Four Days On a Trail of Tears

Day 1 -- Courier

M. Stanley Bubien

The farmer handed her two bags and the money.

As she hobbled for her meeting with the boy, she rubbed her stomach, focusing on the baby within. Her sandals kicked up dust, which the wind swirled around like a storm, making her feel as though it were drawing the whole village's attention.

Forgetting her baby, her eyes darted back and forth searching for Federalis.

She took a breath, forcing herself to think about something else. The money. Yes, the money---exactly what she needed to help start her baby's life right. A huge risk, she knew---three months wage against twenty years in jail---but the farmer had pointed out her advantage.

Who would expect a pregnant courier?

She stepped behind the kiln. The boy was waiting. He held out his hand, and she removed the bags of Coca leaves. As she gave one over, a whistle blew, and the boy darted away, still holding the bag. Voices called out. A Federali sprinted past.

Before she could run, an arm wrapped around her waist and held her fast.

The officer snatched away the second bag of Coca leaves. He spun her around, but froze, realizing for the first time that she was pregnant. With sunken features, he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her eyes, and his fingers came away moist.

She kept her gaze toward the ground, hearing his groan and his grip crushing the bag. Silently, reluctantly, he beckoned. Without resistance, she followed as he slowly led her toward the jail.

Day 2 -- Smuggler

M. Stanley Bubien

My first mistake was forgetting to ask the size of our load. My second was realizing it as the Coast Guard boarded our bucket.

I leaned toward Raul and asked, "How much we carrying?"

He answered in Spanish.

"Not enough!" I said. "We're the damned decoy! Takin' the rap while the real shipment slides through---" I cut myself short. The officers were asking to inspect our freezer.

I slapped Raul on the shoulder and slid below. Peering into the refrigerated hold, I began pulling bricks from the piles of fish, stuffing them into my pack, and once I had about twenty kees, I headed forward.

Popping back through the bulkhead, I faced Raul's knife.

My heart sank. Raul and I had bonded on this trip. The last thing I wanted was to hurt him---this haul was already enough of a disaster.

"Please," I pleaded. "You can even come along."

His brow raised---but only for an instant. He frowned and began passing his knife from hand to hand.

No choice.

Before he could flinch, my gun appeared and three cartridges unloaded into his chest. His body thumped onto the deck at my feet.

I was speeding away in the skiff as pandemonium broke out. I sighed. That much pure cocaine in the freezer would keep them very busy---too busy to chase one escapee. I caressed my pack, happy to have salvaged something.

But against my will, I found myself wondering how many other bodies would be thumping against the deck before it was over.

Day 3 -- Dealer

M. Stanley Bubien

The Mexican sat bolt upright when my housemate walked in.

"Hey," I greeted John. Lifting my face from the mirror, I waved the rolled-up fifty at the Mexican and continued our conversation. "You like it, so let's talk money." I unveiled my stash.

The Mexican remained silent, scowling in John's direction.

"Him?" I asked, pointing the fifty at John. "He's harmless. Doesn't even touch the stuff."

The Mexican grunted, "No deal. No. He no aqui."

"C'mon," I said. "He knows he doesn't get a cut. No profit. No coke. Just a break in the rent."

"I don't care what you guys do," John confirmed. "I only live here."

The Mexican addressed him with the same scowl, "Jew know. He go down, you go down. Even'f jew no done no thin'."

"Look," John told him. "Just do what you're here to do and leave me out of it."

Hand in jacket, the Mexican replied in perfect English, "I can't do that." With those words, he pulled a gun and yelled, "You're both under arrest." Our door exploded and in an instant we were surrounded by cops and guns.

They'd hauled John away before the Mexican spoke to me again. "I tried to warn your friend," he said. "If he'd left, the courts'd be more lenient. Now I'm gonna have to tell them he was aiding and abetting a felon."

He scowled hard and shook his head. "A pretty high price he's paying for you."

All I could do was stare at his back as he walked away

Based on a true story.