Border Crossings

by Michael Lee Weems

  The emptiness around her reminded her that she was now alone. She had no one left to turn to, no place to go, and no one left who cared if she was alive or dead. They had murdered the one person who had tried to help her. She walked between the shadows of the houses until she could see the little frame house where she’d been staying. The crime unit and police had left the house sealed with the yellow tape. Armando, she thought. It’s all my fault. I got him killed. She couldn’t stop the tears that came. She crossed her arms over her chest and pulled tightly into herself as she stared at the house. It’s all my fault. She wiped her tears away angrily, like she’d done that night in the hot box. She was tired of crying. Tired of being a victim. And at that moment she made up her mind. It was time Jose and Hector and Miss Lydia and all of them learned that she wasn’t a scared little girl. Not anymore! She was going to see them pay. She walked down the street of the quiet subdivision and out to the main road. She had considered walking to Armando’s mother’s house and getting Ricky, but she wouldn’t know how to tell him what had just happened and how it was all her fault. She also didn’t want to endanger him more than she already had. So she walked down to the same Shell station Jose had parked at the day before. Its door was locked but there was a woman behind the glass working the graveyard shit.

  “Hablas Espanol?” Yesenia asked the woman.

  “Yes, what do you need?” responded the woman in Spanish.

  “Can you call the police for me?”

  “The police? Is something the matter?” asked the woman.

  “Yes. I witnessed a murder. Two murders, actually. A couple of bad men I know killed my friend tonight. They’re also the ones who killed that police man that’s been on the news.”

  The woman behind the glass eyed Yesenia warily as she dialed 9-1-1.

  Yesenia sat down on the curb to wait, her arms across her knees holding them close to her chest. She didn’t care if she went to jail for being with them that night they killed the policeman. She didn’t even care if they sent more people after her for calling the police. It was her turn to step up and do the right thing. Armando had done it for her and now she was going to do it for him . . . for all the girls Miss Lydia had turned into prostitutes, for the poor policeman they’d killed, and for herself. Her resignation to whatever fate would befall her after filled her with a sense of calm. She no longer worried about what to do or what would happen. Ceci would be gone by now. She’d make sure their mother and Nana were safe. Santa Rosanna was such a small village it wasn’t likely anyone would be able to find them anyway. Even if they did send someone there after her mother, the people there took care of each other. No sooner could a stranger set foot away from the market than someone would send the alarm. Rosario and Nana would be safe, lying low with friends until this was over. So now, all she had to worry about was herself. And to Yesenia, that meant making sure to do the right thing while she was still able. What would happen then, only the stars knew, as she used to say in happier times.

  Catherine and Matt left Miguel in the rail car, still staring into the nothingness, and checked into a hotel. Both were exhausted and hadn’t slept in nearly thirty hours. Catherine slept uncomfortably, having dreams of Kelly being tortured, seeing the faces of the men she’d help kill in the last couple of days. When she woke in the middle of the night, she saw Matt was sleeping like a log. How strange someone can be so good, yet so comfortable with killing. As she looked him, she wished she could take back some of the past. I didn’t understand. How could anyone unless it happens to them? She got up, dressed only in her nightshirt and underwear, and walked over to his bed, quietly slipping beneath the sheets.

  He woke up, startled, “Catherine? What’s wrong?”

  She kissed him tenderly. “Nothing,” she told him. “I just can’t sleep.”

  He kissed her back, timidly at first, but them more passionately as he felt the warmth of her tongue caress his sweetly. He held her close and they made love, far more intimately than they ever did when they were dating those many years ago.

  When they awoke late the next morning, they ordered up a lunch and Catherine called her office.

  “Law office, how may I direct your call?” came the familiar friendly voice.

  “Jenny, it’s me.”

  “Catherine, thank God. I’ve been worried sick. Are you okay?” There had been a news report of a shootout between unknown assailants and an American investigator on the case in a market. Jenny had quickly devised who they were probably talking about.

  “I’m fine. How are things there?” Her old business routine seemed a remnant of another life.

  “They’re going well. That guy from Petrocon called for you. I told him you were on extended vacation, but he wouldn’t talk to anyone else. He’s really worked up about this deal, Catherine. Do you want his number?”

  “No, not right now. He’s just going to have to deal with it. I do need something, though. Can you run a number for me and find out whose it is and what address?” Ortiz may not feel the need to hide but something told Catherine she wouldn’t just be able to stick in the phone number on anywho.com and the guy’s address would pop right up.

  “Sure,” she said. “What’s the number?”

  “It’s here in Mexico,” she said.

  “Okay. That might take a little bit longer, but I’ll find it for you.” She read off the number from Miguel’s cell phone.

  “When do you need it by?” she asked.

  “As soon as possible,” said Catherine. “Also dig me up on whatever you can find on the guy, license picture, bank accounts, whatever. But make sure it’s discrete. I don’t want any red flags going up.”

  “Okay, I’ll do what I can. You’re being careful down there, right, Catherine?”

  “Yes,” she assured her friend. “I’ve got some protection with me.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. I hope you hired some good guys.”

  Catherine smiled, “The best.”

  “Is there a number where I can reach you?”

  She thought about it but decided it was best if they didn’t know where she was at for the moment. She trusted Jenny entirely, but being that this was the cartel, there was no telling if they’d managed to have her office bugged or something along those lines. It was highly unlikely, but no point in unnecessary risk, she told herself. “Actually, I’m going to be mobile for the next few hours,” she said. “Why don’t I call you back in about an hour?”

  “Sure. Is there anything else?”

  “No. Thanks, Jenny. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  They hung up and Catherine began eating her lunch. Matt sat at the little table in their room drinking a beer and eating a Po-boy sandwich. “You know getting to this Ortiz guy isn’t going to be easy.”

  “I know,” said Catherine.

  “If he’s running all the things that kid told us, he may have some seriously armed bodyguards.”

  “I made a promise to Kelly’s parents. I didn’t think we’d have all this to deal with, but it’s not something I can let go. Besides, after hearing what these people did to that girl, what they did to Juan, also. I couldn’t just pack up and go home now even if I wanted to.”

  “Are you going to tell them what happened? Her parents, I mean.”

  It was a question Catherine had already asked herself. “Not right now.”

  Matt took a long sip. “Then there’s Arismendez.”

  “Yes,” said Catherine. “And then there’s him.”

  “He’s going to have even more security, I’m thinking. We may need some help with him.”

  “But who?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet. We’ll just have to see what we’re up against, but we’ll figure that out after we deal with Ortiz.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  Miss Lydia was in the middle of a furious tantrum. “How could you let this happen!?”

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” apologized Jose. “It happened so quickly. We would have had the g
irl if not for that crazy gringo with the shotgun. I don’t know who he is but he came out of nowhere and got the drop on Hector.”

  “And where were you!?”

  “I told you! I was getting the truck. The girl took off running and we couldn’t catch up to her. She was like a deer the way she was running and jumping over fences. Rafa Marquez himself couldn’t have caught her.”

  Miss Lydia rose up on her tip-toes and hit him on the head. Then she hit him again. And again. And again. Screaming at the top of her lungs, “Moron! Idiota! How could you be so stupid!? Didn’t I tell you how to do it! Must I do everything for you!?”

  “Please, Ma-ma, stop hitting me,” he said with his arms deflecting the blows as best he could. “I’ll find the girl, I swear.”

  “Don’t be stupid!” she yelled at him. “Now she’s seen you kill two people! What do you think she’s going to do? Just dance back here and apologize and forget the whole thing? We had one chance! One chance to get that girl! And you blew it!” Jose said nothing as his mother boxed his ears with her cupped hand. “You’ve ruined everything!”

  Finally she let her anger subside and quit pounding on her son. His thick skull had left her hand throbbing in rhythm to the vein that protruded from her forehead.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Jose said again, cowered by his mother’s wrath.

  Miss Lydia eased herself back into her couch and suddenly a tender sadness came over her. “How many years have we been here? All this time and no trouble. Never once have the police drove past that gate,” she scolded, pointing in the direction of the road. “Never once before now have we even had a girl get away from us like this. And now look.” She dropped her bullish head between her shoulders as though she were going to cry. “Ruined. All ruined.”

  Jose sat on the coffee table across from her, hanging his head in shame. “Don’t cry, Mama. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she echoed. “What good is it now?”

  He looked out the window and cracked his knuckles in anger at the girl that had caused all this. If only I could get my hands on her, he thought. “What do we do?” he asked her.

  She sighed deeply. “The only thing we can do. We must pack everything up and leave.”

  “Leave?” he asked. “There must be some other way . . . ”

  “No!” she snapped. “You saw to that when you didn’t do as I told you. That girl’s out there now with enough information to ruin us all. If she opens her big mouth, we’ll all die in prison. You have two murders on you, now. And me, well I’m an old woman. How do you expect your mother to survive in such a place?” He had no response. “And now you definitely have to get rid of that stupid suburban you love so much. Painting it won’t do any good this time. Get rid of it. We’ll have to get us something else.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Jose did as he was told. He drove the suburban down an old country road that became a rutted trail, and then out into a nearby clearing while Arnulfo waited for him in his truck. Jose got out and took the two gallons of gasoline he had in the rear of the truck and doused the suv. Then he stood back, lit a Molotov cocktail he’d brought, and chunked it at the suburban, which went up like it was made out of paper mache.

  Then Arnulfo drove him and Miss Lydia to a used car dealership called Amigo Auto Sales where they purchased a used truck under a false I.D. Miss Lydia had used for many years.

  When they returned to the compound, Miss Lydia began putting things in motion. Catalina was looking out of the window and saw Jose pull the metal trailer around. “I wonder what they’re going to do with that?” she asked Imelda.

  While Jose and Arnulfo began packing only the essential things, Miss Lydia retreated to her office. She didn’t know where she was going to go. She had close to two hundred thousand dollars in cash and wondered if she shouldn’t just take it and retire back home to Mexico. Would there be consequences, though? She was a link in a chain of traffic. If the link breaks, so does the chain. There were powerful people who would be affected by recent events, people who might look to her for an explanation for their interrupted cash flow. Before she could even consider going back to Mexico, she needed to know what would be waiting for her. She picked up the phone and began dialing.

  Fernando Ortiz’s phone number returned a match for an upscale home in San Angel, a once quiet village consumed by the behemoth city with cobblestone streets that was now called home by some of Mexico’s most rich and famous. San Angel was hodge-podge of the old and new. It had a lively night life yet just down the street from some of the most exclusive night clubs in Mexico City one might find the El Carmen Monastery, where the bodies of well preserved nuns slept within the cellars. One side of the street might have an old world hacienda, while the other a brand new mansion full of every conceivable amenity to satisfy even the most demanding of well to dos.

  When Catherine and Matt arrived they parked across the street of the home. Large black wrought iron gates stood before them, along with a security guard who sat in a small check-in station, not much larger than an outhouse. The home itself was like the suburb, a mixture of old and new. It was built in the hacienda style with stucco and stone, but one could tell it had been built in the last ten years and the security cameras atop its walls displayed some of its up to date technology.

  “What do you think?” asked Catherine, discouraged.

  “Difficult, but not impossible,” said Matt. “There’s a guard station there at the front and cameras at all four corners of the wall, probably covering all angles, but I think we can make entry there on the East side,” he said, pointing. “My guess is he has a guard or two inside the wall, too, probably around back.”

  “What about the cameras?”

  “Basic closed system. I need a digital video camera and we may be able to get around it.” She marveled at how he could look at what she was seeing and think gaining entry with anything less than a tank was even possible.

  “And the security system? I’m sure he’s got a good one.”

  “That’s a little trickier. To be honest, we’re not going to get around it. We don’t have the equipment or the time we’d need to bypass a bunch of motion sensors. A twenty-dollar motion sensor is way harder to beat than security guards and cameras. I could get by the door or window contact, but not the motion sensor.”

  “Can we cut its power?”

  “No, it’ll all have a backup battery worth several hours, and the moment we tried it’d go off.”

  This is crazy, she thought, we’re never going to sneak in that place. “So what do we do? Wait for him to leave and grab him while he’s out somewhere?”

  “Not necessarily. Going inside the house gives us a better chance of catching him alone and off guard. Assuming we don’t set off any alarms, of course. I’d say our best bet is to get him during the day when he’s home so the alarm system will be off. We just have to make sure we’re not seen. This neighborhood probably has a significant police patrol. If someone spots us going over the wall, we’ll be surrounded before we can get out. There’s a big football game tomorrow afternoon, Mexico is playing Bolivia. It’ll be the best time try.”

  Rush the house in broad daylight? Catherine wouldn’t even have considered it an option. Still, it made sense. Even if the system was activated, they’d at least have the motion sensors inside the house turned off . . . hopefully.

  They went back to their hotel room and began making arrangements. Catherine called Patrick in Playa and asked how Julio was doing. “Oh, he’s fine,” said Pat. “He and my boy are in there playing on the Playstation. He just loves that thing. Took to it like a fish to water. Leg’s much better now, too. They get outside and start running around like little monkeys. He’s gonna be fine.”

  “That’s great, Pat. You all be safe, now.”

  “Same to you. No worries here, we’re all doing just fine. He’s a good kid.”