The big man and his horse picked their way through the camouflaged tents next to the Santa Ana, his hat pulled low to hide his face against the sun. Dark grey tarps were covered with branches from the sagebrush. They blended well into the scrub. No red camping tents, no toys, no beach chairs gave away the illegals’ existence. Not even water bottles. They must leave the camp when they had to relieve themselves, he thought; the only thing he smelled was sage and river rot. The only thing he heard was the rippling of the river muffling the sound of thousands of cars overhead on the bridge.
He heard the faint cry and whistled a soft strain of an old lullaby. It was his calling card. He heard sobs. He looked away at the river.
A tent flap rustled down the row, and a thin, dark man slipped through the opening. The dark man looked up and down the row of brushed tarps. Over his shoulder. Anxious. Nervous.
“You him?” He brushed his oily hair from his eyes, and looked at the man with the duffle bag.
“If you’re looking for me,” the man lit a cigarette, “then I must be.” He exhaled. “You got the money?”
“I got part of it. I’m having a hard time getting work. You know how it is.” Again, the hands in the hair, then he rubbed his arms as though he were cold when it had to be a hundred degrees.
The man blew his smoke over his shoulder, thinking.
“Look, just take her today—“
Duffle bag man coughed and shook his head. He stared hard into the skinny man’s eyes.
“I mean, just do what you have to do today, and I’ll pay you the rest as soon as I can.” Dark, skinny man shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled a small folded packet of bills. “Here. Here’s all I got. You gotta help us, man. We don’t have a choice.”
“Nobody’s ever got a choice, and nobody’s ever got the money. Like I do this for my health. Like I’m not the one taking the big risk.You ain't got any other way to get rid of this “’little problem,” but you expect me to do it for free.” He dropped the duffle. “Shit.”
A tiny mewing floated from the tent. “Sh-sh-sh—momma loves you—sh-sh-sh.”
He dropped a worn duffle bag and pulled a small vial out of his coat pocket. “Here. Take the bag inside. Put a drop of this on its tongue before you put in the bag. It’ll keep it quiet.”
Skinny, dark man picked up the bag. “Thank you—“
“Just go. Take too long, and I’ll leave without it.”
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Inside the tent, the man held the dropper out to his wife. She shook her head no.
“Lisa, we got to do as he says. Hold her up.”
“No.” Her arms wrapped more tightly around the baby.
“We’ve talked about this, you know we got to. It’s best for her. It’s the only thing for us. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He drew up some fluid into the dropper and watched some drip back into the vial.” He leaned toward his child.
His wife's shoulders shook so with unshed sobs that her grip on the infant loosened so that he could reach the tiny girl’s lips and touch just a drop. “I’m gonna swaddle her up tight so that she’ll feel safe. Let me have her.” He placed his hand beneath the tiny head and cradled her in his arms. Stared into those dark, trusting eyes. It was like a knife to his gut, too, but he had to be strong. Keeping her would mean death. Her death, certainly, when she was discovered unregistered, unplanned. They’d seen it happen in the last place they’d made camp.
The rangers came through on horses trampling the tarps, destroying all their supplies. They had turned away when the rangers found an unregistered child. One scooped it up by a leg and rode away, the child screaming, banging against the side of the horse; then in the distance, they heard a shot and no more screaming. Who are the parents, the rangers roared, where are they? And the people had backed away one by one until only the couple stood in center of the horses’ ring. The man pushed his woman behind him.
“It’s not her fault. Take—“ Two shots. Two different guns. Judge, jury, executioner. Everyone held their screams. They had all known it was coming. Even the horses didn’t jump.
The ranger who’d carried away the child came back alone. “All right, all right. Looks like we’re done here for now. I expect this place cleaned up and cleared out by dark or there won’t be anyone left to do it. Understood?”
The people nodded.
“Let’s go.” The horses stepped over the bodies like they were logs.
The dark man didn’t want to remember that. He wanted to believe this man would take her to a safe place where she’d be cared for. He held his child close and rubbed her face with his, breathing in her sweet baby smell.
“Kiss her one more time, Lisa.” She shook her head no and fell into a crumpled blanket on the ground.
The man outside coughed.
The skinny, dark man zipped up the duffle and crawled from the tent. “It’s a no-kill shelter, isn’t it?” He stood with the duffle held in his arms instead of the handle.
“Sure. Don’t worry about it.” The big man grabbed the duffle, slung its long strap over his shoulder, and . Once he got the bag, he always left quickly. Too much time attracted attention, and it didn’t do the parents any good to stare at the duffle bag. Best they got used to it as quickly as possible.
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Half a mile away, he slowed down. He’d picked out a spot on the way out in a ravine in a bunch of sagebrush. Faint muffled cries came from the bag. He always pondered whether to leave the duffle or take it out but he needed the duffle for the next trip. Too bad about leaving it under the sage. The heat would take care of it, then the animals would make it disappear. He pulled up, eased off his horse, and walked over to the largest sage in the group. He never looked at a baby when he took it out, even when he pulled off the blanket. It was already naked. It was best not to leave anything behind that might lead back to him. It wasn’t a baby to him as long as he didn’t look at it. Still, he placed it gently on the ground beneath the brush and gave it a pat before he jumped on his horse and raced away.