Chapter 30: Mexican Minors

Jose and Juan Sanchez were brothers from Mexico. They’d come to the US years ago looking for work. Now they were in their early forties, and the money was good. When they first came to California, they’d humped pot across the desert. Later they graduated to stronger drugs, worth much more. They were reliable; they could be trusted to get the job done. One day, their boss, Salvador Juarez, had asked if they’d like to start making some serious money. “I’m talking $10,000 a trip. One way, from the US into Mexico.”

Jose asked, surprised; “from the US, into Mexico?”

“That’s right. But it isn’t drugs anymore. Chicas. Chicas Jovenes” (“young girls”).

The two brothers looked at each other. This was new. Before, it had always been drugs. And they were very good at smuggling it. But now, young girls. There wasn’t much to think about. You don’t usually refuse Salvador.

“So, what’s the deal?” Jose asked.

Salvador turned it over to Miguel and left. Miguel told the two brothers.

“Look. You two are family; you can be trusted. And this new business is a fucking gold mine. You were the first ones we thought of, so don’t screw this up, entender’?”

Miguel was talking of course about the high-end whorehouse his cartel had just bought. Top end “social clubs” were a great way to launder money. You dealt only with the most influential customers. Lower-end whorehouses were raided often by the policia, keeping the newspapers happy. Top End social clubs; that’s where the money was. Miguel went on.

“We need a reliable supply chain of young white American girls. Blonde, redhead, brunette; doesn’t matter. No negros unless we say. No Latino’s either. When we call you, you bring us one. Age; between 11 and 16. She gotta be primo, pristine. I mean perfecto, intacto. No bruises, no cuts, nothing. We can’t sell damaged goods. You do this right, you men can get rich. You gotta be reliable. They gotta be pristine. Don’t you forget it.”

The brothers left the residence, drove home. They talked about it at length. When they get the call, they gotta go find a young white girl. Where the fuck do you do that? Not in this Latino neighborhood. Juan had an idea.

“We should go down near Brentwood, where all that white pussy goes shopping and shit. Near the high school. We see something we like; we jack the car, dump the mother and take the kid to the crib. Then we hit the tunnel.”

‘Jacking the car’ wasn’t actually all that hard. It was mostly in timing and surprise. Normally, as the people get into the car, you just run up and point the gun at them, jump in and take off leaving the driver at the gas pump. For this job, Jose would jump in, waving a gun, then make them drive where he wanted, someplace dark was all, someplace close. Juan follows in the car. When Jose makes the woman stop, Juan pulls up and runs to the van. First, you tape everyone up; take the target girl back to their own car, then leave the rest in the minivan. By the time they get free or get help, the brothers and the prize are long gone.

Juan and Jose drove around many parking lots, department stores, malls, shopping plazas all week. Some looked promising. Target and the Galleria had a lot of girls. Some places had better places of opportunity; plus, there was more teen traffic after school got out at 3 PM. One Target store near a St Mary’s Catholic School looked promising. They saw lots of mothers and young teens going and coming from Target and the adjoining stores, especially after school.

Then one day, the phone rang. Miguel spoke to them, briefly, to the point. “Young, white, 11-16 years old. Virgin. You got till Friday night to deliver at the usual place.” The phone hung up. They were on.

Kathy and Emily Saxon were two sisters from St Mary’s Catholic School. Kathy was fourteen, while Emily was sixteen. Kathy was about 5’ 3” tall, weighted maybe 100 pounds. She was just a little bit chubbier than Emily, but not much. She had early-pubescent tits; 31A, with some big, puffy nipples. Someday, she’d have some very big tits probably. Her hair was long, brown. She also wore her blouse and short skirt, an even shorter one for her eighth grade. At St. Mary’s, the skirts got longer with each grade.

Emily stood 5’8” tall, weighed about 110 pounds. She had long, straight blonde hair; all the way down to the small of her back. Emily had a curvy figure alright; she easily had a pair of 33B breasts now. She had on her school blouse and a skirt. Emily was still a sophomore, so her skirt was sophomore-sized. Emily’s legs were long and showed a lot with that short skirt. Both girls were very young, very attractive, very aware of it, but very shy about it. After all, they were good catholic girls.

After school on Friday, they’d gotten picked up by their mom in her Explorer. They drove to Target, where they went shopping. After buying a few things (including a new, larger bra for both girls), they walked out to the car. Mom opened the back; put the bags in, as did the two girls. Mom and Kathy went up the left side, with mom getting in the driver’s seat, Kathy behind her. Emily jumped in the right front seat, studying her iPhone closely.

Suddenly, the right rear door opened and a Mexican guy jumped in. Kathy, in the second row, froze, eyes wide with surprise. This man had on sunglasses, a gang handkerchief around his head. He also held a chrome pistol in his hand, waving it around at all of them. He closed the door, told mom to “Drive. Drive slow, lady. Everybody just stay still. Everyone put on your seat belts. Ahora!” Suddenly the three women snapped out of it, did their seat belts up.

The mother was driving. One girl sat in front, while the other sat behind her mother. Mom kept talking to the Jose, asking what he wanted, just let them out, you can have the car, where are we going. Lots of questions, but he just kept saying “Shut up! Turn left up here! There! Over there, behind the stores! Shut up I said, perra!” Behind the supermarket, the man told her to stop. He yelled again, “Nobody move!” A minivan pulled up next to them; another man with a bandana mask on jumped out and came over, yanking open the driver’s door.

Kathy’s mother was pushed into the back and taped. Her wrists, then her mouth, while the second man kept waving the gun, threatening everyone. Kathy got taped up next, then Ella. When they were done, they dragged mom onto the floor; made her lie still while they taped her ankles together, then her wrists again. The men next grabbed the two girls; pulled them both out and forced them into their minivan. The doors were closed and the minivan drove away fast. The whole exchange had taken less than four minutes. It would be almost an hour before their mom was found in the car.

The girls lay on the floor of the minivan, terrified. Where were they going? What were they doing? One of the men threw a big blanket over them; yelled at them to be quiet. He fired one shot into the back seat. Both girls jumped; it was loud, right next to them. They both thought they were going to die; going to be shot dead right here. They were both crying now.

They heard the man make a phone call. He spoke in Spanish. “Tenemos a la chica. De hecho, tenemos dos,” then the man hung up and spoke to the driver.

“He says he only wants one. The one with las tetas mas grandes (the one with the bigger tits).” Both men laughed. “I guess that means we get to keep the little one?” “Si, I guess so.”

They drove on, speaking in Spanish. The girls couldn’t understand anything. They still did not know what was going on. Was this like a kidnapping for ransom or something? Maybe; their dad had a lot money. The van drove on for about a half hour as the man kept cursing at them; then the van stopped. The blanket got pulled off. They were in a garage; the door was closing.

Jose and Juan opened the side door and began to remove the tape from the girls. Once the two were undone, they forced the two girls out of the minivan at gunpoint, into the house. The two girls were pushed into a living room, told to sit down. Their grandmother, Juanita, was there, doing housework, but she knew better than to say anything. Jose grabbed the older girl, took her in back to the bathroom.

Jose made Emily stand in front of the sink. “Fix yourself up, little one,” he barked at her. He began inspecting her as he pushed a brush into her hand. He kept on. “Go on, fix your hair. Wipe those tears away! Put some of that lipstick on, too!”

Emily was shaking so bad; She kept asking in a trembling voice, “What do you want? Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Jose just ignored her though. He kept yelling at her to fix herself, so she finally used the brush and fixed her hair. It had gotten all messed up. Her clothes were still relatively clean. With a shaking hand, she managed somehow to put on some lipstick, a soft red. She still couldn’t understand why, or what he was planning or what this was all about.

When he was satisfied, Jose pulled the young teen from the bathroom. He called to his brother, “Vamos!” Juan had already handcuffed the younger girl to the couch arm. He spoke to the old woman, who answered angrily in Spanish and then both men went to the basement with Emily. Kathy cried out for them, but she was still handcuffed, unable to do anything but struggle to get free. The old lady came over to the fourteen-year-old once, yelled at her in Spanish, slapped her, then went away arguing to herself. Kathy hoped Emily would be back soon.

Emily went down into the basement with the two men. They went to a door, then into a long narrow hallway. Soon, another door opened and there was a tunnel of some sort. She was forced to walk with them in this barely lit tunnel, for what seemed like miles. Left turn, right turn, it went on and on. She kept asking them, “Where are we going? Please, I want to go home.” Juan just kept saying “Soon, soon. First, we have to go this way.” Several times a rat appeared, scaring the heck out of her, but they kept her moving. On they walked, a total of actually ¾ of a mile. The tunnel came to a door. The door led to a basement of a business on the Mexican side of the border. There, two other men stood, grinning.