Chapter Two  

CHAPTER 2
December 26, 2011
 

    In the darkness just before dawn on December 26, a light topped the peak of the coast range on the west side of the Salinas Valley and began a slow spiral descent into the town of Greenfield.  Amidst a cloud of dust it came to rest in the empty lot next to the Washington Mutual Bank, across Walnut Avenue from the Greenfield Elementary School.  The dust cleared just as the sun was rising on the east side of the valley, and an old flatbed truck with a homemade camper on the back rolled to a stop on Walnut.
    An old man with a handle-bar mustache got out of the truck and walked toward the object.  He stopped for a minute in front of it.  The object had the appearance of an Automatic Teller Machine.  He turned away putting money in his pocket.  He went back to his truck and pulled out his fiddle and began to play a lively blue grass tune.
    Rodolfo, a young Mexican boy rode by on his bike.  He turned around in the street and came back to listen to the music.  The man finished his tune and spoke to Rodolfo.  "Feller says if you go on over to that there machine it'll give you some money."
    "I get in trouble from my mom if I steal anything," responded Rodolfo.
    "Not stealin' if the machine gives it away.  Just got a bunch m'self.  I hain't no thief."
    "I gotta go buy milk for my little sister....All the stores were closed last night.  Uh I gotta go," said Rodolfo as he started to walk away.  He hesitated a moment as the old man began to play his fiddle again.  The music helped his fear subside.  He got off his bike and walked over to the ATM.  The computer screen on it read, "Welcome to the Bank of Fortunatus, please place your hand on the outline to the right to receive your Daily Bread."  Rodolfo looked back at the old man playing his tune and fighting back a tear of fear, placed his hand on the hand print next to the screen.  The ATM screen then read,
 "Welcome Rodolfo.  Please remove your Daily Bread.  Do   not attempt to use this machine again today.  You are    welcome again tomorrow."
    Rodolfo looked in the opening below the screen and pulled out five 20 dollar bills.  He turned to go tell the old man what had happened, but the man, the truck, and his fiddle were all gone. The empty lot was deserted.
    Rodolfo ran and jumped on his bike, and rode home as fast as he could.  He had to tell his mother what had happened.
 

    Lupe and Hector saw Rodolfo run away from the machine putting money in his pocket and decided to investigate.  Lupe took a good shot from his tequila bottle and strode right up to the machine, placed his hand on the palm outline, and the screen lit up.

 "Bienvenidos Lupe.  Traiga su pan de cada dia (Daily Bread).  No  esfuerza usar la máquina otra vez hoy.  Vas ser bienvenidos   mañana."

    Lupe couldn't read but he recognized the five pieces of paper that fell into the open slot at the bottom of the machine.  They had pictures of a man he didn't know, a president from long ago in the land of the norte americanos.  The one thing he did know about Andrew Jackson was what he and every one of his amigos knew.  Each of these little paper portraits would cost them the effort of picking two hundred buckets of tomatoes, cutting a thousand heads of lettuce, or stacking five hundred sacks of onions.  And here it was for the taking.  After another shot of tequila Lupe grabbed the money.
    Hector stood as the fear of the ages surrounded him.  Hector could read.  He understood that the machine knew who Lupe was, just by touch.  "That machine knows you Lupe.  It's the devil.  It'll make us pay for everything we get.  Nothing is free."  But he looked at the money in Lupe's hand, and the smile on his face, and he overcame his fear.  He crossed himself, and after kissing his hand, put it on the machine.

 "Bienvenedos Hector..."

    He looked down and saw the money appear, grabbed it, looked at Lupe, and together they strolled away singing jubilantly until they saw the cop car pull up.  They continued on their way in silence as john law surveyed the scene.
    "They'll shut it down for sure." moaned Hector
    "Yeah, what would they do without hungry Mexicans.  Pero amigo, we got there in time." Lupe was ecstatic, and a little drunk.
    "Yeah, and if we can get back here with our families, maybe we can beat the gringo out of some more money," suggested Hector.
    To this Lupe drained the remaining tequila from the bottle and yelled "El Grito".
 

    Rodolfo's mother Belinda lived in a small house in what used to be a labor camp on the edge of town.  She was busy dressing Rodolfo's little sister when he came rushing through the door.
    "Dinero, Mami, la máquina me daba dinero.  The machine gave me money, Look mami," as Rodolfo pulled out the hundred dollars.
    "Where'd you get that Dolfi?  You know what I told you about taking things.  We'll take it back after breakfast."  Belinda was steaming. "Don't tell me you didn't get the milk."
    "But Mami, the machine gave me the money.  The viejito gringo told me it was OK.  I think it was his machine."  Rodolfo pleaded.
    "Rodolfo, nobody gives away money, not even loco gringos. You show me this machine or I'm taking you straight to the policia myself.  Get Mango's jacket and let's go.  Vamonos."
    In one fell swoop Belinda had the two year old Mildred, a.k.a. Mango, all bundled up, grabbed Rodolfo by the arm with one hand, snatched the money from him with the other, and headed them out the door.
 

    Officer Carson pulled his car up to the curb.  He had no idea what the machine was, nor where it had come from.  He'd thought of stopping Hector and Lupe and asking them what was going on, but he thought they were probably too dumb to speak English.  It was Carson's worst problem in Greenfield.  Half the time he had no idea what anyone was saying.  Hell, ninety percent of the time, because "they" did ninety percent of the crime.  And the Mexicans don't seem to have any respect for the law, he ruminated.  Carson's grandfather had been a cop in Texas.  They knew how to treat their Mexicans there, at least those Mexicans who didn't show the proper respect. Though he seldom told anyone, his grandmother was a Mexican.  But she was a good Mexican, or his grandpa Carson would have never married her.
    Carson approached the machine cautiously.  He'd driven by here just a half an hour ago and there had been nothing but an empty lot.  He began to read the screen.  He had never heard of the Bank of Fortunatus.  And what the heck is Daily Bread?  He looked around to see if anyone was watching, then placed his hand on the outline.  The screen activated and read,

 "Welcome Michael, Please remove you're Daily Bread.  Do not  attempt to use the machine again today.  You are welcome again  tomorrow."

    Carson was dumbfounded.  He stashed the money down his pants, too afraid to even put it in his pockets.
    "I better get right over to the chief's house.  He's gonna want to know about this," he mumbled to himself as he headed back to his patrol car.
 

    The early morning walkers came by and left a hundred dollars richer.  They began to spread the news about town as they made their morning rounds.  By the time Belinda arrived with her children there were a dozen people milling around with big smiles on their faces.  They saw her curiosity and encouraged her.  "Go on, it won't hurt you.  Just put your hand on the hand print," said one lady.  "And take the little ones up there too." added another. "My baby just got a hundred."
    Belinda knew opportunity when she saw it and took Mango to the machine with her and came away with two hundred more dollars.  She now had three hundred dollars in her pocket.  It was the most money she had ever had that wasn't already spent before she got it.
    She thought of heading straight for work, but she was already late.  She decided she would go spend some of the money at the super-market before someone tried to take it back, as she was sure someone was going to.
    Hector and Lupe returned to the scene at the head of a big convoy.  Sons, daughters, aunts, cousins, grandfathers, and anyone else they could round up began to take their turns at the machine.  It didn't take long.  A lunch wagon arrived, pulled up over the curb, and began to do a booming business.
    People were so excited when they got there money they had to stay and talk a few minutes before rushing off to tell a friend.  So the crowd grew slowly until about 8:15.
 

    There were over two hundred people gathered when Chief Castenada showed up with patrolman Carson.  Carson was scared, angry, and happy, all at the same time.  Earlier he had forgotten that he was wearing his boxer shorts that day instead of his usual jockeys, and he had lost eighty of his hundred dollars down his pants leg.  If Carson were thinking he might have chuckled over his own little career as a trickle-down economist, but all he had in mind was making sure he drew guard duty on this beast at midnight.  He wasn't sure if it would still be working, but if it was, he was gonna be first in line.
    Belinda was coming back from the store and stopped to watch from the back of the crowd.  Her kids had new shoes on their feet and an all day sucker in their mouths.  Cops?   She knew this machine was too good to last.
    "Just like I told you boss." sputtered Carson.   "A cash machine.  But you don't need no account to take some out."
    Castenada approached the machine cautiously.  It was as much a mystery to him as everybody else, but he was a trained lawman, an educated eye.  The machine had three sides,  kind of a pyramid with three faces with a computer screen in each side.  It came to a rounded point and on top of that sat what looked like a totem pole.  An Indian totem pole.  The base of the totem pole was wolf or dog, next came a bear, then a beaver, and on top was the most beautiful carved Chinook Salmon, seeming in mid-flight.  Castenada knew he was not on a routine call.  "God," he thought, "That Salmon almost looks alive."
    The chief wanted to see the thing in action and motioned for Carson to go on over to the machine.  "So do it Mike.  Let's see it work."
    "Once a day for everybody, Jefe," shouted Lupe.  "El regalo de la Virgen."
    "Or the devil," countered Hector.
    "Don't listen to him Jefe.  The gift of the Virgen.  But only once each day.  Your amigo already got his, so go ahead Jefe.  We're all equal in the eyes of the machine."  Lupe laughed a deep happy laugh.
    Castenada glared at Carson, "Thought you said you didn't touch it you Nimrod."
    "Just investigating chief.  But I don't have... er..didn't take the money.  And... it did kinda warn me not to double dip."  The crowd laughed along with the chief, who then walked up to the machine and placed his hand on the appropriate place.  Sure enough, a hundred dollars dropped into the slot.  The chief picked up the money, examined it closely, counted it, and in front of everyone, put it in his pocket.
    The chief  turned and faced the crowd.  "You're all going to have to head on home.  We got a call from the owner of this property, and this machine, and all you people are trespassing.  It's been fun folks, but you're just not allowed on this property."
    "It ain't your money chief.  What's the problem?" came a voice from the back of the crowd.
    "I'm the problem."  shouted the chief as he placed his hand on his gun.  Castenada had a reputation of being just crazy enough to shoot, so people began to slowly move back.  The crowd  turned, as if to walk away, all the time keeping one eye on the machine and one on the cops.
    This gave Castenada the chance to walk to his car with Carson.  "Gosh Chief.  When did the owner call?" asked Carson.
    "The owner didn't call, you moron.  I don't even know who the owner is.  But that thing is a public nuisance, and a threat to... well, ... to our way of life." Castenada glared at Carson.  He hated to be flustered in front of his deputy.
    Carson had never heard the chief talk like that.  Unsure of himself, almost scared.   Carson didn't feel so bad then.  They began to pull out some barriers and some crime scene tape to cordon off the area.  Castenada helped Carson set things up, and then told him to hold down the fort while the chief headed downtown to make some phone calls.  Some extraordinary phone calls.  This was no normal Automatic Teller Machine.
 

    When Belinda saw the police around she knew the machine was on the way out, so she headed to her mother's with the kids.  "Well at least we got there once," she thought.  "And the kids have some shoes.  I hope that machine doesn't keep track of who used it.  The gringo hates it when you get something for nothing.  It makes them mean."  It bothered her, but just like everyone else, she was on a money high.  And money, as we know, casts out fear.
 

    As soon as the chief left, everyone who had acted like they were moving away turned around and headed right back to the machine.  Carson positioned himself on the side that was facing the street and tried to put on the toughest face he knew.  The crowd, which had grown to about 500 now, surrounded him almost immediately.  The majority of the people in the group had not had their chance at the machine, and Carson was all that stood between them and 20 to 30 thousand dollars.  He was perspiring heavily even though it was a cool, crisp morning.
    Carson pretended not to notice as the barriers and tape disappeared from the other two sides of the machine and people began getting money again.  To him it was the perfect compromise.  He'd been around long enough to know that this is the way things really worked.  It wouldn't be the first time he'd looked the other way while whatever he guarded was robbed out the back door, except that he usually got paid a little extra.  Hell, that was government in action, and he knew it.  Except the robbers were usually confined to those citizens who were above suspicion.  These people were just working stiffs like him.  He would never harm them unless the chief or the mayor was around to watch.
    He would have kept his post too, if his wife hadn't shown up.  His wife's friend's mother's cousin had been one of the early discoverers of the machine, and had burned up the telephone spreading the news.  Carson's wife, Lana, heard about the free money, and did what most everybody else had done, made a bee-line to the cash, kids in tow.
    "Michael is it true?  Does this thing really give away money?" asked Lana.  Officer Carson just nodded in her direction trying to keep his cop face from cracking.  "Well move over and let me use it then hon," she said as Carson kind of jerked his head to the side and back, trying to motion her to the back where the others were busily getting their issue, but Lana Carson had no intention of standing in a line when her only true husband was in charge.  "Don't be stupid hon, just let me slip in there and get my money, and I'll get out of your hair."  Mrs. Carson was a force to be reckoned with.
    Officer Carson was at a loss, and the crowd was growing by the minute.  "But Lana, this is my job," Carson managed to whine before his wife slipped by him and to the machine.  As she did the people on his side of the machine simply fell in line behind her.  Carson knew he was through, so he just followed her over to the sidewalk after she had gotten her money.  By now the crowd was approaching a thousand.  With all three sides of the ATM open, everyone had a fairly quick shot at the machine.  This soothed the savage beast that had been swelling in the crowd since the chief's arrival, and the party atmosphere returned.
 

    Chief Castenada got to his office and sat for a moment.  He was a tough guy who seldom called for outside help.  He wasn't afraid to walk into the middle of a gang fight, or face down a pissed off red neck.  He'd learned to calm the fears of local businessmen that the Mexicans were taking over, and calm the anger of local Mexicans at the prejudice they faced on a daily basis.  His parents had been field workers when he was a child.  His intelligence and a good education had prepared him to be a cop, but it was growing up Mexican in Anglo California that had prepared him for his life in Greenfield.  Castenada was proud that he could almost always see the subtleties that most people missed.  He mastered the local milieu through a deep understanding of all parties involved.  But nothing in his training or personal background had even remotely prepared him for this.  What the hell was that thing and who put it there?
    He examined the bills.  Five Federal Reserve notes.  Non-consecutive serial numbers.  They seem to have been circulated before, and matched none of the serial numbers he had on file for counterfeit.  The paper was correct, down to the plastic fibers running through to aid in identifying the real thing.  It was real money.  But was it a crime?  He didn't even know where to begin.
     OK,.... Sheriff, District Attorney, Governor, FBI, who should he call first?  He knew that if he started in Monterey County, with the Sheriff or the DA he'd get lost in the shuffle because they were sure to be right there with a management team.  Then he'd have no contact with the higher ups who eventually would resolve this whole thing.
    He made a mental check list.  The governor? He was in bad enough shape, popularity wise, to come here and handle it himself.  The FBI?  They shut everybody out, with their "professionalism."  If Castenada was going to ride this situation out of town, he needed to stay in the game as long as possibe, in as high a profile as he could maintain.  "Hell." Castenada thought to himself.  "This is a national problem.  I mean money is a national thing, right.  I should call the damn president."
    Call the President, Castenada laughed to himself.  Could a small town Chief of Police get ahold of the President of the United States.  Not just any small town chief of police, but Castenada thought maybe he was the exception.  He had his ace in the hole.  Etienne Duvall, he mulled the name over in his mind.  He hadn't thought of his old friend in a while.  Etienne Duvall, the "Brown Frenchman," Vic used to call him.  White House reporter and fellow graduate from the Yellowstone Police Academy, Billings, Montana.
    Castenada had met Duvall in the Air Force in Great Falls, Montana in the late-seventies, and they'd gone to the police academy together.  Duvall was a North Dakota boy.  He was a metis, a French-Indian mestizo.  Duvall's family proudly traced their origins to the French fur trappers and the Plains Indians.  Vic had loved going to Etienne's home on holidays.  He liked being mistaken for an "Indian" by the locals in North Dakota.  Those were the days before there were Mexicans working all over America.  The experience had opened Castenada's eyes to his indigenous roots.  And it had sealed a friendship that had lasted.
    Castenada had known when they were going through the academy that Duvall never had his heart in law enforcement.  He was always taking college classes while they were in the Air Force.  While they were in Billings he had finished a degree in English at Rocky Mountain College in addition to his studies at the police academy.  He'd gone east after the academy, for an interview with the secret service.  He was way into the process when he met a journalism professor at Georgetown University.  He forgot police work altogether and got a masters degree in communication. He had been with various newspapers.  Now he covered the White House for some Canadian and European papers.  Etienne Duvall actually knew the president.  And Castenada knew Etienne Duvall.  This could be his ticket out of Greenfield.  A little good press, maybe even a citation from Washington.  He could leave this one-horse town behind.
    Castenada had not always been a small town cop though.  He had once been on the professional fast-track.  A few years back he had become a detective on the San Jose P.D. after only five years there.  He had risen to sergeant, with all the potential in the world in front of him when he let his personal feelings get involved in a case.  He had befriended a young Mexican girl and let her slide on a heroin bust when she'd promised to go home to her parents.  The girl's "agent" didn't like the idea of losing his prize money maker and beat the poor girl.  Castenada had taken all the rage that growing up Mexican in California had stored up in him and returned the favor.  He meant to beat the pimp half to death, except he went too far.  He beat him all the way to death.  No criminal charges were ever filed, but his career was permanently dead ended in big city police work.  He stayed on a few years, but the message was clear, no more promotions.  The frustration had eaten him up.  He had taken the Greenfield job to get away and get his life together.  Now he felt stuck and he wanted out.
    Here he sat with the first real opportunity he'd had in four years to get his career back on track.  He'd sure burn his bridges with everybody up in Salinas if he went out of the area with this before he let them have a shot at it.  But he never was too popular with the good ole boys in the county seat any way.
    He knew he had precious little time before the county boys would roll on this on their own, so he decided to act.  It was time for a little excitement, and this thing was way above his head anyway.  Castenada dialed Washington.  Etienne had given him the number to the White House Press room.  It took a few minutes but he got his old buddy Etienne on the line.
    "Hey Vic, What's up."  Castenada recognized Duvall's voice immediately.
    "Well I think I might have a story for you Etienne."  Castenada didn't really know how to explain this.
    "From Green-whatsit California? Get serious Vic.  Us White House boys are pretty particular about how we spend our time.  But go ahead, shoot Vic.  It's the holidays and things are pretty slow here," replied Duvall
    "Well Etienne, our town has a new Automatic Teller Machine."  Vic opened.
    "Glad to hear you folks are finally entering the modern era, Vic, but we've had ATM's here for about twenty years.  So I don't think it's exactly news," chuckled Duvall.
    "Yeah Etienne, but this one's a little different.  It's giving away a hundred bucks to any Tom, Dick, or Harriet who walks up and puts their hand on it.  You don't need an account, and it knows who you are just by your hand print.  I'm sitting here with five twenties to prove it."  Castenada was relieved he'd gotten the bizarre story out.  He sat and waited for a response.
    "OK Vic, you been tipping it pretty early, what is it 7:00 or 8:00 in the morning out there.  So what's up really?" he asked.
    "Five circulated Federal Reserve Notes, non-sequential serial numbers.  There's about five hundred people already got theirs.  This is big and I'm as sober as a judge," replied the chief.
    "You're serious huh?"  Duvall had stopped chuckling.
    "Never been more serious.  Ever hear of the Bank of Fortunatus?" asked Castenada.
    "No, but hum a few bars and...."
 

    Etienne Duvall found his seat in first class and settled in for the plane ride across the continent.  This had been one of the most confusing days of his life, and that was saying something.  Castenada had finally convinced him that there actually was some type of machine giving real money away, one hundred dollars at a shot.  He'd immediately gotten on the phone to the White House.  Duvall was one of a select group of reporters who could, or so he had been led to believe, contact the president directly.  Duvall decided he would use that connection.  But that wasn't his only option.
    The other possibility was to talk to his superiors at the CIA.  That was the part of Etienne's life that Castenada knew nothing about.  Shortly after Duvall had arrived in Washington, a friend in the journalism department at Georgetown had introduced him to a Mr. Hugo.  Hugo had offered Etienne a full financial ride, and help with critical moments in his life, including getting him the prize position as a white house reporter.  In return for this, all that Duvall would need to do would be to keep Mr. Hugo and his "firm" informed of what was going on in the white house press corps.  He would never have to betray a colleague, just keep a finger on the pulse of the general atmosphere.  What was believed as truth, what was doubted.  Even the president would kept in the dark about Duvall's work for the "company."  The company turned out to be the CIA.
    Duvall wasn't sure why he had taken Mr. Hugo up on this offer.  It had something to do with the ambivalence he had always felt towards his life.  He tried to become a cop to make his father happy, but he knew in his heart he could never make it happen.  He wanted to be a writer.  He had made a stab at being true to himself by rejecting the secret service job and he was feeling guilty about disappointing his dad.  So when the CIA came to him with their proposition, he looked at it as a compromise.  A way to follow his heart, and make his father happy at the same time.  But he was wrong, and ended up in limbo not living completely in either world.  All this and he couldn't even tell his father what he was doing.
    Hearing Castenada's voice had reminded him of a time in his life before all this ambiguity had begun.  Maybe this was his time to leave it all behind.  He could play his own game in this one.  He would go to the president as a private citizen with a message from another private citizen.
    Instead of trying to explain the situation on the phone he decided to go directly to the White house.  When he arrived he saw an aide to President Benton that he knew.  Duvall called in a favor and asked the man to see if the president had time to talk to him about a matter of some importance.  The aide came back with a nod and a smile and took Duvall up to the private residence.  President Benton, seeming somewhat nervous, greeted him personably.  After Etienne had given the first short explanation of what was going on in California, Benton turned pale and handed him a notepad and a pencil, and placed his index finger on his lips,  NO TALKING.  They passed silent notes for about fifteen minutes, throwing each one in a raging fire in the nearby fire place after the other had read it.  Etienne explained everything he had been told, about the ATM, how he knew Castenada, all the pertinent facts.
    President Benton appeared paranoid to Duvall.  Prior to his arrival, Benton had not heard of the Greenfield incident.  He was the head man, but all the information he received passed through other hands.  He quickly asked Duvall to act as his independent eyes and ears on the spot.  Benton thought the machine might possibly be an attempt t overthrow his presidency, or the government in general.  He floated bizarre scenarios of foreign groups destabilizing the currency, or the CIA or Defense Department doing some kind of "Research?"  Maybe some crazy Texas billionaire was out to embarrass him somehow.  Or maybe the National Security Agency was swinging into action.  Benton was nominally in charge of NSA, but neither he nor anybody else actually knew what they did.
    Benton thought he had heard of the Bank of Fortunatus.  He was convinced it was connected with either BCCI or the Vatican Bank, same difference, but could remember no details.  He was also fairly sure, or at least hopeful,  that Bank of Fortunatus had no connections with Madison Guaranty Savings.
    Etienne Duvall tried to make sense of the president's ramblings and found himself deeply immersed in a nether world.  Was Benton toying with him?  Were his contacts at the CIA giving him a test.  He stuck with his prior decision to play this one very close to the vest.  He would be an independent operator in this.  He would not reveal himself to the president or his bosses at the CIA.  The time was sufficiently short that he could claim he didn't have an opportunity to let the "company" know what was going on.
    Benton wanted him on the scene as soon as possible, so they ended the meeting, and Duvall headed straight to the airport in a presidential limo.  There was a ticket waiting for him on the 12:21 flight to San Francisco.  Inside the ticket someone had tucked a xerox of an Encyclopedia Britannica article on Fortunatus.
    Duvall, now fully ensconced in first class luxury, sipped his gin and tonic, took the article out and read.  "Fortunatus, the hero of a popular European chap-book.  He was a native, says the story, of Famagusta in Cyprus, and meeting the goddess of Fortune received a purse that was replenished as often as he drew from it."  This has to be a colossal joke, Etienne thought to himself as he faded into sleep.  But it had a ring of familiarity to him.  Trans-continental dream airways took it from there.
 

    Belinda got to work an hour and a half late.  Noe, the foreman, was in his usual bad mood.  She hated Noe, and she had ample reason.  But mayor domos were a fact of life.  When there were people coming every day looking for work, the foremen in the fields didn't need to win a personality contest.  It irritated Noe for people to be late.  But he was always coming on to Belinda, so she thought she might get away with it.  It was the other workers who suffered most.  The harvesters went the same speed through the broccoli field, so everyone else had had to pick up the slack for her.  She was just about to blend quietly in with the crew when the big "patrón" showed up.  Preston Witt, the only man that Belinda knew who was a bigger jerk than Noe.  And Noe was always trying to impress him.
    "It's about time puta."  Noe roared at Belinda. "Now get in there with the other putas, and get to work.  Ass holes and elbows is all I want to see out here for the rest of the day."
    Witt stood next to his truck, waiting for Noe to come and pay tribute.  Preston Witt was aware of his place.  He knew that Noe was performing for him, but he kept his poker face and his distance.
    As Noe turned and headed for Witt's truck, Ernie, the ranch manager, drove up.  So he stopped and headed back towards the crew.  Noe couldn't stand Ernie.  He knew that Ernie had the better job, the better truck, and the fatter pay check because Ernie was a gringo.  Ernie felt the same about Noe for the opposite reasons.  Noe never liked to leave any doubt about who was really in charge when Ernie was around.  He headed back toward the crew ranting and raving, "Mas rapido Belinda," Noe yelled.
    "Que Pendejo," Belinda responded under her breath.
    "I got three primas to take your place, if you don't pick it up," Noe growled.
    "It'd take three of your family to replace me, and you know it Noe."  Belinda knew she had made a mistake saying it.  Now someone else would pay.
    "Stupid puta, you never know when to shut up.  All you putas get movin, or I'll fire the whole stinking bunch of you."  The one thing Noe never tolerated was anyone embarrassing him in front of Preston.
    One of the men on the crew stood up from his stooped position by the broccoli harvester and glared back at Noe. "Mi esposa no es una puta, Noe," (My wife is no whore) the man managed to get out before Noe came with a quick backhand that sent him sprawling.  This was a dangerous move and Noe knew it.  One on one he could easily beat the crap out of anyone in his crew, but if he turned them all against him, he could be in trouble.
    "Noe's in rare form today, huh Preston." Ernie blurted nervously.  "It's fun to watch but one of these days he's gonna hurt somebody."
    Noe walked toward them, "Hey Boss..... assholes and elbows.  That's all you see here boss and some pretty nice asses too, eh..?"
    Ernie sputtered "Yeah I remember that Belinda, she's still built as good as she was in eighth grade.. huh Noe?"
    "You just keep on remembering Ernie.  Memories and fifty cents'll get you a cup of coffee... and that's where I'm headed.  You boys got things under control here," said Preston Witt as he turned and got back in his pick-up chuckling to himself.
    Ernie hated it when the boss made fun of him like that, especially in front of Noe.  So he tried to recover some face, "So who's knocking on her door late at night these days?"
    Noe just gave him a steady stare and said, "There's some places you boys shouldn't even think about going late at night."
    Ernie turned and headed over to Witt's truck and told him, "That's one nasty wetback you got runnin things out here Preston."
    "Yeah, but he's my nasty wetback.... you oughtta get one yourself Ernie," Witt replied, started his pick-up and left.
   Belinda watched Witt drive away and fought off the idea of just quitting.  I can't, she thought to herself, I have to feed my babies.  But try as she might, that crazy ATM machine kept popping back in her head.
 

    Castenada got off the phone to Washington, and sat in his office until he could come up with a plan.  First he phoned in anonymous tips to the three television stations in Salinas.  Then waited a half hour and called the governor's office, then another fifteen minutes later he called the Monterey County Sheriff.  Finally, he headed back to see how Carson was doing at the machine.
    The crowd was huge by the time Castenada got there, and Carson was nowhere in sight.  He knew that there was nothing he could do at that point, so he just parked and joined the party.  Maybe somebody here knew something, anything.
    Castenada went over to the catering truck that had set up shop next to the ATM.  "Gimme a beer, Freddie."
    "Hey Boss, you know I ain't got no license to sell beer."
    "Freddie, if I don't see a cold one sitting on this counter in the next ten seconds, I'll personally see you never sell another taco, let alone a beer," threatened Castenada.
    "Why didn't you say you were thirsty, Boss," said Freddie and an ice cold Coors appeared in Castenada's hand.  "You gonna shut it down again Chief?"
    "What do you think Freddie?  Look at this crowd.  You think my little six-shooter'd scare em off.  I'd just like to know who put the damn thing there.  And how does that damn machine know who the hell you are?  And where's all the friggen money coming from?  Answer me those questions Freddie, and then I can go back to worrying about beer licenses."
    "Hey its OK Chief.  Everybody just gets a little juice.  What's the problem with that?"  Freddie sensed the chief wanted a little conversation.  He wanted to get on to the next person in line, but he didn't want to piss off the chief.
    "To tell the truth Freddie. I don't know.  And who would do something like this any way?  Aw shit Freddie I gotta stop askin' so many questions and get ready to answer a few, our friends from the TV are here,"  Castenada commented, as he just of drifted away from Freddy who went right back to work.
 

    Sofia Robles was KCBA's south county connection.  She had grown up in Greenfield.  Her mother and sister still lived there.  She hated this part of her job though.  The memories  of growing up "a poor little Mexican girl" were still too vivid.  She enjoyed visiting her mother, but most of her old friends were long gone.  And she left depressed every time she visited her sister Belinda.
    Sofia got out of the KCBA van.  She was unprepared for the scene.  She had never seen this many people together at one time in Greenfield.  Well maybe when they used to have the Broccoli Festival, but that was down at Oak Park.  This was in the middle of town.  Two, maybe three thousand people.  The TV station thought the report had been some kind of hoax, or maybe a promotion for the bank next door.  But this was no hoax.  She stopped a few people to ask them what was going on.  That was all she needed.  Sofia got on her cellular phone and called the studio to tell them to get ready for a live feed.  This was an Emmy opportunity, and she knew it.
    She saw Castenada coming, or was it coming on, with a big dumb smile.  That was her impression of the Chief.  He thought he was such a ladies man.  Or was it just her attraction alert, the tool she used to keep men at bay.  She was determined not to become the adorably plump mamacita.  But today it was a business decision.  She knew that the public would want to see other people using this, .. this... "thing," whatever it was.  It was brush-off time, but not a hard brush off.  If this story lasted, she'd need the chief.
    "Howdy Miss Robles."  Castenada had picked up the howdy in Montana.  He'd originally learned it from a reputed "Miss Montana," but that's another story.  It usually only came out when he got all thick tongued around women he really wanted to impress.  And he, as well as the most of the healthy young and many of the unhealthy old men in her viewing audience, really wanted to know Sofia.  Former homecoming queen and former girl friend to Aaron Witt, before Witt tried to put the entire family fortune up his nose, or so it was rumored.  She'd been off at college when Castenada arrived.   Vic hated it when a woman flustered him, and Sofia Robles flustered him aplenty.
    "Morning Chief, what do we have here?"  Sofia drawled out, in her best, most professional, I-gotta-go, on-the-job-talk.
    "I'll tell you, I'm not even sure I want to know.  Only one thing is certain.  Whoever put it here has pretty plenty of money," replied Castenada who had started to get his composure back.
    "It's really giving a hundred dollars to every person who walks up to it?" queried Sofia.
    "Yeah and it seems to recognize everyone, even out of towners.  Give it a try."  Castenada motioned toward the ATM.
    "I'm headed to do just that, thanks Chief.  Be around for an interview later?"  Sofia asked as she turned on her heal.
    "Anything for the fourth estate," Castenada cringed at himself.  Trying to impress again.
 

    It was a lively, festive crowd.  People moved out of their way as she and her cameraman headed for the center.  There it was, a three sided structure with what looked like a single conventional automatic teller machine on each.  A small line had formed in front of each screen.  As one person collected his or her cash and came away with a smile, the next one moved in toward the machine and repeated the process.  Sofia took her best newswoman stance, and the coverage began.
    "This is Sofia Robles, KCBA News reporting live from the normally sleepy berg of Greenfield.  This small agricultural town in the heart of Monterey County's Salinas Valley has been jolted from its sleep by one of the most curious phenomena to ever occur on the central coast.  It is the stuff that dreams are made of.   The automatic teller machine that you see behind me has apparently blown a fuse and is giving money away, one hundred dollars at a time."  Sofia approached a woman in the crowd.  "Excuse me ma'am, but could we speak to you for a moment."
    "Well, uh, OK.  But will I be on TV?" Lana Carson lived for her television and the thought of actually being on it overwhelmed her.
    "You already are," answered Sofia.  "Did you try to use the machine."
    "My husband told me not to, but what the heck.  Hi Oprah.  Yeah I used it and my kids did too.  Five hundred dollars in all.  That's almost as much as my husband takes home in a week as a cop.  Sorry honey, but this machine is great.  Hi mom, get on down here."  Lana Carson gushed.
    "And you sir, have you patronized the machine today?"  Sofia asked the next man in line.
    "You bet.  One hundred Grade A, American dollars.  And that machine knew who I was.  Darndest thing I've ever seen," responded the man who claimed to be a teacher in the line.
    Sofia began to walk toward the structure, chatting with the crowd as she went, and got in the line herself.
    "Well folks, let's see for ourselves what all the fuss is about."  She said as she walked up to the machine and read its greeting to the world.  "I'm quite sure I've never heard of the Bank of Fortunatus, but I'm about to become its newest customer."
    "Welcome Sofia," she read aloud, and then instinctively grabbed the money as it came out the slot at the bottom, and squealed in delight.  With some effort Sofia regained her composure.  "If I hadn't seen it myself, I would not have believed it.  This is Sofia Robles, one hundred dollars richer, reporting live from Greenfield,  for KCBA Fox News."

 
    Aaron Witt woke up in the cab of his pick-up with the usual morning hangover.  He was parked by the Arroyo Seco River just up stream from the Clark Colony Water Company canal.  He pulled a bag of marijuana from under the seat and rolled the first joint of the day.  The first was the only one he really enjoyed any more.  The rest were just for the numb distraction he needed to get through the day.  But he still enjoyed the first, especially when he was by the Arroyo Seco.  It was a sacred river to him.  Just about the only thing he still held sacred.  The coke habit was gone, but it had never been anything other than the rashest attempt to fill the void left by Sofia.
    He lit the joint and took a long hit, rolled out the door and opened the ice chest in the back of his pick-up and pulled out a beer.  A joint and a nice beer buzz (he wondered if Cheryl Crow was born in Greenfield) and by the time Sofia crossed his mind, the blur had already started.  He walked down to the river, pulled off his boots, and stuck his feet in.  The water was ice cold and felt beautiful.
    Aaron had learned to swim in the Arroyo Seco.  He had built a whole fantasy world around it in his early adolescence.  He romanticized being an Escalan Indian, swimming in the holy waters of their most holy river.  The first time that he and Sofia had skinny dipped here had cemented his visions.  She was his Escalan princess, and he would never get her out of his mind.  Not that he wanted to, he loved her today just like he had on that very first day they were together.  He remembered every kiss, or at least thought he did.   His memories had begun to take on that soft glow and were becoming jumbled.
    He headed back to the truck and put on some Bob Marley.  He walked down to the river again and stuck his head in this time.  What a rush.  He was an Escalan warrior, buffalo soldier, dreadlock cracker.  He threw his boots and socks in the back of his truck, fired it up, and headed off to face the world.

 
    Sofia started to think about the machine. It offended her.  It's like welfare.  She hated welfare. It made people weak she thought.  Her older sister Belinda had been on welfare.  She had never criticized her, because she knew Belinda and the kids needed the money.  But for every dollar you received they cut the heart out of your spirit.  They made you pay in ways that were far worse than anything you had to give up to hold down a job.  But she knew how hard it was for Belinda to take care of the kids without the help.  Belinda still worked, which made Sofia happy, but she knew that Belinda didn't always report the income and she was afraid that she'd be visiting her sister in jail one of these days.
    This was not the time to worry about her sister though, she had to stay focused.  This was her chance, and she knew it.
 

    By the time that Etienne Duvall got off the plane in San Francisco the story was out.  He caught a minute of Sofia's broadcast on the television in the bar before jumping on the flight to Monterey.  He also picked up his first shadow.  Straight out of spooksville, right down to the mirrored sun glasses.
 

    Aaron passed the bank just in time to see the KCBA van turn down Walnut and pull up next to a big crowd.  He saw Sofia in profile, but his curiosity was overcome by a powerful thirst.  So he headed for the corner store to stock his ice chest.  He needed his full daily dose of liquid courage before he could even think about facing his lost love.
    The line at the mini-mart was coming out the door, and the beer was almost gone, so Aaron decided to stock up.  Two cases of colorado cool-aid.  It was the Johnny Paycheck song that had brought him back to Coors beer, and away from all those politically correct beers he used to drink in the bay area.  He had spent a whole week at Dwayne's Steak House down by San Antonio Lake, playing it on the juke box.  He listened to it over and over, thinking about Sofia and all the Mexicans he'd ever known.  Got in three fights over it.  He'd get real drunk and wouldn't let anyone play any other song.  Got his ass kicked good.  But that was the point.  The song's a story of a Mexican guy sitting in a bar when a drunk redneck spits beer in his ear.  So the Mexican whips out a switch blade and cuts the guy's ear off and hands it to him, and says "the next time you get a notion to spit a little beer you can just spit in your own ear."  He didn't know why it made him think about Sofia, but it did.  Sofia was a Mexican.  He was a Gringo.  It had all finally gotten the best of them and they split up in their final year at Berkeley.  Goddamned Mexicans, he thought.  God he loved her.
    He put two six packs in the cooler, iced them down, pulled a couple of singles out for the front seat and hopped in the cab.  He popped the first one and took a long draw. He spit a little in his hand and washed his ear with it.  He thought about Sofia, and tried to make some sense out of what everybody in the store was talking about.  Some cash machine gone crazy, giving out money.  That was what Sofia was covering.  He decided to shoot a little loop on the local back roads, smoke another joint, and then mosey on over to see his love.
 

    Duvall exited the Monterey airport and headed straight for a taxi.  He told the driver "Greenfield".
    "Where the heck is Greenfield?"  the driver dead panned.
    "It's a little town around here," said Duvall plaintively.  "You're the local.  I'm from Washington."
    "You pick fruit there?"  The driver looked at him in the mirror.
    "No I'm a reporter.  Washington DC., not Washington state."  Duvall tried not to get rattled.
    "For Mexican TV?"  The driver was getting curious.
    "No I'm not Mexican," answered Duvall, trying to maintain his patience.
    "Si señor, and I'm not Iranian."  The driver looked at his map.  "Ah here it is.  That's fort-five miles.   It'll be 90 bucks."
    "Let's go," said Etienne.  He slipped the driver a hundred and they were off.
 

    The crowd continued to grow at the machine and Castenada looked on as the surrounding area became an instant flea market.  He simply did not know what to think of the machine and all it had wrought in Greenfield.    What the hell was it?  At least his old buddy Etienne would be here soon.  Somebody to bounce ideas off.  His deputies were no help.  But he couldn't blame them.  Every time he got a good one they only lasted a year or so.  They either headed on to greener pastures or got busted for something.  There was Carson.  One step up the evolutionary ladder from ape, he thought.  And that wife, what a piece of work.
    Here she came again.  Castenada caught her out of the corner of his eye.  Sofia, a Mexican version of the Greek goddess of wisdom.  Castenada was already so flustered by other events that he could scarcely register his dream girl's arrival.  Everything had begun to take on a dream time, so Sofia didn't really seem out of the ordinary.  The whole world had seem to hit a pause button.  There was an eerie stillness.
    Sofia was in the same fix as Castenada.  Not suffering from a puppy dog crush, but a gut wrenching reality check.  She thought of herself as rather glib, able to keep her poise in disaster and tragedy, but this had reduced her to cliche.  "So you ever seen anything like this before, Chief?"
    "Oh, at least once a week.  We get this kind of stuff all the time in Greenfield, Missie."  Vic joked. He had surprised himself.  He had finally relaxed enough for a little sarcasm, and they both laughed.  A deep releasing laugh.  The kind of laugh that people share in distressing times.  And they became friends on the spot.
    "I mean I don't have the faintest clue as to what's going on,  who put this damn thing here, how's it know your name, heck, I keep trying to wake up.  I'm still not sure I'm not dreaming." Castenada admitted.
    "Hey I know what you mean.  I mean... broadcasting school did not prepare me for this.  I have no idea what to say or ask.  Can we both be dreaming the same dream.  This is Sofia Robles reporting from LaLa Land with LaLa Land Chief of Police Vic Castenada,"  Sofia giggled.
    "Well let's go see if we can still get a cup of coffee here in LaLa Land."  Vic starting moving towards Freddie's lunch wagon.
    "As long as we don't go to the Estrellita."  Sofia protested.
    "Having a cup with the local farmers not your cup of tea huh?"  Castenada sensed this resentment of the "culture" of Greenfield was something she didn't usually let other people in on.
    "Well, you've been around here a couple years now.  You can't really tell me you enjoy the scintillating conversation of the local landed gentry.  I mean they think of Mexicans as one step away from dogs."  Sofia almost spit out the words.
    "Is that a step above or below?"  Vic countered.
    "OK, I deserved that, but you didn't grow up here.  You weren't 'That sweet little Mexican Girl' who did well."  Sofia looked him straight in the eye for the first time.  And she was surprised he didn't swoon.  Maybe he wasn't just another idiot on the make.  Maybe this guy was all right.
    "Well I'm not quite as cute as you, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm Mexican too," Vic smiled.
    "No kidding vato. It looks like we can get whatever we want right here.  Let's skip the Estrellita and go to the lunch wagon.  That way we don't miss anything."  Sofia really did want to stay close to the action.
    "I see Freddie's already breaking out the tables.  How do you take yours, or could you use something a little stronger than coffee?"  Vic asked.
    "Drink alchohol?  On the job?  In front of your constituents?  You must be shook up."  Sofia smiled.
    The Chief and Sofia ambled over to Freddie's lunch wagon and sat at one of the tables that Freddie's brother in law had just brought in.  They were filling quickly.  Sofia sat down and Vic came back with a couple of Coors.
    "You know I'm not so much shook up as I am resigned."  Vic said.  "I mean I'm pretty sure nothing's ever gonna be the same here again anyway.  I know what to do if somebody is stealing money.  I just lock em up and let a judge decide. They never taught me what to do if somebody started giving their money away.  Besides its not even a person, its a machine."
 

    Belinda wasn't surprised that news of the ATM had already spread to her crew. By ten o'clock, word of the machine had spread to all of the fields in the area. Sheer habit had kept most people working.  But habit was not going to be enough.  Belinda began to see an unusual phenomenon.  In the neighboring fields, small clusters of people began to leave their harvesters and head for their cars.  Everyone saw it happening.  But the other crews didn't have Noe for a foreman, so it took a bit longer.  By 10:20 two men went to the porta-san and then made a mad dash for their cars.  So Noe wouldn't let anyone else go to the bathroom.  By 11:00 the surrounding harvesters were oddly quiet.  Their crews had deserted, and Noe was facing a growing crisis.  Without saying a word, five men stood and faced Noe.  The rest of the crew simply walked off behind them and left.  Noe was speechless.  The fields of the southern Salinas Valley were now empty, bathed in a strange silence.  For perhaps the first time since the Europeans had come here some two hundred years ago, toil had ceased.  The first real holiday in anyone's memory had begun.
 

    The crowd at the machine was becoming enormous.  The streets no longer functioned as streets, but as a huge, growing, organic mall.  Castenada and Sofia finished their beers in time to be up and moving when the county sheriffs and highway patrol arrived.  Castenada knew he was about to start earning his salary.
    "Mornin Chief. Looks like we got a situation here.  Are you just gonna let this continue?"  The county mounty led off.
    "Well what'd you have in mind deputy?"  Vic had to stay above this.
    "This could turn into a riot.  We gotta shut this thing down," came back the sheriff's deputy.
    "You try to shut it down and you will have a riot.  You  try to get between these people and that... whatever, and they'll tear you apart."  Vic looked to the others for comment.
    The deputy wouldn't let go, "Not up to the job, huh Chief?"
    The two highway patrolmen in the group decided not to let things deteriorate any further, so one chimed in, "We're gonna be in a world of hurt here in very short time chief.  Traffic's gonna start backin up on the 101 if we don't get this stopped."
    "Well gentlemen, I'm open to suggestions.  Why don't you get in line and get your share first.  You might be in for a surprise."  Vic said as he read faces.
    "What the hell is that thing anyway chief.  You got any idea who's behind it?"  The other deputy asked.
    "Well its somebody with some pretty deep pockets, and some pretty spooky information.  I ain't sayin nothin til at least one of  you fellows takes a turn. I want you to see what it actually does.  You wouldn't believe it if I told you."  Vic folded his arms and waited.
    "Ok, ok,  let's check it out.  We gotta get a move on guys."  The second highway patrolman suggested.
    "I ain't gettin in line with a bunch of dead beats. Especially on the damned TV.  So I'll just watch gentlemen," grumped the now isolated deputy.
    One of the highway patrolmen headed over to the machine with the chief, while the sheriffs and the other HP followed at a distance.
    The crowd grew silent as the cops approached, but no one stopped.  The people kept getting their money in an orderly and expeditious manner.  The only concession they made was to let the highway patrolmen take cuts.
    The first highway patrolman stepped forward, placed his hand on the outline, and saw his name appear on the screen.  He turned and looked at his fellow law enforcement officials with his jaw on his chest.
    "All right Chief.  This is out of our... what.  Out of this world.  We better get on the horn to somebody and get someone in here who has a clue as to what the hell is going on.  And we definitely need some reinforcements.  Anybody else?"  The highway patrolman scanned the others.  They were all dead silent.
 

    Belinda couldn't get within two blocks of the machine, so she headed straight home.  She had a plan.  Churros.  There were now thousands of people in Greenfield with money in their pockets, and she was without a job.  So she decided to start cooking.  Her father had once operated a little street restaurant in Mexico City selling the fried, sugar coated pastry sticks.  Belinda had worked there as a little girl before they had crossed the border.  She made them for her kids on special occasions, so she was ready to go.  She got out her big pot, poured in all the oil she had in the house, got out her mixing bowl and started the batter. The stove top could only do so much, so she decided to fire up the oven.  Cookies would go well too.  Her mother showed up with the little ones, and soon they were all up to their elbows in churro batter, grease, and cookie dough.

 
    Noe was at a loss.  He'd lost fights before in bars.  Usually because he was too drunk to stand up.  He'd also come out the worse in some melees with the UFW back in the 70's.  But this was the first time he had ever lost a confrontation at work.  Oh he'd been fired before, but the men who fired him did it with a lump in their throat.  They knew that Noe wouldn't attack them, because they knew he wanted to keep working as a foreman somewhere else.  He was such an intimidating presence that he just plain scared them.   This, however, was the one and only time that any one under his charge had ever openly defied him and gotten away with it.  He couldn't let this pass.  He had to go see this machine.  Big magic, bullshit. The machine that           could dominate Noe Sanchez had not been built.
 

    Duvall's taxi turned off Highway 68 onto River Road shortly after 1:00 and he was enjoying the scenic ride.  Fields of broccoli and celery being harvested in the bight sunny afternoon.  But the further south they went the more harvest machines were idle.  A few men milling around, but no one appeared to be working.
 

    Preston Witt was in his usual chair holding court at the Estrellita Cafe.  He was pissed off, but for the first time in memory he had no one to direct his anger at. Witt was not accustomed to being in a situation in which he didn't have at least partial control.  But seeing his fields empty, and the crowd growing larger down El Camino Real, he knew no one was asking him for permission.
    "We gotta shut that damn thing down.  Friggin Communist, goddamned machine.  Who the hell put it there anyway.  Friggin liberal goddamned democrats.  I tell you its the f!#$*n union.  They're behind that thing."  Witt caught himself too late.  He was prone to an occasional cuss word, but a stream of profanity like this in a family restaurant, in the daytime.  Everyone smelled the fear in his voice.  And this doubled every one else's.
    The men Preston sat with at the Estrellita Cafe were fresh vegetable growers, not the government fed, welfare farmers of the mid-west.  Harvest it or lose it was the rule.  Sometimes there was only a two or three days window of opportunity to bring in a crop profitably.  Tomatoes rot, lettuce withers and broccoli goes to seed in very short order.  And free market prices can take a nose dive in a New York heart beat.
    "Simmer down Preston.  Commies ain't got that kind o'money."  Gil Tanzini drew a laugh from the crowd.
    "Yeah but democrats do.  They got it all from Asia."  Ernie always pushed the party line.  He had no real convictions, but he generally knew which way was up and pointed his nose in that direction.
    "This ain't no laughing matter you jack asses.  In a week, half the men at this table could be broke," Preston fumed.
    "You're right boss," Ernie chorused in. "What the hell happened to Noe?"  Ernie seldom missed a chance to get a dig in when Noe was out of ear shot.
    Preston Witt never made the mistake of humiliating Noe, in or out of ear shot.  He knew that Noe's value to him was in intimidating others, and he was smart enough not to damage a company asset.  But he was pissed, and goddamn it, why in the hell had Noe let everybody leave.  And then have the unmitigated gall to leave himself.  Son of a so and so wasn't answering his radio either.  "Damned Mexican," he muttered to himself.
    Preston had seen a lot of changes in the valley in his 60 years here.  As a child most of the work on the family farm was done by dirt poor white people.  Okies, Arkies, and a few Filipinos.  Then the Mexicans had started arriving.  Well they had always been here.  But nobody thought of the families that had been here more than a generation as Mexicans.  Preston considered the current field workers "beaners."  They were the recent overflow from our southern "neighbor."  Even in the tough union times it was never that hard to find a Mexican hungry enough to work for almost nothing.  It was great labor security.  Two or three waiting around when someone stumbles, or gets a little too mouthy.  And he always had Noe.  "Where was that bastard anyway?" he wondered.

 
    Noe went home to compose himself.  He knew his next move would be important.  He had been smart enough to not confront the whole crew earlier in the day, because he knew he would probably lose.  He decided to go see what this machine was all about.  If he was to maintain his position with his crew he knew he would have to hurt someone.  Not lethal damage, just a thump or two.  It needed to be in public, in front of some of the others in the crew if possible.  He would be sure to show that the beating had nothing to do with the day's actions.  He could not show that he was upset in the least.  He was Noe, the baddest mayor-domo in the valley.  Nothing could bother him, or so he had believed until today.
 

    Efrain Mendoza started getting the calls about 9:30 that morning.  "Your crews left." Followed by, "Get me some people out here." And then, "I'm gonna sue your ass."
    As head of the union hiring hall for field work, he was responsible for supplying workers for a quarter of the farmers in the area.  This was Efrain's second year on the job.  His idealistic, romantic organizing efforts on behalf of down-trodden workers seemed to be memories of a different person.  For the last six months he had felt like a hack. The day to day running of a union was so different from the heroic struggle of making a union that he shocked at the nature of his job.  He found everyone to be so selfish.  He just wanted to help people.  And now this ATM machine had only increased his confusion.  What should he tell people?  He was delighted that the poor people in the area were getting a little boost.  But what was he supposed to say to the farmers.
    When he started in Greenfield he had wanted to hate the farmers, but then he began to know them.  Their stories were very much like the stories of the Mexican immigrants.  They were mostly Swiss-Italian or Italian-Swiss, depending on who was talking.  They had been here one or two generations, but their similarity to the Mexicans was lost on the Swiss and the Italians.
    It was the smug attitude of "Americanness" that he hated.  Efrain's European antecedents had been in America much longer than these newcomers.  And his indigenous ancestors had been here much longer than that.  As people, he could find no difference between the local farmers who owned the land and the Mexican-Americans who worked it.  Some were honest and hard-working.  Others were lazy and prejudiced.  All kinds, just like the Mexicans.  Efrain had learned the bitter lesson that poverty was not a guarantee of virtue, and its inverse, that prosperity was no indicator of evil.

 
    Noe could not believe his eyes when he approached the corner of El Camino Real and Walnut Avenue.  Thousands of people crowding the intersection.  This was not his arena, and he knew it.  His method of operation of was to isolate and then strike fear.  It would be impossible to isolate here. He wondered if he could continue to intimidate with all that was going on, and he wasn't sure.
    Noe parked his pickup as close as he could get to the machine and got out to walk.  The area around the machine was developing its own routine. Orderly lines had formed.  People approached the machine, fell into one of the three lines, got their money, peeled off, and began to spend it in the instant market that had grown up around it.
    Noe was not about to wait patiently in a line.  He was here to reestablish himself.  Members of his crew were peppered throughout the crowd, and Noe knew that they were watching.  The one thing he had going for him, and he knew this well, was that he was the first one, aside from the cops and the news people, to come here for another reason.  Everyone else had come for the money.  Noe had come to preserve his position in a world that was quickly unraveling.
    Noe moved beside the lines to a vantage point close to the ATM.  When an old lady had just finished getting her cash and a young boy was waiting for her to move, Noe jumped in ahead of the kid and went right up to the machine.  He quieted the murmuring in the crowd with a vicious scowl, and placed his hand on the mark.  Noe grabbed the money, but instead of moving away he placed his hand on the screen again.  The screen read
 

 "Noe, you have already received your Daily Bread, please move  aside and let others do the same."

    Noe ignored the machine, and placed his hand on the mark again.  He received a small shock.  Noe pulled an iron bar out of his boot.  He started pounding the machine with a series of hard blows.  The crowd began to approach, and Noe turned to hold them off.  He knew he couldn't fend off the whole crowd so he backed them up with a sweeping stroke of the bar and then turned and placed his hand on the machine again.  Noe didn't feel a thing this time.  His body crumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap.  Some people approached and pulled him to the side.  After a momentary hesitation, the day proceeded as if nothing had happened.
 

    Castenada's office was too small to accommodate the law enforcement contingent, so the summit conference set up shop in the city council chamber.  The sheriffs, highway patrol, and Castenada arrayed themselves around a table.  Their enthusiasm was somewhat muted because they had just been informed that the FBI was on its way.
    "You should've cordoned that thing off first thing this morning.  And we wouldn't have this problem now.  The FBI's gonna come in here and take over now.  Good work chief."  The deputy from the morning was determined to continue the grind on Castenada.  If you weren't a sheriff, you weren't shit, was his philosophy.   He hated to be upstaged by anyone, especially a hot shot young Mexican like Castenada.  And now the FBI and probably the ATF were both coming.  Alchohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, because they're from Treasury Department and the FBI because they kept a finger in every pie.  It was more than the poor deputy could take.
    Castenada was not about to be drawn off course into a conflict with some bozo sheriff's deputy.  He knew they were all bit players now unless his buddy Duvall could get him back in the game.  So Vic decided to just surrender the point.  "You're right Deputy Collins, but I just didn't have the manpower to do it."
    This concession dumbfounded Collins into a "Damn straight," and he was done speaking for the day.  This was what Castenada had hoped for.  Collin's fellow deputy Edwards and Highway Patrolman Jackson were both good cops, and this would be Castenada's last chance to pick their brains before the "big boys" arrive.
    "So anybody got a suggestion on what we should be doing til our friends from Washington get here?" asked Castenada.  He was ready to listen to anything that might give him an angle.
    "Has anyone taken any ... ah .. responsibility for that thing.  I mean, do you have any clue as to why anyone put it there.  What they intend to accomplish?" asked Edwards.  He was always to the point, a real Jack Webb.
    "Not a word from a soul," responded Castenada.  "The land is owned by the bank next door.  They've assured me it's no type of commercial promotion.  They'd like to see the machine gone.  But we'd need at least fifty officers in full riot gear to shut it down in my opinion.  I cordoned it off for a while this morning, but unless you feel like shooting someone, I don't think we could stop the crowd without a lot of help."
   The discussion was interrupted by a pounding on the front door.  Preston Witt was about to exercise some of his well cultivated influence.
 

    Belinda loaded everything they had cooked up into Rodolfo's red wagon and headed for El Camino and Walnut.  They sold churros and cookies as they went.  Business was good.  Weaving their way through the crowd, they finally caught sight of the machine.  Belinda saw Sofia doing a telecast, and waved.  Sofia returned her glance, but didn't wave back until after she had finished her work.  She told the crew to take five, and went to see Belinda.
    "I figured you'd get here sooner or later today, if this thing lasted.  What do you think?  They gonna close it down?"  Belinda asked.  She always talked in bursts when she first saw Sofia.  She was so proud of her sister, and so jealous that it made her ache.
    "How about a hello, Belinda. And you two, Dolfi, Mango, come here and give your tia a hug," said Sofia taking them both into her arms.
    "Sorry Sis, this thing has me all upside down."  Belinda hugged her sister too.
    "I understand completely, and no Belinda, I don't have any idea what anybody is going to do about it.  Nor what that thing is, or where it came from.  But I see you've figured out the other way to use it.  You're following in Papa's footsteps.  You're selling churros, and cookies too.  Have you and the kids got you're money from the machine yet?  I mean, of course you have.  Como no."  Sofia caught herself too late.  She never intended falling back into her condescending tone toward Belinda.  It had always been Sofia the smart sister, the good sister and Belinda, the bad sister.  It was all such familiar ground, ground that left someone hurt every time they passed over it.
    "Yeah, we got our share.  I saw the replay of you getting yours too.  So what.  Dolfi came home from the store early this morning with some wild talk about an old Gringo giving him a $100.  I was taking it back.  I didn't steal it, and I wasn't 'nice' to someone to get it.  So you can keep your self-righteousness to yourself," huffed Belinda.  The least little tone, the least implication of moral superiority from her sister set her off like a firecracker.
    "I didn't mean anything Bel, I don't want to fight with you.  I'm sorry. This thing has me all turned around too."  All turned around or no, Sofia had heard new information, so she probed. "What old Gringo Dolfi?  You mean you didn't get the money from the machine?"
    "Si Tia.  I got the money from the machine but the old Gringo told me to.  He was playing his violin.  And he told me to use the machine," responded Rodolfo.
    "When Dolfi?"  Sofia had already begun to construct a mental time line of when the major events of the day had happened.
    "Muy temprano, very early Tia.  Seis y media, six thirty."  Rodolfo wanted to help his aunt.
    "Dolfi, you must have been one of the first.  What happened to the old Gringo?"  Sofia felt she was onto something.
    "When I turned around from the machine he was gone.  His truck too.  I didn't even hear it start up,"  Rodolfo answered.
    "Had you ever seen the old Gringo before, Dolfi?"  Sofia pressed.
    "No Tia, he wasn't from Greenfield.  He talked funny, like the Beverly Hillbillies.  He looked like Jed Clampet too.  Except his old truck had a camper on the back.  I think he lived in it."  Rodolfo saw some of his friends weaving through the crowd.
    "You haven't told this story to anyone else, have you Dolfi?"  Sofia wanted to know.
    "No, just Mami, and mi abuela."  Dolfi's attention was elsewhere.
    "Well just keep it to yourself then Dolfi.  This whole thing is really strange.  I don't want you to have any trouble over this," said Sofia.  She wasn't really lying.  She didn't want Rodolfo to have any trouble.  It's just that that Sofia the reporter never stopped working.
    "But the old Gringo told me to get it Tia," said Rodolfo, who was beginning to get scared again.
    "Dolfi, I know you didn't do any thing wrong, but there are going to be some pretty excited people over this, and I don't want them bothering you.  Nobody knows where the machine came from.  They're going to be asking a lot of questions Dolfi.  Maybe you should just keep this quiet for a while."  Sofia suggested.
    "Saving the honor of revealing it for yourself, huh sis?  Exclusive interview?"  Belinda could see the wheels turning in Sofia's head.
    "I deserved that.  But you know in your heart that I could never take advantage or hurt Dolfi," said Sofia defensively.
    "I know wouldn't Sofia,"  replied Belinda, who couldn't believe she had let Sofia make her feel guilty.  She never knew how to handle her sister.  Sofia was always three steps ahead.
    "Ok Bel.  We both better get back to work.  Dad would be proud of you, carrying on the family business and all."  And Sofia made sure that Belinda looked her in the eye.  She wanted her to know she meant it.
 

    Herman Barnes had never had a day like this at Harvest Queen Super Store.  People had been waiting at the door at 9:00 and all ten registers had been running ever since.  No shelf restocking, no cleaning of the store had occurred.  Just check out as fast as he and his employees could.  He'd rotated each of them out for a half hour break to go get their allotment from the machine.  He'd also promised double time on everybody's wages, and an additional bonus to anyone who would finish the day.  But this was just plain crazy.  They ran out of beer in four hours.  All types of clothing in five.  If he had enough people, and enough registers, he truly believed that he could empty his store today.  People just plain wanted to buy something.  And Herman just plain wanted to sell it to them.  One checker had not come back from the break, but the rest of his people were remaining loyal.  He was especially glad that he had good rapport with his employees.  The previous managers had run a sloppy store, with a high turnover, and poor morale.  Barnes had cleaned house since then and the results were showing.
    Business uas booming.  Money was flowing.  It was a day unlike any other before.  The drug store had locked its doors because all the employees had left. The family stores, like Jaime Cortez's Hardware, were still open.  But they were family stores.  The Burger King manager was keeping the drive through open, but he'd had to close the doors to walk-ins for lack of help.  All the other chain stores were sitting empty.  What a day.
 

    Preston Witt was not about to let this contingent of lawmen get away without giving them the benefit of his point of view.  He pounded hard on the door a second time.  Castenada went to answer the door, as he was opening it the city recorder came in and told them Governor Davidson was on the line.  Castenada wanted to disappear, but opened the door and let Preston in.
    Witt was on a tear.  He lit into Castenada with both barrels.  "You just gonna sit here on your ass and let that damn teller machine ruin this town.  All of you, just sittin here.  What the hell do I pay taxes for?  You call yourselves cops.  Get down there and shut that damn thing down.  Now!" screamed Preston as he pounded the table they were sitting around.
    "Just calm down Preston.  We're tryin to figure out a plan right now.  We just got the governor on the phone."  Castenada was treading water.
    "You let me talk to that no good so and so."  Witt grabbed the phone out of Castenada's hand.  Vic chuckled to himself, at least he wouldn't have to be the first one to talk to the governor.
    Preston didn't miss a beat, he was no respecter of persons.  "Now you listen to me Bert," screamed Witt.  "The Associated Growers didn't give four hundred and fifty grand to your sorry ass to get screwed by some commie plot.  You get somebody down here who can shut that damn thing down or I'm gonna do it myself.  I didn't work for fifty years to see it all go out the window cause of some friggin ATM machine.  Now you light a fire under these boys or there's gonna be hell to pay," Preston spurted as he handed the phone back to Castenada.
    Vic listened on the phone as the others looked on, "Yes Mr. Governor.....  Yes Mr. Governor.....  No we don't have any idea who's behind it.... No the FBI is not here yet."  Castenada could barely get a word in.
 

    Aaron was well into his daily buzz, and no work to do.  All his father's fields were empty.  He kind of enjoyed the feeling.  It was usually late afternoon before he could sit in the middle of a field and just be alone.  Everything seemed differant.  He'd never seen it like this.  How could people get so damn excited over money.    He sat finishing his last beer, readying himself to head over to the action, and face Sofia.
 

    Duvall's taxi would go no further than Soledad, eight miles north of Greenfield.  The driver got word of a massive traffic jam on Highway 101 leading into Greenfield.  They took the last Soledad exit and Duvall had the driver pull up next to a pay phone.  He got out and called Castenada.
    The wait was short.  Traffic heading out of Greenfield was thin. Castenada got there in less than ten minutes.  Etienne recognized the broad smile of the man at the wheel of the police car.  It had been at least ten years since they had seen each other.  Vic got out and gave Etienne a big hug.
    Vic let the pleasantries wait.  "We'll take Metz Road back to Greenfield.  We'll miss the tie up on the 101.  That'll give me a good twenty minutes to get you up to speed.  Etienne, this is the weirdest thing I have ever seen, felt, heard of, witnessed.  Man I'm not even sure its not a UFO. Except its sitting on the ground."
    "I have to admit Vic, I didn't believe you at first.  But it is real.  I saw a newscast of it at the S.F. Airport."  Etienne was sizing up his old friend.
    "So you didn't believe me, but you believed the TV.  You believe everything you see on TV?"  Vic laughed and slowed the car down a bit.  What was the hurry anyway?
    "I believe anything when its delivered by an angel. Who is that newscaster?  She is gorgeous," Etienne commented.
    "You noticed huh.  And believe it or not she's actually from Greenfield.  Local girl makes good.  And this ought to make her famous."  Vic was trying to act as if he had never noticed how beautiful Sofia was.
    "Maybe she'll head back to Washington with me," jibed Duvall. Etienne and Vic hadn't run together for years, but the old conversation headed straight to an adolescent level.
    "Not if I got anything to say about it," Castenada came back.
    "O.K., O.K., you get the girl, as usual.  So what you gonna do about this ATM thing?" Duvall asked.
    "Haven't the foggiest idea.  By the time we get back, the FBI should be on the scene.  So essentially my time will be my own.  You got any suggestions." Vic was so glad to have a sounding board.
    "Yeah, introduce me to the newscaster."  Etienne smiled.
    "No problem.  But how about the machine?  What did Benton have to say?"  Vic wanted to know.
    "He was as nervous as a whore in church.  The guy is really out there.  He's not sure who or what is behind it.  I'm sure I'm not the only guy he's sent here either.  I'm more or less a safety valve.  An independent source.  He gave me a safe number to call.  What do you think I should tell him?"  Etienne was hoping Vic could give him an angle.
    "Well I don't know squat, so tell him that."  Vic looked at Etienne with a dead pan stare.
    "I don't think that's good enough.   Why don't you take me to see this run away ATM and I can give him my own impressions," said Etienne.
    "And you can pick up a $100 to boot."  Vic felt like a salesman.
    "Got any hotels in Greenville?"  Etienne asked.
    "That's Greenfield, and they were all full by noon.  You can stay with me," said Vic, who surprised himself by defending Greenfield's honor.
    "And what if I get lucky with the angel of the airwaves?" Etienne couldn't resist the dig.
    "Fat chance.  The best luck you're gonna have here is to pull a pair of socks that match out of your suitcase."  Vic countered.
 

    Aaron had not seen or talked to Sofia in over a year, if you didn't count the nightly news.  If he was loaded enough, he watched; but it just depressed him.  He had no idea what he was going to say today, but he knew he was going to talk to her.
    Like Noe, Aaron was drawn to the scene for reasons other than money.  But unlike Noe he was oblivious to the machine.  Sofia had spotted him from a distance.  She still loved him in her own way, but she was not about to be anyone's cliche.  She did not need to be rescued from anything, and she had long ago tired of his "White Knight" act.  She was her own woman, and no man in the world would ever control her, not even for love.
    "So back in Greenfield, huh?" Aaron rambled, obviously blunted.
    "Yeah, and I'd usually say it hasn't changed much, but with this ATM here, that doesn't ring so true."  Sofia looked Aaron over.  She hated the whipped dog that he had become.  She used to have such respect for him, but after they had broken up he had just drifted back under the overarching influence of "el patrón", his father.
    "So you got the inside scoop on what the hell is going on?  Big story, huh, coast to coast.  Your Emmy chance."  Aaron stared nervously at the ground.
    "Can it Aaron.  If you've got something to say to me, say it.  Or get out of here.  You're so stoned you can hardly see.  Don't you have any respect for yourself," said Sofia angrily.
    "As I remember it you didn't used to mind a little toke yourself," Aaron managed to respond from his defensive fog.
    "I didn't used to mind you either, but I got over that too."  Sofia regained her cool.
   "Damnit, Sofia, I didn't come here to piss you off.  Just wanted to say hi.  We were friends too, you know.  You used to like me a little."  Aaron whined.
    "Til you tried to drown yourself in a self-pity, cocaine cocktail.  Get yourself together Aaron.  Hell, I didn't just like you Aaron, I loved you.  When you hate yourself, its hard for someone else to keep loving you.  I needed someone who believed in something, in anything.  You never had any ambition other than look for the next party.  Everyone else in the world had to struggle to make their way.  You ... you always had Daddy's ranch waiting."  Sofia was flushed again
    "Ok, ok, I get the picture.  Just thought I'd say hi, and tell you you're pretty damn good at your job.  You will get that Emmy for this one.  This is a pretty big story for a rookie.  How'd you get the nod."  Aaron caught himself too late.  When she had tried to break up with him in college, Aaron had become jealous.  He was sure that Sofia had another boy friend.  Every time she accomplished anything, Aaron found another man behind it.  His implications of her making her way in the world on her back had been the final straw.  He hadn't meant to take that tack today, but he was, after all, blunted.  And now he was sunk.
    Sofia didn't even bristle, she just turned and went on about her business.  Aaron shuffled back to the land of the almost alive.
 

    Castenada and Duvall pulled up just in time to see Aaron Witt leaving.
"Former boyfriend of the angel, my friend." Castenada informed Etienne.
    "I like the former part.  What's his story.  Former high school football hero who couldn't keep up with her?  God, don't tell me she's a social climber."  Etienne demanded.
    "Quite the contrary.  He's a college grad, son of the richest guy in town.  And her, no, I don't get the social climber part.  If she was, she'd still be with him.  More the career girl.  She's actually quite nice.  Down to earth.  A sweet kid.  The only part you got right was the football hero.  He likes every one to think he's indifferent now, but he's still carrying an olympic size torch for Miss Robles."  Vic offered.
    "Do I hear a hint that he's not the only one?  Let's go meet this angel and if we can work it in, check out the ATM and get my hundred bucks."  Etienne nodded toward the ATM.
    "After you my good man."  Vic stepped a little livelier.  He was on his toes, back with his old pardner.  "Just like old times, huh Etienne."
 

    Belinda and the kids had everything sold out in the first hour.  So they headed home and made another batch.  They had pulled in three hundred dollars on the first go around and sales were even crazier this time.  They had doubled their prices since their first visit, but no one was batting an eye.  Everyone had money and they wanted a place to spend it.  And besides, Belinda's churros were the best food being sold anywhere in town.
    "Cuantos quieres?"  How many.  "Seis para dose dólares."  Six for twelve dollars.  Belinda could hardly believe she was getting two dollars per churro.
 

    Still lying where he had been dragged hours before, Noe woke up with a slight, but not altogether unpleasant, daze.  He was in the midst of a huge crowd, and it took him a minute to remember what had happened.  Everyone seemed to be ignoring him, so he slipped away quietly to lick his wounds and come at it again.  He knew he had to go see Preston now.  This was just too damn big for him.  He could not risk being embarrassed again.
 

    "Sofia Robles, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Etienne Duvall.  He's a fellow member of the fourth estate from Washington, D.C."  Vic eyed Sofia closely, guaging her response.
    "A long ways from your turf Mr. Duvall.  Covering the story?  For the Post?" asked Sofia, who couldn't help being impressed.
    "Well no, I haven't quite made the grade at the Post yet.  I work for some foreign concerns."  Etienne was trying his best to be modest.
    "I thought you were Mexican.  Are you from the capital, Mexico City?  I used to live there.  What paper do you work for?  How'd you get here so fast?"  Sofia was even more impressed.
   "I guess this is the theme of the day, but I'm not Mexican.  But for you, I am willing to try.  My family was from what is now Canada.  But I was born in North Dakota."  Etienne explained.
    The social hour between the three was interrupted by the cameraman who brought Sofia a cellular phone.  She turned for a few short words just out of ear shot, and turned back to let the boys know. "The news is just about to break.  There's a bunch of these all over Mexico.  And this wasn't the first.  Apparently they've had one in Oaxaca since yesterday morning.  And at least eight more in the last hour.  President Zorillo has scheduled a news conference for later this afternoon."
 

Oaxaca, Oaxaca, Mexico
Earlier that day.
 

    Esperanza and her father had started up Monte Alban on the 26th with a great deal of joy.  The Virgen had answered her fathers prayers.  Esperanza would get to continue her schooling.  She had gone out well before sunrise to find the best two watermelons in their garden.  She would carry two today.  One was for her and her father, and one to leave on the mountain for the Blessed Virgen.
    They both had awakened early and gone to look at the money to make sure it had not been a dream.  When they saw it was real, they were ready for a great day.  Valente was sure that what had happened the day before was directed at him and Esperanza, a personal miracle that would never repeat itself.  For him it was just another work day.  They ate a quick breakfast and headed up the mountain.   Their ascent was uneventful but when they reached the top of the hill they were immediately met by soldiers who took them into custody.
    The mood of the soldiers was testy.  Things had taken a bad turn that morning.  As duty in the Mexican Army went, guard duty at Monte Alban was not bad.  What was bothering everyone was that after a day that had yielded an 800 peso bonus to everyone on the mountain, the cash machine had stopped paying.  Although it had told them all to come back the next day, the screen on the machine had changed to read:

  "Esperanza first."

    The soldiers took the girl and her father directly to Sergeant Raul Valdez.  As they were reporting how they had found the two, the sergeant overheard Esperanza's father say her name.  Perhaps only a coincidence, but Valdez was going to find out if he had "the" Esperanza.
 

    Ignacio Monroy had the center pyramid closely guarded, and Valdez was not sure that he would get his chance at more money if he turned Esperanza over right away.  He and his unit were going off perimeter patrol in a few minutes, but would be rotated to guard the center pyramid on the 2:00 p.m. shift.  He was quite certain that the machine would never be open to the public, so he decided to keep Esperanza and her father hidden until then.  His plan was to hide the captives until he could get another issue of money, then he would turn her over.
    Valdez and one of his privates took the two to a cave in one of the outer structures.  He rested a few hours until just before the beginning of his turn on the machine itself.  He left the private there with them, and headed on to make sure that no one was wise to his plan.
    Valdez entered the museum and strolled past Monroy and the Attorney General engaged in lively conversation.  He heard them mention President Zorillo's name, and that reassured him that whatever the source of this little incursion, it would end soon, but not too soon he hoped.
 

    When the news of machine had reached the Attorney General the previous morning, he was quite certain that his new chief in Oaxaca was drunk.  So when he received a second call from Monroy, who claimed to be on top of Monte Alban looking directly at an automatic teller machine that was giving away money, he didn't know what to do.  Disturbing the president, who was spending Christmas day with his family, was out of the question.  Before he did or said anything publicly, he wanted to be sure if it was for real or not.  So he ordered his driver to bring him his son's new sports car.  His limo would be too conspicuous.  He'd make the drive to Oaxaca himself.
    The six hour cruise over the new toll road was beautiful and it had given him time to go over possible scenarios in his mind.  Who would do such a thing.  Narcotraficantes?  International banks?  The rebels?  He was convinced that the international banks had engineered Mexico's 1994 peso crisis, and they were his chief suspects for this caper.  But he could come up with no rational for them to do such a thing.  He could not think of any reason for anyone else to do it either.  The sports car and the winding mountain road made for an enjoyable drive.  By the time he arrived he had firmly convinced himself that Monroy had a screw loose, and he would simply be replacing a rookie who had broken under the pressure.
 

    The attorney general went straight up Monte Alban when he arrived on the day after Christmas.  Monroy had met him and taken him to the machine.  The AG had tried to prepare himself for any contingency but the reality of the machine was overwhelming.  Money was powerful magic, and Monte Alban was a magical place.  He went to the machine and got his money, and then fell silent.  He began a silent stroll of the courtyard area.  Monroy positioned himself a few paces behind the AG and they walked.  Seven times around the two center structures without a word.  This machine did not come from any of the usual suspects.  This communication came from beyond, he thought.  He then turned to Monroy and said, "To the cathedral my friend.  I believe God is speaking to us and I do not understand the message.  We must pray.  We must ask for guidance.  The world will watch what we do."
    Monroy and the AG took army transport down the hill to avoid attracting attention.  They drove inside Oaxaca's military compound, and then took the short walk to the Cathedral.  The two politicians went directly to confession.  They began to pray.  They asked God for help in what to do in this moment of decision.  The sought  the aid of the Virgen in doing what was right for Mexico.  The AG was a PRIista, but he knew their epoch was almost over.  What better place for the change to begin than Oaxaca, the home of Benito Juarez.  Juarez was the first Indiginous American to lead one of the European Nations that now controlled the Americas.
    Mexico was a dream world for the Attorney General.  De las Casas, Hidalgo, Juarez, Zapata.  Her potential so far outstripped her reality that he knew the change must come.  Was this the catalyst?  Was this the time?  What was God trying to say to him?  He'd been having dreams for the past year that the hand of fate was about to visit him.  He dreampt that he was about to be called upon to demonstrate his faith, to act for the people.   The attorney general thought of Juan Diego, and Mexico's history and destiny. The Virgen of Guadalupe was Queen of Mexico, but she was the Empress of all the Americas.  Mexico was the home of the real American Revolution for him.  Mexico stood for all the peoples of the Americas.  He came out of his revery long enough to see the looks that Monroy kept giving him, but he accepted it.  Any discomfort he might be causing his young cohort was unavoidable.
    They spent the rest of the afternoon in contemplation and then went to eat on a beautiful terrace overlooking the Zocalo.  They sat and listened to the state orchestra play a concert.  They had then gone to Monroy's house and the AG made the call he had been avoiding to the President of Mexico, Enrique Zorillo.
 

    Zorillo had been spending an enjoyable day with his family at Los Pinos.  Mexico was beginning to have a measure of prosperity and this gave him some hope.  Being president of Mexico was like being a matador without a sword or aid of the picadores, and with three or four large bulls in the ring at the same time.  One could never hope to do more than keep the bulls off stride, a bit tired.  Day after day, waving his red cape and dodging.  His only real weapon was to keep the bulls in competition with each other.  And now he confronted this bizarre tale from his Attorney General.
    He knew the man to be honest, but given to a romantic, quixotic view of Mexico's destiny.  Was the Attorney General attempting a coup?  Was he attempting to foil a coup?  Had he gone mad?  Zorillo left the warmth of his family and headed to his office.  He called his two most trusted advisors, and they sat up the whole night formulating a strategy.  They would have to notify the Americans eventually.  But Zorillo wanted to be sure what he was talking about before he called President Benton.
    The night's strategizing had done little.  They were still as perplexed as when they first received the report.  Zorillo and his advisors had no clue what was happening.  It was not until the next morning that they decided that Benton should hear it from them first.
    Zorillo called the U.S. president at mid-morning.  He got Benton on the phone just after Duvall had left.  The two heads of state had been relieved to have someone to share this with.  As with any terrifying event, fear loves company, and now Zorillo and Benton had each other.  Benton gave Zorillo the information he had, which was still limited.  They chatted briefly and promised mutual aid in the crisis that they both believed was about to develop, but both knew that neither of them had much in the way of a response.
 

    It was just after this that the news reports of the California manifestation had started to filter in.  This pushed up the heat on Zorillo.  He knew he would have to let the people of Mexico know what was happening at Monte Alban.  He began to write his speech.  One of his men got the Attorney General on the phone and told him to prepare for the opening of the ATM to the public.  The AG had told him that the machine had stopped working. He wondered what was going on, and if he would he now be blamed for taking this thing away before the people had even had a chance to use it.  He briefly watched the news and decided that before making any decision he would go to Oaxaca personally.
 

    Sargeant Valdez sent his platoon to the machine and headed back to the cave where he had his prisoners hidden.  He told the private to bring Esperanza and her father to the center pyramid in five minutes. He then went to take up his post as the other platoon left on a break.
    Esperanza and her father walked nervously up the steep steps and saw the machine still there.  Her father's belief that this was a blessing from the Virgen had transformed itself into a terror the like of which he had never experienced.  Two soldiers had to support him, he could barely walk.  Valdez took Esperanza to the front of the ATM and told her to get her money.  She put her hand on the outline and the machine was back in business.  Esperanza backed off slowly and the soldiers were so elated and so involved in getting their money that they did not notice as her father grabbed her hand and led her down the pyramid.
    After all the men had gotten their money and returned to a sense of reality, they saw Esperanza and her father running for the side of the mountain.  Valdez shouted for them to halt, but Esperanza's father was too scared to stop.  They were just about to reach the edge of the mountain when a shot rang out.  Valdez  turned and slapped the private who had fired, but it was too late.  He saw a huge flash of red come from near Esperanza's head as she and her father disappeared down the mountain.
    Valdez ran as quick as he could.  He did not want the girl injured.   Valdez was not a cruel man, just a realist.  He had kept her hidden so he could get some money.  He would never intentionally harm an innocent girl.  Now as he ran, he was sure that she was severely wounded, if not dead.  He was prepared for the worst when he got to the edge of the mountain, but to his surprise he found nothing there.  Neither Esperanza nor her father.  No blood trail.  Nothing, except the remains of an exploded watermelon.  Esperanza and her father had both vanished into the thick brush that covered the sides of Monte Alban in which the famed giant, white boar roamed and ruled.
    Valdez crossed himself and thanked the Virgen for this blessing.  He promised that if this girl were ever under his authority again, he would protect her with his life.
 

    The moment that Esperanza touched the machine, another nine hundred and ninety nine machines appeared  throughout central Mexico.  Three hundred in Mexico City alone. Five in and around the Alameda, next to the bodegas where people came to get their pictures taken with the Reyes Magos.  A few in the Bosque de Chapultepec.  A couple in the colonia of Providencia, more at Xochimilco, and one at Los Pinos, outside Zorillo's house.  Another appeared in Morelos, in the Plaza where Zapata died.  One in Chiapas in San Cristobal de las Casas.  Several  in Veracruz, and others sprinkled throughout the cities and pueblos of Mexico.
 

    Zorillo's hand was now being forced.  He would have to speak.  He got Benton on the phone and they agreed that they would present a united front.  Zorillo appeared briefly on the portico of his home, and urged calm.  He promised to go to Monte Alban and address the nation the following morning.
    Benton had told him that he was heading to the town of Greenfield.  They would consult with each other later in the evening and hold simultaneous speeches the next day.
 

Greenfield, California

    Upon hearing the knews of the other ATM's, Castenada felt a release of pressure.  Greenfield was somewhat off the hook.  It was not unique, nor was it first.  But the feeling was short lived.  Sofia Robles was in conference with her cameraman, and he and Duvall were left alone for a moment.
    "So Vic, you got a phone I can use.  I should call Benton and get his read on this.  Whatever this is, it's growing.  You got any idea what the hell is going on?"  Etienne wanted to know.
    "Well, somebody or something is messing with things.  And they have a pretty wide reach.  Who do you think it is?" Castenada asked.
    "Martians my friend.  And instead of little green men they're sending little green bills.  I still can't think of any possible reason for anyone or any group to do this.  I mean what kind of idiot gives away their money?" Duvall was stumped.  And he knew his friend was too.  That's why he felt a bit sorry for him when he saw Sofia coming their way and her cameraman setting up for a shot.
    "Oh shit.  I guess I'm about to get famous.  Want to get in on this Etienne?" asked Castenada, who was nervous, but ready.  Second payment on his ticket.  One-way out of Greenfield.
    "I'm a background man on this one Vic.  It's your show.  Don't blow it."  Duvall backed away as Sofia approached and Castenada put on his public face.
    Sofia didn't hesitate.  She walked right up and shoved a microphone in Vic's face.  "Chief Castenada, we've just gotten the news that there are several of these cash machines operating in Mexico.  Do you have any comment?"  Sofia was working hard on this one.
    "Well I'm glad that Greenfield is no longer alone in the spotlight.  Maybe someone in Mexico can give us a clue as to the source of all this generosity.  And maybe instead of coming here people will wait for one to show up in their own community.  Things are getting pretty crowded here."  Castenada felt he was rolling and Sofia could sense it too.
    "So you're recommending that people not come to Greenfield?  Do you have information that this phenomenon is spreading?"  Sofia could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, their ears straining.
    "Well I can't be sure it's spreading, but I know that we have about as many people as you can fit in Greenfield.  Our roads are clogged, our stores are emptying, and we simply can't handle many more people.  It gets cold here at night, and we have only about a hundred motel rooms in the whole town.  So stay home folks.  Follow Ms. Robles on your television.  She'll keep you apprised of what's going on."  Vic actually started to enjoy himself.
    "Thanks for the vote of confidence Chief Castenada.  Any thoughts on who might have placed these machines here, and where they are getting all the money?"  Sofia knew this was a good broadcast.  The whole nation, the whole world would be watching.
    "No ma'am."  Vic hesitated.  "Well I've got some thoughts, but no information.  I think we're all in about the same boat on that front.  At least we now know it's not just happening in Greenfield.  Like I said, we truly hope that we can get some help from Mexico on the whos and whats."  Castenada flashed a big, aw shucks smile and Sofia took the cue to sign off.
    "This is Sofia Robles reporting live from Greenfield, California.  The sight of the only run away ATM in the United States, but no longer the only one in the world.  We are not alone.  We now send you to Fox News Central for world wide reaction to the now international phenomenon of free money."
 

    Aaron Witt had ended up back on the ranch sitting in front of his TV.  Sofia was on the air virtually nonstop.  Then the reports of the same thing happening in Mexico started to appear.  Aaron was mulling over his encounter with Sofia.  Why did he always say the wrong thing around the woman he loved.  He could have almost any woman between San Luis Obispo and Santa Cruz and all he could ever think of was Sofia.  And now it wasn't only the 6:00 and 11:00 o'clock news, but non-stop Sofia.  Aaron switched from beer to tequila, his other true attachment to Mexico.  He rolled another bomber and began to actually think about what was going on in Greenfield.
    Aaron had been an agricultural economics major at Berkeley.  In his fog he finally started to ask himself what this machine meant, especially to his father's farming business.  What would the ranch do without the Mexicans.  Hell, they couldn't do anything.  They operated by the power they held over other people.  That power was guaranteed by the big carrot of a job and the money it brought, and the bigger stick of denying people that carrot.  He wondered what his father thought about the whole thing.  He hadn't seen him all day, but he had a good guess at Preston's mood.  Preston saw life as a struggle, a struggle he never intended to lose.  He'd never go down without a fight.
    In between the accounts now coming out of Mexico and Sofia in Greenfield, the network announced that President Benton had scheduled a news conference for 4:00  p.m. but Aaron was too blitzed to make it.  He passed out about 3:45.
 

    Preston Witt was just turning on the TV when Noe knocked on his door.  "Its about goddamned time Noe.  Where the hell you been?"
    "Trying to get some of the crew out there Boss.  But it ain't gonna be easy.  They left as a group.  It's the first time I ever seen em stick together on anything.  Hell, I couldn't kick everybody's ass Boss.  We're in trouble on this one."  Noe was embarrassed.
    "Shit I know it Noe.  It ain't your fault, it's that goddamned cash machine.  We gotta shut it down.  You got any ideas?  I think we oughta blow the goddamned thing up.  You up for that Noe?"  Preston fumed.
    "You know me boss.  Sure let's blow it up.  I'd love to blow that goddamned thing up.  You got any dynamite. Shit, let's blow up that whole bunch that's down there."  Noe shut up then.  He didn't want Preston to know what had happened at the ATM.
    "Look at that goddamned TV.  They got those friggen machines down there in goddamned Mexico now too.  What the hell is going on?  Shit, if they got em down there too, the friggen beaners'el just head on back.  No offense Noe."  Preston liked Noe so much it was hard for him to think of Noe as a Mexican.
    "Hell, boss, I like my job with you.  You think I can run people if they got a pocket full of money all the time.  But hey, nobody can keep this up for long.  That machine has gotta run outa money Boss.  They'll be back then.  But we won't take em all back.  They'll be kissin my ass before the week's out.  You just watch."  Noe smiled a savage smile.
    "Well I'll tell ya this right now, I ain't waitin around for nothin.  Let's get ready to do a little blastin."  Preston was up and moving.
    "I'm with you boss."  Noe was right behind him.
 
 

    Belinda had finished selling out her second batch of churros and cookies and decided to invite Sofia for some dinner.  Dragging the little red wagon behind them, Belinda and Rodolfo rolled up just as Sofia was signing off with the chief.
    "Let's go eat some dinner sis, you need a break.  The restaurants are all full or closed.  We could go over to my house and you can get a little rest,"  Belinda said, already feeling like a gracious hostess.
    Sofia was really glad to see her sister.  Belinda and the kids were the only touch of warmth and reality in an otherwise bizarre day.  She had been stretched further than any other experience in her life.  As a reporter she was accustomed to highly stressful situations, but this one was off the charts.  She was in a situation that left her unable to comment.  She was turning inward, looking deep inside herself.  Her concepts of  what it meant to be a responsible human being no longer seemed to apply.  Cliches rang so hollow that she had lost the usual buffer between what she said and what she truly believed.  Sofia was tired.  She longed for her family and a safe environment.  She was just about to accept Belinda's offer when Chief Castenada came up.
    "I hate to interrupt but, if you... er you ladies don't have any other plans why don't we head down to King City and get some dinner."  Vic felt like a teenager.
    "Well I just invited Sofia over to my house, and I think we have room for two more.  Besides I bet every restaurant within fifty miles is gonna be full of drunks for the whole night."  Belinda suggested.
    Sofia was upset.  She had already had a vision of herself sitting in that big old lounge chair that she had given Belinda when she had come home from Berkeley.  But She also knew that Belinda was right about the restaurants, and she did want to know who that Duvall character was.  She wanted to know how a Washington reporter got here so fast?  She also figured that the handsome police chief would never set foot in Belinda's house if she wasn't there, so she resigned herself to the company.  "Well Chief.  Let's go eat some dinner."  Sofia said.
    "I'll grab Etienne.  You think they can get along here without us?"  Vic turned to motion to Duvall.
    "I bet they won't miss us a bit chief." Sofia laughed.
    Sofia walked over and huddled with her cameraman, and left Belinda's number. They all needed a break.
 

    Duvall and Castenada went by the chief's office so Duvall could call Benton, and give Belinda a minute to get things ready.
    Etienne was the one starting to get a little paranoid by now.  What had President Benton known and when had he known it?  Was the president setting him up for something.  Would this end his career as a journalist, or open vast new horizons for him in Washington.  Should he drop his new role as presidential "spy" and just cover a great story.  Etienne always had to look at all sides, but he also had to follow through on a commitment.  He had told Benton that he would check things out and get back to him, and that was exactly what he was going to do.
    President Benton was just getting ready to go in front of the press, but he took the time to take Duvall's call anyway.
    "I've seen it on TV, Etienne.  What have you found out?" Unlike when addressing the public, Benton was right to the point.
    "Not much Mr. President.  I'm with my friend Vic Castenada, but he doesn't know much more now than before.  We just got the word about the one's in Mexico.  Any idea if Mexico is the source."  Etienne thought he'd fish a little.
    "Well it was in Mexico first, but that's about all we know.  There was one thing Zorillo told me, the machine down in Oaxaca wouldn't work the second day until a particular girl used it.  You stay alert.  Mexico could destabilize quickly, so let me know if you get anything Etienne."  Benton paused.
    "This may mean something Mr. President.  Some guy tried to get a second batch of money and he was knocked unconscious by the ATM.  It seemed to have no lasting affects.   The same fellow supposedly hit it pretty hard with a metal bar and it didn't phase the machine."  Said Etienne.
    "Yes, President Zorillo told me they tried to open up the one down there and were unsuccessful.  So that makes sense.  Call if you come across anything further."  Benton hung up and headed to meet the press.
 

    Preston and Noe decided a brief reconnaissance would be in order, so they drove by the corner of El Camino Real and Walnut Avenue.
    The crowd was immense and still growing.  The lines stretched out from each of the three ATM screens.  The fences that used to separate the bank and the adjacent apartment buildings from the formerly vacant lot had been absorbed and eliminated.  Walnut Avenue had all but disappeared.  They could see over to the overpass on 101, all traffic was stopped.  If they were going to bomb this place, they would hurt a lot of people.  And there would be no shortage of witnesses.
    "We gotta clear this damn area before we bomb it.  I don't care how pissed off I am.  I'm too old to turn into a mass murderer," said Preston, showing a sign of conscience.
    "No problem boss.  We got enough dynamite for two bombs.  One down by the Memorial Hall to get everybody's attention.  Then you get yourself up on the roof of the school and squeeze off a few rounds in the dirt next to the machine.  I'll dump a load of firecrackers and everybody'll get the hell out of Dodge.  Then I'll blow it."  Noe was ready.
    "How you gonna stroll up next to the machine with ten pounds of explosives.  You think they'll all just let you blow up their little tittie."  Preston's feet were starting to get a little cold.  Things were moving too fast.
    "There goes that bitch Belinda with a little red wagon.  Her and her little bastards been selling cookies.  We'll just borrow her little wagon and deliver some of our own cookies boss," said Noe, who definitely wanted the machine dead.
    "Damn Noe.  If I didn't know better I'd say you hated that machine worse than me. How we gonna pull this off?" asked Preston who was always bucked up by Noe.
    "You get up on the roof boss.  I'll set a charge down by the memorial hall.  I'll put a fuse on it long enough to let me get back to the machine. When you hear it go off you put a few rounds right into that machine.  Then just disappear, get out.  I'll dump the fire crackers, and when all the little pee babies run, I'll blow the damn thing up."  Noe was ready.
    "Let's wait till the middle of the damn night, Noe.  Maybe some of these people will get the hell out of here. I can't afford to get caught, but damn it, I can't afford to leave that  thing spitten out money either.."  Preston did not like his options.  If he could he'd stay out of this one, but at this point he couldn't afford to.
    "OK Boss, we'll give em a little time to get sleepy.  We need a while to get ready anyway.  Let's go check out that shed behind the Memorial Hall. And we need to go get ourselves a little red wagon," said Noe with noticeable menace in voice.
    "Yeah, Noe let's get rid of that damn beast of a bank machine,"chirped Preston who had his enthusiasm back.
 

    Duvall was in something of a pensive mood.  He still hadn't contacted the CIA, but he knew they were following him.  If his colleagues in the press ever found out that he was working the other side of the fence, reporting on them to a group of spies, that would end his career in journalism.  But this, why had he signed on as an errand boy for the president?  He had so many facades up now that he was no longer sure who he was.  All of this was like an echo to him.  He hated keeping up a false front with his friend.  Castenada had known him long before he went to work with the CIA.  He had the feeling that he would never had done it if Vic had been around.  He needed to tell someone, and his old buddy was his only candidate.  Hell, maybe they could do something to get him out, all the way out.  If somebody could start giving away a hundred bucks at a shot, anything was possible.
    Duvall and Castenada parked a half a block away and started walking to Belinda's house.  Castenada was feeling a little guilty about leaving his post, but what could he do anyway.  The steady incoming stream of people had been stemmed by the traffic jams and the news of developments in Mexico.  Everyone in California was now waiting for a machine to show up in their own neighborhood.
    "So what did Benton have to say?" Castenada queried.
    "Not much, except something about a kid having to go first before the machine would work today," Etienne answered.
    "What do you mean, go first?"  Vic's ears perked up.  He sensed a possible piece of the puzzle.
    "Well, the machine didn't work until a particular little girl used it.  The ATM asked for her by name.   And as soon as she touched the machine, it worked, and then all the other machines appeared around Mexico."  Etienne shrugged.
    "No idea about the significance, huh?  I'd call it weird, but we're gonna have to banish that word." Vic laughed.
    "Yeah, I know what you mean.  Oh one other thing, the first day it kicked out 800 pesos, and today 802.  The payment increased.  Explain that to me," Etienne said.
    "You're asking me for explanations.  That's why I called you.  Let's eat some dinner.  I think we're going to be at this a while and I'm fresh out of opinions.  It'll do us good to forget about it for a while."  Vic was frazzled.
    "I'm with you.  Not to mention I'm starved to boot.   Let's go."  Etienne was ready to relax.
 

    Castenada knocked on Belinda's door and Rodolfo opened it.  "Come in.  My Mom's cooking, and my tia's in the bathroom.  My mom said you should sit in the living room."
    "Thanks Rodolfo."  Castenada and Duvall followed Rodolfo and sat on a large stuffed sofa.
    Belinda stuck her head out from behind the kitchen door and greeted her guests. "Hope you like Mexican food.  That's what we eat here.  I guess that's what we are here."  Belinda ducked back in the kitchen.  She had such a crush on Castenada and she didn't want to start babbling.  Her mom had cooked a chicken earlier, and she was fixing molee negro.  The rich black sauce was simmering away on the stove.  Nothing left to do here for a minute thought
 Belinda.  She wanted to clean up in the bathroom, but she was sure the princess would be a while.
    Belinda knew that Sofia's work required her to look good but she had been this way long before she ever worked in television.  It had gotten so bad when Sofia was in high school that her father had to take the lock off the bathroom so they could kick her out.  So Belinda washed up in the kitchen sink, and ran a comb through her jet black hair.  She was on a high.  For the first time since she was a little girl in Mexico, she felt free.  She had made her own money today, in her own business, and now she was entertaining two of the most eligible men in town.  Life was looking up.
    Much to Belinda's dismay, she and Sofia entered the room at the same time.  Not even this could ruin her mood now.  Belinda was tired, as tired as she had ever been from working in the broccoli, but she had energy, and she was not about to let her sisterly jealousy overcome her.  "Don't get up." Belinda said, "We've all had long days.  I made molee.  If you've never had it you'll love it," said Belinda to Duvall.
    "Beggars can't be choosers.  And I want you to know I appreciate the hospitality.  I'm still on east coast  time, so I'm about four hours late for dinner as it is.  And molee, whatever it is, sounds and smells great."  Duvall was relaxing for the first time since he got off the plane.
    "My mother taught me how to make it.  It's a specialty of Oaxaca.  That's where she's from.  I just heard on the news that it's the state in Mexico where that first ATM turned up," said Belinda bubbling over.  "Can I interest you two in a beer.  It's Mexican too.  I guess everything here is Mexican except you Mr. Duvall.  Right, Mr. Castenada."
    "I guess you got that right.  You can call me Vic.  And yes a beer sounds just great," said Castenada to Belinda.  He was noticing her for the first time.
    "And I'm Etienne, and as to not being Mexican, I'm not as sure about that as I once was.  Just ask the local cab drivers.  In fact you're the first person today who's gotten that right.  I guess I'm kinda French, but no one in my family has spoken French in over a hundred years."  Etienne flashed his winning smile at Belinda.
    "We don't even have a cab in Greenfield, but Vic and Etienne it is.  How about you Sis?  That reporter figure handle a cerveza?"  Belinda couldn't resist the tease.
    "Sure Bel.  I'd love one.  I have to get back soon, but we're gonna eat, so I think I'll be fine."  Sofia was aching with exhaustion.
    "I'll be right back."  Belinda went into the kitchen.  She stirred the molee, and then grabbed four cold Tecate beers from the fridge.  She wished she had gone and bought some Negra Modelo, but the Tecate would have to do.  She chuckled to herself that her tastes were already changing.  Expensive beer first, what would be next.
    "So your family came here from Oaxaca, Miss Robles.  Tell me about it,"  Etienne asked Sofia, trying not to sound too much like a reporter.
    "Yeah, but Belinda remembers things there a lot better than I do.  Our Dad was ambitious for us.  So he came up here to the U.S. for a while alone and then brought us all across.  Tell em Bel,"  Sofia said to Belinda as she came back in with the beers.  Sofia wanted to be quiet for a while.
    "Yes Miss Robles, tell us about Oaxaca," asked Vic.
    "First of all, if you're Vic and Etienne, then I'm Belinda, OK."  They both nodded, so Belinda continued. Belinda was happy at the turn of conversation.  Mexico was one thing that she did know better than her sister.  Sofia was just a baby when they came, and Belinda had been ten years old.  She'd also gone back for two years when she was twelve, to help her grandmother who had been sick. She really did know something her sister didn't and these two men wanted her to talk about it.  This day had been fantastic to her in more than one way.
    "Well I never actually lived in Oaxaca.  But my grandmother talked about it all the time.  She didn't come from the town of Oaxaca, just the state.  We did go to the town of Oaxaca once for the big festival.  It's called the Gelagetza."  She explained.  "It's a huge celebration and people from all over the state of Oaxaca come and dance."
    "Have you been to the place, the pyramid structure where the first ATM showed up.  What's it called?  Monte Alban?" asked Etienne, who felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck just saying the words Monte Alban.  He had no idea why.
 

    Preston and Noe worked their way back through the crowd, got in Preston's pick-up and cruised the Memorial Hall.  Noe found just the place to put the diversionary bomb.  It was about three blocks from the corner of El Camino and Walnut.  It was far enough away to be out of the spotlight and close enough to make a big bang.  Then they drove over to Belinda's house.  They were walking up to the house when Noe saw Castenada through the window.
    "Watch it boss, that hot shot chief of police is in there.  What the hell is he doin at Belinda's house?"  asked Noe as he pulled Preston behind a tree.
    "I don't give a rat's ass if they're locked in a carnal embrace.  There's that little red wagon you wanted.  Grab it and let's get out of here before somebody sees us."  Preston was feeling reckless.
    "OK boss, we're movin."  Noe went for the wagon.
    In their haste, neither of them saw the other prowler who was well hidden in the bushes on the other side of the front door.  Aaron Witt didn't move a muscle nor make a sound.  He just crouched in his hiding place, watching his dad and Noe walk off with Belinda's wagon.
 

    Belinda started to answer Etienne, but hesitated. "Did you hear something outside?  I thought I heard something in the front yard."
    "I'll check it out Belinda," said Castenada, who got up and went to the door.  He opened it just in time to see a man slinking away in the dark.  Castenada thought it looked like Aaron Witt.  He decided to keep quiet about it and handle it himself later.  Why ruin everybody's evening, he thought.
    Belinda came out shortly behind him.  They walked to the end of the sidewalk and looked up and down the street.  "What was it?" she asked.
    "Oh I think it was some our new residents taking a shortcut through your yard," Castenada lied.
    "Well they helped themselves to my wagon.  Damnit, I was using that."  Belinda complained, almost sighing.  But instead she said cheerfully, "Let's get back to dinner."  Nothing could ruin this day.
    The whole thing had made Castenada curious.  Young Witt had been empty handed.  Who took the wagon?  It was a minor mystery, but Castenada did not take kindly to having the house in which he was a dinner guest being robbed.  "I'll see if I can't get it back for you Belinda.  It's your new livelihood, huh?"
    "Yeah Vic, and it's the most fun I've had working since I was a kid in Mexico.  But I'm not going to let the loss of a wagon stop me.  I'll be back out there tomorrow if I have to carry everything on my back," Belinda proclaimed confidently.
    "I think we can do a little better than that Belinda.  Remember that carnival that was here last summer?  I busted the hot pretzel guy for crank.  He posted bail and then skipped town.  I got his cart stored.  If your wagon doesn't turn up by morning, you can have the cart.  For a free cookie every now and then.  Just kidding.  You can use it as long as you want."   Vic wondered that he had never noticed Belinda before.
    "How long you think it will last, Vic?  The ATM's.  And who's doing it?"  Belinda was hoping it'd last for a while.
    "Well maybe the pros from the press got an idea, cause I sure don't.  Let's go in and ask them."  Belinda led the way back in.  She had the weirdest sensation, the jealousy she had felt for her sister all these years was floating away, almost gone.  She didn't feel the need to apologize for herself any more.  She felt almost equal, comfortable.  Was the machine doing all this to her?  She didn't care.  She was really starting to enjoy the strange spell it was casting on Greenfield.
 

    Noe tossed the wagon in back of Preston's truck and they headed to the ranch.
    "Noe, I'm not so sure about leaving a bomb with a long fuse.  I think you should stick with the bomb at the Memorial hall long enough for it to go off.  We don't need no accidental bodies," worried Preston.
    "Ain't gonna be nobody within miles of the place, but if that's what you want boss, then we need another set of hands," said Noe as he noticed a smile creep onto Preston's face.  Noe knew what Preston was thinking.  "No, no boss.  Anybody but Ernie, Boss."
    "You know he's the only one I can trust with something this important.  Besides, I love to watch you two work together," Preston laughed.
    "I don't trust him around trouble, Preston.  He's a chicken shit, Boss, and you know it."  Noe hated the way Preston played he and Ernie off against each other.
    "I know he is, Noe.  But he's so much more scared of the both of us than anyone else, that he'll do whatever I say.  He can just pull that little wagon up next to that damn machine and then haul ass.  That won't be so hard.  He'd be so pissin-his-pants scared that I'd shoot him if he backed out, that he's sure to pull it off."  Preston laughed again.
 

    Aaron was feeling ashamed of himself for spying on Sofia like he had.  And now on top of that he had to wonder what foul scheme his dad and Noe were up to with Belinda's wagon.  He was sure that that Castenada had seen him slinking away.  God, what a miserable excuse for a life he had.  Hiding in bushes.  Peeking through windows.  He almost felt disgusted enough to throw his bag of pot out the window, but then he thought how nice a fat joint would be, so he headed on home to veg in front of the one eyed cathode ray producing beast.  At least he could watch Sofia there without getting caught.

 
    Belinda and Castenada re-entered the house.  "Just some of our new arrivals taking a short-cut," Castenada reported.  "We're going to have to get used to it."
    "So let's eat," said Belinda as she headed into the kitchen to dish it up.
    "So you never made it down to Oaxaca then Sofia?"  Duvall asked.
    "No, I always had too much to do here.  I haven't been to Mexico in twenty-five years.  I don't even really remember it. I was totally involved in school.  I studied all the time."  Sofia thought of her long struggle and her sister in the kitchen.  Their lives were so different.  They lived in such different worlds.  She wanted to talk to this Duvall fellow but she was deep in reverie.
    "Kinda sounds like me, except I only studied half the time.  The rest of the time I was out hunting or fishing with my dad.  That's all there is to do in North Dakota.  Probably not too much of that here in California?" asked Etienne, trying to engage Sofia.
    Belinda started putting the food on the table and joined in the conversation.  "Well Vic I see your friend here has a lot to learn about California.  Outside of L.A.-San Diego, and the San Francisco Bay area California is as country as it gets.  In fact, Greenfield may be the red-neck capital of the west."
    "And now its the ATM capital of the world.  And Sofia I think you been elected official hostess."  Vic lifted his beer in a mock toast.
    "Well I wish I could say it was my talent that did it, but it was really luck.  I was the first one to report it."  Sofia never could pass up a complement.
    "Well, luck never hurt, but I'd wager your face has been seen in every country in the world by now.  Being first in something like this makes careers," Etienne opined.
    "Well if being first counts so much, then my Dolfi must be the prince of this thing, cause I think he was the first one to use it this morning, or at least close to the first."  Belinda beamed with pride for her son.
    Duvall and Castenada exchanged a glance.
    "My deputy found it about sunrise Dolfi, about 6:30.  We're you there before that?" asked Castenada, still filling in his puzzle.
    "Yes sir, Mr. Castenada, the sun was just peeking out.   But Mami, I told you.  I wasn't first, it was the old Gringo with the violin. Remember I told you about him Mami,"  Rodolfo answered.
    "Yes you did Dolfi."  Belinda eyed Castenada with caution.
    "And he told me to use it Mami, remember I told you.  I think it was his machine because he wasn't even scared of it," Dolfi said directly and honestly.
    "And you didn't know the man Dolfi?  He wasn't from Greenfield you think?"  Castenada pressed.
    "No I never seen him before.  He played a violin and he looked like that guy on TV.  The Beverly Hillbillies.  You know Mami, Jed Clampett."  Rodolfo giggled.
    Duvall's face had turned three shades lighter than pale and he asked, "Did the old gringo have a long mustache Dolfi?"
    "Si señor Duvall, with two long points on it.  And he had an old pick up.."  Rodolfo looked at the expression on Etienne's face and got scared.
    " ...With a homemade camper on the back?"  Etienne continued.
      "Si Mr. Duvall, made of wood."  Rodolfo answered his best.
    "You know this guy Etienne?" Castenada asked suspiciously.
    Duvall did not answer.  He sat frozen in his own thoughts and memories as a faint sound of music drifted through the window.  Rodolfo heard it first, faintly.  Violin music.  The same type he had heard this morning.  Then they all heard it.
    "That's it Mami.  That's the music the old Gringo played."  Rodolfo and everyone had their eyes glued on Etienne.
    Duvall jumped from his chair and ran to the door.  He rushed out.  By the time he was out in the yard, all he could hear was the wind.  The others followed.  They exchanged nervous glances, and realized that whoever or whatever it was, was gone.  They all went back inside and sat silently around the table, waiting for Duvall to explain, but he said nothing.  He just sat more ashen faced than before, pushing the food around his plate with his fork.