Chapter 7. Blue Encounter

By Tony

Monday August 25 when Jambo and I got to the Aztex car gate I opened the lock and we pulled in. The Aztex parking lot looked empty after the weekend of spraying and fogging to saturate the grounds with pesticide. We wore bio-hazard suits, but after arriving we discovered that the top half of the suit wasn’t needed, because all the poison fog in the parking lot had completely dissipated in the stiff moist wind Saturday and Sunday nights. Even without the tops the suits were awkward and uncomfortable. But we kept the bottom half of the suits on because the poison was still on the ground and the plants.

As we pulled in we noticed that the replacement drive-through gatehouse was a normal pre-fab garage construction with a second floor and canvas added on the sides. We had no idea why. When we looked in the garage door windows we saw an old compact pickup inside - like older than Tonto. Jambo opined that it had broken down and could not be fixed immediately so it was left. Something about that truck bothered me. However, it was out-of-context so I could not make a connection.

First order of business was a bunch of wireless cameras, some microphones and a few radio beacons to keep the party favors targeted on the party next Sunday night. After putting cameras and a beacon on the pyramid I picked the lock to the new brick jail built at the dogleg then planted cameras inside. Among the cameras there was a high-rez unit I mounted over the office desk to read papers, that required an antenna outside. The interior of the building was divided into an office with a set of security desks (monitors, computers and radios) flanking the entry, a large meeting/bunking area in the middle with a table and a big TV screen, and a jail with 2 cells in back. The camera was over the desk in the meeting section, if there were papers to read that was the spot. The locks did not pose a problem.

Next we had to work on that antenna.

One problem when dealing with drug users was that they do not always keep a schedule. In fact, that is like a rule. That was the case here. A guy named Blue was part of the prep crew from LA, he later told me he had the “shit” job of refilling the poison tanks on the tractors. It was a dangerous shitty job, only somebody desperate, at the bottom of the ladder would do it because the poison was so nasty. Blue was the bottom of the crew. Payment was an extra half-share of high-quality meth so Blue volunteered.

Blue was a legendary consumer of crystal meth who was my age (we went to school together) and despite appearances he defied the odds by not being dead yet. It was a source of wonder.

As Blue told it, Sunday night the tractors were returned to the sealed shed until they were needed again next May. The crew left after contaminating the ecology of the grounds and hundreds of acres around. Sunday night there were still enough creeping crawlies who had not yet died to make the ground uninhabitable, but the activity was greatly reduced. The poison would actually remain unhealthy for contact during the next two weeks. People coming to the gatherings were advised to lay down double plastic tarps at their campsites and to wear footwear. The majority of those coming in August did not have any health issues, plus they were called the “Suicide Squad” so really, health precautions were more a pro-forma suggestion, as they did not expect any long-term health, good or bad.

Picnic benches, food wagons and executive accommodations would be set out in the parking lot during Thursday and Friday by early arrivals to the weekend, in exchange they would have undefined “sex privileges” once the party started.

Since it was the worse time for a person to be there, plus the drones had given an “all clear,” Jambo and I figured we could work without disturbance on Monday. However, the three decade old truck parked near the entrance to the lot, inside the “car wash” where the drones could not see it, bothered me, it made me think of high school.

As the last guy to finish his job, Blue decided to skip the motel and catch some sleep in the sealed tractor barn Sunday night. The tractors had super comfortable reclining seats and he had a ‘sleepy dreams’ special drug mix from one of the Taos guys he wanted to try in private. (Hotel rooms were all double-occupancy.) He dreamed. It never occurred to him that he had been locked into the parking lot. Monday he rolled out into the sunshine around midday. His plan this year was to check into a different brothel Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, he liked a variety of girls and better food then he would get at the motel sharing older whores with the rest of the assholes in his crew, and by skipping the motel Sunday night he had more pesos for the other nights.

He was not expecting to find anyone in the camp.

I was re-locking the jail. Jambo was almost done rigging the camera antenna on the jail roof when he spotted Blue emerging from the tractor shed. Blue was facing the other direction. Jambo threw a stone to get my attention.

When I saw him I made the connection and recognized Blue right away, the old pickup truck was one he got in high school. I quickly told Jambo that I would whistle, we could recognize each other, wave, and Blue would come toward me like we were old friends. Jambo acknowledged and ducked out of sight while I waited in the open.

When I whistled Blue turned around and jumped at seeing somebody. He was so startled he almost blew the landing. Then he began walking down the path from the parking lot. No doubt he was very surprised to see his old school buddy in this isolated spot in Mexico, 2,000 miles from LA. We were both Aztexs, and he expected to see me this weekend, but he was a little confusing about that for some reason.