Zero Ave 1998: Chapter Thirty Seven- California Combine
(This chapter is part of a series. Click here to read chapter thirty six.)
The California heat bears down on the air conditioned rental car while James and Steve inch through traffic on the 10 Highway in Los Angeles. Steve stares out of the passenger window at gang graffiti scribbled on a cement wall and wonders if he could’ve survived the neighborhoods that live behind them. Here, in Southern California, the Bloods, Crips and MS-13 street gangs reign supreme through brutal acts of non-stop violence. There’s no rhyme or reason to it all, it’s just a continuous cycle; gun shots and dead bodies in retribution for another murder that was retribution for yet another and so on. It’s a far cry from the military like structure of James’ organization, and a culture shock after landing at LAX airport less than an hour ago.
“You ever been to Los Angeles?” James asks his bewildered sidekick.
“Once when I was a kid. I went to Disneyland with my aunt,” Steve mutters, his attention fixed on the palm trees that reach beyond the height of the concrete barrier.
“Kinda strange, isn’t it?” James comments, observing Steve’s curiosity. “The palm trees make it seem like paradise is waiting. But then you get down there and it’s just misery.”
Strange is putting it lightly. This entire month has been a twisting web of mind fuckery. Weaving through traffic in a foreign country with a drug lord is the most normal situation Steve’s been a part of since this all began.
“Yeah,” he mumbles before peeling his eyes away from the spray painted warning sign. “So is Giorgio meeting us down here?”
“No,” James replies. “Giorgio has some issues with the FBI. He can’t cross the border.”
“Huh,” Steve grumbles, quietly puzzled. “I thought you’d bring Giorgio or Chico and Hodgie with us. You know, just in case.”
James smiles at Steve’s naivety.
“No, it’s just me and you, kid. Trust me, if the people we’re meeting wanted me dead I wouldn’t have made it onto the plane.”
Steve returns his gaze to the passenger window as the danger of the company he’s keeping once again settles in.
“You know,” James continues, sensing Steve’s apprehension. “Chico and Hodgie’s father was one of my first friends when I came to Canada. Big Polynesian man with fists the size of cinder blocks. Got me out of more than a few jams in my early days. The boys were football players- got scholarships to play college ball in the States and everything. Chico was drafted into the NFL but he ripped his knee in half during his first season and got cut. Kaiko died shortly after Chico came home. I promised him I’d take care of the boys when he was gone.”
James pauses before revealing a secret.
“They’re good boys, but they ain’t no killers. They do what I tell them and they’ll crack a head if I say so, but mostly they’re just for appearances and small things I need done.”
Steve recalls watching Chico drag Vince to his execution and shudders at the thought of his murder being considered a ‘small thing.’
“What’s that movie with the dog who’s trying to get to heaven?” James asks.
“All Dogs Go To Heaven?” Steve guesses.
James chuckles, “Yeah. That one. I’ve caught Hodgie crying to that one in my office a few times.”
Steve lets out a snicker that builds into laughter at the absurdity of this entire reality he’s now making a home in. The idea of a man as menacing as Hodgie crying over a children’s movie is the cherry on top of a swirling pile of confusion. Nothing makes sense anymore, and why should it? What sanity can possibly exist in the realm of international drug smuggling? Surely every person involved must have some odd quirk or screws loose in order to stomach the immorality they engage in daily.
James turns off on an exit while Steve regains his composure.
“We’re gonna go to Melrose and get you a suit before we check in at the hotel,” James informs his young apprentice. “This place we’re going tonight, it’s called a quinceanera. It’s a birthday party for the daughter of an old friend. This friend we’re meeting; he’s the big one. He’s the only person you will ever be required to impress, so tonight be on your best behavior. Lots of smiles and eyes forward.”
Crimson light fills the window in Jada’s bedroom while she sits on the edge of the bed trying to catch her breath. Ever since the shooting at Jimmy’s Bar she’s been suffering through paralyzing anxiety attacks and bouts of depression. Lately, she’s been using alcohol to numb her anxiousness and the vodka shakes in her glass when her hand twitches with every beat of her racing heart. Oddly, this is has occurred during one of the most hopeful periods in her life; a regular spot at Diamonds and a prospective relationship with a new man have ushered her into an era of relative positivity. She’s been through much worse than a narrow miss of a few bullets, and by all accounts should feel grateful that she avoided the same fate as Joe.
But the mountain of unpaid bills on the kitchen table have been weighing on her troubled mind for a week now and she can barely stand without feeling intense vertigo. She has to go back to work tonight and is unsure if she can make it through a series of private dances let alone a feature dance on stage. If she were to fall or throw up- an unfortunate side effect of the concussion- the embarrassment would be too much to live down. Even just the slightest bit of light causes her head to ache and spin, and a club full of fluorescent lazer beams isn’t the ideal setting at this time, but she has no other option.
The main source of her anxiety and depression though, has been the loss of control over her life. After years of being abused and shuffling between homeless shelters she developed an obsession with control, and it was for this reason she rarely ever flirted with the 9–5 working world. She needed to be in command of every aspect of her existence; totally free to design her life as she wished. She could never be on someone else’s clock or at their beck and call, and at times where she felt like she wasn’t solely guiding her own trajectory, she would recoil and vacate the space immediately. For her, sex work was perfect because control was within her grasp at all times, despite the many scenarios in which she was violated.
Bitterness floods Jada’s mouth when she takes swig from her glass. She chokes back the liquid and lets out a guttural grunt as the vodka burns her throat and carries the heat into her stomach. She sets the glass on her night stand before the deadbolt on the front door turns and unlocks. The sound of sneakers being kicked off and rolling on the ground tell her Richie is home. He always sounds exactly the same.
“Hi, honey,” Jada shouts from her bedroom, the sound of her voice causing an uncomfortable thump in her head.
Richie’s heavy feet stomp down the hallway and into the dimly lit room.
“Hey, mom,” he says softly, walking around the bed and sitting next to her.
“Are you ok?” Jada asks after kissing Richie on his temple.
“Yeah,” he answers quietly before resting his head on her tiny shoulder. “I think so.”
“You’ll be ok, baby,” Jada assures him, wrapping her arm around his neck. “One day at a time.”
Richie sniffs the air around his mother’s mouth, the stench of vodka invading her breath.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Just one,” Jada confesses. “I have to go back to work tonight.”
Steve adjusts his tie while James hands the rental car key to the valet. He can count the number of times he’s worn a suit on one hand, and this is his first experience wearing one that actually fits. Although it was purchased off the rack and was not tailored to his exact measurements, the expensive cotton feels luxurious against his skin. It’s a feeling he could get used to.
“Looks good on you,” James says when he catches Steve admiring his reflection in a window. “Next time we’ll get you something tailored.”
James passes through the doors of the massive banquet hall with Steve trailing closely behind. Inside, hundreds of well-dressed guests move about while children play tag in the lobby. The crowd is mostly Mexican with a handful of white and black guests peppered in. Steve peers through the doors to the main room and spots a girl wearing a pink gown with a diamond encrusted tiara and a medallion of the Virgin Mary around her neck. She’s surrounded by a group of boys and is enjoying the attention.
“It’s her fifteenth birthday,” James explains, speaking closely into Steve’s ear over the noise from the crowd. “The party is to celebrate her transition into womanhood.”
“Jimmy!” a voice calls out from the crowd, disrupting Steve’s crash course in Mexican culture.
James turns and faces the familiar voice as an older Mexican man maneuvers his way through the flow of partygoers.
“Javi,” James says when he spots the man, his mouth curving into a smile.
The men embrace like long lost brothers and hold onto each other tightly, swaying back and forth.
“Jesus. Look at you,” Javier remarks when he leans back with his hand firmly gripped around James’ arm. He’s tall and muscular with a head of thick black hair. If it weren’t for the crow’s feet forming at the edges of his eyes and the deep wrinkles in his forehead, one could be fooled into believing he was 20 years younger than he actually is.
“Your hair is turning grey,” Javier laughs while his fingers caress James’ dreadlocks.
James laughs, “Yeah and I’m willing to bet there’s about ten pounds of dye in yours.”
“Hear no evil, see no evil, right?” Javier jokes, stepping back and running his hands over his hair. His pinstriped shirt and grey slacks are perfectly tailored to his stocky frame.
James rests his hand on Steve’s upper back and makes the introduction.
“Javi, this is Steven. Steven, Javier.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve says, leaning forward and shaking hands with the charismatic man.
“And you as well. Thank you for attending my daughter’s quinceanera,” Javier replies before letting out a high pitched whistle and beckoning a man standing in a nearby corner. The man is Alejandro, Javier’s lead guy in Washington State and the one who met Chinh on the dock just a few nights ago.
“Ale, please take Steven to his table,” Javier instructs him before turning back to Steve. “Jimmy and I just have a few things to discuss. Please make yourself comfortable and let Alejandro know if you need anything.”
Steve’s eyes quickly dart to James who gives his unspoken approval before reaching into his jacket and removing a pink envelope thick with cash.
“Ale, please put this with the others,” James requests, sliding the heavy envelope into Alejandro’s palm.
“No problem,” Alejandro says before gently pushing his hand against Steve’s back. “Steven, please come with me.”
Steve follows Alejandro into the main banquet area, which has been elegantly decorated with huge bouquets of flowers and sheer pink drapery hanging over the windows, accentuated by pink and white streamers and balloons. At the far end of the room is a table stacked high with gifts and thick envelopes in front of a dark wooden dance floor surrounded by circular tables with pink tablecloths and white rose centerpieces.
“Have you ever been to a quinceanera?” Alejandro asks Steve when they arrive at their table.
“No,” Steve answers, mesmerized by the beautifully decorated room. “It looks amazing though.”
Alejandro pulls a chair out for Steve who sits down and continues to marvel at the size of the celebration.
“It’s a pretty big deal for us,” Alejandro remarks as he observes Steve’s wonderment. “Do you drink?”
“Uh, yeah, a little,” Steve responds, unsure of the correct answer.
“Hold tight. I’m gonna get us some real Mexican tequila. None of that Jose Cuervo shit,” Alejandro promises before slipping into the crowd toward the bar.
Click.
The deadbolt slides into the doorframe of the women’s restroom.
“My guys just swept the room,” Javier says as he leans against the counter, referring to potential DEA listening devices.
“They never bug the women’s restroom, huh?” James remarks, propping himself up on the counter next to the sinks.
“Never. Too much gossip,” Javier chuckles. “So how are you doing?”
“Getting by,” James sighs, the world seemingly weighing down on his words. “I saw Estella when I came in. Last time I saw her she was just a baby.”
“I know,” Javier says. “She told me she didn’t want a quinceanera… Wanted me to send her on vacation instead. Can you believe it?”
“Times are changing,” James answers.
“They are,” Javier agrees. “By the way, I’m sorry about Manny. I would’ve came but these fucking feds… Everywhere I go-”
James interrupts, “No need to explain, brother. I know we were in your thoughts and that’s all that matters. Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Javier says. “Did you catch the fucking pigs who did it?”
“I did,” James reveals frankly.
“Good. I hope the fuckers burn in hell,” Javier responds in approval before abruptly changing the subject. “Are you gonna see your brother while you’re in town?”
James shakes his head. After all these years the mention of his estranged older sibling still stings.
“No. It’s gonna be a short trip.”
James’ friendship with Javier dates back to the early 1960’s when they were nickel and dime weed dealers in Inglewood, California. Best friends throughout high school, Javier was an aggressive teenager with an entrepreneurial spark while James was a free spirit inclined to follow Javier into his high risk endeavors for the sheer purpose of seeing where they would lead. James’ true ambition was to own a small blues club in West Hollywood, and after high school he attended Antioch College in pursuit of a degree in business administration and accounting while Javier slowly climbed the ladder in LA’s underworld, eventually landing within the ranks of Mexico’s Gulf Cartel.
Shortly after completing college, James was one of the first young men drafted into the US Army on December 1st, 1969. He arrived in Vietnam on July 17th, 1970 and returned to Los Angeles in August, 1971 after his first and only tour of duty.
During this period, Javier became known as a feared bodyguard and hitman for cartel bosses and had begun to inherit their drug distribution networks when they were imprisoned, deported or assassinated. By the time James arrived home in 1971, Javier had developed a massive network that spanned as far as New York and Delaware, and was a specialist in smuggling marijuana, cocaine and heroin.
James, however, was determined to be a legitimate business owner and had grown apart from Javier as a result of his lifestyle. Although they maintained contact, their friendship had become strained in the months after his return when they found themselves following separate paths.
Then on January 1st, 1972, James’ mother and younger brother were murdered by a police officer at a routine traffic stop in the Watts neighborhood of Southern Los Angeles. Details surrounding the murder were never made public, but 3 days later the police officer responsible was gunned down in front of his home in Tarzana. Although no suspects were ever captured, witnesses reported seeing 2 Mexican men with submachine guns firing on the officer as he was retrieving a newspaper from his driveway.
Less than a month after the murders James immigrated to Canada; seeking asylum as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War and citing a fear of redeployment as his motivation. Soon after he was granted asylum he reestablished contact with Javier and began smuggling small amounts of marijuana into the country.
The truth about James and his empire is that it was one crafted out of necessity rather than a drive to succeed. Once he found himself on the other side of the border he reverted to what he knew, and slowly but surely, year after year, he utilized his college education and military experience to build one of the most structurally sound organizations ever conceived- brick by reluctant brick.
