East of Blue Baja

By David Holleman

A gripping, dark tale of a man's fight for survival and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Holleman
• Release date: May 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370329182

David Holleman

I spent a great deal of my life working and living in exciting places around the world. Now I am retired and working on my golf game and my writing. There is room for improvement in both.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1 – THE PRESENT

The yellow paint on the Harley was faded, but the engine ran, and sounded the same as the first day I fired it up; powerful and smooth. I tried to make a comparison of the paint and the engine to myself, and I had no trouble with the fading paint, but I could not make the jump in the performance of the motor to my physical or mental being. My shoulders slouched as I found it impossible to sit with my back straight. The tension and angst I had felt in the last few months, along with the three years I had been a heroin addict, and the loss of Allison had taken a heavy toll. I transferred the money from the satchel into the bike’s saddle bags. It was a tight fit; three million dollars is a considerable bulk. I had no desire at all to enter the apartment I had shared with Allison, but there was one item I wanted, my .32 caliber Beretta Tomcat. It was a small gun; one that I used infrequently and then just to plink at something in the ocean when I was on the Zaca, nor did it have much range, accuracy or stopping power, but it was small and would fit nicely in my pocket. I had been carrying a gun so much over the recent past I now felt uneasy without one.

I couldn’t watch Alfonso’s boat, the Zaca; make her fatal plunge to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean just off the shore of Ensenada. I had sent her there, along with Alfonso’s dead body, in a great ball of flame, which was his request. The sun had just risen, and I was perhaps a hundred yards away in the dingy when she went under, I could hear her awful dying hiss, as fire succumbed to water.

After I left the dingy, and was walking away from the boat, and the dead men now at the bottom of the sea, I was stunned to see Ojos sitting at the end of the pier a few steps from the parking lot. I stopped in front of him and looked down at him with disdain, but he could not see me. I had taken his eyes from him with my thumbs, and I had amputated his penis with garden shears. These things were what he prized most in his life, and I had robbed him of them just as he had robbed me of the thing I most prized in my life, Allison. I spoke to him in response to his questions about Felix Jefferson, and the drug king, Luis Huerta. Huerta was his benefactor, and their relationship was that of a father and son. I told him they would not be returning, and then I walked away. I think he may have called out for me to wait, but I had not been sure, and it would not have mattered to me if he did. I was through with him, and all of Baja.

After I crossed the border into California I thought about heading north to visit Allison’s parents in Des Moines, Iowa, but shunted it out of my mind. Not only were they still grieving for the loss of Allison, but also for her elder sister, Sybil, who had been Alfonso’s wife. She and their small daughter had been brutally raped and murdered by henchmen of Luis Huerta. Huerta had died a horrible death strangled at the hands of Alfonso, and moments later, I tossed his body overboard along with two of his thugs that I had killed. Allison and Sybil’s parents would continue to mourn for their lost daughters as long as they lived. I concluded that my presence wouldn’t hurt them, but neither would it help, so I turned East of Blue Baja.

Before I had opened the seacock, and set the Zaca on fire, I had strapped on the satchel that contained over three million dollars that Alfonso and I had received for turning over the rapist and murderer, Claudio Huerta, the son of Luis, to the drug lord of the Midwest, Constantinople Caesar Brown. I had plenty of money, but the light of my life had gone out with the death of Allison at the hands of Ojos in a room at the Gaviota Azul motel in Ensenada. All the money in the world could not take the place of her touch. All I had left of Baja were bad memories, so I decided to return to my birthplace, Louisiana. Trouble was, there were a lot of bad memories in Louisiana as well.

I had always been able to man up to the ghosts I had fled from in New Orleans, and surroundings, or at least I manned up enough to make that statement while I was two thousand miles away. Fact of the matter is, with the exception of my own personal dream ghosts, and they were many, I had not come face to face with a spectral bogey man in my life. What ghosts were waiting for me? First off I would have to face the spirit of my daughter, Adriana. I had seen her die, and I should have died trying to save her, but I had not. What could I say to her when I stood next to her grave? I didn’t know. Then there was my wife Cynthia, who was also my half-sister, a fact unknown to both of us at the time of our marriage. The last I had heard about her was her doctors expected her to survive the automobile crash that took the life of our daughter, but she would be a paraplegic for the remainder of her life. For all I knew we might still be legally married.

There was my father, JoJo, who was the head of the Louisiana, and gulf coast area, Mafia. While coming up through the ranks of the organization he had been an assassin, and had killed many people. His specialty was to dispatch his victims in unique and horrible ways that would call attention to their demise, and serve as a warning to others that contemplated crossing the Mafia. I didn’t even know if he were still alive. In the years since I had fled Hammond, the town where I lived, and had been a practicing physician, with my wife Cynthia and my daughter Adriana, I had not contacted anyone from there or heard from, or about, anyone.

And there was Brenda, my mother. It was she, and her appearance into my life after thirty years that had set the circumstances in motion that led to the tragic death of Adriana, which caused me to flee Hammond into the arms of heroin in Baja California. I had no way of knowing if she had stayed in the area or not. I had mixed feelings about her because there was also Annabella, JoJo’s wife, who had raised me from infanthood as her own son. How would I deal with two mothers?

I was in no hurry to get back to whatever waited for me in Louisiana, so I turned off the freeway, and made my way east on the two lane highways. I slept in cheap motels with ground floor rooms where I could wheel my Harley inside to prevent it from being stolen. I followed the same track toward the rising sun as I had nearly six years before except that time I was riding into the sunset, and did not have a pocket full of pills now, as I did then.

CHAPTER 2 – THE PAST

JoJo Comeaux eased his body down on to one of the high stools that sat at the breakfast bar of Euthel and Cynthia’s kitchen in Hammond, Louisiana. He reckoned the house had not seen a living soul inside it since the day after his granddaughter; Adriana had been laid to rest. Now, his daughter Cynthia was at Ochsner hospital in New Orleans. Her doctor had advised him that, in all probability, she would spend the rest of her days in a wheel chair. But now, JoJo’s immediate concern was for his son-in-law, Euthel Brewer. He and his wife, Annabella, had been standing by Euthel’s side when the small casket containing the unrecognizable lump of burned flesh that had been their granddaughter, was lowered into her final resting place. The crowd began to disperse after the last words had been uttered by the priest, and JoJo and Annabella stepped back from Euthel. JoJo made a gesture for her to go on to their car as he wanted to have a word in private with his son-in-law. Annabella looked up into his face with a questioning look, but JoJo made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and she turned and walked slowly down the gentle incline of the graveyard. When everyone was out of earshot JoJo reached out his hand and placed it on Euthel’s shoulder. For a few seconds neither man moved, but then Euthel turned and looked into JoJo’s eyes with a vacant stare, then shrugged JoJo’s hand from his shoulder, and walked away. JoJo called after him, but he did not turn, or deviate from the course leading to his automobile.

JoJo had placed several phone calls to Euthel and Cynthia’s home, but all went unanswered except for the cheerful message of Cynthia’s voice stating they were unable to take their call at this time. Telephone calls to Euthel’s office were also answered by a machine which referred patients to another doctor. After two days JoJo had driven to Hammond, and parked his car outside of their home, but there was no sign of life or change except the grass needed cutting. He had sat there in his car for an hour or so, but he did not enter the house. During the next two weeks he had driven by the house several times but had not stopped. The grass was still growing, and he had made arrangements for a lawn care service to tend to it on a weekly basis. The next time he drove by the house he decided to go in, and using a key given to him by Cynthia, he opened the door and stepped into the foyer. He waited a few seconds then he called out a low hello, but he knew there was no one there. The interior of the house was cool, and a welcome respite from the heavy, hot air outside. He entered every room except Adriana’s, and the kitchen; all were in order. The house was in a state fit for showing by a real estate agency. Then he went into the kitchen and noticed a set of keys and a piece of white paper on the breakfast bar. He reached down and took the piece of paper in his hand. It was a note from Euthel, ‘JoJo, here are the keys to the house. The deed is in the junk drawer.’ That was all, not a word of fare-thee-well or see you later, just those cold austere words. He went to the refrigerator and got out a can of beer. Then he sat down and took a long slug of the ice cold brew, and picked up the note again. He turned it over, hoping for some words on the back, but there were none. He read and re-read Euthel’s words, but they offered no clue to where he was.

JoJo sat there for an interminable time nursing a second beer when the doorbell rang. It startled him, and he jumped to his feet wondering who in the world would come here. As he stepped out of the kitchen toward the front door he thought it must be a salesman, or some delivery of one sort or another. He opened the door and the sight he saw made his knees buckle, and he took a step backwards. It was Brenda Adams.

They stared at each other for several seconds until JoJo stepped aside. his heart pounding, and gestured her to enter. She walked into the room brushing close to him, and he caught the faint, subtle scent of her perfume. It was the same as she had always used, when they were together over three decades before. His eyes took in her still lithe curvy body, and her face, that he had always loved to look at while she was sleeping. A wave of emotion rode over JoJo as he realized that the years had not eroded an iota of the feeling he had had for her, and he turned away from her to hide the tears in his eyes. He motioned for her to enter into the great room of the house, as he closed the door, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Brenda sat on a plush sofa without being asked. She crossed her silk clad legs at her ankles. The silk was a pale yellow, and she wore a light lime green blouse that was tied in a knot at her waist. JoJo remembered her propensity for silk garments, and no matter what the color she chose for her outfits, they always seemed to accentuate her loveliness; the pale yellow and lime green were no exceptions.

He stood for a few seconds without moving, and then sat down in a chair at her right elbow. He looked at her, and there were a multitude of words that he wanted to speak, but he could not utter one. Brenda was speechless as well, and they stared at each other in silence, as if disbelieving what they were seeing.

Finally he spoke, Brenda, what are you doing here?

I have been coming here at least three times a week hoping to find him here.

But why?

She stared at him with an expression of disbelief. Joseph Comeaux, I always thought you were one of the most innate intelligent men I had ever known, but now I am not so sure. She paused and then went on, what do you think I am doing here?

JoJo leaned back in his chair, looked perplexed, and then he leaned forward, and exhaled a long breath.

Yes, she said, go to the head of the class.

But I never knew. How could I? Why didn’t you tell me?

He started to speak again, but she shushed him by rising from the sofa and crossing to where she stood in front of him. She reached her right hand down and took his left hand in hers.

There are a million questions, and as many answers, but now is not the time. We have to do something first. Show me where the guest bedroom is.

CHAPTER 3 – THE PAST

Much later they lay spent, at each other’s side. Their passion had been ablaze, and in spite of the air conditioning their bodies were drying from the perspiration brought on by their intense love making. There had been moments of soft tenderness by JoJo, but countered by a fierceness almost reaching the height of violence. Brenda had not winced nor turned aside, instead met his varying emotive love making equally. They had both seemingly experienced a catharsis as any unease they may have felt an hour before had vanished. JoJo turned on his left side and with his hand he swept up her long dark hair away from her neck. Then he leaned his head down and kissed the gentle curvature of it.

You know I never got over you. I thought of you every day. It seemed like every hour. After we returned from Philadelphia I went to your apartment the next morning, but of course you were gone. Why weren’t you there? What happened?

She turned on her side, and they were face to side. You mean you don’t know?

No, I don’t. I thought perhaps it had something to do with Cerione, but I wasn’t sure.

"Yes it was Cerione. I had only been home for a few minutes, and had started to unpack when the doorbell rang. When I answered the door it was that guy you worked with; I believe you called him ‘Grease’, so I let him in. There was another man with him, but he waited in the hall. Anyway, he walked in, sat down and then handed me an envelope. I opened it and it contained a sheaf of hundred dollar bills, and an airline ticket.

This is from Mr. Cerione, and he sends a message along with it.

So what is the message?

‘That airline ticket is a reservation on a flight tonight. You are to be on the plane. You can leave here for the airport as soon as you are packed, and under your own power. If you choose otherwise you will never leave this room alive again. Is that understood?

‘Yes, but why?

Your little thing with JoJo has caused some dissension in Mr. Cerione’s family, and he does not like it. In respect for JoJo he has chosen this way to handle the problem. Were it not for his feeling toward JoJo there wouldn’t be any options for you. So what do you say?

What about all my things? I just can’t pick up and leave everything like this.

No problem, I have made arrangements for a moving van to arrive here within the hour. They will pack you up and take all of your belongings including your furniture to Miami. They will store everything for you until you are ready for them, and then they will deliver them to you. All cost for the handling of your stuff is also covered by Mr. Cerione. You should be very thankful to him.

I wanted to call you, but I realized that would do no good. The decision had been made by Cerione that I was to go, and I had no choice in the matter. I began to pack. Your pal Grease helped himself to the Scotch that you liked so well while I was packing a few more things in addition to the two bags I had on the trip to Philly. It didn’t take me long. Grease was gentleman enough to help me with my bags, and sure enough there was a taxi waiting. The driver stowed my bags in the trunk of his cab while Grease stood there with a stupid grin on his face. Then he told the driver to take me to the airport. When I got there and had checked in I had a couple of hours to wait until the flight left, and I thought about calling you again, but came to the same conclusion that it would do no good, and I couldn’t think of how I would go about saying goodbye. I toyed with the idea of asking you to come with me, but I thought perhaps Sartuche would be furious that you had left his daughter for a hooker, and that he might prevail on Cerione to have you killed. So I let it go at that, and dutifully got on the plane, heading back to where I had come from.

CHAPTER 4 – THE PRESENT

Felix Jefferson knew he was in the grasp of Brewer, one of the men he, Huerta and Pablo had come to kill. He used all of his strength to push the bigger man off him. He followed through with a blow with his fist, and he felt it connect solidly into soft flesh. He thought his blow had landed on the man’s throat as he heard a loud gasp. He rolled his body on top of Brewer, and pummeled at his head with both his fists, but then he heard a roar, and felt a crushing blow to his midsection; he knew he had been shot. Then there was another terrible sound as he felt another bullet enter his body on his right side. His hands opened from the fists, and his vitality left him. He could feel the strong hands of his assailant as they gripped his shoulders, and flung him backwards onto the deck of the boat. He was surprised that there was no pain, only a dull ache, but the ache seemed to grow in intensity with each second. He placed his hand over his stomach, and could feel the hotness and moisture of his blood as it soaked through his shirt. Then he lost consciousness.

Felix regained awareness when he felt himself being lifted up, and then he was in the air going down toward the cold water of the Pacific. His body plunged under the surface, and he lost orientation for a few seconds, but he could discern the faint light of the surface, and he clawed his hands upward. When his head reached the air the opened his mouth and drew in large gulps deep into his lungs. The ache in his stomach had ceased, only to be replaced by a raging fire, and he knew he would die without help. He had never learned to swim, and this knowledge caused him to go into deep panic. All he could do was thrash at the surface of the water with his arms, but he knew this was futile as his strength was waning quickly. Then one of his arms struck something hard, and he realized it was the side of the dinghy Pablo had rowed out to the boat owned by Alfonso Corrales, the other man they had come to kill. Huerta had tied the dinghy to the side of Corrales’ sail boat, the Zaca, but now it was loose. Perhaps Brewer had cast it adrift he thought, but he could not dwell on how or why it was here; only that it might be his salvation. He tried with desperate effort to pull his body over the edge of the boat, but it was only after three attempts, and with the last of his strength that he was able to do so. His body rolled down into the bottom of the small boat, and he lay there unmoving, only aware of the terrible burning in his stomach. Then he passed out again. When he opened his eyes he was not sure how long he had been unconscious, but he felt it could not have been long as the pain was so severe. He was able, with great effort, to raise himself to his hands and knees, and he could see the dim outlines of the pier not one hundred yards in front of him, and he could tell that the tide was an incoming one, and was pushing the dinghy toward the pier. The sun was creeping up slowly, and its light allowed him to see more clearly. At first he thought he was hallucinating from the pain as he saw a dim figure on the pier, but as the light increased he could see that it was real. It was Ojos, still sitting on the two sardine boxes Huerta had stacked for him. Ojos had wanted to accompany them to the Zaca, but Huerta had gently reminded him that he was now blind, and had pushed down on his shoulders until Ojos was seated on the boxes. A great wave of relief washed over Felix as he thought he might live, and he began to cry out over and over, Ojos, help, Ojos help.

CHAPTER 5 – THE PRESENT

After that bastard son of a whore Brewer had walked away from him, Philippe Roque felt abject fear. When Brewer had told him that both Felix Jefferson and Luis Huerta were dead Philippe came close to panic, and he knew his words were true, otherwise Brewer would be dead, and it would be Huerta standing in front of him. They had exchanged a few words, and then Brewer turned to go. When he had gone a dozen or so paces away from him the feeling of being left alone with no eyes to see almost overcame him, and he called out a low croak toward the diminishing sounds of Brewer’s footsteps.

Wait, he had called, but there was no answer, only silence. After a moment had passed he felt revulsion toward himself for seeking aid from the devil that had amputated his penis, and gouged out his eyes with his thumbs. Jesus, he thought, only a few days before he had been Ojos, feared up and down the length of Baja, and even though now blind he told himself that he would still be a force to be reckoned with. He decided to sit there awhile longer until the sun came up further into the sky. He could feel the rays of it begin to warm his back, and he began to screw up his courage to get up from the fish boxes, and make his way out into the traffic, whose sound was increasing as the day came alive.

Then he heard weak cries from the water, Ojos, help, they said over and over.

Though faint, he recognized the voice as that of Felix Jefferson. He responded at once, crying out as loudly as he could, Felix, is that you, where are you?

Yes, Ojos, it is me. I am in the dinghy, and it is drifting toward the pier. I am only about twenty yards from it. I am shot bad Ojos. Help me. Help me.

Jesus, Felix, you know I am blind. What can I do?

Get down on your hands and knees, and crawl to the edge of the pier. I will guide you with my voice. I will throw the dinghy’s rope up to you. Hurry, Ojos, hurry. I am dying.

Without hesitation Philippe got down on his hands and knees, and began slowly crabbing toward the edge of the pier. He was careful not to go over the edge as he pushed his hands out in front of him before moving his knees. Soon he was at the edge. I am here Felix. What do I do now, he called out over the water. There was no answer, but he heard a bump off to his left as the dinghy drifted into the pier.

Then a weak voice came, crawl to your left, Ojos, to your left. I will tell you when to stop.

Philippe dutifully turned and crawled down the pier until he heard Felix’s voice again.

That’s far enough. I am going to throw the rope up.

Roque halted his crawling. His fingers grasped the edge of the pier, and he held on tightly as he was afraid he would fall into the dark water. He heard a faint thump off to his right, and he knew it was the rope. He moved his hand carefully over until he felt it, then he grabbed it tightly in his hand, and drew it toward him.

What do I do now, Felix? he called down over the edge of the pier.

Off to your right a couple more feet there is a place you can tie the rope to. Then go and get help. Hurry, Ojos, hurry.

Roque tied the rope, and yelled again over the edge of the pier, what now?

Go and get help Ojos. Find someone to get me out and take me to the hospital, Felix replied in obvious pain.

Goddamn, Felix, you know I am now blind. How can I get help?

Ojos, please get help now. I am dying.

Philippe Roque crabbed back from the edge of the pier, and carefully got to his feet. He could hear the sound of the early morning traffic in front of him, and it was in that direction that he made his way, with arms stretched out in front of him, and with small careful steps. He continued toward the sound of the oncoming cars until he was close enough to feel the rush of air they created as they whizzed by. He was afraid he would be run over if he took another step so he began to frantically wave his arms in the air in an attempt to get one of the cars to stop, but all this seemed to do was elicit the sounds of horns and loud curses. After two or three minutes without anyone stopping he realized he had to walk out into the traffic. If he did not, he reasoned, Felix would surely die, and Felix’s survival had become very important to him. While there were no details, his mind was full of an overwhelming need to wreak vengeance on the head of the bastard Euthel Brewer, and he knew he would need the eyes and assistance of Felix. After a couple of more steps Roque could sense that he was directly in front of automobiles, and he turned and stretched his arms up as if he were a policeman directing traffic.

Philippe thought he would surely be run down by one of the crazy Mexican drivers in their mostly beat up Chevys, but he exhaled the breath he was holding as he heard the loud screech of brakes, and sensed the automobile as it stopped just beyond where he was standing. The next thing he heard was the loud slamming of a car door, and then he was being shaken by the shoulders while he was verbally assaulted by the man doing the shaking.

I almost ran over you, you crazy son-of-bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you standing out here in the middle of the road like a blind man. Are you blind, you stupid fucker?

Yes, mister, I am, Philippe said softly. And my friend will die if you do not help him, he added, pointing toward the pier.

The man was visibly shaken at what was happening to him, and was abashed at asking a blind man if he was blind. Where is your friend? I don’t see anyone over there by the pier.

No, no,’ Philippe cried out. He is in a small boat that is tied to the pier. Go and get him out so we can take him to the hospital."

CHAPTER 6 – THE PRESENT

The first couple of nights out of Baja I slept like a baby. I