Border Crossings

by Michael Lee Weems

  More shots rang out from the car, which had now stopped in the middle of the street. The shooter opened his door and kept firing little flurries of automatic fire as he walked towards them, trying to find an angle to get a good shot. Catherine peered through the gap underneath the car she was behind and saw a pair of tennis shoes. Shoot, Catherine, her inner voice was commanding. Shoot him now before he gets close enough to kill you both. She took aim and fired a shot, which struck the man where the ankle joined the foot as he was taking a step, and immediately the man fell to his knees. Go now! Catherine jumped up. The man saw her coming and his expression was one of bewildered fright. The wolf expects the sheep to run for its life so that he might tear it down from behind, not turn and bare teeth of its own. He raised his weapon again. She fired, hitting the shooter square in the chest with the first two shots and a third struck him in the face just right of the bridge of his nose. He fell dead and Catherine stepped over him with no hesitation, increasing her speed as she began running towards the car, attempting to shoot through the rear window at an angle to hit the driver. She was all attack now, not thinking so much as just acting on instinct. She’d no idea where this intense sense of fury sprang forth within her, but it had filled her over and was now pouring outward with each step she took, each shot she fired. The tires squealed again and the car lurched forward. Catherine was right behind it, running full speed now. She concentrated on keeping her aim steady as she ran and put three more bullets square into the back of the driver’s seat, but the driver didn’t lose control. I’m not hitting him, she realized. The car’s windows were tinted, but she could distinctly see her bullets bouncing off metal plates inside the car, which protected the driver. A few seconds later the car had pulled away too far for Catherine to follow, weaving through traffic before disappearing from sight.

  Catherine was shaking from head to toe. She holstered her gun and returned to Julio who was still shaking on the ground, immobilized by the pain in his leg from being slung over the car and the fear that strangled his heart. “Are you alright?”

  Julio looked up, terrified to the bone. “Are they gone?”

  Catherine bent down to him and spoke in a comforting voice, “Yes, they’re gone. It’s safe now.” She was still shaking herself and she smoothed out his hair in an attempt to calm him as much as herself. Jesus Christ, she thought.

  She helped Julio back to his feet, taking care not to exacerbate the boy’s injured leg. Julio looked behind Catherine at the body still lying in the street. “You killed him?”

  Catherine looked back; surprised a man’s body was actually there. “Yes,” she told him. “Yes, I think he’s dead.”

  Julio stared. There in the street was a man with a gold necklace, a round and shiny medallion lying flat on the street, and instantly he thought it was the man from the graveyard, but as he looked he realized something disturbing. Despite the bullet in the face, Julio suddenly realized it wasn’t the same man. “That’s not him,” he told Catherine. “That’s not the man I saw in the cemetery.”

  Catherine had walked Julio down the street and flagged down a taxi, leaving her bullet-riddled rental car at the market. She knew it wouldn’t take long before the police ran the tag and traced it back to her. She had to get Julio somewhere safe before she tried explaining what had happened. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to tell them.

  They took the taxi back towards the Hilton, but she began thinking that wasn’t the safest place. They were waiting for that boy, she thought. They might be expecting me to take him to the Hilton. It would have seemed the safest place with all the security, but given that an attempt had been made on them both in broad daylight at one of the most popular markets in Cancun, she wasn’t taking the chance. Instead, she had the taxi drop them off a few miles down, then she and Julio walked another two blocks to the Chapa Del Rey hotel, Catherine constantly looking to make sure nobody was watching where they went.

  “Why didn’t we just take the taxi here?” asked Julio, swinging his hurt leg in front of him like a wooden plank.

  “I’m sorry,” said Catherine, truly feeling bad for all the walking they were doing. “I didn’t want anyone to know which hotel we went to, even the driver. Do you want me to carry you?”

  Julio shook his head. His ribs still hurt from being jerked up by Catherine earlier and he was determined to get wherever they were going on his own steam.

  Catherine had Julio wait by the elevators while she rented a room in cash under a false name, the desk clerk overlooking identification when Catherine told her to keep the change, assuming she was just another reporter.

  “It’s probably best if you stay here a while,” she told Julio. “Are you hungry?” Julio nodded. He hadn’t eaten since the day before.

  Catherine ordered up a chicken fingers and a coke for Julio and then told him he would have to be alone for a while. Julio began to protest but Catherine told him, “I’ve got to go explain to the police what happened at the market.”

  “Are you going to tell them about me?” asked Julio.

  “No. From what you’ve said, I don’t think I’d trust anyone with your whereabouts right now. Nobody knows you’re here, and for now it’s best to keep it that way.” Julio’s expression seemed to relax a little. “I’ll be back in about an hour,” Catherine told him. At least, I hope so. She wasn’t entirely sure of whether or not she’d be arrested on the spot.

  As he turned to leave Julio said, “Miss Catherine?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.” His eyes were sad and deep, those of someone much older. “They were going to kill me. They’re still looking for me, aren’t they?”

  Catherine smiled motherly, a mask to her true concern. Someone was certainly still looking for the boy and now probably her as well. Things had taken a much-unforeseen turn. She felt overwhelmed. “You’ll be fine,” she told him in the most assured voice she could conjure at the moment. “Just don’t open the door, not for anyone. If it’s me, I’ll knock like this.” She gave a knock on the dry wall, Bump, bumpa, bump, bump . . . bump, bump. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Ten minutes later Catherine had returned to the market where the police were already finishing clearing the mess.

  She had called Ramirez and told him what had happened, except she left off everything that had to do with Julio and said he was in the market on an anonymous tip. He wasn’t buying the anonymous part of it, but seeing that she wasn’t going to be offering any more than that, he let it be.

  Ramirez lifted the sheet to look at the body.

  “Do you know who he is?” asked Catherine.

  “No, I don’t think so.” He lowered the sheet. “It’s difficult to say, though. You did shoot him in the face.”

  “May I ask why you are armed?” asked Vargas, who had arrived on the scene with Ramirez and was now smoking a cigar and leaning against their car. “We were told you were a private investigator. I don’t believe that entitles you to walk the streets of Mexico armed.”

  “I have a permit,” Catherine said flatly, which luckily she did.

  “I’d like to see this permit and your gun please,” said Vargas. Catherine produced both. Her gun, the Glock 25, was the most appropriate weapon for Mexico. Any military caliber weapon was banned, which included the 9 mm so popular in American law enforcement. Additionally, she had to have a permit issued by a consulate, which she had acquired some years back and kept up the annual renewal. It was one of the many annual forms that came to her office and was processed by her staff, and she was never more thankful than now. Vargas looked at the permit skeptically, “I don’t see how it’s legal for a non-citizen to carry such a weapon in our streets.”

  “Article ten of the Constitution of The United States of Mexico,” she responded. “Foreigners can’t have unlicensed guns or guns prohibited by law. You’re welcome to look it up if you’re not familiar with it, sir. You’ll find my license in order and my weapon allowed under the law.”
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  Vargas looked at her, fuming. “I shall do that.”

  “You sound like a lawyer,” Ramirez told her.

  “Well, I am one, although I doubt that matters.”

  Ramirez wasn’t surprised. He knew there was more to this woman than just being a private detective. She had connections in Mexico, of that he was sure. It wasn’t easy for a foreigner to acquire such a license. They had to have government connections. “I suppose it’s a good thing you were carrying a weapon,” he told her, taking the permit and gun from Vargas, checking them both, then handing them back to Catherine while Vargas stared at him in disbelief.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “That’s evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?” Ramirez asked. “She’s committed no crime here. This is clearly self-defense. We all know that.”

  Vargas looked to Fuentes for support, but he stood silent and motionless, unwilling to put himself out on a limb. He didn’t know if Catherine James had done anything illegal or not and wasn’t about to have his name brought up if she was falsely arrested. And he knew what Ramirez knew . . . if Catherine James had a license it’s because she knew influential people. Fuentes hadn’t gotten where he was by pissing people off who might have connections above his pay grade. Having no support Vargas relinquished, “Fine, if you think it’s acceptable this woman just gunned down a Mexican citizen, who am I to argue?”

  “Well, you assume he’s a Mexican citizen, right? Since you’ve no idea who he is,” Catherine pointed out. “He could easily be a foreigner, too, couldn’t he?”

  Vargas was quickly disliking this woman. “Yes, of course. I would just assume, Ms. James.”

  Ramirez was so much interested in the man’s appearance as what he had been carrying. He bent down and picked up a large plastic bag that contained the dead man’s gun, a tech nine automatic. “This is a serious piece of hardware. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “It’s a shame you missed the driver,” added Vargas. “I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t kill an innocent bystander, shooting all over a busy market in the middle of the day.”

  “It wasn’t so much that I missed,” said Catherine. “They had metal plating inside the car. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like they’d stripped the interior and welded on metal plates, including the back of the driver’s seat.”

  “They went through a lot of trouble to try and kill you, Ms. James,” said Ramirez.

  It wasn’t me they were after. “I suppose someone is getting worried I might find something.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” asked Vargas. “It was probably a carjacking.”

  Catherine turned and looked at Vargas. “I hope you’re not serious. They put a lot of bullets in the car I was standing next to for someone planning on taking it. And wouldn’t they first wait to make sure it was my car?”

  “Mmm hmm,” agreed Ramirez. “No, I don’t think this was any carjacking, either. They were after you Ms. James. For whatever reason, someone has decided you’re a very big risk.” He looked at her as though surmising something beneath her countenance. “If you have anything you’d care to share, Ms. James, I would appreciate it if you shared now. Because if you do have something you’re not telling us, I think it’s pretty evident someone wants to make sure you don’t, which is all the more reason to get it out now.”

  “If I learn anything worth sharing you’ll be the first to know, Detective,” she said coolly.

  “What exactly were you doing here at the market?” asked Vargas.

  “As I said, following up on an anonymous tip.”

  “And did you learn anything?”

  “I did,” said Catherine.

  “And what is that?” asked Vargas.

  “I learned that I’m close, otherwise why bother to try and kill me?”

  Vargas’ eyes squared on Catherine as he smoked his cigar.

  After answering their questions and producing her permit for yet a third review by another officer, Catherine was allowed to leave. Vargas wanted to arrest her on the spot but Ramirez knew that besides the fact no charges would be filed it could potentially turn into a public relations’ nightmare. “Do you want to explain to the governor’s office why every news channel around the world is broadcasting that someone tried to gun down the private investigator hired by this girl’s family in the middle of one of the most popular markets?” He made sure to speak loud enough Fuentes heard him, and it wasn’t a second later that he ordered them both to keep quiet. They’d lose their jobs in half a heartbeat if either of them leaked that what had occurred in the market was related to the girl’s disappearance. Already the press was descending. Fuentes could see the headlines now, Yet Another Gun Battle in Heart of Cancun, 1 Dead. His superiors were going to be disgusted.

  Catherine was sent on her way, but not before Ramirez offered some advice, “This anonymous tip, Ms. James. You didn’t say how they contacted you? Look,” he added, sensing a scowl hidden in her blue yes somewhere behind the icy façade, “you would do well to watch your back. People like this aren’t likely to quit. You’re in a lot of danger, Ms. James. You should consider leaving Cancun. You seem a most capable woman, but I wonder if you understand the type of people that would do this in broad daylight like this.”

  “Thanks for your concern,” she told him, “but I can take care of myself.” She wondered if that was really true or not.

  Ramirez could see she didn’t trust him. “Then be careful, Ms. James. And feel free to call me any time. I’m on your side, you know.”

  “Are you?” she asked.

  Ramirez took it as offense. “Yes, Ms. James. I am. Do you doubt it?”

  “I do,” she said. “Have you inquired after the missing boy lately, Detective?”

  “Missing boy? You mean the one the woman who came to the station told us about? Yes, I have.”

  “Really?” she asked, incredulously. “And has he been found?

  “Well, he hasn’t turned back up recently, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No, Detective. I’m asking you if he has been found. He was reported missing after allegedly giving information in this case and I am asking you if you have found out where that boy is now.”

  Ramirez ran a fingertip over his mustache. “No,” he confessed. “I’ve been a little busy as you may imagine.”

  Catherine peered intently at him. “Perhaps you should do a little more checking, detective. I’d hate to think you’ve missed something.”

  Ramirez was left pondering Catherine’s advice as she walked back to hail a taxi. She’d need to rent another car right away and had a funny feeling she’d need a different rental company.

  When Ramirez returned to his own car Vargas was sitting in the passenger seat still smoking his cigar. “What was all that about?”

  “Huh? Oh, she just wanted to give me an earful. She’s understandably upset.”

  “Well, seems to me like she’s pissed off the wrong people,” said Vargas.