*****
There was a sound like a cat drowning in a large pool of pudding and an almighty, nasty, eye watering, stench filled the squad car.
Deputy Thomas Holmes looked over at the captain who was adjusting himself and his good size belly behind the steering wheel of the squad car and wondered if the man might need a roll of toilet paper.
Captain Brett Wyatt laughed at the deputy and then chuckled as he asked, “Was that you?” with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his middle-aged face.
The deputy unrolled his window as the cruiser idled by the turn off for the Albuquerque Springs Trailer Park.
“Come on, Tommy, you need to cheer up. Look at the dawn and remember after we get done working with the jerks from ICE on the roundup you'll be off for the rest of the day. You can't beat that. A full day's pay for half a day spent chasing Mexicans around a valley.”
The deputy glanced up at the dawning light purple sky then at the empty highway. He had never been to the middle of nowhere before but recognized that at last he'd finally found it. It's almost cold this morning, Deputy Thomas Holmes thought as he zipped up his jacket and stared across the road at the store which hadn't opened yet.
Maybe after the roundup I could go in and get some cigarettes, he thought after pulling out his pack and stared at the last three he had. He wanted to light one up if for no other reason than to kill the captain's lingering fart aroma.
Deciding it would best save them for later, he tucked the pack of cigarettes back into his jacket pocket and looked at the fat man leaning back in the driver's seat with eyes half closed.
Captain Wyatt is a tough man to like, he decided while reaching for his coffee cup. “Okay, Brett, I’ve got to know why?” Holmes asked before taking a sip of his cold coffee.
With his eyes still shut, the captain chuckled softly and said, “Well son, when you get older the farts just slip out in all kinds of situations. Why, just last Sunday afternoon, I was at church bending over to pat Nanci Scarpullie's daughter on the head and one just flew out of me like a runaway freight-”
“No, I’m not talking about that. Why are we out here? Why is Immigration Customs Enforcement sending a squad all the way out here, to literally the middle of nowhere, to round up a bunch of illegal’s when you can't swing a dead cat back in town and not slap off a dozen sombreros?”
Brett laughed. It was a phlegmatic unpleasant sound which quickly dissolved into a coughing fit that lasted several seconds. He leaned forward, spit into his empty coffee cup and smiled at his young partner before saying, “Boy, you don't know anything do you? That pompous old prick, Keck, was in the Sheriff's office all afternoon Friday and then again first thing on Monday morning bitching about the poor guys down in the valley.” Gesturing with his middle finger he pointed down the deserted road.
“The sheriff sent Keck to me and I got to listen to him too. Stupid bastard sat right in front of me swearing like a drunken piece of shit about how more than a third of his workers- illegal workers that is- haven't been going to work since last Thursday.
So I says to him, have they broken any laws other than sneaking across the border and stealing jobs from real Americans, that is? I wish I'd taken his picture when his face turned red. I swear it looked like a fresh vine ripe tomato.
Then he gets all pissy and starts telling me either I go arrest them or he'll go see a buddy of his who works at ICE and get the whole pack of them kicked out of the country. I guess, for no other reason than to keep the other illegal immigrants he employs from wandering off the job too. As if I could give a shit about what he did.”
Holmes looked confused, started to speak and then appeared more confused. “So why are we here? Why does ICE need us for a roundup? Don't they do that all the time?”
Brett sighed and gazed out at the empty highway and said, “I am here because the Sheriff is a good buddy of Keck's and I pissed off the walking, talking, suit wearing, pompous, asshole. You are here because regulations dictate it. But here's the real reason we’re sitting out here freezing our sorry butts off. Washington won't build a damn wall. So any stinking bastard that has a sense of direction and a desire to ramble can wander into my country.”
Oh shit, Thomas thought, why can't I learn to keep my mouth shut?
The captain was building up speed as he continued a sermon he'd preached at least once a week since he started working in Albuquerque.
“Washington doesn't give a baby mouse fart in a hurricane who wanders into our country.
Could just be good old Pedro looking for work, or could be some of Goddamned Osama Bin Laden's buddies with a few canisters of some biological crap that will melt the faces off the God fearing taxpayers of this once great country. It could be a pack of drug dealers setting out to destroy the freckle faced, apple pie eating, mother loving, kids of America. Who knows? It could be a hoard of fucking monsters from planet Poopsilon Six, trotting across the sands of New Mexico. Hell, there could be anything wandering out of the badlands of Mexico. Shambling around looking to-”
“Is that the ICE bus?” Thomas interrupted as Brett paused for air.
The captain glanced down the deserted county road and spotted a long gray bus coming toward them as the early morning sun glinted off the windshield.
“Yep, you go on out and see what’s what,” Wyatt said as he reached and unhooked the car's handset microphone. “Albuquerque HQ, this is Captain Wyatt, come in.” He waited a few seconds and tried again while watching Thomas wave the bus to stop as it made the turn off the county road. “Albuquerque HQ, this is the handsome and ever heroic Captain Brett Wyatt, come in. Over.”
There was a burst of static followed by Lieutenant Bo Autry's voice. “Go ahead, Wyatt.”
“Captain Lopez asked me to check in when we were ready to head into the valley. He said communications might get dicey once we’re down in there. Anyway our friends with the RV just pulled in. So, I'm just passing along the good news that we're just about to roll in.”
“Did you pack your running shoes?” Bo's chuckling voice asked.
“That would be a negative. I'm strictly a management type. Deputy Holmes will get the exercise if there’s any need for it.”
Over by the bus, Thomas waved for Wyatt to come over.
“I’ve got to head over for the pregame meeting, Bo. See you in a few hours, over and out.”