in order to appeal to people who are dissatisfied with their current state, but share this strong belief in the future. As well, mass movements appeal to people who want to escape a …

“Sisi ni Outta hapa.”

I look up to see that Boner is so bored he’s falling off of his bar stool while our revolutionary bartender has fallen asleep with his head on the bar and his arms wrapped around his shotgun. Here is a picture of what’s wrong with Mexico and a quite possibly why I love it so much. Picture this: a man downtrodden and impoverished by the current state of affairs in his country, a man extremely critical of his government’s ability to rectify this untenable situation, a man immensely passionate in his desire to personally bring about the necessary changes, and … and a man even willing to listen to a gringo’s boring lectures but … but before he does anything he must … must take a siesta. Viva Mexico!

The girls all race to the dining room as if it’s a first-come, first-served affair and they’re afraid they’re not going to get a seat or their share of the meal. Hef walks arm-in-arm with Boner while Brenda, Chui and I follow the crowd. I don’t know where Jose and Bambi are, they must of …

Now I see what all of the urgency is about. Hef takes what I assume is his regular chair at the head of the table. He’s reserved the seat to his right for Boner and the one to his left for his squeeze du jour, everyone else is on their own. I’m startled to see two beautiful bunnies fighting over the chair next to Boner. After their girly little scuffle the red-head knocks the other girl on her ass with a good hard shove, sits down and nonchalantly unfolds her napkin as if it were her seat all along. The competition for everything must be fierce around here. These babes must compete for Hef’s attention and affection like the temptresses they all seem to be. I’ll bet they have some knock down …

“Why don’t you join me here?” asks this dynamite brunette as she leans over to pull out her chair. She’s wearing a blue dress with a neck-line so low that I can see daylight out of the other end.

“This will be fine.” I say as I pull out the chair she indicated. I add, “I’m Bob, I’m … er … the guest of honor’s chaperone,” like this will elevate me in status with this really hot babe.

“Nice to meet you Bob, I’m Lori and I’ve been assigned to be your … what do you call it … you’re escort … nah, that’s not it … not your date either … ah … what the hell … you’re stuck with me tonight and I’m stuck with you.”

“How did you win such a dubious assignment?”

“See that bitch sitting next to Hef, that’s Crystal and she’s Hef’s main babe for the time being, anyway. She decides everything: what we wear, what we eat, who does what and all of that kinda stuff. Hef doesn’t really give a shit about what goes on as long as he gets his …

“So, what do your escort duties include?” I ask hoping that she might indicate something beyond being my dinner partner.

“I have to hang with you for the rest of the evening. We can shoot some pool, watch some TV, go for a swim, shit like that.”

“Before we get too far along I wonder if you’d help me with a question that has been bugging me all evening. How does the Easter bunny lay those colored eggs at Easter time?”

Lori responds without hesitation as is if she’s been ready for me to ask her this, the one question she knows the answer to.

“It all has to do with the male bunnies and their colored sperm. They inject their dyed juice into the females when they’re humping and presto a few days later you’ve got colored eggs.”

It’s going to be a very long night.

Waiters begin bringing in plates of … of cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers … and all along I thought Hef was a gourmet with impeccable style and taste. He’s having a dinner party, okay a dinner party for a bunch of clowns in pajamas, and he serves cheeseburgers and fries.

“Lori, isn’t this an unusual entrée for a dinner party of this size.”

“No, that bitch orders them all of the time because she doesn’t eat meat; she’s a vegan. She and all of the other vegans eat these wonderful salads while the rest of us eat these fucking hamburgers. Hef doesn’t seem to care what he eats anymore as long as he has enough wine to wash it down.

Just as we’re finishing our desserts Hef stands, grabs Boner and leaves the room. Everyone jumps up as if responding to a fire alarm bell and begins filing out of the door following Hef and Boner. Lori and I join the exodus and soon find ourselves in a good-sized in-home movie theatre. Hef, Boner and Crystal all sit in the front row. The rest of us have to fend for ourselves for a decent seat. As soon as we’re seated the lights dim and the screen comes to life.

We’re soon watching The Bucket List, that movie about two terminally ill men, played by Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, who escape from a cancer ward to head off on a road trip with their wish list of to-dos before they die. Everyone stares at this good but old movie as if they’re watching it for the first time.

I whisper into Lori’s ear “Let’s get out of here. I’ve already seen this a couple of times.”

“So have I. Hef loves it because Jack comes here all of the time and they watch it together. Follow me.” She says as she stands and sneaks out of a side door. I follow her down a hallway, make a turn and we’re at a bar.

“Great idea, what’ll you have?”

“No, let me get them. What would you like?” Lori asks as she goes around to the back of the bar.

“Just a beer.”

“Are you up for a game or something?”

I turn and see we’re in a huge game room with tables arranged in the center and video and pin ball-like games lining the walls. I’ve never been much for arcade games so I say, “How about a game of eight ball?”

“Sure, but I have to warn you that I was the eight ball champ of Gering, Nebraska way back before I came to L.A. You sure you can handle getting your ass whipped by a girl?”

“I can handle it if you can handle playing with a schmuck.”

We play game after game and she’s right, she beats me every time, but she cheats. She’s well aware that when she leans over to make a shot I can see all the way down through her dress, past those truly magnificent tits all the way to the Promised Land. I don’t know which is harder, my pecker or my cue.

I can’t take the humiliation of defeat any longer and my pecker is throbbing like a teenager’s on prom night.

“Let’s do something else, okay?”

“Sure, let’s go for a swim. The pool and grotto here are kinda special.”

We run through the house like a couple of kids and exit through some French doors onto the patio where we had drinks earlier.

She unties this little strap and her gown falls to the deck by itself while she tugs at her tiny little thong. I can’t believe how beautiful she is. She looks just like a centerfold coming to life in some sexual fantasy wet dream. Duh, she is a Playboy centerfold … what the hell would you expect, Roseanne Barr.

I squirm out of my Doctor Denton’s and tug down my boxers over my big, big for me, erection. Lori doesn’t seem to notice or pay any attention to my excited state. I guess she’s used to seeing horny older guys with their big paunches and pathetic little hard-ons.

I chase her around the pool hoping to get up close to that magnificent body. No such luck, she’s an excellent swimmer and she stays an arms length away from me no matter how hard and how fast I swim. Finally she dives underwater and I follow her down deep and through this opening off to the side of the pool. We rush up for air and voilà we’re in the Playboy Mansion’s famous grotto. I can’t believe I’m actually here and with a nude Playmate. Does it get any better than this?

Lori climbs out of the water and towel dries her hair before dropping onto this huge pile of pillows. She looks like a harem girl as she stretches and sprawls out on all of that silk. I struggle to get out of the pool with the little bit of energy I have left after chasing Lori around the pool. As I fall back onto a pile of pillows I notice that my erection is gone, completely gone. Not only has it subsided it has disappeared. The cool water of the pool has done it to me again. I wonder what Lori thinks of a guy with an innie?

Lori stands and shakes more water out of her hair as she struts over to a nook behind us. It’s really amazing how natural and uninhibited the really beautiful are with their nudity. I guess it comes easy after millions of people have seen your most intimate parts beautifully portrayed in a full-color, two-page magazine spread. She returns with two brandy snifters, sits down and hands me a drink. I quickly gulp the brandy hoping to calm my nervousness. Maybe she hasn’t noticed my innie yet. I’m so embarrassed laying here next to a vivacious, nude Playmate, and in Hef’s grotto of all places, and I can’t see my pecker. Does it get any worse than this?

“Lori do you really believe that colored Easter eggs come from colored semen?”

“No, I was just making conversation at dinner. Everybody knows that the colored eggs are dyed by elves after little white bunnies lay them. The Easter bunny just hides them.”

With that finally settled I close my eyes and dream of what might have been.