Mel thinks a guy should tell this part of the story, someone with a macho perspective. Well, I usually make an effort NOT to be macho, but I know what she means and can understand how she's squeamish about describing what happened. Mierda, so am I, but it needs to be told. And I'm the guy who understands the language and culture best, I suppose. So here's the scene: we're motoring along Carretera 95 between Chilpancingo and Iguala, heading for Taxco, planning to be overnight tourists in that famous silver-mine town; it's early afternoon on a nice bright Sunday but there's a fair deal of traffic anyway-- so we're not all alone out there, it should be safe enough. But it isn't... We have to cross the bridge at Rio Mezcala, where we notice a couple of strangely modified pickup trucks on the side of the road as we drive past. The kind with armor plating welded into bulletproof cabins and cannons mounted on top. I'd seen them before: IAFVs (Improvised Armored Fighting Vehicles), the kind drug cartels build to shoot people from. One of them pulls out onto the road behind us to follow, cannon pointing our way. We finally realize that we've seen no traffic heading south for a while. The IAFV behind us is following close, hogging the center line; clearly intending to keep us from turning around or stopping. And when we round a bend in the road we can see what seems to be a traffic jam up ahead, a big jumble of cars and trucks beside the road on both sides. It takes a while to get close, since he traffic is backed up. We first recognize the signs when it's too late to turn or back out. It's a road block, but not the police doing it. More IAFVs, one APC repainted ex-military issue, and lots of civilian cars jumbled around every which way. Carteleros, an army of them, maybe 30-40 men armed with machine guns, standing on both sides of the carretera, no way to avoid them. They are confiscating vehicles: not normal cars but the bigger stuff, like trucks and vans and busses. They seem to get extra excited when they see our nice cozy bus gradually approaching. Other route busses have been pulled to one side of the road, passengers standing stranded on the other. We drive past four dead men lying on the ground in pools of their own blood. One of the bandidos makes a sign to us: fingers to eyes, then points to the bodies, neatly communicating what will happen to us if we try to resist. We weren't about to try anything, I mean we're scared. All of us, even our superhuman squatches. Adam tries not to show it, but he's looking just as worried as me. We're signaled to stop the bus and get out. All three squatches are talking to each other really fast, but in Nokhontli so I can't understand it. Then we have to step out, but before we do Magga sits back on the sofa and pulls her feet up into a kind of lotus position, closes her eyes and seems to go into a trance. I wonder about what happens when the gangsters come into the bus and find her there, but then I'm forced outside the bus with the others. We're surrounded by crowd of armed men with very aggressive attitudes, about three guys for each of us, pointing rifles and pistols in our faces and frisking us for any weapons. I notice that they are less physically aggressive with Adam, who towers over them at two and a half meters; although about six of them are frantically pointing their guns at him, looking like they're freaked enough to open fire any second. So Adam is standing perfectly still with both hands up, not daring to blink, which just might set them off. "Wow, this bastard's so big he could be dangerous," these guys are saying about Adam, "maybe we should just kill him now." "No, we need him alive," others are insisting, "he's worth a lot of money." They make way for their leader to come and check out the situation, a big guy called Ramon. He stops to check our Washington State license plates, like making sure of something, then nods with a satisfied expression and comes to us. He does a double-take when he sees Adam, but then a triple-take when he sees our girls-- actually more impressed by them than some pincha Bigfoot, but who can blame him? But then he concentrates on Adam for the moment and comments: "Chihuahua, así que es El Bigfut! Que enorme, este hijo de puta!" Adam looks down on that gangster boss, but says nothing, probably because he'd rather not reveal that he understands Spanish. I'm tempted to do the same, just in case. Sometimes it's smartest to be a stupid gringo who don't know nothing no how. Ramon looks us over, counting everyone from the bus, then speaks English, after a fashion: "One more Bigfoot lady, where she is?" He obviously knows about Magga, which means that he knows about all of us. Adam hesitates, then I remember how he can't tell lies. But Mel knows that too and pops in with: "We left Magga in Zipolite. New boy friend. She'll meet us later." She has no problem lying under these circumstances, even though the bandidos could find Magga on the bus any second now. But of course, Mel knows something I don't. Finding Magga is Ramon's next move; he signals two guys to go up and search the bus for any stragglers. Adam speaks to get Ramon's attention away from the bus, "Ramon, you seem to know who we are. Are you a fan?" Ramon looks confused, not quite understanding, then shakes his head arrogantly, "Ain' no fucking FAN, bigfoot, but sí, I know who you are. We been waiting for you so you can be our...huespedes, heh heh." "I get the feeling you mean hostages. Are you kidnapping us?" Ramon laughs, "We kidnap YOU, bigfoot! These others.." he shrugged, as if we "others" don't really matter. "Ellos son musicantes en mi banda," Adam goes to Spanish for clarity, "somos que llama Squatch & Friends. Somos muy famosa." He clearly wants to give them a reason not to shoot us. "Nunca he oido hablar de ustedes," Ramon says with a shrug (never heard of you guys). His men ask if they should just kill Pokey and me. Ramon ponders on that for a second, but his gaze goes back to the girls. "Naw, not yet, maybe they're all worth some money. Take this fucking beegfuut over there and chain him to a truck so he can't cause us no trouble, hokay?" (If I seem to ridiculing the way he speaks, it's deliberate-- he sounded like a ruthlessly ignorant cabrón way too proud of his own authority.) About six guys with automatic rifles at the ready take Adam away. I should mention that these guys are very efficient, militant, disciplined; obviously quite experienced in this line of work. The never get in each other's way, and consistently put their captives where they can shoot them without hitting their own men by accident. It's going to be tricky to escape their clutches. I‘m still worrying about those guys looking for Magga on the bus, but now Ramon's looking at me kind of close up and queer, so I've got worries of my own. He asks: "So are you famous too?" That surprises me; most Mexicans know who I am-- unless they've got no culture. But it strikes me as interesting that he doesn't know about media celebrity Miguel deSanto being on this bus; you'd think that would register. I consider drawing the rock-star card, then decide it might be best to avoid being held for ransom by these assholes, "No, hombre, yo no soy nadie." Ramon buys that, checks out Pokey, then signals that we be put over on the other side of the road with all the other stranded passengers. This guy's got no patience to deal with us-- too busy focusing on the girls. Actually, the whole crowd of gangsters are mobbing the girls, horny bastards. Melly's got a different guy squeezing each boob, Maki's about to disappear under a couple men, Lissandra has a gun pushed against her face as she's being pawed. Only Masnia is being respected, probably because she's taller than any man there and growling like a wolf. These bandidos are not quite sure about how dangerous this beautiful but big and hairy chick might be. The girls are sending us desperate looks: they're really frightened, but there's nothing we can do. Earlier, while driving in this direction, I had to go and tell them about the incident of the 43 students in Iguala, just to impress upon them how dangerous Mexico has become. Good thing I didn't tell them about just how cruel and sadistic these carteleros can be: burning victims alive, stripping off their skin, gouging out eyes. They were scared enough without having heard that shit. If so, they'd have been as scared as I was. Even so, we had to rescue them. So I'm about to go macho-at-last and get into it, even if it kills me, but then I notice that the guys who'd checked out the bus come out and don't have Magga with them. Like they hadn't even seen her. Makes me hesitate. And then Ramon is having our girls loaded back onto our bus, all of them. He calls out four names and four bandidos cheer, like they've won a prize for being good assholes and hurry up onto the bus. Then Ramon climbs on too and appoints a driver, who takes the steering wheel and starts the motor. Pokey and I look to each other, getting ready to make our move to save the girls. Together, we turn. I get a rifle butt hard in the gut, I don't know what Pokey gets, but he goes down too. The bus drives away, to wherever they are collecting the vehicles they've stolen today. It’s looking pretty bleak. Except for one thing: Magga's still on our bus. Pokey and I are hauled over to the other civilians and told to stand still. They go through our pockets for wallets and whatever; one of them checks my wrist watch then makes a sound of disgust when he sees that it isn't a Rolex but a cheap plastic Casio, which he doesn't even bother to steal. I notice than everyone is either being or has been robbed, wallets and jewelry have been tossed into a box, these thieves are quite systematic. But they want more than money; they are questioning people, asking where they're from, where they're going. An argument is going on somewhere, angry words being shouted. We notice a small group of soldiers in uniform being held separately from the civilian prisoners and being interrogated. Suddenly two carteleros drag a now-screaming young officer out of the group and hold him up as a third shoots him in the face with a pistol at close range. The soldier's head explodes, they let him fall and go back to questioning the others. There are also some dead civilians on the ground. The crowd around us is becoming hysterical, people would love to panic, but don't dare. We notice that some of the soldiers are getting special attention, another officer is casually chatting with the carteleros, laughing and smiling like old friends. The cartelero signals with his thumb that the officer can go, no problem here. He and a couple of other soldiers climb into a military mini-van and drive away, obviously set free. Two young soldiers are left behind -- officers, I can see lieutenant bars on their uniforms-- and they look pretty worried as it becomes their turn to answer questions. But now Pokey and I have our own problems: two carteleros are right in front of us, guns in our faces. They start questioning Pokey, who says, "I don't speak Spanish. I'm American." Those guys don't speak English but get the gist of his words, then start to rag him for calling himself an American when they can see that he's an Indian. These guys are Mestizos, so they thought he should have more pride in his indigino heritage than becoming a lousy gringo-- but Pokey isn't getting any of that, he's just seeing that they're working themselves up into a shooting frenzy, so he's kind of scared. So am I, but I have to say something in Spanish since Pokey can't. "Hey amigos," I hate misusing that word, which every classic Mexican swindler is famous for misusing, "that's Pokey Snowchild, the drummer for Squatch and Friends-- you've heard of us, right? Rock & Roll!" The one Mestizo looks at me, like he's about to lose his temper and just blow my head off-- then looks closer, recognizing me. "Hey, you're... you're.. that flamenco kid.. de Santa, right?" "Uh...yeah, Miguel deSanto, right, that's me. Chrome Pie, you know?" "I don't know no fuckeeng cruum pay but I remember you-- from back when you were just a kid. Flamenco, Spanish Guitar. Hey, you were GOOD, man! So whatever happened to you? You just sorta...vanished." I'd been a child prodigy in Latin America, but a lot of Latinos lost interest when I switched over to songs in English, electric guitars and rock & roll. Some aficionados even got really angry, just like when Dylan went electric, so maybe I'd better not mention that. "Hey, man, I know," I say, reviving my almost-forgotten street-gutter Español, "but I'm making a comeback with this new band. And Pokey's my drummer, so please don't fuck him over, okay?" The one Mestizo smiles, missing a tooth, "Hey, don't worry about that, amigo, we treat you all the same." The other guy says, "Miguel de Santa, wauw, I don't believe it-- Hey man, could I get your autograph?" "Sure, no sweat. Got something to write on?" "Seguro que sí-- mi culo! Ha ha ha!" He puts his automatic rifle right up in my face-- looks to me like an AK-47, but then I don't really know guns--and then signals that Pokey and I should stand outside the crowd of other prisoners. So that the bullets won't hit any innocent bystanders. "You don't want my autograph?" I ask, disappointed, "I thought we were amigos." When you're talking shit may as well carry it through. "Hey man, if it was up to me, y'know... but we got orders. Ramon wants us to keep the girls, so we're not going to ransom your band, just the Bigfoot. That makes you guys complications. Sorry... amiiigo." And he laughs as he takes aim. And there we are, Pokey and me, facing a firing squad of two hijo de puta carteleros, rifles up and ready. The one Mestizo counts to his buddy, "Okay; cinco, quatro, tres..." Doesn't look good. MAGGA narrates further, translated by Adam, transcribed by Art -- Yes, I remained on the bus. Dadamet and I discussed our options at the last moment, so that we had a plan. Or at least a half-plan. While he and the others descended from our bus, I sat back on the sofa and did the magic I have been trained to do. Theoretically, all Nokhons know how to be unseen, it's almost an instinct to avoid being spotted by little white men stumbling upon us in the woods, especially those with noisekillers; hunters, policemen. Of course, we cannot actually become invisible, we can only trick the perceptions of an observer under certain ideal conditions of light and relative motion. But as a Sha-haka-ma I have developed that skill to a higher degree than your standard Nokhon ever does. So when the small bad men came into the bus I was not hiding in a bunk bed, but in plain sight in the longue, curled up on the sofa so that they would not trip over my feet. Their eyes could see me, but their minds did not notice me. Of course, I had to be absolutely motionless, almost not breathing, so it does require discipline. I was tempted to capture them at once, but knew it should not be yet. That would only alert the rest of them and they were many small bad men, all with noisekillers and apparently eager to kill. I had never killed anything-- I was uncertain if I could, as were both Dadamet and Masnia. But it appeared that we would soon be required to choose between killing or being killed. I had seen enough TV-News to be certain that NokhSos really did do that, it was not all fiction. And I had seen the bodies of those four small dead men when we drove up as absolute proof. And still, I was not certain I could do it. It would be traumatic enough for me to cause any physical harm whatsoever to such tiny creatures, but I felt quite willing to do so if they point noisekillers at me! But the first group of them came in, looked around, did not see me, and went out again. Minutes later my sisters were pushed into the bus by four of the small bad men, soon followed by their leader Ramon. Masnia could see me, but my NokhSo sisters could not, so they were confused and afraid. The five little brown men were speaking Spanish, so I could not understand them, but I did understand that they were horny for my sisters and that their horniness was unwelcome. I have come to understand the concept of rape, which hardly exists among my own people; NokhSo females consider yøramma with an unwelcome male a dreadful violation. Understandable, when they can suffer significant consequences which we Nokhons do not; such as pregnancy and disease, as well as social stigma. And of course, pain and physical harm, I would not accept that either. Those small bad men were accosting my sisters upon entering the bus, grabbing them and pulling off clothing. The girls did not dare struggle with noisekillers to their heads. I had to hold back a moment while the bus was being driven away from the crowd of bad men and their other prisoners, then up the road towards another cluster of motor vehicles. For a brief instant I saw that Adam was being led somewhere and we caught one another's eye. His head bobbed: now knowing that his females were out of danger and he was free to act. Now it was these bad men on the bus who were in danger, although they did not know that yet. They still had noisekillers in hand, but such were unhandy for committing rape. They assumed that they could simply overpower these helpless females. It would be more "fun". Although the man attempting to overpower Masnia was having a hard time of it-- even though she was pretending to be weak and helpless --so he was still holding his noisekiller to threaten her, pressing it to her belly. But all the other men had put their weapons aside to use both hands on their captive females. By then we had driven far enough away from the crowd for me to act. I called "Kl'sba!" to Masnia, and she quit pretending to be helpless. The little brown NokhSo was immediately disarmed and flat on the floor. Ma-elli-a was half-naked by now, a greedy bad male straining to shuck her of her pants, but when she saw me coming she said, "I've got this!" and brought her knee up hard into the male's crotch. He screamed and collapsed. As a non-violent Nokhon female I had never considered doing that to a male, but I could see how effective a defensive move it was. And easy to do. Ma-liss-a twisted free from her attacker, who'd been trying to drag her all the way back to the big bed, and gave him a head-butt that rattled him, but did not quite pacify him. So I pacified him with a little slap. He landed on the big bed at the far end of the bus. I hoped he hadn't broken the back window. By now the other two small bad males noticed that something was going wrong for them. But Masnia was already on the driver, lifting him from the seat, dashing him to the floor--hard--and taking over the job of driving the bus. Their leader, the one called Ramon, had been on the floor holding Maki down, his "machine gun" beside him. He reached for it, but Maki bit him on the cheek. He reacted by attempting to hit her with the butt of the weapon, but by then I had a firm grip on him. Firm enough to make him scream like such a baby! The look on his face when he saw that he was being held by a "Bigfoot"... now that was "fun". Then I took his noisekiller from him and cast him also back to the big bed, where he crashed into his compatriot. It sounded like a devastating collision, so I wasn't sure if I'd killed them or not-- but realized that I really didn't care. As we approached the vehicles gathered by the small bad NokhSos, Masnia asked, "Now what? Shall we escape or park beside those other bandits? Looks like there's only four or five of them. We can take them too..."
ADAM narrates further, transcribed by Art -- As our bus pulled away from where the bandits had stopped us I happened to catch Magga's eye through the front windscreen. She bobbed her head and so did I, our plan was working. I just needed to wait for them to get a little bit farther away before I could take any chances with their safety. She'd been behind the Mexican driving the bus, it looked as if none of them had noticed her yet, I had absolutely no doubt of her ability to take care of the five men in that bus. I was much less confident about my own chances for taking on 30 men with machine guns. A small crowd of carteleros were steering me toward a big Humvee, all sorts of guns right in my face all the way. They were afraid of my size, but also getting off on shoving the Big Bad Bigfoot around and making him afraid of their macho asses. And I was afraid; I admit it, of their guns, if nothing else. But I was most afraid for Melly-- well, my whole "harem" --getting hurt. That would be worse than death for me. And even though they were now safe, there were still all those prisoners the carteleros were holding; men, women and children, I had to be careful for them too. Even as I was thinking that, I heard shouting and screaming, then saw a soldier get shot in the face on the other side of the street. Two holding him, one shooting, I memorized the faces of the shooters. Then I noticed that Pokey and Mike were being hassled by some antagonistic carteleros with guns raised and ready, a couple of Mestizo Indians who seemed to be angry with Pokey. I was relieved to see Mike step in and say something that made them smile, evidently giving them his "Miguel deSanto, latino rock star" routine. Good for him, I had enough to focus on. I was told to stop beside the big Humvee the six armed guys had been steering me towards, as another couple of guys showed up with a heavy chain and a padlock. They were planning to chain me to the front bumper with a very solid winch assembly, assuming it could hold me. They signaled for me to hold out my arm, planning to wrap the chain around it. So I reached out, palm up. All they had to do was step in close and put the chain on me. None of them dared get that close, not even with their guns. I still had their respect. Also, the chain they'd found was thick and heavy, they looped it around the Humvee's front bumper, but couldn't just toss the free end high enough to drape it over my arm. So I signaled for them to just lay it on the ground near me, being cooperative. I pulled the chain towards me and looped it around my wrist a couple of times. Then they showed me the padlock, fairly big, heavy-duty and slightly rusty. So I held out my hand and they tossed it to me so that I could myself ock the chain to my wrist. Nokhons have no technology, so it's assumed that we go around unarmed. Not quite so. A pebble can be a deadly weapon. Especially cast with unerring accuracy, and powered by an irresistible flow of haka, as I had been trained to do during my Sha-haka studies with Dagrolyt. I've always been naturally good at throwing stones even before being trained: remember Melly telling about the two-for-one-shot street lamps in Puerto Angel? I'd never used that skill against people, but just now my friend's lives were endangered and I suddenly had a nice-sized padlock in my hand. My guards were completely unaware that they had just handed me a lethal weapon. All I had to do was decide how to use it best. I fiddled with the padlock a bit, like it was rusty and I had trouble making it work, all the while looking cooperative as hell. But in reality I was agonizing about how much I did not want to do what I had to do now. We squatches don't kill-- except for crazy Nokhons like Dablogeh, the rogue male we'd met in the jungle at Full Moon. Even then, we didn't kill him although he deserved it, just as these men did. I shuffled back and forth a bit, getting things lined up: bandits, vehicles, civilians, Pokey and Mike. Deciding where to aim. Then I heard another argument over from the crowd of prisoners, two more captive soldiers were being slapped and mistreated. That distracted me for a second, so when I checked back on Pokey and Mike it looked like their Mestizo interrogators were herding them out of the crowd, getting ready to execute them. My own guards had let their weapons hang a little, since I was cooperating anyway, you know, and they were also distracted by the amusing prospect of seeing another couple of civilians being blown away any second now. I shuffled to the right and found my targets. A very effective line-up presented itself. The padlock was just the right size for my hand and had a good solid heft to it. I howled the Bigfoot Howl as loud and shrill and sudden as I could muster-- I'm an Orator, got the power in my voice --so that every man near me jumped sideways in panic, not knowing what was happening. Shots were fired, but all up in the air. That gave me a second to act. I threw the padlock with as much speed and power as my Bigfoot body could deliver, casting in a long smooth arc that ended with me down on one knee. It was a long toss, at least a hundred feet, but the padlock flashed all the way across the road and punched right through the middle of each of those two gunmen about to shoot Pokey and Mike. They'd been lined up just right for me, one after another. If I'd been the Lone Ranger I would've just shot the guns out of their hands, but it was a too far away and I couldn't take a chance with my friend's lives, so I aimed for the thickest part and that's where I hit them: the heavy padlock made a very messy chain of belly-explosions; blood and intestines splattered far. Pretty ugly. Without the sound of a shot being fired no one understood what was happening or where the danger was coming from. Even the guards nearest me hadn't registered what I'd done, they were confused. But I wasn't; I went wading through the enemies nearest me, ripping weapons from their hands--and maybe breaking some fingers--slapping faces hard, swinging my arms and taking out seven men at a time. Bones were breaking, skulls were shattering, it was... horrible. But there were so many of them and they were all turning to aim at me with a lot of guns all at once, I had no time to be kind or careful. I used my weight, diving into a crowd of them and rolling over, squashing them-- I weigh about the same as a chevy V-8 engine block, ever had one of those drop on your toe? I grabbed several collars at a time and threw men at their amigos, bodies flying everywhere. I kept a couple of men in my hands to wave around as human shields against their fellow's gunfire and could feel bullets ramming them. It was sickening, but better than getting shot myself. As the bad guys thinned out more of them figured out that it was me who was their problem. A lot of them opened fire on me, but I did the squatch trick that makes them aim too high or off to the side, shooting their own men instead. A group ran behind the Humvee to hide from me, so I rolled it over on top of them. My haka was really flowing, making me a lot stronger than normal. Suddenly I saw that two carteleros had me in their sights, there was no evasive move I could make. But they both went down in a spray of machine-gun fire. I looked over across the street and saw Pokey waving to me: he and Mike had taken up their opponent's weapons and were now in the fight. Other prisoners, like the two army officers, had also jumped their captors in the crazy melee and in a few moments it was all over. Except that some of the carteleros had run away and there was another camp where they'd taken the stolen vehicles, maybe a mile up the road. We didn't know how many gangsters were waiting there. But as it worked out, the girls had taken care of them. Although not so bloodily as we had. There were bodies everywhere, blood everywhere, all my fault-- or my doing, at least. I felt sick. I hurt. Finally realized I'd been hit by three bullets, so some of the blood was mine. Arm, shoulder, left leg, nothing serious, but painful and leaking blood, so I'd need medical attention pretty soon. But first I just had to sit down and cry like a baby for a while.
LISSANDRA narrates further -- Cripes, don't know if I rilly want to write about this, even tho I was an I-witless. I mean, it was pretty gruesome. Mel doesn't want to and Maki never wants to. But somebody has to brag about how we took out ten bad guys, just like in the movies. Didn't even get killed, just like in the comic books. The superhero kind. We were considering just driving past the number two camp and making a run for it, but Masnia came up with a plan: "If we run, they'll just chase us and start shooting. If we drive in like everything's okay, we can pretend we are still their prisoners," pointing a thumb at the five terrorists we had already bundled up with duct tape, "and get close enough for me and Magga to grab them." "Gee, Masnia," sez Maki, "are you really that brave?" "They are only little brown NokhSos," sez Magga, "what can they do against us?" "Yeah," sez I, "little brown NokhSos with machine guns and pistols!" "Yeah, well now we have machine guns and pistols too!" Mel IS brave. "Yeah, but if we shoot at them, they'll just shoot back!" That's Maki not being brave. Then again, maybe not being stupid either. "But those bastards have got our guys," Mel sez, "if we run for it, who rescues them?" "Da-adam-ee does," Masnia proclaims, "we've already planned that." So we all feel better. Rilly. "Okay, and if we screw this up," Mel assures us all, "Da-adam-ee can just come and rescue us too." So we stop. Magga has snatched the guy who was supposed to drive the bus and props him into the driver's seat. He's out cold, but only needs to look good from a distance through the windscreen. Masnia sits beside him, cuddly-like, helping him drive as seen from a distance. We pull into the side road where about 10-15 different trucks and wagons have been collected, a few Mexican gangstas walking around and keeping tabs. Maybe eight bad guys. One of them waves to the driver, Masnia waves back by jiggling the guy's arm, which seems to be convincing enough, so we find a parking place. We discuss the plan. It ain't bad, might even work. I'm scared shitless, but what else can we do? We take the knocked-out driver and toss him back on the big bed, then the other guys, all five, stripping off their clothes. One of them is about to regain consciousness but Masnia commands him to sleep and he's out again. Then we peel off all our clothes too and lie on the bed with the gangstas. Obviously one big pile of people having sex. It is NOT arousing, by the way, rilly disgusting actually. In fact, so disgusting that it helps us to start the giggling. We need to sound like we're having fun. Magga is not in the pile, she's going into "unseen mode" again, taking her place on the sofa. I couldn't help watching: she seemed to change colors, like a chameleon, and just BLEND into the wall behind her. I could still see her, but it wasn't easy. And if I looked away I lost her and it was hard to find her again, even tho I knew where to look-- like trying to re-locate one word buried in a long page of text. I know she said it's all in the mind, not in the eyes, but ya coulda fooled me...well, that's the whole point, I guess. Anyway that's a trick I gotta learn! Just before sitting down she opens the bus door and leaves it open. Like an invitation. One of the gangstas comes to check us out, he thumps on the side of the bus and calls, "Eh, Ramon, kay pasa?" (or something like that, my Spanish is shit) Ramon doesn't answer, but we giggle harder so that it sounds like he's having a lot of fun. The guy steps up halfway into the bus, "Eh Ramon, enchilada? Taco-time? Cerveza?" (just filling in with Spanish words, I've no idea what he was saying). What he sees is a wall of bare butts (one of them mine, and it's nice) and Ramon's arm, which comes up to wave (his face was too bloody to let it show) and we giggle even harder. Ehhh, CABRÓN! (he actually did say that, I know that word... means bastard, or something like that). Anyway he was impressed at what a macho dude Ramon was. Stood his rifle against the wall, came all the way into the bus, closer to check out the action. So I'm on. We decided it should be me because I'm kind of latina-looking, not that they wouldn't have gone ape-shit over Mel's blondiness, or Maki's nicely-racked Asian cuteness, but hey, I rilly wanted to make idiots of these sonsofbitches. I sit up, do the sexy-girl pose that never fails: one hand up behind my head, tits jutted way out, back arched, the come&fuckmeplease look. The guy doesn't have a chance. Not with Magga right beside him, unseen. We got five of them that way, they didn't understand where their fellow-villains were hiding, but then they'd look into the bus and see us all squirming and giggling. Sometimes Mel was the vamp, Maki tried it too, we got into it. The pile of guys just kept getting bigger. But stinkier too, smelled like these guys didn't ever wash. So we moved outside, taking Ramon and a few others with us as props. The last few gangstas got curious, saw us naked girls, came closer... Eight gangstas out of business. We did good.
POKEY narrates further -- One second Mike and I are expecting to get shot by two murderous carteleros and in the next second those evil bastards just plain fucking explode! Something hit them so hard and moving so fast that it ripped through the one guy and then the other guy, belly level both of 'em. It kept going until it slammed into a car door hard enough to get stuck in the metal, where we could make out that it was a blood-red padlock. We're totally confused, until I see Adam ripping carteleros apart at a distance. Kawabunga! I mean, really. Ya shoulda seen how Adam shredded those motherfuckers. Forget Arnold, forget Dwayne, think Hercules. Think The Incredible Hulk. No shit, this was how to take out a squadron of bad guys. So it was easy to figure out where the padlock came from and what was expected of us now. We both grabbed those rifles that were supposed to kill us, Mike and me, and we go as macho as we can get. Screw compassion for your enemy, those fuckers had taken Maki! Good thing too, we saw that those two lieutenants had joined the fight, punching out the carteleros who'd been threatening them. But a third guy was turning to shoot them-- it was the same cartelero who'd shot another soldier in the face, so I was pretty sure he was a bad guy. I shot at him. Missed. Good thing too, I wasn't expecting machine-gun rapid-fire and the rifle climbed, out of control. Lucky I hadn't shot the guys I was trying to rescue. I'd only held a rifle a few times in my life doing target practice on the Reservation with my dad when I was a kid, so I'm no kind of marksman. Sure never shot at a real live person before. But Mike shot at the guy too, after wincing away from me spraying the sky with bullets. Only one shot-- he'd found the switch to turn off automatic fire. But it hit the target, the guy went down and the two lieutenants showed us a thumbs up. So then they had weapons too and shot about 6 bad guys: obviously professional soldiers. And they were on our side, which was very cool. But there were other bad guys shooting back at us now, which was pretty scary. We threw ourselves down, there was nothing to hide behind except the bodies of those two cartel guys. I was too scared to shoot again because I didn't want to attract attention. Mike was braver, I think, anyway he was shooting every now and then. No idea if he was hitting any bad guys, we didn't dare look, it was too fucking confusing. But suddenly I saw something so clearly, crazy-clear, like enhanced. Like a Spirit Vision. Two bad guys had Adam right in front of them and were about to blow him away. I was in the right place: behind them, about 40 yards away and I had a shot, just had to stand up to take it. So I did, sprayed fire until I ran out of bullets. They went down, just like in the movies. Adam waved. I finally remembered to toss myself back down and heard a bunch of bullets whiz by just above me. I guess that's what Mel meant by needing a macho perspective to tell the story: guys like action movies, guns & explosions, gruesome violence, rough stuff, tough heroes. Hey, I'm guilty: those are the kind of movies I like. But in real life: it was pretty awful, man. Not that those carteleros didn't deserve it: they deserved being wiped out, like they'd done to those 43 college kids, or to who-knows how-many innocent people who'd just happened to be driving by this day. They deserved no mercy. At least not until they were disarmed. But Adam isn't a macho hero and now he has to live with what he's done. He's never done anything like that before. I remember back in school, although he was so big and strong, smaller bullies could pick on him because he didn't want to hurt anyone. Of course, even back then, that all changed if anyone fucked with Melly. And these guys were trying to do exactly that. Oh, I'm sure he was out to rescue all of us on the conscious level, but his root instinct has always been to protect Melly from any-fucking-body who threatens her. Ferociously. Okay, this was over-the-top ferocity, but I for one am glad he had it in him. Hey, I had it in me too, it's a natural response to an evil threat. I'd never killed anyone before either-- and never wanted to --but I mowed down those guys who were going to kill Adam and sure don't regret it. Bda-bda-bda (machine gun sounds), gave them a taste of their own medicine! Shot a couple more, just those who needed shooting right then and there, but I never went crazy. We did take prisoners. Adam likes to quote John Wayne: "Man's gotta do wotta man's gotta do", etc. Works for me: I had to be an Indian Brave on the Warpath. For Adam, I think it was his Nokhon Warrior Gene kicking in. His father Daklakht has it, and so does Adam. He may not want to hear it, but he was awesome. Now he's bummed about it. Glad to have saved so many lives, sure, but it did cost him him his...I dunno, innocence, I guess. He just sat down and cried when it was done. It was Adam's turn to tune out and collapse, Mike and I were plenty busy making sure all the carteleros were captured and tied up-- and disarmed, of course. The hundred or so people stranded by the outlaws were all kinds, some were helplessly hysterical old men and women but there were also some capable guys-- and girls --who helped us get organized. Although more than half of them ran for their re-liberated cars and motored on out of there to let us deal with the aftermath: seems they didn't want to be around when the police showed up. All cell phones had been tossed into that box, so it was hard to find your own, but we could still call ambulances. I would've called the police but every Mexican there advised against it. "They're mostly corrupt and in cahoots with the drug cartel," Mike told me, "better call the military instead." Our two new soldier-buddies knew who to call. There were wounded to take care of, both innocent civilians and bad guys. The dead were put to one side: 8 innocent victims of cartel executions; 5 dead carteleros--2 victims of Adam's padlock, luckily for Mike and me, and 2 more that I had mowed down to save Adam. No idea who'd shot the 5th guy. We had sixteen wounded bad guys scattered around the scene, some pretty battered by Adam slapping and throwing them at each other, but many of them had shot each other while trying to hit Adam. Mike and I had wounded a few more, and probably our two soldier allies, but it had been way too confusing to keep score. Two civilians were also wounded in all the crossfire, although nobody critically. Our side won, I guess. A bunch of carteleros escaped, but we took eleven of them prisoner. We made sure they were disarmed and bundled them up with gaffer tape and threw them into the back of one of their own APCs (armored personnel carriers), accounting for 31 assholes, living or dead. Besides gaffer tape, there were first-aid kits in many of the cars and luckily some of the civilians knew how to use them. All our cell-phones in the box caused some confusion: nobody knew which was their own and some were ringing. A couple of college-type girls were trying to sort them out, answering the phones and announcing who it was for. One of them called out, "Una llamada por Adam! Hay uno que se llama Adam aqui?" Mike took the phone, it was Mel. Short talk and then he came to me on his way to deliver the phone to Adam, saying: "The girls have rescued themselves AND the bus. Taken five more prisoners too. They're on their way here now." And sure enough, we could see our wonderful rolling home rolling on down the road to us. I love all those girls, but I started crying when I got Maki in my arms. Shows how fucking macho I am.
MIKE narrates further -- Me again. Lots of Spanish to translate. Oh, and did you like my last little cliff-hanger? Well, I hope somebody did, because Pokey and I sure didn't! But we're past that part of the story now. And still alive. Now ambulances are starting to arrive and are welcome. They come from Chilpancingo and Iguala, are filled up and sent off as even more arrive. We have still more wounded so they keep coming. We're busy informing the ambulance drivers who the bad guys are so that they don't just get released from the hospitals, but no one's really willing to get in trouble with this local drug cartel. Then police cars arrive. Mostly young cops, who don't look corrupt to me, more concerned for human life and just being here to help. But still, I insist that we not talk with them at all, let the locals make the reports. I really don't trust Mexican Police. And, sure enough, the police are interested in Adam. Especially after the locals describe how he'd walloped the kidnappers. He's sitting outside an ambulance, a couple of okay medicos are trying to get some bullets out of him, but they're deep in the meat. The cops question him from a slight distance with their hands resting on hip holsters, although not aggressively, they obviously have respect for a force of nature. But then another police car arrives, an older officer gets out: fancy uniform, medals, Inspector General's rank on shoulder pads, Nazi hat, frowning and grumpy. Old school. You can just SEE how corrupt this old fart is. The younger cops kind of freeze when he gets close. The first words the Inspector speaks are to command those young cops to arrest Adam for murder. A few of the citizens try to protest, saying how Adam had rescued them all. But the colonel suggests that they can be arrested too and folk shut up. Except for the two Army soldiers, both lieutenants, who insist that this is a matter for the Military, not the police. But the colonel threatens them too and all the cops present-- about ten armed officers --are required to back him up, so the Military is outnumbered at the moment. Although one of the soldiers has located his cell phone and is talking to someone somewhere; maybe calling in the cavalry? But then Adam stands up, a little bloody but clearly in superhuman shape, and says to the Inspector: "I can hear when people lie, so I'm going to ask you a question: are you in complicity with the carteleros?" The Inspector General had pushed in close while Adam was sitting down, but suddenly finds himself too close now that Adam is standing up and within easy grabbing distance. He blusters "How dare you--" or something like that and steps back. But Adam steps forward and is now right above the man, who suddenly looks very tiny and old and frail. "I asked you a question: are you corrupt?" "No, no soy currupto!" the police inspector shouts in panic. I mean, hell, even I can hear the guy is lying (you know: "I am not a crook!"). Adam smiles, like this is too easy. "So if I allow you to arrest me you'll put me in a cell and allow the cartel to murder me, won't you? Answer that!" "No- No!" "Ah, but I can hear that what you mean is Yes-Yes!" Then he looks to those young cops, who have now backed away, hands still on holsters, but none of them looking brave enough to draw. "Look around you, officers. If even ONE of you points a gun at me I will do to you what I did to the carteleros. You all know that I will be fighting for my life, so do not doubt my resolve." To a man they move their hands away from any and all pistols. Then Adam takes the Inspector General by the arm-- gently, but the old man almost faints anyway --and leads him to where the prisoners are gathered, all tied up and harmless. "Now you arrest these men instead. They are the murderers here, and you know it." The inspector almost starts crying, curling up like he's in pain. "No puedo!" He moans, I can't! "They would murder me and my family and burn down my town, they may not be arrested!" "So instead you will arrest innocent men?" Adam asks. The Inspector General refuses to answer. Adam looks to a young honest-looking officer. "So are you corrupt too?" he asks. "No, señor, todavia no. Y ojala que nunca." No sir, not yet. And I hope never to be. Adam looks again to the Inspector General, "Hear that? That's what the truth sounds like." Then he repeats that phrase about four times, sounding slightly crazy, but the inspector is listening with his mouth open and a look in his eye that seems more and more dazed with each repetition of "truth sounds like". Adam is hypnotizing him-- actually, I'm feeling like blurting out some truth myself-- any truth-- I have to blink and shake my head. Adam finishes with, "Now you confess: are you cooperating with the drug cartels, yes or no?" To make a long story corto, the Inspector General confesses, the young officers witnesses his statement and arrest him. After which they are no longer interested in arresting us, which is nice. But they still do not dare to arrest the carteleros we had collected. "If we do we'll be asking to have our families murdered," one officer admits to us. Those two Army lieutenants who'd called the military step up and say that their Army Unit is currently at on a mission against those very same carteleros, so they are actually eager to take our prisoners to their stockade for interrogation. They also both advise that we wait for a military escort they could arrange so that our bus will not be re-ambushed later tonight. At least until Cuernavaca, which was on the way toward Mexico City. They, Rafael (Raf) Dominguez and Leopoldo (Leo) Guardiola, both speak perfect California English (like me) and seem pretty enlightened for Army guys, both having just graduated from universities. They're even cultured enough to know who we are and amusingly wowed to be meeting some real live rock stars. Extra-especially when they meet our girls; that spins them around a bit. Anyway, we hit it off with them. Being united against the carteleros didn't hurt either. In the meantime, Masnia has been questioning Ramon and the twelve other carteleros they had gaffer-taped in the back of the bus, more or less hypnotizing them into revealing names of dirty officials and ringleaders and other useful information for the military to process. The most interesting information for us was that the carteleros had known we'd be driving that way and had set up the road block just for us. They'd scooped in all the other cars as well because they could just as well score some new vehicles for drug smuggling, but the actual mission was in response to instructions from higher up: specifically to kidnap Adam. They had failed this time, but now we realize that our bus might be a moving target for carteleros all the way through Mexico, and the border is over 1600 miles from here. Our chances of sneaking through are almost nil. We needed to think this out. The military arrives in a small convoy of various vehicles, 3 light-armored SUVs and two serious-looking 16-wheeled personnel-carriers with machine guns and rocket launchers mounted on top, containing about 20 armed soldiers. This is a roving unit of the 16th Battalion FAM. Their commanding officer, Capitan Javier, is apparently friends with Raf and Leo, so war-stories are swapped and the prisoner problem is resolved because now the military outnumber the police. Not that the police are a problem since the Inspector General has been arrested. Our cartel gang prisoners are loaded into the two armored personnel carriers, all taped and helpless. The last ambulance drives away, as well as all the bus passengers who have been stranded by the road block, we and the military are the last stragglers now. Sunset, it's getting dark. We are invited to be overnight guests of the military. As usual, I have a hard time trusting any Mexican authorities, but it is obviously to our mutual advantage: we want protection and they want the information Magga has pried out of Ramon & Co. So we agree to follow them to their base of operations near Cuernavaca.
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