“Come on, Niño,” said the man, now a bit more gruffly. He started to walk towards him, and Julio turned on his heels and ran.
“Julio!” yelled Juan. “Where are you going?! Julio!”
He looked back over his shoulder only once to see if the man was chasing him. He wasn’t. Instead, he’d gone back and put a friendly arm around Juan, who seemed to be apologizing for Julio, who turned back around and disappeared into the city.
The man and Juan sat in the square and talked over a nice glass of lemonade. Then he told Juan something that made him smile wide. A few minutes later Juan and the policeman drove away together.
“So you’re the new girls, huh?” asked the woman. Silvia and Yesenia had each been given a room already furnished with a bed and dresser. Yesenia’s had an ugly orange carpet with a matching bedspread and when she opened the closet to set her bag out of the way, roaches shot out and disappeared behind the wood paneling that lined the walls. She recoiled and smacked the lining, hearing a slight squish sound and a large dead roach fell out from under the crack.
Silvia’s room was almost identical except done in green. Both rooms seemed like a throwback to the seventies. She had put her bag away and gone into Yesenia’s room to try and figure out what was going on, but as soon as she sat down with Yesenia on the orange bed a woman walked into their room. She wore shorts and a tee shirt with no bra. She would have looked relaxed except she had makeup caked to her face. She stood leaning in the doorway, filing her nails and waiting for the girls to answer. “What’s your names?”
Yesenia was still embarrassed about being fondled outside, horrified at the events that had occurred in coming here, and downright afraid for her life at this point. She wasn’t in the mood to talk, so Silvia answered for them, “I’m Silvia, this is Yesenia.”
The woman eyed them. “Where you from?”
“I’m from Mexico City,” said Silvia.
“And you?” She looked over at Yesenia who sat stoically. She did not answer. “What’s your problem? You don’t talk?”
“She’s from Mexico city, too.” said Silvia. “We had a bad trip. I don’t think she feels like talking.”
“Oh?” asked the woman. “What was so bad about it?”
Silvia knew better than to tell the woman about the police officer. “It was just bad is all,” she said.
“Oh, Jose and Hector had a go, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“What do you mean?” asked Silvia.
“You know what I mean. What happened? They rape you or something?”
“No!” said Silvia. “Of course not!”
“Oh,” said the woman, genuinely surprised. “Well, they’re going to have a go at you sooner or later. Those two are a couple of horny little bastards. They’re always getting free ones.”
“Free ones?” asked Silvia.
The woman laughed. “Oh, shit. Don’t tell me you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Do you have any idea where you are?”
“No,” Silvia admitted.
The woman found this very funny and laughed even more. “They haven’t told you yet? Wow. That’s just fucked up. Neither of you know?” She chuckled to herself, “Wow.”
“Told us what!?” Silvia asked defensively. She didn’t like the way their apparent new roomie was enjoying their confusion.
“Chinga, Chica, you’re in a brothel.” Silvia looked confused but Yesenia looked up, suddenly awakened from her shocked state.
“A brothel?” asked Silvia.
“Yeah, you know. A whore house,” the girl said. “A place where men pay to have sex with women.”
“What are we doing here?”
“Well, you’re the new girls, aren’t you?”
As the words seeped through, Yesenia’s heart sank like a lead weight. She’d been conned. They weren’t going to help her find a job here. They were going to try and make her a prostitute. She’d given herself over to murderers and drug running coyotes, and now they had her and there was nothing she could do about it. She broke down in tears.
It had been a full day and night since Juan left the market with Detective Vargas and Julio was worried. He’d walked the streets they normally walked together looking for him, but seen nothing. He had wanted to go back and ask about him, but he was scared Aunty Nita would call the police on him.
Finally, he told himself he had to go back to the square and find out where Juan was. If the police were holding Juan, then he had to consider whether or not he was prepared to risk joining him. He was scared of the drug dealers, but he was also scared of life on the street alone. Juan was impetuous, clumsy, and not the brightest person in the world, but Julio missed his friend terribly nonetheless.
He made his way through the streets to the market but stayed hidden across from Aunty Nita’s stand waiting for her to leave. After sitting crouched in between two other little stands for half the morning, he finally saw the old woman stand from her usual chair, tell Maria something, and hobble away. He watched her as she strolled out of the market square and then he quickly darted out and ran to the stand.
“Hola, Julio,” said Maria. “Where have the two of you been lately?”
“Have you seen Juan?” he asked.
“No,” said Maria. “Haven’t you? He’s not with you?”
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning,” he told her. “Not since Aunty Nita called the police and they took him away,” he added with a hint of pout.
Maria looked at him skeptically. “He still hasn’t come back?”
“No,” Julio told her.
She picked up her wooden spoon and stirred the lemonade. “Do you think he’s sitting somewhere waiting for you?”
“No, I’ve looked. He’s not anywhere we usually go.”
She clicked the spoon against the lip of the large jug that held the lemonade and said, “I’m not sure where he is. I guess maybe they’ve kept him for questioning, or maybe took him to an orphanage.” She didn’t seem much concerned.
“Can you find out?” Julio asked.
Maria seemed to ponder it. “Aunty Nita has gone to get medicine from the pharmacy, but she’ll be back any minute. If she sees you she might call the police again. She thinks you boys know something and she’s hoping for the reward.”
“We don’t,” he said automatically.
Maria smiled at him. “I don’t really care, Julio. If you do, then you should tell the police so the American girl’s family can find her, but if you don’t, you don’t. It’s not really my business, but Aunty Nita thinks everything’s her business and that could be trouble for you if you do know something. I’ll tell you what. I’ll go this afternoon to the police station and see if he’s still there. If you come back tomorrow I’ll tell you what they tell me.”
Julio thanked her and ran off before Aunty Nita returned. Neither he nor Maria noticed a man who looked like a tourist taking photos of them. As Julio left the square, the man began to follow him and pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket.
That afternoon, true to her word, Maria took a taxi the seven miles to the police station. She was greeted by a police officer that sat in a little booth that looked like an old-fashioned theatre ticket box.
“May I help you?”
Maria briefly explained the situation before she was cut off. “One moment, please.” The officer picked up a phone and dialed an extension. A moment later a young officer came out to greet her and she explained the reason for her visit.
Meanwhile, Catherine James was asking, “Have you circulated the vehicle information outside the district?”
“Of course,” said Ramirez. He was holding up well given the amount of pressure he was under. For the past two days he was giving press conferences on their progress, the governor’s official shadowing him and coaching him on what was and wasn’t okay to say. “Keep it optimistic. Downplay the possibility of her being killed and for God’s sake assure them that Cancun is safe.” Things
had continued to slide for the popular vacation destination. The markets of local wares and crafts had full shelves and empty cash registers. Hotels were having spring breakers exit like lemmings off the cliffs as parents were calling their children and demanding their return. The airlines were swarmed with angry calls as people couldn’t get their departure date moved forward. The busiest tourist time of the year was becoming an economic black hole as money flew away by the planeload. Ramirez had retreated to the police station for some quiet to review the information they had accumulated thus far, which wasn’t much considering how much coverage they had on the matter. He’d expected to have more by now . . . a body, the car, someone calling in who recognized the man immediately, something. But thus far, they had nothing new but some worthless video and hundreds of leads that all seemed to go a thousand different directions, none of them concrete. But his quiet had been interrupted by Ms. James’ visit.
“Interpol has stepped in to assist and has circulated the information to border patrol. Not to mention the media attention. If either the girl or this man appear in public, I have little doubt someone will see them and we’ll be notified,” Ramirez assured.
As if he hadn’t already had enough headaches, Ramirez had recently met Ms. Catherine James, fresh from a visit from the Woodalls and full of focused anger at the progress thus far. Apparently, she was a private investigator the family had hired, or so they had explained. She was polite and professional, but she was already clearly putting her thumb down on important people, which was making things that much more uncomfortable for Ramirez. Plus, there was something about her. It struck him that the she seemed a little too seasoned. She swiftly set into a mode of operation as though she’d done this many times before, and Ramirez wondered just what kind of private investigator she was. She’d already demanded full access to all information, and much to Ramirez’s dissatisfaction, his superiors had agreed. It wasn’t that he didn’t think the family deserved the access, but to have their own person stepping in like this could cause a diversion to the investigation in his opinion. But the Governor’s shadow man, Fuentes, had told Ramirez, “The last thing we want is the girl’s family going on the news and telling everyone that the local officials aren’t cooperating. The girl’s probably dead, anyway, so give their people whatever they want so if we do end up with a body we can say we did all we could.” So, acting on his superior’s orders, he was now giving Catherine a rundown of where they were on the investigation, Catherine still launching a barrage of questions.
“Someone’s had to have seen that car around the club before the night of the kidnapping. Have you checked with all the stores along that part of Kukulcan?”
“Yes, we have. And we’ve pulled as much video as we could find. We have images of the car, but that’s all that can be seen. Its windows were dark and it was at night, but Detective Vargas is running down matches.”
“I’d appreciate a copy of any video you get,” she told him. “Have you sent it to the FBI to see if they can clean up the resolution?”
“We have our own technology division, Ma’am. We are not as backward as you may think.”
“I’m not making a judgment one way or the other, Detective, but Interpol can send along a copy to Quantico and they have a system there that we need to run it by. How soon can I get . . . “
She was interrupted by a knock that came at the door as one of Ramirez’s assistants walked in, “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” said the man. “But a woman is here asking about a missing boy.”
“Well, take a report,” he told the assistant with a sigh. It was one more thing Ramirez was having a hard time reckoning. All other investigations were now on hold indefinitely pending a resolution to the Kelly Woodall kidnapping. And while he understood its importance, he couldn’t help but feel a pang about telling his assistant to take a report about a missing child. “I’m in a meeting,” he told him, “but get the info.”
“I know,” said the assistant. “I’ve already talked to her a bit. She says Vargas had talked to the kid about the missing girl. She wants to know if we’re holding him. I just thought maybe you might know what she was talking about.”
“No, I haven’t heard anything about it,” said Ramirez, surprised.
“Okay, I’ll take a message then for Detective Vargas,” said the assistant. “He probably knows.”
He was about to leave the room but Catherine stopped him, “No, please.” She turned to Ramirez, “Why don’t you go ahead and talk to her? I need a refill on my coffee, anyway.”
Ramirez shrugged, “Okay, if you don’t mind. It probably won’t take but a few minutes.” He told his assistant, “Go ahead and send her back and I’ll handle it.” The assistant left the room and picked up the phone to the front desk where Maria was waiting.
A few moments later Maria entered the room apprehensively, immediately trailed by Catherine who had a fresh cup of coffee. She nodded a greeting towards her as she passed. Ramirez rose to greet her, “Hola, senora. I’m Detective Ramirez, Detective Vargas’ partner. Is there something I can help you with?”
They shook hands and she couldn’t help but to look at the other woman in the office. “This is Catherine James,” said the officer. “She works for the missing American girl’s family.”
Catherine rose, shook her hand, and greeted her in perfect Spanish, “Hello, senora. Please just ignore me. I’m just going over some papers.” She returned her greeting and she sat back down and began reading over a notepad she had with him.
“Now, then, what can I do for you?” asked Ramirez.
“Oh, I was wondering about Juan, senor, the little boy Detective Vargas talked to yesterday. I was just wondering if the police are holding him for something. His friend came and told me he wasn’t back yet and he’s very concerned. Can you tell me if he’s still here or if he’s been taken to an orphanage?”
“I’m not sure, senora,” Ramirez told her. “When did Senor Vargas talk to him?”
“Oh, just yesterday,” said Maria.
“Are you sure it was a Detective Vargas?” asked Ramirez. “What did he look like?”
She described the man she’d seen talking to Juan in the market. Ramirez listened intently and then recalled Vargas did leave the day before to check out a lead. When he returned, all he said was that it was another dead end.
“Are you sure the boy left with Senor Vargas?”
“Oh, yes, quite sure. I watched them leave together.”
Ramirez picked up a pen and began tapping it against his desk. This was quite odd. Vargas hadn’t mentioned he took the boy anywhere. “Maybe he dropped the boy off somewhere at the boy’s request,” he told Maria.
Catherine sat quietly thumbing through her notepad as though the conversation did not concern her, but Maria had the odd sense she was listening quite intently. “Maybe, senor. But if so, I am still concerned. You see, Juan and the other little boy, Julio, they go everywhere together. He should have been around by now.” Slowly she began to feel a worry creep upon her, even a dread. The more she sat there telling them why she was there, the more she realized Julio was right. Juan wouldn’t go anywhere without him. She was beginning to wonder if Juan didn’t get himself into trouble somewhere. “Can you ask Senor Vargas where he dropped him off? He’s a sweet boy but he is prone to get into trouble, probably even more so without his friend.”
Ramirez gave her his card with his direct phone number as well as his assurances that he would check with Vargas and that if Maria called back that afternoon, he’d have something for her. As she turned to leave Catherine rose and asked, “May I walk you out?”
The question caught Maria off guard as much as Ramirez, but she saw no reason why she shouldn’t.
Border Crossings Page 9
