The Cattle Haul

By Jan Trebbien

Rico is a completely ordinary American living in New Mexico. He drives cattle and horses around in the Southern United States and runs a fitness center in his hometown of Ruidoso. It doesn't offer much financially. On the rare occasion when he gets his hands on some money--usually, by winning at the race track--he can't get to Las Vegas fast enough to gamble and party it all away.
After a wild night, he meets the eccentric Carlos, who has apparently played a part in Rico's luck that night: Rico discovers 6,900 dollars in his pockets. But nothing comes for free in this world, and Rico's profession has made him a likely candidate for smuggling drugs across the border--a quality in Rico that has not gone unnoticed by Carlos.
Rico's alarm bells ring, but he still agrees to haul goods across the border for Carlos. He is never told what they contain, so Rico continues living the lie that he doesn't know for certain he's doing anything illegal. Soon, he is trapped in a dangerous game where he risks not only his freedom but also the lives of himself, his wife, and their unborn daughter.
How far are you willing to go to save your finances? How great is the risk of being found out? How much will you compromise your ethical boundaries? And do you risk getting hooked on the excitement of it all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645757030

Jan Trebbien

Jan Trebbien was born in 1957. He has been riding horses since he was nine years old. In the 1970s, he rode racehorses, including racing, and he has owned and co-owned several horses. During this period, he also drove horse transport while working in agriculture. In the 1980s, he operated his own fitness center and rode western horses from the mid-80s, rode the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo in 1995 as well as herding cattle in Texas in 1997.

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Jack

About the Author

Jan Trebbien was born in 1957. He has been riding horses since he was nine years old. In the 1970s, he rode race horses, including racing, and he has owned and co-owned several horses. During this period, he also drove horse transport while working in agriculture. In the 1980s, he operated his own fitness center and rode western horses from the mid-80s, rode the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo in 1995 as well as herding cattle in Texas in 1997.

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Jan Trebbien (2020)

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Publisher’s Cataloguing-in-Publication data

Trebbien, Jan

The Cattle Haul

ISBN 9781645757016 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781645757023 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645757030 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020903321

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

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Acknowledgment

    Danish Editor: Rikke Oberlin Flarup

English Translation: Manusoversættelse.dk by Christian Knudsen

Chapter 1

Meeting Carlos

I have just crossed the border from Texas to Mexico at McAllen. There is still about an hour and a half worth of driving to Valle Hermoso, where Carlos is having a get-together for a group of business connections. I have yet to become one of them, but about a month ago, he invited me to the get-together anyway. I met Carlos for the first time in Las Vegas, in the restaurant at the hotel I was staying at. I was having lunch when an elderly Mexican man politely asked if he could sit at my table. He wasn’t particularly tall and slightly chubby – as only elderly men can be. His hair was semi-long and black with a few gray streaks. Underneath his thick moustache, he had surprisingly fine and smooth skin. He had a friendly face and a twinkle in his eye. It was this friendly charm and twinkle in the eye that made me gesture towards the chair and ask him to have a seat. The man introduced himself as Carlos Nunetz, and smiled.

I saw you last night, he said. And I must say, you certainly have a handle on women.

I’m sure the women must have a handle on me, I said. I don’t remember much from last night.

Carlos looked at me in silence for a moment. And I responded to the puzzlement, I believed I saw, in his eyes.

Why am I in Vegas? One of my interests is race horses, and when I now and then get lucky and collect considerable winnings, it has practically become a tradition for me to go to Vegas to celebrate, I told him and continued. The other day, I bagged 8,000 dollars. Easy come, easy go. I have yet to make up the night’s expenses. Carlos looked at me with a gaze I wasn’t sure how to interpret.

Check your pockets, he said. I moved my hands into my pockets and pulled out a wad of cash: 6,900 dollars.

That can’t be right, I said.

I have to admit to helping you a bit last night, Carlos said. It was uplifting to experience the optimism with which you placed bets when you, in your intoxicated state, captivated the roulette table and exclaimed that with this many women of fortune, big winnings had to be in store, he went on to say. Your women of fortune spent your chips liberally, and to prevent the high spirits from coming to an abrupt end, I chipped in with a few. I was having just as much fun as you and the women. I handed him the money across the table, but he made a dismissive gesture.

Keep it. It was solid entertainment. We sat across from each other for a moment, and I tried to figure out why anyone would help a stranger with cash.

So, what do you do when you aren’t performing at casinos? Carlos asked.

I drive cattle and horses around the country, to rodeos, slaughterhouses, that kind of stuff. And I have a small gym. ‘The Gym’ near Ruidoso. I also have a race horse that I occasionally make a buck on, I told him and then remembered that I hadn’t introduced myself. By the way, I’m Rico. I shook his hand. This time, he accepted it. Carlos explained that his stay here was due to a skiing vacation up north. He had sprained an ankle and believed that the casino had to be a good place to recover. Sitting at a gambling table doesn’t stress the ankle.

Rico, you must come and visit me! he suddenly said. It’s just a quick trip across the border from Texas. I’m having a get-together in about four weeks. Some business connections are stopping by. I want you to transport some cattle for me. I won’t bother with the details now. We’ll discuss that later. But I assure you that you will be paid handsomely.

*

Before I drive across the border to Mexico, I make sure to have my Ford Mustang washed so the painted flying eagle on the hood is visible again. Since the car was adorned with it, I have only referred to it as the Eagle. I also make use of this opportunity to change my flannel shirt for a new, white one. If I’m going to be one of Carlos’s business connections, I have to look presentable. I drive towards Carlos’s estate, located near Valle Hermoso. To this day, I still wonder why I was so quick to accept Carlos’s invitation, which clearly entailed something suspect. I think I chose to ignore all the warning signs for the simple reason that I was always in a financial rut, and the prospect of quick money was too enticing. I was always behind on my bills, and The Gym was primarily a leisure pursuit that didn’t offer much profit. Quite the contrary, in fact. Surely a couple of cattle hauls couldn’t hurt, and I could spend the extra money on my trips to Vegas. If you don’t risk anything, you’ll never get rich.

The ranches and houses are far between on the last stretch of the drive, but after a while, I see a large grated fence, about seven feet high. It’s just shy of six yards from the edge of the road and runs along the side of the road as far as I can see. I slow down and follow the fence until I see an impressive entrance archway with a set of huge iron gates. This is Carlos’s property, and I stop in front of the archway where two armed guards immediately want to know what my purpose here is. I inform them of my engagement with Carlos, and after having checked their papers and called over their radio, I’m allowed to drive inside. I follow a wide, asphalted road for a while until I reach an impressive building that can rightly be called a mix of a Saudi Arabian palace and a luxury hotel. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. In front of the building, the asphalt on the road changes to marble, which stretches into a gigantic courtyard that also features a fountain, cactuses, and palms – in all shapes and sizes. There’s so much space that I become unsure about where to park. I pick a random spot and step out into the scorching sun.

I check my watch; the guards have delayed me. I start walking towards the huge entrance and only now realize that I have been watched from the moment the guards allowed me to enter. Without turning my head or lifting my gaze, I observe six