The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 16

The secret out; Vasquez’s shame hangs in the air like a thick bitter sap. He tries to read Veronica’s face for her reaction, but can’t identify the emotion behind her hazel eyes. She reaches for the Polaroid picture that Vasquez set down between them. She was afraid to touch it at first. Worried that as soon as she did, the reality of his story would hit her like a speeding train. As she confirms her younger self, Garret looks over her shoulder at the photograph. “Wow. You were a beautiful little girl.”

“Thanks,” utters Veronica. A tear falls down her cheek as the familiarity of the photo’s background makes her homesick. Aside from the shag carpeting that was replaced with linoleum flooring, her grandmother’s house has not changed much. She wipes the tear away quickly and shoots a glare at Vasquez.

“Do you know that I grew up on food stamps? That I had to watch my mother cry in shame when she couldn’t afford to buy me new shoes for school? That we the only thing we unwrapped at Christmas was tamales?” Veronica’s voice begins rising to a scream. “You fucker! You live in luxury. Private helicopter, tapestry covered walls, and fine tailored suits, and I am struggling to send money monthly to provide the bare minimum!” Veronica ninja-stars the Polaroid photo at Vasquez’s face and it bounces off his forehead. Veronica burst into sobs. “You weren’t there. You were never there. Screw your picture. Your sad story. Vasquez, power and money can’t get you out of the fact that you aren’t anything but a common dead beat dad.” Veronica, composes herself, stands up, and walks to the door. “Fuck all of this. I am out of here. Make them stop me. Have them shoot me in the back as I storm out. A coward like you would do something like that.” Veronica swings the door open to find a long tunnel in front of her.

“Please, Veronica. We are in a very remote area. At the chance you figure out the complex labyrinth of tunnels and get above ground, there isn’t anything for miles. You’d die of dehydration under that intense desert sun. Please sit down.”

Garret stands up and slowly walks up to Veronica. Tenderly hugs her and whispers in her ear, “You are an incredible woman and when this is all over I want to start fresh and be in your life. Please stay. We have to play this right. Be smart and stay cool.” Veronica nods and nudges past Garret as he whispers in her other ear, “By the way, telling off Vasquez was a total turn on.”
Veronica shoots Garret a sly smile, returns back to her seat, and asks plainly, “Where is Jay?”

“He will join us in a few minutes. However, before he arrives I’d like to proposition you two with a deal. Garret, Chulo informed me that you have made some grave mistakes in your dealings with my organization.”

Garret’s mouth dries up, “Sir, I am aware things did not go smoothly…”

“What I want to know, Garret.” Vasquez interrupts, “Is what you would have done differently.”

Garret searches for an answer. He is aware that that a bad answer could cost him his life. “Well sir, honestly, I’d of had Jay…”

Just then the door is busted open by El Chulo. His lip split open and a wilt forming above his left eye he yells in, “Number 2 has gotten away!”

“How can this be? Oh never mind. He won’t get far. Get my blood hounds and a group of ten of your best men,” Vasquez looks at Veronica and Garret, “We’ll continue when I return.” He rushes out the door and they hear the lock click them in.

“Fuck, Jay is in trouble!” Says Garret as he rushes to the door to try to open it/
“How do you know?”

“I got to make out an impression his ring made on El Chulos forehead. I am assuming ‘Number2’ is secret code for him since he works for me. Shit. We need to help him.”

Veronica stands up and looks around the room. “Well, we are in some kind of under ground bunker, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Then they have to have a ventilation system.” Veronica reaches for the tapestry and pulls it off, exposing a large vent underneath. She reaches up and pops the cover off. “After you?”

“You’re crazy. What do you think we are, the A-team? Let me tell you, this is real life. We don’t know where that leads to.”

Veronica pops her hip and gives him an expression that reads: Really asshole? You got a better idea?

“OK. You’re right. Let me go in first.”

Garret pulls himself up and turns around to hoist Veronica in after him. The vent is large enough for them to be able to crawl on all fours as they maneuver through.
“I don’t even know if it is night or day.”

“Day. I see natural sun light ahead. Bad news. There is a huge industrial fan at the end.”

Veronica and Garret close in on the fan. “We need to jam it.” Veronica reaches under her shirt and does a maneuver that wiggles her out of her bra and she pulls it out of her sleeve. “Can we work with this? Maybe you can use the underwire.”
“Oh my god that was hot. You are just full of ideas.” Garret grabs the bra and pulls out the metal underwire from each cup. He twists them together to make it stronger and carefully slips it between the blades. The fan halts and jerks to get free.

“This won’t hold for long, hurry.”

They wiggle their way through and quickly move towards a Jeep parked a few feet away. Veronica and Garret both head for the drivers side. “I am driving,” declares Veronica.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes I am. One, you know Jay better and you would be better at spotting him. Two, I grew up in Arizona. I have been off-roading and driving quads since I was 15.”
“Good point.”

As Garret runs around to the passenger side, a bullet hits the car. Garret gets in as Veronica franticly grabs the key from the visor and starts the car. She peels out as they hear shouts from men announcing that they had escaped.

“We don’t have a lot of time before they are on our ass.”

Veronica turns sharply on a dirt road and busts through a gate. Garret looks in the back seat for a gun and turns up with a berretta.

“Not ideal but the best we got. It’s loaded…shit! Look ahead!

Four SUVs barrel down the road blocking their way and forcing Veronica into a game of chicken. Veronica breaks hard, kicks it into reverse, driving backwards at top speed as she swings it into a small side road she noticed a few hundred yards back. Not expecting her change of direction they drive past her, and she turns back on the main drag leaving them driving in the wrong direction.

A helicopter flies directly above them and follows Veronica’s every move. A small Cb radio sounds off in the jeep.

-Veronica, it is your… it is Vasquez. You have worn my patience. Stop the jeep.
Garret picks up the radio and talks into it. “Vasquez, I got an answer to your question. The one thing I would have done differently is I wish I had taken Veronica on a date. Just a date. No deals. No agendas. No drugs. I love her.”

Veronica looks at Garret. “You do?”

Just then the jeep hits a mound of dirt on the right side of the jeep and it flips over 3 times before coming to a halt.

Insults on a Plane: What Would Samuel L. Jackson Do?

A couple of months ago, in April, I went to Guadalajara Mexico to visit my very dear friend Josadac (Jojo). I really enjoyed my visit. We explored the city and caught up. Essentially it was 8 days of us soaking up as much quality time as possible since we live so far from each other now. It was great but like all great things, my visit concluded and I headed back home and to life.

The day of my return trip I knew I would be faced with a grueling day of travel. It was during swine-flu mania and I was sure since I was traveling from Mexico I’d be faced with one hold up after another. However, to my surprise, other then being head up in Dallas for two hours I didn’t hit any major snags. That is, until one of the most awkward traveling experiences I have ever had happened on my last flight.

Like I mentioned, we were held up in Dallas for two hours because of a thunder storm. Everyone was irate. Personally, I hate turbulence. I was more then happy to wait for it to pass. Give me clear skies. I’ll wait all night. We were finally given clearance to board, and like animals, everyone rushed to get on the plane. I rolled my eyes and waited for the stampede to clear and I sat back down. As soon as I felt the line had gone down I began to board the plane. Now I should say that whenever I travel I make prior arrangements to always get the aisle seat. I am prone to motion sickness and middle/window seats do nothing but excite my condition. So on my last flight, tired, and ready to go home, I worked my way down the aisle to find a young lady sitting in my seat hold the hand of the young man next to her. They must have been about 19-21 years old, wearing pajamas (pajama travelers are one of my biggest pet peeves, but that is a whole ‘nother blog) and giggling about some inside joke.

“Um,” I interrupt, “You are in my seat.”

The young couple shoots glances at each other and although I was only addressing the girl, her boyfriend speaks on her behalf.

“She was, um, wondering if you would trade seats with her.”

Open to hearing them out I respond with, “What seat do you have?”

“30b.”

First of all, “30” is in the back of the plane, which will not do. It is loud back there and people stand around you waiting to use the restroom. No. Second, “b”, as in the middle of “a” and “c”, is a middle seat and I can’t do middle, especially since I went out of my way to make arrangements for the aisle seat.

“Mmm, actually I do…”

In a flash the girl’s sweet and coy disposition turns to fury. She snaps her neck at the young man and yells, “See Kevin! I told you she wouldn’t! You are such an asshole! You are such a fucking asshole! Thanks a lot!” Totally making a scene, she grabs her things and storms off to the back of the bus and with an unspoken sense of duty Kevin follows behind her. Now here I am, awkwardly waiting for him to return since I can’t sit down until he does. He returns and sits down in the middle seat and I feel I should say something.

“I am really sorry. I get motion sickness and I have to sit in the aisle.”

“No, no, no. You don’t need to apologize.”

“You know, just because you’re a man that doesn’t mean you’re not in an abusive relationship,” I half joke with a nervous laugh. He looks at me and regards my statement as fact and turns away.

We settle in. I take out my magazine and wait for our take off. I hear them seal the door, the seat belt sign lights up, and we begin to move to the runway. Out of no where the girlfriend returns to our seat and says, “Obviously, no one else is boarding the plane. There isn’t anyone seating next to me. You can sit next to me now.” Her tone is more demand then request. Kevin looks at her, rolls his eyes, and settles deeper into his seat. Of course I am in the middle and I am frantically flipping through my magazine in an effort to escape from this awkward moment. She storms off and takes her seat.

The rest of my flight back home was pretty uneventful, but it got me thinking. How would that scenehave played out had it been a woman who was cussed out? Do we as society have more tolerance seeing a man in an abusive relationship?

I have to say this: at anytime a person disrespects you, belittles you, calls you names, and just plain sucks the life out of you, you are in an abusive relationship.

Abusive. Take the glorified connotation out of that word. Don’t think that just because you don’t live like Julia Roberts in Sleeping with the Enemy, that you are in a healthy relationship. The person you are coupled with should support you and highlight your life. Not weight you down with their oppressive demeanor.

I know I am not the relationship guru. All my relationships have ended disastrously. I would just like us all collectively agree to treat our partners with respect. Like I have always said, “You’ll be my king if you treat me like a Queen.”

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part II, Chapter 14

Click here for Chapter 13

After much confusion, a helicopter ride, and some shoving and pulling Veronica is lead to a cushioned chair and pushed down aggressively to take a seat. Still blind folded, Veronica hears whispers and strains to hear what is being said.

“Boss…touched her.”

“Take care of it…the boyfriend...she knows.”

“You sure?...messy…cops.”

“I don’t…leave…”

A long pause fills the room as her heart begins to race. The sound of her own blood pulsing through veins is the only sound she hears. A shift of movement shuffles around her. She senses they are preparing to finish her off.

“If you are going to kill me, can you do me the courtesy of taking off my blindfold? I’d like to see the face of my executer. Grant me the dignity of that, please.”

Just then Veronica feels someone gently untying her blindfold. Her heart races faster. This is it. I am going to die. As the blindfold is pulled away Veronica takes in the room. Windowless but ornately decorated. Veronica sits at the head of a long mahogany table. Beautiful tapestries cover the walls and an antique cabinet displays the most beautiful china. A man in his mid-sixties walks from behind her and sits adjacent to her. His salt and pepper hair contrast with his dark piercing eyes. He looks at Veronica as he shifts his weight in his seat and rests his elbow on the arm rest.

“Are you hungry?” the man asks with out emotion. Veronica is having a hard time reading him. His eyes, his body language, his tone—all are void of feeling.

“Where is Garret?”

“I am Vazquez,” he introduces, ignoring Veronica’s question. He leans over and presses the intercom on the table. “Victor, bring us some coffee and those Italian cookies.” A man walks in almost immediately and sets down a plate of exotic cookies and pours them each a cup of coffee.
“How do you take it?” asks Vazquez.

“To go.”

At this Vazquez reveals a smile. He takes in a sip of his coffee.

“Listen Vasquez, sir. I am very overwhelmed by all of this. Drugs, guns, helicopter flights—all of this is not my life.”

“Well, Veronica. This has very much become mine. And I have made myself a small fortune.”

“But at the cost of what? People’s lives?" Veronica swallows back tears, "Sir, where is Garret?”

“You like this boy. Why? He has exposed you to a lot of danger. A man that can not protect you does not deserve you. Remember I said that.”

“I’ll sow it onto a pillow so I’ll never forget.” Veronica is surprised by her own words. She knows she is playing with fire. A man like Vazquez is feared; not mocked.

“If you’re anything like your grandmother, your needle point is amazing.” Vazquez’s eyes dig into Veronica for a reaction.

“What do you know about my grandmother?” probes Veronica with a lump in her throat. She can handle herself but no one can touch her family.

“She makes the best tamales. Your mother could never get them right.” Vazquez looks down and examines his coffee. His face expresses that he is mulling over a memory. “Veronica, allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Vazquez and I am your father.”