15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  “I don’t get why we need supplies. The border crossing isn’t that far. San Ysidro is only down the road. Why would I need supplies?”

  “It may only be down the road, but we could be in the line at the crossing for an hour at least. Plus, let’s not forget the ten-minute or so drive to Tijuana. It could get hot in the back of the trailer. A cold drink wouldn’t hurt you, now, would it?”

  With that, Bill hopped out of the cab. Before shutting the door he looked up at me and said, “Anything else you want, maybe a sandwich?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” I replied.

  He shut the door, and I watched him go into the 7-Eleven just near the gas pumps. We weren’t parked there for gas, though; we were in between two nonworking pumps. I guess in most places we’d be asked to move, but we didn’t seem to be blocking anybody. The gas station was empty anyhow, which I found mildly fascinating.

  Through the window, I could see Bill paying for some snacks at the counter. His cowboy-style attire really matched the atmosphere of this particular gas station. It was as if the deeper we went into the San Diego area, the closer we were to the Wild West of Mexico. The cracks were beginning to show – literally! The buildings were a little less modern-looking. The pavements were a little more worn, and the people were a lot more Latino. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel intimidated, but there was something about San Diego that really spoke to me on a personal level. Living in L.A. obviously has its similarities to the distant cousin that is S.D., but in itself, it is also its own place, with its own diverse culture. I guess I was happy to see something different. Something that was as far away from Watts as I could be.

  I got back to looking at Bill through the window. He wasn’t at the counter. I sat up and scanned the area in front of me. He was nowhere to be seen. I scrunched my eyes a little and saw a cord in the right corner of the big bay window to the 7-Eleven. I then saw a hand holding a pay phone, attached to that cord. It was Bill. He had made a phone call. It was a brief one. He put the phone back and collected some change at the bottom of the pay phone. He then came out of the shop with a grin on his face. He was holding a few bottles of water and a bag of Doritos.

  The cab door opened, and he signaled me to get out. “Come on, it’s time. We’re about to go jumping the border! Yee-haw!”

  I was less enthusiastic. I got out of the cab and landed on the concrete. The wind rode up my back as a car passed us behind the barrier between us and the highway.

  “Chop, chop!” I heard Bill say. I made my way around to his side and saw him grabbing the briefcase from the back. He climbed back down and handed it to me.

  “You go and take that in with you. Keep it close — you’re going to need it.”

  I held the briefcase in my right hand, feeling the weight of it. It didn’t weigh much. Maybe a bag of sugar, maybe two.

  “Why do I need this case?”

  Bill smiled as he shut the cab door and turned to face me with another huge grin on his face. “It’s your ticket to Mexico, my friend! Don’t look so glum — it’s not a damn bomb!”

  We began to walk toward the back of the truck. The sides of the trailer looked smudged with black lines of dirt and water residue. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but the trailer had no logo on it – it was just plain and bare bones, making me a little more suspicious.

  “What if somebody sees?” I asked.

  “Sees what?” he said as we reached the back of the trailer.

  “Me getting into the back of the trailer.”

  Bill unclasped the trailer doors, and they opened. I saw nothing but black as the darkness seemed to stretch for the entire length of the truck. My eyes adjusted, and I could make out the outlines of some boxes that were stacked high.

  “No one’s going to see you get in,” he said, gently coercing me to climb into the back.

  I did as he pleased. Still holding the case, I jumped into the back of the trailer. It bounced unevenly under my weight. I took a few last glances at my surroundings, trying to see if I could spot anybody looking at us. Bill was right; the whole gas station was surrounded by nothing but darkness. I sighed and sat down where I stood.

  “You’ll need to move back a little. If they stop and search the truck, they’ll find you straight away like that. Move down to the back. You’ll find some cushions and a blanket in case you’re cold.”

  “Why do you have a blanket and cushions in the back of your trailer?”

  Bill handed me my chips and a bottle of water. “Oh, that? That was left behind by the other cop killer I sneaked into Mexico,” he said, smiling at me.

  I started to move to the back, dodging the stack of boxes. There was just about enough room for me to maneuver around them. One of the doors shut, and the darkness increased. I quickly turned around to see Bill about to shut the other door.

  “Wait!” I snapped.

  “What, what’s wrong?” Bill held the door open, poking his head around it, trying to see me.

  “Why do I need a ticket to Mexico?” I finally asked.

  The door started to close slowly. I heard Wild Bill laughing, and then he said just before the door shut, “Everybody needs a ticket.”

  Nothing but darkness followed as I sat down on the plump cushions in the back.

  Part Two

  “La muerte y la nueva vida” - Death and new life.

  Thirty-Seven

  Being transported in the back of a truck on a trip across the border makes a person re-evaluate themselves. I never thought I’d actually live the life of a fugitive, and yet there I was, living it large and representing!

  But, to be honest, it was nothing like in the movies. They glamorize it. They make it seem desirable. In actual fact, it is anything but desirable. I had spent the last two days looking over my shoulder, unsure as to what awaited me around every corner. I had played chicken with the cops on several occasions, resulting in immediate members of my non-biological family being killed. My friends weren’t just friends — they were brothers to me. Chad was a brother. His mother was like my mother, a second mother I relied on when things got too hectic at home. I remember I used to go over to Chad’s when I was only eight or nine. We’d eat meals while watching Goosebumps on the TV. We’d build forts in his room. Sometimes we’d sleep in those forts for days upon days. His mother was a close friend of mine. We’d all go trick-or-treating with each other, my mom making the costumes out of black trash bags.

  There was a lot of history between Chad and me. Being in the back of the truck gave me a lot of thinking time. Since the incident in which Chad and his dear mother had lost their lives, I hadn’t had a tremendous amount of time to process it. I was concealing it, hiding it like a birth mark that embarrassed me. But now I was stuck in the back of a moving semi, I had all the time in the world to evaluate how my resurrection had affected the people around me. It seemed as if I was bringing nothing but pain to the ones I loved. Nothing but death and despair.

  I guess making a run for the border was the right decision — at least, that’s what I was mulling over in the back of the trailer. The darkness had abated slightly, and I could make out some of the writing on the stacked boxes. Bill was telling the truth when he told me what he was hauling. Nothing but Samsung DVD players and Microsoft Xbox Ones were keeping me company. Serial numbers were tattooed on the boxes, and I passed the time by counting them out loud. Not too loud, obviously.

  The counting distracted me from the guilt I felt about the lives that had been lost. I didn’t quite understand how all this happened. Why were the cops after me? They were framing me for the deaths of Chad and his mom, but why? What was the purpose of lying? Could it be that they wanted to cover their own asses? If I recalled correctly, the SWAT guy I clocked in the nuts was the one who sprayed his gun empty. It was his finger that pressed down on the trigger, not mine. So in my mind, I was clear of any wrongdoing. Would a court of law see it that way? That was still the question that burned at me from the inside, like a candle with an eterna
l flame, scorching my skin, blistering it.

  Then another thought entered my mind as I undid the bottle of water and took a sip. I knew I wasn’t normal anymore. The doctors at the hospital I visited knew that, too. Who else knew of my symptoms? What was the purpose of them coming after me? Did I hold secrets to something I wasn’t aware of? Maybe they thought they could experiment on me, as if I had the cure for cancer or something.

  “Cure for heart disease?” I asked myself.

  That could make sense. Maybe I was a medical miracle, and everybody wanted in on my goods. But I had bigger problems. I wanted to know WHY it was happening to me. Not what I could get out of it.

  I guess that’s humanity for you. Only interested in the bottom line. I bet they didn’t even care why it was happening, just how they could manipulate it. How they could milk it.

  The truck continued to bounce and tilt from side to side. We’d been driving for what felt like hours, but in reality was most likely ten minutes. I was still growing impatient and attempting to come to some sort of understanding of my situation. I sat there in silence, wondering…hoping that I’d make it. Mexico could be a great place for me to think and get myself together. I knew that once I got there, a whole new world of opportunities would stand before me.

  Funny that most people consider the USA to bear nothing but fruits for your labor, but in my opinion, with my new perspective on things, America has done nothing but squander my dreams. Mexico stood for something different altogether.

  It stood for freedom. It stood for culture. It stood for many other things, but most importantly, it stood for danger. I know it sounds silly to want to be amidst danger and lawlessness, but when you’re on the run, running from something you don’t understand, where else would you be safer than in a country where the police only show up once the victim is decapitated on the streets?

  Thirty-Eight

  My self-evaluation came to an abrupt stop as the trailer jolted forward and I hit my head on the cold metal sheeting that supported my back. No pain, just confusion.

  “The heck?” I uttered. I shook my head to clear it of the confusion I was feeling as I listened carefully.

  My deep inner thinking had distracted me from the reality around me. Suddenly I recognized the sounds of beeping horns and impatient voices. We were at the border crossing into Mexico. I could hear dogs barking and people arguing. It seemed as if I wasn’t the only person trying to gain entry into the country. I suddenly felt afraid. This was the moment of truth I had been waiting for. I would finally know if my fate was to lead me to freedom or if I’d be interrogated beyond my capacity for understanding, left a shivering pile of humanity in some offshore detention center.

  The voices outside grew ever louder as we slowly rolled forward. I could feel every bump that the suspension took. I bounced up and down. Then we came to another stop. This time I heard the engine hiss and turn off. I knew that most times, people crossing the border would just drive to the tollbooth, pay the money, and drive off. But we were stopping. That meant only one thing. We were going to be searched.

  I heard Bill’s voice. It was faint but near. I turned my head to the left and saw the darkness of the left side of the trailer. It had tiny holes near the bottom. It was allowing a small amount of light into the trailer. I saw a shadow moving past the trailer, and then I heard another voice.

  “Transportation documents, please?” I heard a voice say in broken English.

  “I have them right here,” another voice said. It was Bill. He was talking to a customs official.

  I waited with bated breath, not actually realizing I was breathing heavily. Yet again my habit of breathing for the past twenty-odd years was kicking in, even though I knew I didn’t need to breathe. I held my breath. A wave of calm came over me. Everything melted into an understandable mesh of black and white. The darkness in the truck represented safety. The light beaming in from the outside was danger. It was the first time in my life that I had ever seen darkness as anything but evil. I knew I was safe within its confines. I was blanketed from reality. They couldn’t get me in here.

  “Weight looks good,” I heard the same voice say. It was the broken English–sounding voice. It had a distinct Latino-sounding tone to it, over-pronouncing the “T”s and “S”s.

  “Should be all good, then,” I heard Bill say.

  A few seconds of ponderous silence followed. My breath still held, I wondered about my fate. Would this be the straw that broke the camel’s back? Or would I be home, safe and dry?

  “It says here that you’re carrying electronics?” the Latino male voice said.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I’m carrying some DVD players and video game consoles.”

  Another short bout of silence followed. I decided to move myself closer to the left side of the trailer. I wanted to hear more clearly. I got onto my front and slid over a few feet, coming within a hair’s breadth of the metal trailer’s surface. I tried to see through the little holes protruding at the bottom of the sheet metal but only caught a glimpse of somebody’s shoes. They were shiny and nicely maintained. I knew for a fact that they didn’t belong to my oversized truck driver friend.

  “I want to check that you aren’t carrying counterfeit goods.” The shiny shoes tapped along with the voice.

  “What do you mean? I have the certificates of authenticity right here,” Bill said.

  It was no use. The shiny shoes went off, walking toward the back. I caught a glimpse of Bill’s cowboy boots trailing behind. “Oh, come on, man, give me a break. I have a schedule to keep!”

  I quickly curled myself into as small a ball as I could. In front of me stood a stack of DVD players. They pretty much went as high as the trailer’s roof. I knew by the width of the boxes, I’d be well hidden. But then I heard the trailer doors opening, and a beam of light illuminated the cushions I had been sitting on. In my haste to go and listen to the voices outside of the truck, I’d inadvertently knocked over one of the Xbox One boxes. If I was correct in my way of thinking, if the beam of light coming from the outside could make its way toward my hiding spot, than the human eye would have no problem seeing the suspicious evidence of cushions, blankets, and a bottle of water.

  “Shit,” I whispered under my breath.

  “How many boxes in total?” I heard a Latino voice say, this time from afar, all the way down the trailer.

  “It says so on my sheet, doesn’t it?” Bill said in frustration.

  I was hoping that Bill wouldn’t give it away. He seemed to be crumbling out there. I could tell the pressure was getting to him, and if I could see it, I guess well-trained customs people wouldn’t miss it, either. I then saw the slight gleam coming off the briefcase next to the cushions.

  “Great,” I uttered.

  That was all I needed. A gleam of light coming off a case that could be filled with God knows what.

  “How many?” the Latino voice insisted.

  “Seven hundred DVDs and 1,200 video game consoles,” Bill said, sounding defeated.

  I was still holding my breath. The darkness was now gone, and a ray of light had engulfed the back of the trailer. It would take somebody with some seriously myopic eyes to not see anything out of the ordinary. But then I heard another voice.

  “Hey, Costello?” The voice was far away, maybe a few yards away from us.

  “Wait a second,” the Latino voice said. He walked off. I heard the footsteps disappear into the sea of sound that was emanating from the border crossing. Cars honking. People arguing.

  I then quickly sat up and lunged onto the cushions and case. I swatted everything away, pushing it onto the left side of the trailer. I caught a glimpse of Bill. He was looking at me. He had a very pale complexion. I could tell he was worried. But then I saw that a misplaced box was obscuring the area where the cushions were placed. Maybe the guy hadn’t noticed.

  I didn’t bother waving at Bill. I was back on the left side of the trailer quicker than you could say “pronto.” I scrunche
d myself up, hugging at the little darkness that was still present in the trailer. The dirt and dust on the floor was riding up my airways. Luckily, I didn’t need to breathe, but unluckily for me, it was still agitating me. I was just about to sneeze when the trailer doors were shut. Darkness engulfed the back once again, and I held my sneeze in.

  I heard footsteps making their way back to the side of the truck.

  “Everything seems to be in order. Have a safe trip, and thanks for being patient,” the Latino voice said. Bill thanked him, and I heard him get back into the cab. The engines roared back to life, and we started moving.

  “Oh, Christ,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Thirty-Nine

  “Come closer,” they whispered as I drew nearer. “We won’t hurt you. The pain is gone. There is no pain where you are going,” I heard a thunderous, yet majestic voice say.

  The light grew brighter. My hands started to shake. I could breathe again. The air felt cold. My heart started to pound in my chest.

  Thump Thump Thump Thump.

  Could it be that I was back?

  The voices continued to beckon me. They grew louder and louder. I felt the sensation of life sifting through me. It was getting stronger and stronger, until nothing but light projected through me. My pulse became rapid. My chest began to ache. One eye opened, and I saw somebody standing over me.

  “Compress the chest!”

  I woke up to the trailer bouncing from left to right. I figured we were still moving, but in my haze, I hadn’t realized that we had in fact stopped. Once I came to, I became aware of the lack of movement and started to panic a little.