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Agent Bennett pulled the Border Patrol cruiser down a dirt road in the middle of a field somewhere east of San Ysidro, stopping behind a stand of Eucalyptus. "There." He pointed through the trees and handed me his binoculars.
The house looked like a poor man's version of Hearst Castle. Rows of weathered, wooden frame wire bird cages faced it on three sides, joined at right angles, enclosing a giant U-shaped yard with the ramshackle house at its center. The years had bleached its wood shingles silver-gray. A blackened fire ring sat in the open area between the house and the cages.
Birds are living better than the humans, I thought.
"Seven dead," Bennett said. I glanced over to see him smile as he studied me with a lifeless stare; as if his eyes and mouth were two different people. Every time he opened his mouth I liked him less. Six years with the Border Patrol had made him into a bitter, cocky smart-mouthed punk. I didn't know how much more of him I could take. Two days was already too long.
Since there were deaths involved, the powers that be ordered a joint investigation between Homeland Security and The FBI. I was assigned to the case out of the San Diego FBI office and I got stuck with Bennett.
"Cancer patients,” I said. “People with terminal conditions that killed them on installment plans. People who didn't want their savings drained in a hopeless battle when they could check out and leave their families taken care of."
"Fucking murderer," Bennett said as if I hadn't spoken.
"You’re going to have a hell of a time making it stick. Every one we talked to in a thirty mile radius had someone in their family or a friend healed by him. He’s practically worshipped by most of them."
"He's a wetback Kevorkian," Bennett shot back. "Poisons 'em with plants. Uses that Devil's weed. Datura."
"You won't find anyone to testify against him."
Bennett gave me a smug grin. "You'll see when it gets dark around here and they start their who doo voodoo chicken dance and all that other crazy shit, 'cept in Alejandro's case, he's too cheap to buy chickens. He does a pigeon dance."
"Why wait?” I said. “We have the warrant. You know he's in there. Let's go talk to him now. Get this shit over with."
Bennett shook his head. "I want to catch him in the act, then drag his taco-bending ass away in handcuffs in front of all the other beaners. Make an example."
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. If you looked up "asshole" in the dictionary, they'd have Bennett's picture. Worse thing was, I had to go along with him. This was his show.
I looked through the binoculars again, trying to shut him out. A man came out of the house. Barrel chested, with big arms. Looked like a dark-haired bull with a thick mustache. He wore an old fedora with a white feather sticking up from its brim, making him look like some wild west Indian.
"Someone's coming out," I said.
"Let me see."
I handed Bennett the binoculars. He looked through them for a minute before giving them back. "That's Alejandro. Probably coming out to fly his birds."
"Fly his birds?"
"Watch."
Alejandro went to the end cage of one of the rows, opened the door, thrust his hands in and came out a moment later with a pair of white birds, which he tossed into the air. Moving down the row, he loosed two birds from each cage, looking up and smiling as each pair took wing. They flew high, coming together as if some giant invisible hand had taken them into its grasp, then they moved as one, back and forth, over and around, spinning, twisting, and turning; one perfect "V" dancing in the sky with the grace of a conductor's hand.
All the while Alejandro looked up, joy filling his face. His right hand fluttered as though he were the conductor. His body swayed with the dance of the birds, lips moving in what looked like a song or a prayer. He held both hands out and tilted his body back as though embracing the sky.
The birds dove like a huge dark arrow, plummeting straight for him. My heart dropped with them until the last possible moment, when the dark arrow exploded in a flurry of white. The birds spread their wings, fluttering out in a snowstorm of feathers, floating to rest on Alejandro's arms and shoulders.
"Pretty wild, huh?"
Amazingly enough, Bennett had kept his mouth shut during the whole thing. "I've never seen anything like it."
"That's just his opening act," Bennett said. "Soon as it gets dark, the real show starts."
––––––––
They started showing up around sunset; Mexicans in beat up pickups, old primered Chevys, and Cadillacs, all lining the dirt road, bringing baskets of fruit, boxes of vegetables, chickens, eggs, blankets, and other gifts. Bennett got busy with the radio calling in backup, promising me that most of the visitors would be illegals.
While the Mexicans converged on the fire ring, our own area swelled with uniforms, trucks, and firearms. I thought about Waco and Wounded Knee and felt butterflies in my stomach. I hoped to God it wouldn't turn out like that. These guys knew what they were doing, but I regretted not calling in a few of my own field agents for back up.
"Okay," Bennett said into a handset. "Let's move out quietly. I want everyone on the perimeter a hundred yards out. Surround the whole place. We'll sweep in from four sides so none of 'em slip through. Get in position and wait for my signal."
Since I would be the one taking final custody of the suspect, I went in the front with Bennett to witness the arrest, but I was under orders to let the Border Patrol make the collar and do the initial questioning. I thought it was stupid, but it was the bureau's way of showing cooperation, and the Border Patrol had been the ones who initiated the investigation.
We moved through the shadows along the driveway until we came even with the house. Crouching by its side, we watched Alejandro in the firelight, lit in a blaze of orange that gave life to a magnificent headdress and feathered robe. He looked like an Aztec God with folded wings of fire that burned in flames of red, blue, and green.
A young woman lay on a cot in front of him, hands at her sides. Alejandro leaned low, chanting in soft Spanish. He blew smoke from a pipe up and down the length of her body, then waved a bird wing over her, gently dispersing the smoke.
"Move in," Bennett said into his radio. He started toward the fire, pump shotgun at the ready. I pulled my .38 and fell into step behind him. Uniformed Border Patrol agents came from behind bushes, trees, and bird cages, all carrying shotguns like Bennett's.
Alejandro straightened and made calming gestures to the crowd, all the while keeping his gaze steady on Bennett. The other agents moved in, herding the people away from the fire while the surrounding fields came alive with the roar of truck engines and the beams of headlights. Bennett moved around behind the medicine man while another agent held a shotgun to the Mexican’s chest. Alejandro remained expressionless.
While the Border Patrol herded the crowd into transport vehicles, Bennett went through a collection of vines, cactus, mushrooms, leaves, roots, berries, seeds, and feathers spread out on a blanket. Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket, making a show of patting down Alejandro and producing a baggie full of white powder. "Looks like he'll be up on more than murder charges," Bennett said, matter-of-factly. "Possession of narcotics. Smuggling. Harboring fugitives." He signaled another man who said something into a radio.
Five minutes later, a Border Patrol step van pulled up. Bennett unlocked the back doors and manhandled Alejandro into the windowless truck, motioning with his head for me to follow.
A wall of riveted metal separated the front seats from the rear of the van. A window, barely big enough to pass a hand through had been set in the center of the wall toward the top. Bennett pushed Alejandro into a corner and dropped into a bench beside him, pulling out a notebook. "If you want to cop to the murder beef, we might consider dropping the drug charges," he said, dangling the baggie of powder in front of his prisoner.
"I took no one's life," Alejandro said in a heavy Spanish accent. "They left their bodies behind by their own choice. I only guided their spirits to the other world."
"Yeah, you guided 'em all right," Bennett muttered. "You made up that Jimson Weed brew that killed them." He rose and motioned toward the door with his thumb. "Let's leave him alone for a while so he can come down off of whatever he's on."
"I want to talk to him," I said.
"You'll get a chance to talk to him back at HQ. Let's go."
"Hey, Bennett," I said, pissed that he had tried to order me. "You go. I'll come along when I damn well feel like it."
He gave me a menacing glare, which pissed me off even more. I stood and the fire disappeared from his eyes. He hurried out, quickly closing the door behind him.
I turned back and saw the trace of a smile on Alejandro’s face. I couldn't help smiling myself, then we both chuckled. I forced myself to get back my composure. "I don't know what you did to get him so wound up," I said, “but he has it in for you. No matter what happens, he's going to do everything he can to make your life miserable."
"His anger is all he has,” Alejandro said. “I feel great sadness for him."
"After what he's trying to do to you?"
"He can give my body discomfort, but he cannot hold my spirit. It flies with the birds." He made a sweeping gesture.
I couldn't help but admire his conviction. Here he was handcuffed, locked in a van, headed for deeper, more dangerous confinement, and he still thought himself free. I looked in his eyes for signs of intoxication, but truth be told I had never seen eyes so clear, and the whole time Bennett antagonized him, his expression remained passive. I couldn't have stayed that cool, that's for sure. "Fly with the birds?" is all I could think of to say.
"My allies help me carry the souls of the dead over to their world."
I held up my hand. "Be careful what you say. It can be used against you."
He held my gaze, giving me a "You and I both know that's bullshit” look.
He didn’t strike me as a murderer, especially after listening to all the people we had interviewed. None of them would testify against him. That's why asshole Bennett planted the dope. How the hell had I ever gotten involved in this mess? Dope was DEA territory, but Bennett had planted it. I should be arresting him.
"Do not worry about me," Alejandro said as if reading my thoughts. "Bennett is blind. He cannot hold my spirit."
“But he has your ass,” Bennett said, yanking the door open. "We're pulling out," he said to me. "You're riding up front with me."
I had a half a mind to tell him, “Fuck you!” Alejandro was better company than Bennett, but I wasn't about to let that prick get away with planting dope. Any bust goes down with my name tied to it's going down clean or it ain’t happening. "Be there in a minute," I said.
"So did you kill them?" I turned back to Alejandro, watching for a reaction.
"My spirit and my allies flew with them and guided their souls to the other world." His face remained impassive.
"I'll try to help you," I said, getting up.
His eyes stayed locked on mine. Amusement flickering behind them, then a slow smile filled his face. "You are a good man, amigo. I am thankful for the spirit of your offer, but I do not need your help. He cannot hold me. My soul is free." He nodded. "I will keep the spirit of your gesture in my heart just as my spirit will stay with you when this night is over. Now you must go. Bennett waits. Adios."
"Adios." I held his gaze a few seconds longer, thinking it the gaze of a man who knows he is saying goodbye for the last time. He dropped his head and started speaking in low Spanish. I didn't understand the words, but I could tell by their rhythm that he was praying. I turned and went out the back of the truck. Bennett glared in at him for a moment before closing and locking the door.
"Someone else is driving our car back." He held up a set of keys. "As the arresting officers of record, you and I are taking this package back personally." He started toward the front of the truck.
I climbed in beside him. "I'm not so sure..."
"Just to show you there's no hard feelings, I'm giving you half the credit for the bust."
"I don't want..."
He started the van and put it into gear. "You're not listening. I'm going to make you a star.” He motioned with his head. “We got us a serial killer back there."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I knew something about serial killers. I had been to school in Quantico and had learned first-hand from the experts. "Are you serious or delirious," I heard myself saying. "He doesn't even come close to fitting any serial killer profiles."
"He does now," Bennett said. "I've got a cousin works for channel eight and I got word out to some of my other contacts. There are news crews waiting for us back in San Diego." He looked over at me, smiling with his best shit eating grin. “Our joint operation is going to be on the eleven o'clock news."
Shit. Bennett might get his spotlight, but I wasn't letting anyone go down for his pathetic frame up. “You're not going to get anybody to testify against him. Those people all wanted to die because their lives had become unbearable. They died by their own hands. In their sleep. Peacefully."
“What are you talking about?” he said evenly. “You're the one bringing the charges against him. You're the FBI."
"No one's going to go against a dead relative's wishes," I said. "You want to try and prosecute him for the deaths, you go right ahead. I'm not going to stop you, but I'm not going to let you get away with that plant the dope trick, either. I don't want any part of it. This whole bust is dirty. Count me out."
"I don’t get it," he said, genuinely perplexed. "TV crews will be there. This is your chance to get some credit. The brass sees it, it could mean a promotion."
"Your fifteen minutes of fame will be solo." I said, waiting for him to return my gaze so he could see that I was serious. His face reddened and the veins in his neck stood out. I waited for the eruption and I wasn't disappointed.
"Fuck you," he said putting emphasis on the 'fuck'. His face contorted, reminding me of a frustrated infant that couldn't get what it wanted. "I try to hook you up and you throw it back in my face."
"Fuck you too," I said keeping my gaze steady. "I only make clean busts."
It ended there. At least the thick headed son-of-a-bitch knew I meant business. We rode the rest of the way back to San Diego without speaking. I glanced over from time to time to see him staring straight ahead, as if I weren't there.
My stomach did a slow roll when I saw the tall directional antennas sticking up from behind the fence of the Chula Vista Border Patrol lot. Vans from four television stations spread in a semi-circle like wagons braced for an Indian attack. Cameramen hustled, mounting their mini-cams on their shoulders, signaling their engineers. Lady newscasters checked their makeup, while men straightened their ties and checked their suits.
As reporters hurried to his door with microphones extended, Bennett looked at me one more time, his expression questioning. I shook my head no and stepped out my door. Thankfully they converged on the driver’s side. Poor Alejandro had no idea what was about to happen.
I walked away from the van as fast as I could, not wanting to be associated with Bennett's circus in any way, then I circled around the back of the crowd. I heard him first, then saw him, flanked by two shotgun toting officers, literally in the spotlight, milking the moment for all it was worth.
"After months of intensive investigation in conjunction with other federal and local agencies, we've apprehended a known criminal with at least eight murders to his credit, possible drug connections, smuggling, and a number of other crimes."
He strutted toward the rear of the van, cameras tracking, reporters moving with him. When he reached the back doors, his two guards positioned themselves on either side. He stuck a key in the lock and turned once more to face the cameras. "Please keep your distance," he said holding his hands up. "This man is dangerous." He turned the key and pulled the door open. The cameras swarmed in behind him, bright spotlights illuminating the inside of the van. Bennett and the news crews stopped as if they hit an invisible wall.
I moved closer, peering over the shoulders of the people in front of me until I could see inside the van. A single white feather fluttered down as if dropped from the roof, landing on top of a pair of handcuffs that sat in the spot where Alejandro had been.
