“She smelled nice,” Private Zulu said.
“What?” Private Foxtrot watched the stripper saunter away.
“Kind of like the seats inside a new truck.”
“Looked like forty miles of bad road to me. How about that one over there?” Private Foxtrot pointed.
“Naw,” Private Zulu said, “she’s two axe handles across the ass.”
“Good point. What about her?”
“You know, she’s a bit old for me.”
“Old? There ain’t nothing but old in this place.”
“Yeah, I just like a lady’s skin to fit a bit tighter.”
“She does droop in places that shouldn’t, but Daddy used to always say, ‘It’s better to have ten ones than one ten.’”
“Your daddy also tried to teach a raccoon to drive a tractor.”
“Yep, drove it right through the side of the barn…hold the phone, partner. What about that one?” Private Foxtrot pointed at the most beautiful girl in the bar. Dark hair, voluptuous curves, and a big pistol strapped to her hip. She was the bomb, and everyone knew it, especially her.
“Now you’re talking.”
“Naw, she’s out of your league.”
“What do you mean?” Zulu asked.
“I mean that she must cost a fortune. Look at those…”
“I got money!”
“How much?”
“Couple of bucks, plus a few old pesos I found lying ’round the HQ.”
“You’re out of luck, buddy,” Private Foxtrot said as he watched the gorgeous woman curl herself around the pole on the main stage. “The good news is you’ve got enough money to buy me something to eat.”
“We done ate today already. How can you be hungry again?”
“I’m always hungry.” Private Foxtrot waved for El Coyote’s attention. “What kind of vittles you got to eat around here?”
“My friend, we serve the best menudo in town.” El Coyote smiled. “Spicy! Good for a hangover, too.”
“Hey, Zulu, you like menudo?”
“Sure, but mainly their older stuff, before they went all commercial.”
“No, I mean to eat.”
“Never had it. What’s in it?”
“Stomach,” El Coyote replied.
“Stomach? No way, Jose, I ain’t eating stomach.” Private Zulu shook his head.
“My friend, it’s tripe. It’s good for you.”
“Tripe? Okay. I like tripe.”
“Excellent. Lupe! Two bowls of menudo, pronto.”
“Do you even know what tripe is?” Private Foxtrot asked his friend.
“Sure, it’s like chicken, right? Mexican chicken?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”
“He was kidding about the stomach part, wasn’t he?”
“Just trust me.” A few minutes later, the two privates were slurping away at large, steaming bowls of bright red soup with large chucks of honeycomb-shaped material and hominy floating in them. “What do you think?” Private Foxtrot wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his fatigues.
“Spongy.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”
“Strangest-looking chicken I ever had before.” Private Zulu lifted his bowl to his mouth and drained the last bit of his soup. “Tastes like rubber. They must feed them something different down here, maybe plastic bags. Hey, what the heck has he got over there?” The private pointed to the front of the building, where Ziggy was carrying an iguana about half the size of himself. He made his way to the table and took a seat. He draped the long brownish-green reptile around his neck, like a lizard shawl.
“Where’d you get that?” Private Tango asked.
“Like, this kid, man. I swapped my hacky sack for him.”
“What’s his name?” asked Private Foxtrot.
“Nancy.”
“Nancy?”
“Like, yeah, dude.”
“Why’d you name him Nancy?” Private Zulu moved his chair back from Ziggy a few feet.
“Like, I’m not sure he’s a he, man. Like, I think he digs me, though, dudes. Watch this.” Ziggy kissed Nancy on the head. Nancy hissed and bit his ear. “See!”
“The General is in the can. Better not let him see that thing when he comes back,” said Private Tango. “He’s not much of an animal lover. His dog used to chew on him when he was little.”
“Like, Nancy’s not a dog, man. He’s an iguana. Like, he wouldn’t hurt anyone, dude.” Nancy hissed again and took another snap at Ziggy’s ear. “Like, good boy,” Ziggy said as he stroked the clearly perturbed iguana’s neck. Avery, sitting at the other end of the table, just shook his head.
“You men better stay out of the head for a few minutes,” the General said as he took his seat and wiped his forehead with a Confederate flag handkerchief. “It’s pretty ripe in there. Jesus! What the hell is that damned dinosaur doing wrapped around your neck, boy?”
“Like, it’s a rescue lizard, man.”
“Get it out of here.”
Nancy hissed at the General.
“No way, dude. Homeless iguanas are, like, a major, major problem in Mexico. Nancy, like, needs me, man.”
“Well, he’s not sleeping on the bus,” the General said as he took a swig of his warm beer. “Lizards are like Russian Spetsnaz — they’re most dangerous at night. Now, Mr. Pendleton, let’s go over our plan of attack for capturing an illegal immigrant…”
“A what?” Avery asked.
“A Mexican. Plenty of them around here.” The General lowered his voice and scanned the brothel without moving his head. “You’re after a female of breeding age, correct? This is a target-rich environment.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a scientist, not a human trafficker. I hired you and your men to escort me in search of a chupacabra.”
“A who?”
“Not a who, a what, and what it is, is simply the last frontier of undocumented creatures. A beast so secretive that it’s classified above top secret. J. Edgar Hoover even had a file on them.”
“You mean to tell me that we stole a vehicle, forded a raging river…”
“It wasn’t that raging, General, sir,” Fire Team Leader Alpha interrupted. “More like lazy. We could have waded across if we had wanted to.”
“Shut up!” the General bellowed as he pointed a pudgy finger in Avery’s direction. “My men are a highly trained militia with a mission of national importance, to stop the invasion of illegal immigrants. Not to chase after Bigfoot.”
“For the record, General, it’s really not advisable to chase after a sasquatch. Better to set up a well-camouflaged blind and wait. Chasing them only makes them angry. There was this one time, in British Columbia, where I…”
“I don’t give a good goddamn about Canada! Don’t even mention Canada. We’ve got enough problems with Mexico as it is. It makes my head hurt.” The General rubbed his bald dome.
“Try the menudo,” Private Foxtrot suggested.
“But don’t get it with the chicken,” Private Zulu added.
“General,” Avery said, “I have contracted with you for a specific service: guide and escort me and my companion…”
“And Nancy!” Ziggy blurted out.
“…And Nancy, during our journey to capture a chupacabra. Our oral agreement is irrevocable and binding, and if you choose to violate the terms of said agreement, I will be forced to employ the formidable resources of the Law Office of Gregory Kennesaw Mountain. You’re no doubt familiar with his extensive experience in front of the Supreme Court.”
“Actually, no.”
“Well, the next time you want to import bulk quantities of recently expired snack foods from former Soviet Republics, you can thank him. He’s what you would refer to as a great American patriot.”