On The Border

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

    One of the odd developments about modern American society is the occurrence of so many "self storage" businesses.  If you want proof of a somewhat twisted sort that America is indeed the "Land of Plenty," just look at the profusion of such places.  Americans have so much stuff they can't fit it in their homes, so they essentially rent an apartment for more of their stuff.  

    There are all sorts of individual businesses in this industry, just like any other.  Some are just what they seem to be, some are well maintained, honest places of business, and some are a great deal shadier.  Keep that in mind the next time you drive past, or go into, one of these places.  There's really no way of telling what may be right next to you.

    The Cardozas, ever skilled at sniffing out, or creating, corruption to suit their needs, liked these storage businesses.  Not only could they store some of their merchandise here (only short term, of course), but they rented out some of the larger spaces as processing centers.  Drugs were sorted, bagged for resale, ground, bundled, etc, all under the watchful, if dead, eyes of gun-toting sicarios.  

    This particular business, under the not overly creative name of "Secure Self Storage," was cheap on several fronts.  The owners cared a lot more about profit than anything else, like morals or laws.  The building was constructed as cheaply as possible, made possible by a few well-placed "gifts" to various inspectors.  The place was essentially a concrete slab in the ground, with walls of sheet metal creating various spaces inside.  After coming to an arrangement with the management, almost the entire eastern half of the building was one large space controlled by the Cardozas.  Several different tables in this space had scales, bins, plastic bags, and various other paraphernalia.  

    The work was carried out in tense silence, as it tended to be.  The workers were watched over by the guards, who only cared about production and preventing theft.  The guards reported to their boss, who was known to punish failure harshly.  And of course, there was the constant, if unlikely, possibility of a police raid.  All in all, it made for tense conditions, which made for long, quiet shifts.  

    Which is why everyone exchanged puzzled looks and the tension ratcheted up several degrees when a knock came at the door.  The other shift radioed ahead and came on time, they weren't due yet.  And deviations from the schedule were not welcomed by Vargas, the head of security here.  No one in their right mind displeased Vargas.  Police wouldn't be knocking politely, even timidly.  Finally, one of the guards moved to the door and said, "What is it?"

    "I have your delivery, and I even made it early, like you wanted."  A rather young sounding voice came back through the door.  The guard looked at his nearest co-worker, who shrugged, his own confusion apparent.

    "What delivery?"  His accent was thick, but at least he spoke some English, unlike many of those in the room.

    "Your pizzas, man.  Oh come on, you're not gonna stiff me, are you?  I flew out here, and it took me a while to find this number.  We don't usually deliver out here, ya know?"  The guard was even more confused.  He motioned for some of the men to move closer.  The rest took a few steps closer by instinct.

    "We did not order any pizza.  You are mistaken," the guard said.