Chapter 7

Thanks to the California drivers license, social security card, and other assorted documents I had purchased between San Diego and Los Angeles, Margarita's name had been changed from Margarita Arguello to Margarita Salazar.

Keeping the "Margarita" part of her name intact had cost extra -- a lot extra. I had actually wanted the last name changed, on the off-chance that someone from Mexico might try to trace Margarita's whereabouts, using her real name.

"You must memorize your new last name, and use it often, so that it becomes natural for you," I told her.

"These papers must have cost a lot."

"Yes, they weren't cheap."

"Why did you spend so much? It is not really necessary, is it? I mean, in America, the police do not ask you for papers, on the street. Do they?"

"No. But you will need them if you're going to be able to participate, at all, in the society. If you were injured and had to go to a hospital. If you wanted to cash a check. If you wanted to enroll in a class to learn English better. Almost anything, outside of staying at my house, or with Carol, and you will have a need for these papers."

"I have a driver's license from California, and I cannot drive!"

"That's OK. Nobody in California can drive worth a damn."

"If I could learn to drive for real," Margarita said, "I could help you with the big truck!"

"Maybe I'll teach you to drive a car, and you could get a real license, from the State of New Mexico," I said. "Driving the big rig might be a little ambitious, though, for right now."

When we got back to Albuquerque, it wasn't long before Margarita proudly displayed, to Carol and Earl, her new documents, and explained to them that she was now Margarita Salazar.

Later, when Margarita was out of the room, Earl said "You're getting in pretty deep, Boy, getting phony documents for that girl, and all."

"Well, Earl, she's an illegal. Granted, our Mexican border is about as hard to cross as a small-town residential street at 3 a.m., but I want her to have some basic protection against getting picked up."

"You don't believe in the immigration laws?" Earl said.

"Actually, I do," I told him. "I don't see anything wrong with protecting our borders and regulating entry into the country."

"But they don't apply to you and yours?" Earl said.

"Sure, they apply. On the other hand, if the laws were applied appropriately, somebody in Margarita's situation would be entitled to special consideration. I mean, the girl was being held prisoner down there, Earl!"

"OK, OK. Maybe you're right. Anyway, right or wrong, you know we're not going to make any kind of fuss. Carol and I really like this girl, and she's become a friend."

"Thanks, partner. You don't have to worry, I'm not going to get into the Coyote business on a full-time basis. Margarita is my one-and-only venture into smuggling."

"I was you, I'd pork her, though," Earl said. "That little girl is the juiciest thing I've seen since I was stationed in Germany, back in the Army."

"With a fine woman like Carol at home, it shouldn't even be occurring to you that you'd like to get frisky with a kid like Margarita," I said.

"I said 'if I was you, '" Earl answered. "Since I ain't you, I've got all I can say grace over, right here at home."

"Well, if I was you, and had Carol at home, I might just pork her! --How's that?"

"Hell, Jeremiah, me 'n Carol have both known for years that you'd like to tear off a piece. Hell, I don't even fault you for it! You wouldn't be a man, if you didn't notice what a babe my Carol is!"

I know I blushed deep red when Earl said that.

But there was no denying it. I had been a Carol Turner admirer since the first day I'd been introduced to her by Earl, all those years ago.

"Too bad for you we ain't into swappin'," Earl said. "Sometimes I get the definite impression that ol' Carol wouldn't exactly run and hide, if you was to offer to slip her a little pipe!"

"That ain't gonna happen, Earl," I said. "But I might as well tell you, straight out, I've thought about it, more than once, over the years."

"'Course you have!" Earl said, pounding me on the back in an awkward but effective gesture of friendship. "Just like I've pictured myself there, between the legs of that little girl of yours -- even if she is only 18 years old!"

"She's not even 18 -- yet," I said.

"No, but she's gonna be, in a couple' weeks," Earl said. "And from what I hear, she's probably gonna rape you, on her birthday!"

"We don't have any plans for her birthday beyond cake and ice cream," I said.

"That ain't the way I heard it."

Carol called me at home a few days later. Earl and I were scheduled to go out together in the rig that afternoon. We were deadheading to Dallas, where we'd pick up a load for Cincinnati, Ohio. From there, we had another deadhead run to Toledo, followed by a delivery to Salt Lake City.

We'd be gone for a spell.

"You're not scheduled to get back here until sometime early in August," Carol said.

"Right. Probably around the 6^th -- 7^th -- in there."

"Yeah, well. Margarita's birthday is August 6^th," Carol said.

"I know. I've already talked to her about it. We're going to have you and Earl and the kids over to the house, for a little party, when we get back."

"Jeremiah, that little girl is looking for you to make love to her, the minute she hits 18."