Return of the Nomad

by Beatrix Banner

  It was a five and a half hour drive back to Los Angeles from San Felipe and most of that would be through desert until the border. It gave me a long time to run over what Jesse had told me the night before. I was still struggling to wrap my head around the idea of Pam being the vigilante that Archie and I had been—to a certain degree—fawning over for the last few weeks. It just didn’t seem real. How had that happened? And Jimmy had known? What the hell was going on over there?

  I figured I should probably call Archie and let him know I wasn’t dead. I should probably also let him know that Jesse was. We’d call that one self defense—and in a foreign jurisdiction. I pulled out my phone, noticing several missed calls from the man himself, and told it to call Archie, then put it on speaker and placed it on the passenger seat. It rang a couple times before he answered.

  “Holy shit, you’re alive!” he exclaimed as soon as it connected.

  “Yah,” I replied. “Just about.”

  “Well, what the hell happened? Where have you been? Did you find Jesse?”

  I sighed. “I will answer all those questions, and undoubtedly more, when I get back. I’m probably about five hours away, depending on traffic.”

  “Five hours?! Where the hell did you go?”

  “As I said, I will answer all your questions when I get back.”

  He knew he’d get no more, so he gave up. “Fine. Drive safe and call me when you get in.”

  I hung up. I was looking forward to getting back to his apartment. To sleeping. Once I cleared the border, it would be about four hours to Los Angeles on a pretty much straight road. I’ve always found that kind of driving to be meditative. The buildings and other cars whipping past your windows can lull you into a kind of hypnotic trance. It helped to distract from the injuries I had managed to accumulate.

  Around an hour later, I slowed the truck as I began to approach the queue of traffic at the border. The line seemed longer than usual. I squeezed the brakes and the truck slowed to a stop. I leaned out the window to see what was going on. There seemed to be a larger police presence than I was used to. I settled back into my seat and figured I’d get comfortable.

  Minutes would pass and the cars would slowly creep forward, inch by inch, but progress was slow. I stuck my head back out the window. About fifteen cars up, there were several uniformed, Mexican border patrol officers speaking to the drivers of a number of different cars. They seemed to be working their way up the queue, stopping for a few minutes to ask some questions, then moving on. The cars would move forwards and then another round of questions would be asked at the border itself. On the other side of the lanes, I noticed plain clothes cops were reviewing the cars. They were standing back from the side of the road and seemingly making notes as they assessed each one that passed. The majority of these cops looked Mexican, twenty to thirty officers moving around. The others, I counted ten to fifteen, were all American.

  I could see the American side of the border just a few hundred feet away and stared longingly at it. I gently pressed on the accelerator as the car in front of me crawled forward a few more inches. I just wanted to get back to Archie’s. I just wanted to get out of here and repress all of it. A good bottle of bourbon should do the trick. A knock on my window jolted me out of my thoughts. I rolled it down and peered up at the face of one of the uniforms.

  “Good morning,” I said in Spanish to the officer. I noticed there was a large, American plain clothes cop standing next to him in a fancy suit. I nodded at him. He stared back at me, expressionless. I glanced across to the other side of my truck as I saw movement. I saw another, equally fancy suit through the window, but I couldn’t see the guy’s face.

  “Good morning. Step out of the vehicle, please,” the uniform said, mechanically. My brow furrowed. I hadn’t seen them ask anyone else to get out of their cars.

  “Can I ask why?” I replied, a little confused at the situation. I didn’t move.

  “Step out of the vehicle please, ma’am.”

  I looked around. Nobody else seemed to be paying attention at the moment and I wondered if I wanted that to change. I decided I would play it safe and pulled on the chrome handle to open the door. I climbed out and pushed the door closed as I stared at the uniformed officer, expectantly.

  “Come with us, please,” he said.

  He turned and began walking towards what looked like some kind of office building.

  “Sorry, where are we going? What’s this about? Have I done something wrong?” The three of them turned to look at me, but said nothing. I looked back at my truck, then back at the police. I guessed I’d follow them, then, I thought. Like I had a choice.

  When they saw me walking towards them, they turned and waited for me to catch up. They flanked me once again and continued towards the office building. It was a couple of stories high and surrounded by some large, half empty parking lots. Everything else was just desert.

  The four of us entered the building, first the uniform, then me, followed by the two plain clothes suits bringing up the rear. I followed the uniform down a series of poorly lit, winding corridors until we reached an interrogation room. The door was held open for me and I walked in and stood awkwardly next to a table that sat in the middle of the room. The American pointed at a chair and I sat down. He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door with a slam. I looked around. Opposite me, on the other side of the table, were two more chairs. Behind them was a small window that looked out onto the half empty parking lots we had walked past outside. Beyond the parking lot, you could see the queue for the border crossing. It was much shorter now. I turned my attention back to the room. There was a mirror on the wall with the door, which I assumed was one-way glass for watching suspects. I also assumed they were watching me.

  What felt like an hour passed. The temperature was rising and I was getting pissed off. The chair was uncomfortable, my body was aching and I wanted to get back to L.A. I banged on the table with my fists.

  “Hey! HEY! What the hell am I doing here? I’m an American citizen! I have rights, goddammit!” A part of me had always wanted to say that, but I hadn’t considered the circumstances I’d have to be in to make it happen. Not ideal.

  I banged on the table again and again, and didn’t stop. Several minutes of pounding passed before the door swung open again. Finally. The two large suits walked in, closed the door and sat down opposite me at the table. I stared at both of them. I noticed the other guy was Mexican, and wondered again what a suited American was doing with cops on this side of the border.

  “We’d like to see your passport and driving license, please,” he asked, robotically.

  “Really?” I asked. “Well, I’d like to see your ID.”

  “Your passport and your driver’s licence, please.”

  I ignored them. Behind their heads, through the window, I noticed my truck sitting where I had left it. I smiled a little, until I noticed a man circling it, looking at it. I became increasingly agitated as I watched him back a larger truck right up to it and start applying straps to the wheels. He started to load it onto a trailer, then headed back around to the cab and climbed in.

  “What the hell is happening to my truck? Where are you taking it?”

  “We would like your passport and your driving licence. We want you to come with us. We will take you across the border.”

  “What? What the hell are you talking about? Listen to me. Where are you taking my truck?”

  “Your truck is being taken to a secure location. Now please hand over your documents.”

  “No!” I shouted. “Show me your ID first, who are you working for?”

  “We are representing the United States Government. We do not carry identification. We would like to take you across the border. You will get your truck back if you come with us.”

  I scoffed. “Are you serious right now? My God, I am so sick of this bullshit.” I stood up and walked towards the door. “Let me out. Give me my truck. Do these things now, and no one gets hu
rt.”

  Both of them rose at the same time and came towards me. “Please remain seated, and show us your documents.”

  I rolled my eyes and moved back towards my chair. They followed. I grabbed onto the back of the chair and lifted it into the air, swinging it at the head of the American suit. He ducked and grabbed the legs, attempting to wrestle it out of my hands. I resisted and he pulled and pulled, trying to release it from my grasp. I waited until he pulled again, and then let go of the chair. He flew backwards and fell into his counterpart, dropping it on his way down. I leaned over and picked it up once more. I swung it up towards the ceiling and brought it crashing down onto his ribcage. He wheezed out and rolled slightly, crushing his fellow suit beneath him as he squirmed.

  While both of them were incapacitated, I quickly moved over to the window. I picked up one of the chairs from the other side of the table and swung it at the glass. A crack appeared, but it didn’t break. The suits had managed to clamber back to their feet and they came at me. I threw the chair at them and the American suit ducked underneath it and swung hard at my head. I bobbed away and delivered a one-two punch to his already delicate rib cage. Winded, he stumbled away, heading for the door and backup, I assumed. The second suit came at me now, having recovered from the chair to the head, and spun into a side kick. I ducked under it, but he caught my shoulder and knocked me sideways. I stumbled backwards and he swung a punch at my jaw. I grabbed his wrist and side-stepped forwards, pulling it behind him. He tried to turn, but I wrenched his arm up until I heard a pop. He cried out and I shoved him across the room. I turned and marched back around the table to the window and picked up another chair. I swung it again, and again, aware that I was drawing a lot of attention to myself with the noise, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t want to fight, I wanted out. I was done with this shit. I swung it one more time and it finally smashed through. Hallelujah. I gave a cursory glance back at the suits, but they had both vacated the premises.

  I climbed through the window before any more appeared and began to chase my truck. I had watched the Ford get loaded onto a trailer with some worn out straps and driven across the lot and down the street, away from the border. He wasn’t driving very fast, so I took off, running full pelt across the parking lot, and closing in. When I was finally within touching distance, I jumped up and managed to grab onto the edge of the trailer. I crawled up onto the bed of the truck beside my Ford and gave her a pat on the side. I got to work unhooking the straps around her wheels. I could hear Dolly crooning off the speakers in the cab as the driver sang along in his own key. I shook my head and almost smiled. Pretty sure this guy was an outside contractor.

  I finally finished the fourth wheel and managed to get her unhooked. I lowered the metal ramp and it screeched along the tarmac, sending sparks flying across the road. I climbed back into the cab of my Ford and turned the key. She roared to life and I gently guided her down, accelerating hard as the front tires hit the blacktop. I glanced in the rear-view mirror as the other trailer pulled away and I saw that the suits had reappeared and were attempting to pursue. A rain of bullets started flying around me, but I had floored it off the truck and was closing in on the border. Nothing could stop me now. I swung around the corner of the lot and was back, close to where I had been stopped. I floored the accelerator and flew across the road outlet, through the barrier and out to the other side of the border crossing. I was free.

  It took about thirty seconds for me to notice that they had stopped firing. I checked the rear view mirror and I saw that they hadn’t moved. Nobody was following me. I crossed the border and that was it. What kind of American cop doesn’t fire once their suspect has crossed back onto American soil? More to the point, what kind of American suit doesn’t carry ID?

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was mid-to-late afternoon when I pulled into the parking lot across the street from Archie’s apartment block and finally switched off the ignition. I sat for a moment, my brain reeling a little from the continuous motion of the drive, but also at all the information that had been swirling around it since the night before—and what it meant. I shook my head in an unconscious attempt to clear it and got out of the cab.

  I pushed into the lobby and rode the elevator up to his floor. Archie probably wouldn’t be home yet, so I figured I’d take a little nap to recharge before the Spanish Inquisition began. I pushed into his apartment and locked the door. A quick look around told me I was right, so I poured myself a shot of bourbon, changed into something comfortable and went and collapsed on the bed.

  It was already dusk when he woke me up and for a moment, I was disoriented. He was a dim silhouette standing in the doorway and it took a second for my eyes to adjust.

  “Welcome home,” he said as he moved a little farther into the room. “You want the light on?”

  I rubbed at my eyes and slid myself up in the bed so my back was resting against the headboard. “No, no, I’ll get up. Let’s go talk in the living room.”

  Archie nodded and disappeared from the doorway as I rolled out of the bed and went to splash some water on my face. My leg was still aching like crazy and I didn’t want to worry him so I took my time as I went to join him on the sofa. He had opened a couple of bottles of beer and handed me one with a small smile.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I said and clinked the bottle against his.

  He took a deep breath and released it before meeting my eyes. “So…”

  “So…” I replied.

  He rolled his eyes. “What happened? Where did you go?”

  “To find Jesse.”

  “Ana,” he huffed impatiently. “Please.”

  “Okay, okay. Let me start from the beginning.”

  “Please do,” he replied, gesturing with his bottle for me to go on.

  I got comfortable and took a sip of beer to steel myself. “I could see that the law was protecting Jesse rather than the victims.”

  “Mmm, okaaaay,” he said, in a tone that communicated the opposite of the words coming out of his mouth. I ignored him and carried on.

  “So I went to the address that you gave me and I waited outside. It was not the kind of house that I was expecting.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it was a mansion. Palm trees, pool, gated entrance and all. Eventually, the gates opened and a whole stream of SUVs pour out of there. I saw Jesse in the front of one of them and took a note of the license plate. I tracked the GPS down to—”

  “Hold on a second, you took a note of his license plate and tracked the GPS? How?”

  “Sugar, that ain’t none of your concern. So I tracked the GPS down to—”

  “No, sorry, how?”

  I sighed. “Archie, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. I tracked the GPS down to Mexico.”

  “Mexico?!”

  “Jesus, would you stop interrupting?” I took a breath and continued. “ The signal got cut off by the mountains, but it was just one road, so I followed it until a sign appeared for a little town on the Gulf of California called San Felipe, in Mexico.” I gave him a look. “I found a motel near the beach. The next morning, I went out to get a look at the town and spoke to a waiter.” I figured I’d save him the details of the gang and their ringleader, since I’d dealt with that problem. “The waiter tells me there’s a compound on the north side of town. I go check it out, figure out how I’m going to get in there to find Jesse. I watch the comings and goings for a while and that evening, another stream of cars arrive. They head through the gate and park up outside the main house. Six people exit the vehicles and go inside.”

  “How were you seeing all of this? Where were you?” Archie asked.

  “Ah, yeah. Right next to the compound is this huge rock, like a thousand feet high. I swam across the cove in front of the compound so I wouldn’t be seen. I found myself a little spot way up near the top where I could observe what was going on. So that evening, these people arrive and they throw a little party. I make my way dow
n the hill and sneak over the fence.”

  “Oh god…” he said as he dropped his face into his hands.

  “Shut up. I go in, find a tank of propane and bring it upstairs to the office.”

  He looked up. “I’m sorry, you did what?”

  “I went in. I found a tank of propane. I brought it upstairs. To the office.”

  “You know what, you can sass me all you like, Ana, but I’m allowed to be slightly concerned when you tell me you got a tank of propane. I can see where this is heading, I am not being irrational!”

  “You wanted me to tell you what happened. Would you prefer I lie?” I asked as I took another swig of beer.

  “Of course not, but you can’t be surprised when I—”

  “I buzzed at the gate like a nice little Girl Guide and waited for them to let me in. Once I got inside, I made some candy floss and took it up to the office.”

  Archie moved to get up. “Listen, if you’re just gonna be an asshole, I’m out.”

  I sighed and reached out to stop him. “Fine, fine. Sit down. But you’ve got to listen.”

  He nodded. “I will, I will.”

  “I take the tank up to the office. The light is off, so I figure while I’m up there I’ll take a look around. In the desk there are three drawers, one of them’s locked. I managed to jimmy it open and found a bunch of files in a language I didn’t recognize.”

  Archie’s face shifted to one of curiosity. “You bring ’em back with you?”

  “I did.” I put the beer down on the coffee table and signaled Archie one minute. I got up and hobbled into the bedroom and grabbed the files from my bag. I walked back in. Archie was looking at me funny. He cocked an eyebrow.

  “What’s up with the limp?”

  Damn. “Old war wound.”

  “What war?”

  “I’ll tell you on our wedding night.”

  He spluttered as he took a sip of beer and wiped his mouth with the cuff of his shirt. “So never.”

  I nodded and dropped the files in front of him on the coffee table. He leaned forwards, pushed the cover open and picked up the first sheet of paper. His forehead furrowed as his eyes scanned over the first few lines.