Border Crossings

by Michael Lee Weems

  “Thank you so much,” said Ceci.

  “Are you really leaving?” asked the woman.

  “Yes, I think so.” But definitely not to Cuernavaca.

  The woman came around from the counter and gave her a hug. “You take care, Ceci. I’m sorry for whatever is going on.”

  “Thank you again,” said told the woman.

  That evening she told her husband Roberto about the phone call, along with his brother Humberto and his wife. It was a heated debate filled with curses and disagreements, but in the end they agreed it was in their best interest to go ahead and find somewhere new to live. “We all know how these coyotes can be,” said Roberto to his brother. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but we can’t have thugs breaking down our door demanding three thousand dollars from us. We have the kids to think about.”

  “But why do WE have to leave?” asked Alisa. “This is her sister’s problem,” she said, pointing to Ceci.

  “If we stay, it might become our problem when men with guns show up. Did you hear what I said about the American policeman? Think about it. Men who do that, what won’t they do? Do you want to stay and find out?”

  And that settled Alisa.

  Yesenia had hung up the phone hoping her sister could forgive her, not only for bringing trouble on them but for what she’d had to tell her sister about what she’d seen and done since last they talked. She sat for a moment, the phone in her lap, then took a deep breath looked around at her new surroundings.

  Armando lived in a dark green frame house with navy blue trim in a Dallas suburb called Greatwood. It was modest as measured by middle income America, but Yesenia thought it a little slice of heaven. She had clean sheets for one, no more disgusting stains. Best of all, the refrigerator was full of delicious food. She hadn’t had a decent meal since arriving in the U.S. as Miss Lydia kept the girls on a strict diet to keep them thin. She’d had her fill of raw vegetables and fat free cereal in skim milk. She had waited until Armando had left the house to call Ceci. But he returned a short time later with bags of groceries. He had splurged on a few pounds of snow crab and butter sauce which he proceeded to make for dinner. And as she sat down to the feast before her, Yesenia gorged herself.

  “Hungry?” He asked her jokingly.

  “This is so good,” she told him.

  “You act like you’ve never had crab before.”

  “I haven’t,” she said with a smile. “It’s really good.”

  Yesenia had told herself that once they got away from the brothel she would strike out on her own, but she quickly realized the benefit of staying where she was, at least for a while. And where am I going to go? she asked herself. The little house offered her a refuge from her problems, a place to sit and think about what to do next.

  Armando’s brother sat next to them with a meaty leg of crap snapped in two in hand. He looked at Yesenia curiously. “So, you’re Armando’s girlfriend?”

  “Ummm, I guess so,” she told him. “You could say that.”

  He looked at brother across the table then back at her. “How come I’ve never met you before? I never even heard of you.” He looked back at his brother. “When did you get a girlfriend?”

  “What, I can’t have my own life?”

  “So what, you’re moving in?”

  “Hey, shut up and eat,” Armando told him. “You’re being rude. It’s a long story, okay. I’ll tell you later. And she’s just staying with us for a little while, okay. She just needs a place right now.”

  Ricky, who was about Yesenia’s age, merely shrugged. “Whatever you say, I guess. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you seem cool and everything, I’m just surprised is all.” They finished their meal and afterward Armando brought out something else Yesenia had never tried . . . a bottle of Vodka. Armando played the bartender role and before long Yesenia was drunk, yet another new experience. She was prepared to get even more plastered as she began to realize its pleasant numbing effect to the swirling storm of thoughts and emotions going through her mind, but Armando cautioned her that another one would likely send her praying to the porcelain god, which he then had to explain to her. Nonetheless, she soon passed out on the couch in a heavy stupor, free for one night from having to deal with the new demons in her mind.

  The next day she awoke to discover she’d been tucked in with a clean sheet and pillow. After a good shower she settled back on the couch, a little confused as to what to do next. She ended up spending most of the day watching television, none of which she understood except for the one Spanish station she’d found. So when Armando returned that night, she asked if he’d help pick up some more English. They sat together on the couch and he began translating everything they watched.

  That night Armando ran her a hot bath filled with white, fluffy bubbles and complete with a candle in the corner. He led her to her oasis by the hand and she reacted with an “Awwww.” She slipped inside and played with the bubbles a bit while Armando sat on the toilet with its lids down and watched her for a moment. “This is sweet.” He smiled.

  She looked at him wondering what to think of this guy. On one hand, he was a horny young man, not unlike some she’d known back home. On the other, he was kind, intelligent, and very openhearted. He’d taken her away from the brothel and into his home, despite her being a prostitute. Something she could not have seen herself doing if the roles were reversed. Until she became one, she’d had no empathy for prostitutes. After a moment he said, “Well, enjoy. Just let me know if you need anything,” he said, leaving her to her relaxation. “I’ll make sure Ricky doesn’t try to walk in on you,” he added before closing the door behind him. He’d caught his younger brother staring at Yesenia more than once. It would be just like him to ‘accidentally’ walk into the bathroom.

  What am I to do? she wondered.

  After her bath she toweled off and put on some new clothes Armando had gotten for her earlier. She laughed when she saw herself in the full-length mirror. It was nice having something new to wear. She’d had to recycle the same four pair of underwear for the last three weeks and was glad to be rid of them.

  Later she lay against him and he smelled her hair. “That shampoo makes it smell even nicer,” he told her. “Not that it wasn’t nice before. “ He seemed embarrassed by his own compliment. “I’m not trying to imply you smelled bad or anything.”

  “It’s okay. I really needed a good bath.” She felt clean for the first time in a month. “I never felt clean even after a shower back at that place.”

  She looked up at the small television Armando had in his room and saw a picture of a police officer. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, “What are you watching?”

  “The news,” he told her. “A state trooper was killed a few weeks ago, and they’re still talking about it.”

  To Yesenia’s horror, the picture changed to a grainy video of a dark colored SUV parked along the highway. The trooper was walking back towards his car, but turned around and went back to the window. Then a flash of light like a camera or miniature arc of lightning erupted inside the vehicle, and the screen went black before the trooper fell. Then the video appeared again as a shadowy figure ran around the front of the SUV. The trooper had fallen just off camera, only his boots visible. Yesenia began to tremble as she realized what she was watching. She knew that if it hadn’t been for the dark tint on the back of the windows of that SUV, she might well be staring at an image of herself.

  “Are you okay?” Armando asked. “You’re shaking.”

  ‘I’m . . . I’m just nervous is all.” She suddenly realized she had tears coming down her cheeks.

  He saw them and wiped one away, “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.”

  “I’m just scared,” she told him. She didn’t dare tell him the truth. She had no idea what might happen to her if she did. Would she be sent to prison? Even if not, they’d at least send her back to Mexico. And then she’d have people after her. People li
ke the coyote with the strange eyes. People like Miss Lydia’s son, Jose.

  “You’re okay,” he told her. “Nobody’s going to hurt you here,” and he held her close.

  Catherine was back in Cancun and had met Matt at the hotel. It was less awkward than their first meeting. This time they exchanged a brief hug again as she set her luggage down and pinched Julio’s cheek. “You two been behaving yourselves?” she asked the boy.

  “Yes,” he told her.

  “We’ve been sharing some war stories,” Matt added.

  Catherine wasn’t amused. “I certainly hope not.”

  “Just a few.”

  “How long are we going to stay here?” Julio asked. He’d enjoyed the hotel room at first, a good place to sleep, safe, and room service. But now that his leg was feeling a little better he was growing restless.

  “Well, that’s a good question,” Catherine told him. “Let’s talk about that.” They ordered up some food and were just about to sit down to discuss what came next when Catherine’s prepaid cell phone rang. It was Ramirez.

  “Ms. James, I have some information for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there any way you can meet me? Not in my office, but out somewhere, somewhere we can talk without being seen.”

  Catherine was intrigued, “Where did you have in mind?”

  “There’s a little taqueria on Del Mar and CiFuentes.”

  “When?”

  “Can you meet me now?”

  “Sure,” she told him. He gave Catherine directions. “I guess I have to take a rain check, boys,” she told Matt and Julio. “I’ve got a hot date.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Matt said.

  “No, can you wait here? It’s the Detective on the case. He wants to talk. I’m not sure he will if he sees a new face.”

  They were speaking English so Matt didn’t have to worry about Julio. “Catherine, I’ve been watching out for the kid here the last couple days, which I don’t mind, but that’s not why I came here. I’m not here to babysit. I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I know,” she told him. “Just this time. I need him to feel comfortable enough to share whatever he’s got. Then we’ll figure out a safe place for Julio and you and I will start looking around.” Matt wasn’t satisfied. “Please,” she told him. “I don’t want to leave Julio here alone, either.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But hurry back. And be careful,” he added as she stepped out the door.

  At three she met Ramirez and the two sat down over a late lunch. “You’ve got good timing, Detective,” she told him.

  “How’s that?”

  “Never mind. So why are we meeting here?” asked Catherine. “Not that I mind. Just curious is all.”

  Ramirez thumbed his mustache as he did when thinking. “I’m in a precarious situation, Ms. James. I have information, but am not being allowed to act on it. My superiors are concerned with how this information could affect how the city is perceived by the media.”

  “I see,” said Catherine, entirely not surprised. “And you?”

  Ramirez looked at her, “I’m here, yes? I think catching the criminals instead of pretending they don’t exist is the best thing for the city. But I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.”

  “Why not?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Do you know who they are?”

  “We know one,” said Ramirez. “Alberto Thomas, the shooter in the market. He’s a member of a gang in Mexico City called the Barrio Boys.”

  Yes! She thought. This is the type of lead we need. “The Barrio Boys? And you’re familiar with them?”

  He nodded. “There was a popular band in the early nineties by the same name. I assure you this isn’t them. These guys are about as bad as it gets.”

  “This Alberto Thomas, I take it he has a record?”

  Ramirez pushed a file towards Catherine, “A mile long. Nothing recent, though. His last arrest was in 2003 on suspicion of murder, but it was dropped for lack of evidence.”

  Catherine picked up the file and thumbed through it. “What do you know about these people?”

  Ramirez looked around as if concerned someone might be eavesdropping. “Ms. James, before we go any further I need to ask you again. Do you really want to get involved in this?”

  “Of course,” said Catherine. “I’m already involved. I want as much information as you can give me.”

  He ran his fingers over his mustache again. “They’re more than a gang, they’re organized crime. They started out some years back like any other gang, pick-pocketing tourists, robbing stores, carjacking, things like that, but they’ve stepped things up considerably in recent years. They’ve gotten more organized and more ruthless. They’re killers, Ms. James. There’s really no better way to describe them. They don’t care who you are, who you know, man, woman, young, old, they don’t care. From what I know, that reputation has acquired them a position as muscle for a larger organization now.”

  “Cartel?” she asked.

  He nodded again. “It’s always about the drugs these days, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, sadly. “They run illegal smuggling of just about everything, including people. They have one of the largest illegal immigration operations in Mexico. Then there are the drugs from South America, counterfeit goods from Panama, kidnappings, and murders, pretty much anything that turns a high profit. These are very dangerous people, Ms. James. They have a lot of members, money, guns, and connections.”

  “What kind of connections?”

  “I would say some of the street police, at least. Probably some of the higher-ranking officials. It’s hard to say, really. What I can tell you is this: Every time we arrest one of these bastards, the charges are always dropped. Either there’s not enough evidence, no witnesses, or they have a rock solid alibi. They’re more connected than your average gang.”

  “So you can’t really touch these guys is what you’re saying.”

  The words offended Ramirez, true though they may be. “Look, I’ve done some checking on you. I visited your office website and made some inquiries.” His tone bordered an accusation. “You’re not really a private investigator, are you . . . you’re a business consultant.”

  “I never tried to hide my occupation,” said Catherine, wondering where this was going.

  “Just what kind of consulting do you do?”

  “Risk management, mostly,” she told him.

  He scoffed, “Risk management? You don’t seem very good at your job, then.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  He leaned over the table. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting involved in? This isn’t just some thug street gang that attacked you in the market. These people are cartel. Do you even know what that means, Ms. James? They kill cops in broad daylight, judges right on the steps of the courthouse. They blow people up in their cars, poison others in a crowded restaurant when they’re out for a nice dinner with their family. You’re a business woman, Ms. James. I must say you handle yourself very well, but you’re still a business woman.”

  “I know, Detective,” she said. He huffed indignantly. “I do know,” she said again. “I’m out of my league,” she admitted. “I recognize that.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” he asked. “Why are you back down here? You can’t go around looking for these people. Believe me I’ve seen what they do to people who go looking for them.”

  She closed the file and leaned over the table. “Tell me, Detective. What would you have me do? Let them get away with it? I appreciate you sharing this information with me, but I’m not sure what your motivations are. If it is your intent to convince me these are dangerous people and I should go home, then I need to let you know up front that that’s not going to happen. I’m not leaving here until I find the people who murdered Kelly. And as for me acknowledging my lack of experience in these particular matters, that’s not to say that I am without resources, Detective. The first rule in business is to find the
right resources. And I’m exceptionally good at it.”