“Should we follow him?”
“No.”
“Why not, boss? He’s right there,” the man implored.
“It’s not the right time.”
“What? With all these people around, we could be gone in an instant.”
“With all these cops around, we could be caught.”
“I don’t know, boss, it’s El Barquero right in front of us. You want him, the Padre wants him…” An enormous roar rose from the soccer stadium as the home team took an early lead.
“No, the time will come. I want some food,” Carnicero said as he turned, flicked his cigarette to the pavement, and walked away. “And a girl. Find them both for me.”
Ziggy sat on the dry, cracked bank of the river. It was an ancient river, one with a history that spoke of long-extinct prehistoric animals, indigenous natives, foreign explorers, and mad conquerors. His bare feet soaked in the river’s cool, muddy water as he tossed small rocks into it. They made splashes. Rings formed. He loved how one splash made a small ever-expanding circle, and then another rock thrown into the middle of the first circle made another wake, pushing the first one along even more. Rock upon rock, building more and more rings. More and more circles. It reminded him of the universe and its solar systems, constantly expanding and overtaking each other with wave upon wave of star systems overlapping in an ever-expanding infinity of nothingness…or ever-expanding infinity of everything. It really depended on what type of mood Ziggy was in. After surviving the river crossing, he was in a rather good mood. He was on an adventure with his best friend, Avery. Ever-expanding infinity of everything it was, then. He’d save the ever-expanding infinity of nothingness for another day. Rocks and rivers, stars and the universe, infinity and everything. He was a happy lizard.
“It’s, like, a really pretty river, man.” Ziggy tossed another rock.
“He loves nature,” Avery, from the riverbank, said to the General, “despite what it did to him.” Avery ate from a box of dry cereal as he scanned the American League box scores in the newspaper he’d stolen from the hotel. The Yankees lead continued to slip. “Who the hell is this Jeter character?” Avery wadded up the sports page. “And why the hell do they even bother playing him? Hasn’t had a hit in a week.” The General watched as the men of STRAC-BOM used a series of ropes and pulleys to haul the school bus out of the river and up the bank. Some of the men pushed branches and sticks under the rear wheels so they could find traction as the bus tried to back out of the water. All of the men complained loudly.
“Sir.” Fire Team Leader Bravo wiped his muddy hands off on his fatigues. “I’m not sure this is going to work. This bus must weigh at least ten tons.”
“Goddammit!” the General cursed. “If I tell you to lift an elephant with one hand, you’ll do it! Now, get my transportation dry, Fire Team Leader!”
“Where we going to find an elephant with one hand?” Private Tango whispered to Private Zulu. “I thought they only had feet.”
Zulu stared blankly. “That’s a really good point.”
The men stopped their complaining and went back to work.
It took some time, but after a while the bus was on high ground. Once the bus was free, the men loaded up and prepared to pull out. The only problem was the bus wouldn’t shift into first gear anymore, or any other gear, for that matter, except reverse. However, the air conditioning worked perfectly. That was a plus. Driving in reverse provided some navigational challenges, but it did give a nice view of the Rio Grande valley through the front window.
“They can’t sneak up on us this way,” the General reassured his men as he sat in the back with Avery, while Fire Team Leader Charlie took over driving.
“General,” Avery began, “I plan on chasing invasive species all around this desert. How are we going to do that with a machine that only goes the wrong direction?”
“Like, it goes the right direction, man,” Ziggy said, “but only, like, in the wrong way.”
“Back in your hole!” the General shouted. Ziggy cowered and slunk back down the aisle to his stairwell.
“Nicely done.”
“Where did you find him, again?”
“Long story. Look, General, we need to fix this vehicle. Now, my calculations suggest we’re a few miles from a small outpost, one of notorious repute, according to the Lonely Planet’s Travel Guide to Places You Don’t Ever Want to Go, but we may be able to find a certified mechanic to solve this temporary inconvenience.”
“As long as he can keep the cool air running, fine. But I want a man watching him the whole time. Can’t trust anyone down here. Might tamper with the brakes or steal the spare tire or worse.”
“What would be worse?” Avery asked as he cracked open a warm Mountain Dew.
“He could break the air conditioning.”
“Good point.”
“You mentioned invasive species. How many are we planning on apprehending?”
“One is enough.”
“Just one?”
“If it’s still alive and in good condition.”
“I see.” The General rubbed his chin. This should be easy, he thought. “Male or female?”
“A mature female of breeding age would be optimal, but alternatively, an adolescent male wouldn’t suck, either.”
“Options. Good. I like options. Allows for flexibility in the battle plan,” the General said.
The school bus bounced across the desert floor, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it, which actually was in front of it as the vehicle careened side to side in high-speed reverse. Private Tango lay splay-legged on the roof, pointed toward the rear of the bus. With binoculars in one hand, he called out signals relayed through an open window by Fire Team Leader Bravo to Fire Team Leader Charlie at the wheel. With his free hand, the private hung on for dear life even though the General had ordered him duct-taped to the top of the bus. No matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Avery pulled out his laptop. He didn’t have much battery left. He needed to make this quick.
To: General Manager
New York Yankees Baseball Corporation and Empire
Dear Sir:
I’m writing you today to encourage you to kindly get off your ass and start winning more games. Recent results have been disappointing, to say the least. Tampa Bay is rapidly closing the gap, and Boston is already within striking distance. The Orioles and Blue Jays are even still in the race. Good God, man, the Canadians! Baltimore is bad enough, but please, not the Canadians! The time to take action is at hand. The suggestions listed below are in no particular order, but all must be implemented immediately. And by that, I mean now.
1) More cheating. Seriously, how hard is it to steal signs? One kid with a pair of binoculars and a two-way radio in centerfield, and you’re done. Or how about aerial drones? They seemed to work pretty well in the Middle East. Make it happen. Otherwise, I know corking bats is so 1990s, but it’s still a good one to try to slip through. I’m sure the technology has gotten much better than rubber balls. There is probably some kind of nanotechnology developed by the Koreans out there now that can help. If you’re caught, blame it on overseas manufacturers. Americans always buy that one.
2) Spend more money. Don’t tell me you don’t have enough. You’re the Yankees, and talent doesn’t come cheap. Overpay the roster. It intimidates the other teams to see your players chewing on hundred-dollar bills rather than tobacco.
3) Throw at the batter more often. I don’t mean pitch inside more often. I mean hit the batter more often. When a ninety-mile-per-hour fastball nails an opposing player, he gets the message. When he gets whacked a couple of times during a game, he’ll back away from the strike zone. Isn’t that why you have so many relievers in the bullpen, anyway? Replacements for ejected pitchers? Down and away, followed by right in the ear. That’ll keep ’em off balance. For a bit, anyway, and then you just have to “bean” them.