Fat Tony and I (My Stint as a Smuggler)

This is true, down to the names and places.

"Fat Tony" sat on the brick retaining wall outside the door to my roach motel room at the El Patio- his well over 300 lb form stooped over from exhaustion. He had been out trading his wares all day. Cigarettes bought cheap over the border, and brought in without paying tax, and Mexican silver, had made Fat Tony fat. If smuggling hadn't made him Fat Tony, it would have made him Rich Tony. Instead, he ate 4 pizzas and drank 6 to 8 liters of soda a day; he smoked 3 or 4 packs of cigarettes. I didn't call him Fat Tony to his face, of course.

As I came out the door, I knew what he would want from me, but of course, I asked. He told me that he was out of cigarettes, and that he had a buyer for more silver. I retreated into my room and put on my "Smuggling Dress", a low cut chiffon one with a leopard print. When I wore that one, the border patrol guys looked nowhere but a foot below my face. I also combed out my hair, and put on a little lipstick and perfume.

Tony was waiting in his old beat-up Toyota pickup. It was over 20 miles to the Mexican border from El Centro. The border was between the two towns of Calexico, CA and Mexicali, MX. During the drive, Tony asked if I didn't want to see more of Mexicali today, since he had the time. I thought about it, and told him "Of course. It's a shame I've been to Mexico at least 5 times in the last month, and have never really even seen it, other than the duty free shops and the crossing."

Thanks to his physique and the California sun-- which didn't even abate on this January day-- Tony was always covered in sweat. As he drove he regaled me with tales from his childhood in Brooklyn. And tales of how cruel his wife was, whom he had left behind. "At least she keeps telling everyone I'm dead like she's suppose ta, " he gurgled. Tony never explained the whole of why everyone in New York thought he was dead. Something told me not to ask too much. He had mentioned something once about owing money to the wrong people. After that, I was cautious what I asked him. I was a bit intimidated by the idea of knowing him TOO well.

When we got to Calexico, we crossed into Mexicali through the revolving bar. Along the fence around the building that houses the border crossing, stood several residents of Mexicali, chatting, drinking Fanta and Jarritos , and just staring over to see what America was like. Some were waiting for loved ones to return from the stores on the other side. As we entered Mexicali, the crowd got thick in places. This was always my least favorite part. There is something to be said about the stereotype that Hispanic males are overtly sensual. To not be groped as I entered the throng on the other side was always a struggle.

Today, we walked past the shops where we would buy our goods without entering. Tony told me that we could walk a few blocks, but that his legs were hurting, so we shouldn't go too far.

The crowd thinned out the farther we were from the border itself, and I began to feel more at ease. Tony told me that he needed to use the restroom. We went into what looked like a bar, and he told me to wait for him outside the restroom. As he barged through the restroom door, I turned to look around the room I was in: dark, smoky, with television screens showing numbers all the way across one wall. It wasn't a bar. And all eyes were on me. At least 200 pairs of male eyes. Not a woman to be seen. Something told me I was not in a place that women normally entered. I gathered, from the screens, that it was a gambling hall. They were all there to bet on the dog races. I didn't know enough Spanish at the time to understand what these men were saying to one another as they eyed me, and tapped one another on the shoulder. I didn't have to understand, I got the gist. I just felt uncomfortable, and wanted to leave. Fat Tony, however, appeared to be taking his sweet time. I looked at the folds of my skirt and waited, impatiently...

When Tony emerged from the restroom, he was laughing. He laughed all the way back outside. I asked, "What in the HELL was so funny back there? I felt a little uncomfortable."

"I got you out of there long before the police would have arrived! No worries!" He chuckled. I gaped.

Police?

"Women aren't allowed in there. Gambling halls here are men only. Did you feel a little out of place? And by the way, I didn't really need to go to the bathroom." I slapped him hard on the back of the shoulder, and started laughing with him.

We went to the shops, and he bought over $300 in silver, which would double in value when sold again in the US. If you paid the taxes, it would cost almost the doubled amount to get it in, but we weren't intending to pay taxes. Then, we bought 20 cartons of Marlboros. Cheap Marlboros made in Mexico that would burn so fast you rarely got four drags before they were gone, but they were Marlboros--and that was the going brand back in El Centro. Tony would sell these off by the pack and make a killing, and the buyers would be happy to have their cigarettes for almost a buck less a pack.

When we got to the border crossing building, and had passed back through the tumultuous throng of humanity, the line to cross into the US was rather long. On one side. On the other, it was extremely short. But on the other, the attendant was a woman. I was carrying most of the goods, all that were over the amount legal to purchase without paying the taxes. I didn't dare go through that line with a woman running it. My only advantage was no advantage with her, unless she wasn't straight.

Tony did a doubletake. It had never been a woman before! What in the heck were we going to do? We stood in the line where the attendant was male, but then the lady's line grew empty, and we were just in the perfect spot for her to ask us to step into her line. I panicked, of course. Inside. I didn't dare let my fear show. If I did, we would be caught, for certain. The cigarettes would just be confiscated, and there would be no profit from them that day, but the silver was another matter all together. It would mean trouble for me, since I was the one carrying it.

Tony stepped into the lady's line with his meager amount, and began to ask her questions. We always acted as though we were not together in the line, and this time I let there be no exception. Tony kept her talking until the man's line dwindled, and others had joined him in the lady's line. He saw me near the front of the line I was in, and passed through.

The problem now was that I had lost my monetary protection. If I were caught now, I would be on my own. The deal was that if I were caught, Tony was always behind me to help me somehow. This time, he wasn't there to bail me out. I had no cash with me to bribe anyone with, no clout at all, or experience in dealing with such a situation, as Tony had dealt with before.

I was just a kid who had recently found herself off the streets, and was making money to get a real apartment for herself and her father in the only way she had found. It wasn't even much money I was making.

I cried with fear on the inside, smiled politely to the Border Crossing attendant on the outside. I managed to sound normal, I think, as I told him where I was born, the only question he asked me. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and all was well again.

Once passing through the border building to my own side, I think I breathed the biggest sigh of relief that I ever have. The entire ride home, I swore to myself that I would collect aluminum cans before I went back and did that again!

A few days later, I was right back to crossing the border with goods. I didn't know enough Spanish to even get a job as a clerk at a gas station. My options were limited. I did what I had to do to save up money to get the heck out of that filthy border town so full of corruption--That town full of heroine dealers, w****s, and lunatics that seemed to always be on the hustle.

Within a few months, I did get out of there. We moved to Madera California in a rented vehicle. I got a job working in a little deli that was inside a liquor store. It was a crappy job with crappy pay, but much more fun and rewarding than my stint as a smuggler had ever been. I still wonder about Fat Tony once in a while though. Vile as most people would have found him, I even miss him a little... and I hope he never got caught.

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