Lines and shadows by Joseph Wambaugh Page B
Authors: Joseph Wambaugh
Tags: Fiction, General, Social Science, Mystery & Detective, True Crime, California, Undercover operations, Alien labor, Foreign workers, San Diego, Mexican, Mexicans, Police patrol, Border patrols
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bolster flagging media interest. He still believed totally in his experiment. He knew that given time he could curtail the bandits and save many people much anguish and death.
And he got what he was looking for: a goddamn exploitable Christmas miracle , they called it At least one person would for the rest of her natural life believe that it was a real one. It was twenty minutes till midnight on the night of December 27th. Manny Lopez and fellow varsity members Tony Puente and Eddie Cervantes were freezing and flapping their arms and blowing steam as they walked on the American side of the Tijuana highway, which was separated from the United States of America at this point by the sorriest, hole-riddled, Erskine Caldwell wire fence they had ever seen. In fact, the fence was an insult . They figured that for a country that could put men on the moon, no fence would be infinitely more dignified than this one, for chrissake. It was cold; it was damp; it was boring . Only one thing made any sense at all. Pick up some brews and scotch and pack it in early. In fact, maybe pack it all in. Dick Snider was about the only police lieutenant any of them had ever really felt affection for, but let's face it, what were they doing that they could point to and say, "Look what we accomplished." They might as well be writing parking tickets.
It may have been a downbeat Christmas season for the Barfers but nothing like what it was for Rosa Lugo, who stood trembling on Monument Road holding the hand of her thirteenyear-old daughter, Esther, looking wistfully toward the land of silk and money. It was no doubt very difficult for Rosa Lugo to keep her teeth from chattering, because not only was it cold but also she was wrenched and frozen by fear. She had chosen this night to offer her file://C:\Documents and Settings\tim\Desktop\books to read\Wambaugh, Joseph - Lines a... 11/20/2009
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Page 55 of 256
daughter Esther a chance in life. They were going to cross, and maybe Christmas of next year would be a different story.
One thing sure, it took more than a little nerve just to be there in the darkness on the highway, owning nothing but the skirt on her body and a nondescript faded poncho, shivering in the sudden gusts which perhaps blew hard enough to make her hip-length braid shoot out like an arrow, an arrow pointing north like an omen. The logical place to cross was through a big drainage pipe five hundred yards east of the intersection of Monument Road and Dairy Mart Road on the U.S. side. The tunnel was a popular place for pollos to duck across the line, which was slightly more than imaginary at this place because of that dilapidated wire fence. The tunnel was a place where human beings squatted, hunkered, crawled, waited, urinated and defecated from fear and tension and sickness.
And where bandits lurked.
There were twenty men waiting in that drainage tunnel for a guide who never came. It was not just a cold night; it was a clear night, not velvet-black but hard-black. Sea wind blew away the Tijuana smoke and San Diego overcast, and the night sky shone down on crossing aliens, making life a bit easier for the Border Patrol. It was one of those nights when the moonlight in the canyons and hills, and on the west side of 1-5 here by the asparagus field, made shadows hard-black like anthracite. And the drainage tunnel was so black inside that it was easier to smell the presence of another human being than to see him. And that was possibly the most fearful thing. To be there inside the pipe, in the darkness that was far blacker than the night, and to smell another human being you could not see, could not hear.
Rosa Lugo of course wanted to turn and run from the tunnel the moment she smelled the first human beings. But she was undeniably brave, and though her hands were no doubt drenched, she held her daughter's ever tighter and crept forward into the black void toward the smell and hot breath of human beings.
It turned out that there
And he got what he was looking for: a goddamn exploitable Christmas miracle , they called it At least one person would for the rest of her natural life believe that it was a real one. It was twenty minutes till midnight on the night of December 27th. Manny Lopez and fellow varsity members Tony Puente and Eddie Cervantes were freezing and flapping their arms and blowing steam as they walked on the American side of the Tijuana highway, which was separated from the United States of America at this point by the sorriest, hole-riddled, Erskine Caldwell wire fence they had ever seen. In fact, the fence was an insult . They figured that for a country that could put men on the moon, no fence would be infinitely more dignified than this one, for chrissake. It was cold; it was damp; it was boring . Only one thing made any sense at all. Pick up some brews and scotch and pack it in early. In fact, maybe pack it all in. Dick Snider was about the only police lieutenant any of them had ever really felt affection for, but let's face it, what were they doing that they could point to and say, "Look what we accomplished." They might as well be writing parking tickets.
It may have been a downbeat Christmas season for the Barfers but nothing like what it was for Rosa Lugo, who stood trembling on Monument Road holding the hand of her thirteenyear-old daughter, Esther, looking wistfully toward the land of silk and money. It was no doubt very difficult for Rosa Lugo to keep her teeth from chattering, because not only was it cold but also she was wrenched and frozen by fear. She had chosen this night to offer her file://C:\Documents and Settings\tim\Desktop\books to read\Wambaugh, Joseph - Lines a... 11/20/2009
dummy1
Page 55 of 256
daughter Esther a chance in life. They were going to cross, and maybe Christmas of next year would be a different story.
One thing sure, it took more than a little nerve just to be there in the darkness on the highway, owning nothing but the skirt on her body and a nondescript faded poncho, shivering in the sudden gusts which perhaps blew hard enough to make her hip-length braid shoot out like an arrow, an arrow pointing north like an omen. The logical place to cross was through a big drainage pipe five hundred yards east of the intersection of Monument Road and Dairy Mart Road on the U.S. side. The tunnel was a popular place for pollos to duck across the line, which was slightly more than imaginary at this place because of that dilapidated wire fence. The tunnel was a place where human beings squatted, hunkered, crawled, waited, urinated and defecated from fear and tension and sickness.
And where bandits lurked.
There were twenty men waiting in that drainage tunnel for a guide who never came. It was not just a cold night; it was a clear night, not velvet-black but hard-black. Sea wind blew away the Tijuana smoke and San Diego overcast, and the night sky shone down on crossing aliens, making life a bit easier for the Border Patrol. It was one of those nights when the moonlight in the canyons and hills, and on the west side of 1-5 here by the asparagus field, made shadows hard-black like anthracite. And the drainage tunnel was so black inside that it was easier to smell the presence of another human being than to see him. And that was possibly the most fearful thing. To be there inside the pipe, in the darkness that was far blacker than the night, and to smell another human being you could not see, could not hear.
Rosa Lugo of course wanted to turn and run from the tunnel the moment she smelled the first human beings. But she was undeniably brave, and though her hands were no doubt drenched, she held her daughter's ever tighter and crept forward into the black void toward the smell and hot breath of human beings.
It turned out that there
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