“Oh my God!” she said, both to what he told her and to the sight of his leg which was now revealed beneath the rag. Already, pus had begun to form and it smelled of almonds roasting on a fire. “I have to get you to the hospital.”
“No!” he cried. “They’ll call the police, and then the drug dealers will find me again. Please, no hospital.”
“We have to do something,” she told him. “You could bleed to death, or get an infection. I’m going to get Aunty Nita.” She stood up to go and get help, but Julio clung to her, his fingers balling into her fabric in a fierce grip. “No,” he said angrily, his tears still falling. “She’ll call them. She’s the one who called them the first time. Please. Please. Please.”
It’d taken all his courage to come back to the market but Maria was the only person who he knew would show him kindness and who he could trust. It’d been a gamble as hew knew if Aunty Nita saw him he’d have to run away, even with his leg the way it was. He pleaded with Maria so miserably she did not have the heart to leave him, but she didn’t know what to do. She knew she had to get help. But she also thought about what he just told her about Juan. He had a right to be afraid. The police had talked to Juan, and if Julio was right, Juan was now dead. She remembered the card she had on her, the one from the American woman, and she suddenly seemed the best person to call. She was an outsider, someone with no ulterior motives other than finding the missing American. Stranger or not, she seemed the trustworthiest person in all of Cancun at the moment.
“Wait here,” she told Julio. “I’m going to be right back.”
“Where are you going?” he asked frightened. “You won’t call the police, will you?”
“No, I know someone else to call, not the police.”
He still held to her. “No Aunty Nita and no police! Promise?”
“I promise.”
He unraveled his fingers from her clothes and she ran to the caseta while Julio crawled back into the shadows between the two little vending stands.
Catherine was already out in her rental car driving the strip, matching up the little dots on her map with the hotels along the way, when her phone rang. “Catherine James.”
“Miss Catherine?”
“Yes?”
“This is Maria Ortega, from the police station?”
“Yes, senora Ortega. How are you?”
“Uh, Miss Catherine, I think I need your help.”
She assumed she meant getting the police to cooperate in searching for the missing boy. “Okay, sure. How can I help?”
“I need you to come to the market 28. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, I know of it. I’m doing some mapping right now, but I can meet you there this afternoon around . . . “
“No, it has to be now. It’s an emergency.”
Catherine was surprised by the urgency. “May I ask what the emergency is?”
Maria’s voice seemed to hesitate. “If I tell you, you can’t tell the police, not even Detective Ramirez. I don’t know who to trust right now.” She offered the statement as a contingency, waiting to see if the terms were accepted.
“Okay, Maria, I won’t call the police. Can you tell me what this is all about?”
“It’s about the missing boy’s friend, Julio. And it’s about the American girl, too, I think. The boy, Julio, he says the American girl was killed and the two boys saw who did it, and now the men are after them. Julio has been shot, and he says the other boy who I told you about, Juan, was killed.” Her voice began to shake as Julio’s words took on meaning for her. “He said they killed him! I’m scared, Miss Catherine. Julio wouldn’t let me call the police and I don’t know what to do. His leg is bleeding and I’m scared the men who did this may come to the square looking for him. I think he’s telling the truth. I don’t know what to do! Please, can you help?”
Catherine was stunned by the blur of information. As the words soaked in she tried to organize them into their places. Although she was a bit confused about it all, she felt a stabbing sensation in her gut, as one of the things she’d just heard had been clear enough. If her information was right, Maria had just said Kelly Woodall was dead.
There was nothing she could now but get to the market as quickly as possible. “I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call. I’m in the back of the market. There’s a public restroom in-between the back of the stores and the street. Please hurry. He’s hurt real bad and I don’t know how to treat something like that.”
Catherine’s car made an abrupt u-turn and she hit the gas. When she arrived the market it was eerily empty of tourists with only a few stragglers about shopping for souvenirs. She walked towards the back and found the restrooms Maria had mentioned, but didn’t see any sign of her.
“Miss Catherine!” She heard a whisper from the shadows and turned to see Maria crawl out from in-between two little stands. She had tears on her cheeks and a little bit of blood on her dress. “He’s in here,” she told her, gesturing towards the shadows from whence she just arose.
Catherine poked his head in and saw the little boy.
Julio scrambled away from Catherine when he saw him. “Who’s she!?” he asked Maria in fear.
“It’s okay, Julio. She’s an American. She works for the American girl’s family. She’s okay. She won’t call the police, I promise.”
“My name is Catherine,” she told the boy. “I only want to help.”
Julio had crawled further back into the V shaped shadow where Catherine couldn’t fit.
“Come out, Julio, please,” said Maria. “We have to treat your leg. Miss Catherine is a friend. Please, come out of there.”
“The police man said he was a friend, too,” said Julio. “Juan went with him, and now he’s dead!”
“I’m not with the police,” said Catherine. “And I don’t work for them. You’ve heard about the missing girl, right?”
“Yes.”
Catherine reached into her pocket and pulled out a picture of the Kelly Woodall. “She’s my very good friend’s daughter,” she told the boy, pushing the picture into the shadows where a small hand picked it up. “I’m only here to find her and not with any police or other group here. I live in Dallas, Texas, very far away from here. I came to Mexico only to look for Kelly.”
Julio was still huddled in the back, but he pushed the picture back out and told Catherine, “She’s dead. They killed her like they killed Juan . . . like they tried to kill me.”
Catherine let out a sigh and put the picture away. I hope that’s not true. Part of her wanted to believe the boy was lying, but the sight of him hiding there in the shadows with his leg wound made him very convincing. She looked at him and thought about how scared he must be, not knowing who to trust and having no place to go. “I would like to help you if you’ll let me,” she told him. “I know you aren’t sure who you can trust right now, but I promise I won’t call the police or do anything without asking you first.” She felt his temperature, dangerously hot. Then she looked at the boy’s leg. She could distinctly smell the infection setting in. “Your leg is in bad shape. You’ve got an infection and it’s making you sick. We need to clean your leg and get you some medicine for your fever right away. Some antibiotics, too,” she added.
“It’s not too bad,” said Julio, as though letting Catherine know he could still run away if he wanted. Nobody was buying it.
“Julio, please. Let us help you,” said Maria.
He was still apprehensive.
“How about this?” asked Maria. “There’s the pharmacy right over there,” she pointed to where the pharmacy was, “I’ll go and get some bandages and medicine and we’ll look at your leg. We won’t even go anywhere, but we have to look at it,” she told him.
But her words frightened Julio. “Don’t leave!” he said. Catherine’s story seemed true to the boy, but he still didn’t want to be left alone with the stranger. Everyone was a shark to Julio at that moment.
�
��I’ll go,” said Catherine. “You wait here with Maria and I’ll go and get some things.”
“Okay,” said Julio.
Catherine walked to the pharmacy where she bought bandages, iodine, aspirin, antibiotics, and a cream that would keep the bandages from drying to the wound. The pharmacist had asked for a prescription for the antibiotics, but another twenty had solved that issue. She also purchased one of the flashlights that were lined against a shelf.
When she returned, Julio crawled forward enough that Catherine could lean in and treat his leg. The few people who walked by stared at Catherine and Maria curiously, but otherwise they attracted no attention.
Catherine had taken a few first aid courses and tended a few wounded cyclists in her days with David and when she began removing the dirty rag she knew it was going to hurt. Julio had simply wrapped the rag around his leg and tied it, and now the dried blood held the rag against the wound like duct tape. It would sting terribly when removed from the tender flesh.
“Can you go get a bottle of water?” she asked Maria, handing her a couple of dollars. “The biggest one you can find.” Julio tensed as Maria disappeared. “She’ll be right back,” Catherine told him. “And we’re not going anywhere.” A moment later Maria returned with a gallon jug of water. “Perfect,” she told her.
She poured the water over the rag hoping it would soften some of the caked blood, but it had little effect. She gave Julio a long drink from the jug and began trying to pull around the edges of the wound where his old shirt was plastered in place. Julio winced in pain.
“I’m afraid this is going to hurt a little,” said Catherine. “I have to take off this last bit here, and it’s stuck to the skin.”
Julio said nothing, only stared at his leg and nodded in acknowledgement of the warning. Catherine worked methodically around the edges and in this way finally managed to remove the rag. Once done, she could see that it was indeed a bullet wound, at least what she imagined one would look like. It hadn’t hit straight on, which was very lucky for Julio. But it had cleaved away a good bit of tissue from the boy’s skinny leg. It wouldn’t have been so bad had the wound been properly dressed, but now a large mount, like a giant furuncle, had formed under the skin, which Catherine knew was the infection setting in. She poured some of the iodine over it and told Julio, “This little bump here is fluid under your skin. I’m going to have to open it so it can drain out. It’ll hurt a little, but it will also make your leg feel better afterward. Right now it probably feels stiff and hurts when you move it?” Julio nodded affirmatively.
“I need something sharp,” she told Maria.
“I’ll be right back,” said Maria, scurrying off to a find something.
“You’re a pretty brave little man,” she told Julio. “Do you know the men that did this to you?”
“We saw them in the graveyard, burying the girl.”
“The graveyard?” Catherine asked. “Near here?” Julio nodded. That doesn’t
make much sense. But as her mind began to reason, she suddenly realized it made a whole lot of sense. What better place to hide a body than someone else’s grave?
Maria returned with a small sewing repair kit she’d just purchased and unwrapped
it, pulling a small needle from its plastic holder. “Will this work?”
“Yes, that’s perfect,” said Catherine. “This will help,” she told Julio. “I’m just going to poke it right here,” Catherine told him, placing her finger above the bump in his wound. “Ready?” Julio held his breath and Catherine counted, “One, two . . .” but didn’t wait for three. Instead, she quickly lanced the little mount, releasing the contents, which ran out over the wound. Julio had flinched, but it was over so quick he hardly realized it was done, and as Catherine had said, the sensation was one of pressure being released. His leg, while stinging quite a bit, immediately felt better. The yellowish fluid oozing was disgusting but Catherine assured him it would be much cleaner now. “We have to keep this clean,” she told him, “or you’ll get a bad infection.” She knew from her travels how many people died from something as easily preventable as a staph infection.
She used a bandage with iodine to blot the little hole she’d made, pressing around the edges occasionally, and the wound was well cleaned when he finished. She swathed the cream over the wound and wrapped Julio’s leg in clean bandage. Then she had him take a couple aspirin right there on the spot along with the other medicine. “There,” she told him with a smile and pat on his back. “We’ll have you back up and running in no time.”
Julio had never really been mothered in such a way and found it very disarming. Despite his streetwise sense, he couldn’t help but feel much safer and comforted by this woman.
Maria had watched Catherine work and thanked her deeply. “I don’t know what we would have done,” she told her.
“Now,” said Catherine. “You have a decision to make, Julio. If you’re right, there are some bad people somewhere out there looking for you. I can take you somewhere where you’d be safe, but it’s up to you if you trust me enough.”
Julio checked his bandage and tested his leg by moving it a bit. It was painful, but more mobile than just a few minutes ago. His wide eyes fell upon Maria. “I don’t know what to do,” he told her, seeming, for the first time, like the lost little boy that he was. He was still terribly sick and didn’t have the strength to try and go back on his own. He knew he needed help, he just wasn’t sure if Catherine was to be trusted. Still, there weren’t a lot of options at the moment.
Maria leaned in and caressed his cheek. “She’s a friend, Julio. I can tell. She won’t tell anyone where you are. I think you should go with her. I can’t keep you safe like she can.” Aunty Nita would never allow Julio to come and stay with them if there were truly murderers chasing after him. And given the recent turn of events it didn’t seem likely Julio would trust Aunty Nita anyway. “You know I care about you, and Juan, but I just wouldn’t know what to do. You’re safer with Miss Catherine.”
Julio looked up at Catherine skeptically. It was either this or he took his chances on the streets. If the men found him again, he couldn’t run like before, and even if he could, they weren’t likely to give him the chance a second time.
“Okay,” said Julio, and he finally crawled out of his little hideaway. It took a little help for him to stand up, but once up he insisted he was okay to walk on his own.
“Okay,” said Catherine. “But I’m right here if you need a hand.”
When Maria returned to the lemonade stand, Aunty Nita looked at her and asked, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been sitting here alone for over an hour!”
“I’m sorry,” said Maria. “I’m not feeling well,” she explained as she set about making more lemonade, Juan’s demise and Julio’s fate heavy in her heart.
Catherine led Julio around the market to where she parked her car. Julio still would not let himself be carried, which suited Catherine as she wasn’t sure she could carry him so far, so he limped along beside her and she patiently slowed her pace. As they were crossing the street another car, the crème colored Pontiac, suddenly spun out of its parking spot and barreled down on them. Catherine had just heard the tires and looked up in time to see the car, its engine screaming full throttle as it rushed towards them. Instinct took over. She yanked Julio up into her arms and bolted. She made for her car a few feet in front of him, and as she looked over her shoulder she saw the oncoming car’s back window slide down and the barrel of a gun protrude outward. Oh, God.
She reached the other side of the street and in a surprising display of strength and dexterity, jumped the hood, sliding off its edge, Julio still in her arms, and landing on the other side with a painful thud. She’d made it within milliseconds. Bullets riddled the car like a rainstorm on a tin roof, a blitz of pings and pangs. Tires squealed as the driver slammed on his brakes. “Stay down!” Catherine yelled at Julio. I’m ready for this, she told herself. You can do this, Catherine. She w
as overwhelmed by the infused protective instinct that filled her, anger and urgency pumping through her veins. You know what you have to do to protect yourself and this boy. And she was ready. She’d been to some dangerous places in her travels and had filled out the necessary forms long ago. Kidnapping was rampant in some of those parts of the world and an attractive, professional woman like her was a prime target. She’d made sure she was prepared if ever she had to defend herself, and today was the day. There was as reason she’d been held up in customs. Her hand slipped to the back of her smart pants suit and she produced a Glock 25, a .380 ACP pistol, one of the few firearm calibers civilians could legally carry in Mexico. It was also the same gun she’d carried with her for the last five years whenever she went to a particularly dangerous part of the world. She’d never had to use it anywhere either than the gun range until now. She pushed Julio flat on the ground, his hands over his ears and his eyes shut tight in terror.
Border Crossings Page 12
