Border Crossings

by Michael Lee Weems

  “Yes, he is,” she agreed.

  Afterward, they went to an electronics store and Matt purchased a JVC digital camcorder with direct connection AV’s, and a converter box.

  Catherine had found a van that met the specs Matt suggested which they’d pick up the next morning and they’d also put in an order at a local sign shop. They returned to the hacienda in the afternoon, this time parking a few blocks down the street. “I’m just going to do a quick walk by,” said Matt. “When I get a block past it, come pick me up.” He got out and began casually walking down the street. If anyone took notice, they would have probably assumed he was just another gringo tourist enjoying the cobblestone roads or the shade of the leafy trees.

  As he neared the first corner of the fence that marked Ortiz’s lot, he pulled the small camcorder from his pocket and turned on the record button. The security cameras on the lot looked inward to catch anyone who was entering over the fence rather than outward. This way, the entire interior of the lot was under surveillance at all times, but there was no visual on who was standing outside the wall. Matt slung the camera over his shoulder by its small strap, gave a quick glance around, and then, with a small jump and few quick upward motions, pulled his head up level with the ledge where the security camera sat. There he placed his little camcorder, dropped back to the ground, and continued walking.

  When Catherine picked him up, she was a bit confused. “You’re just going to leave it there? What if someone sees it?”

  “It’ll be okay,” said Matt, nonchalantly. “I stuck it back a bit. It’s got ten hours of video time and an eight-hour battery, more than enough. We’ll just need to grab it sometime tomorrow and charge it back up.”

  Trusting in Matt’s experience, Catherine asked no further questions. They returned to the hotel, had a few drinks over a conversation about old times . . . trying to recall how many times they’d slept together, and then turned in for the night, but not before adding another one to the count.

  The next day they picked up the van first. “This one’s on me,” Matt said, pulling out a credit card that read S.S. Inc. “Company card,” he told Catherine. “For business use only,” he laughed. He tried the card, but it was declined. “Oh. Well, crap. I guess they’re not very happy I took off.”

  Catherine smiled, “Step aside, cowboy. You can buy me a drink when this is all done, instead.”

  They returned by the mansion and repeated the process over again. Matt got out and walked down the street, suddenly jumping and pulling himself to the ledge after a quick look around, retrieved the camera, and then continued on his way. They stopped off at the sign place picking up the magnet they’d ordered and two iron-on patches, having to pay through the ears for the short notice, and then a uniform supply store and purchased two matching uniforms, both a size too large for them, with matching caps. Then they went to a hardware store and purchased a ladder, tool belts, and miscellaneous tools.

  “I’m never going to pull this off,” she told him, looking at the uniform. “This will look ridiculous on me.” Her stomach was full of butterflies . . . or more like hairy gray moths with stubby, prickly legs crawling in her insides, trying to dig a way out, if she’d been asked to describe it. We’re going to stick out like sore thumbs.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “If anybody says anything to us, I’ll do the talking.”

  Lastly, they went to another security supply store, something not all too uncommon in Mexico City, and purchased two flak jackets. The man behind the counter eyed them curiously. “You try being a gringo in this city,” Matt told the man, which made Catherine smirk.

  They had brunch at the hotel while the camera recharged. “You really think nobody’s going to say anything if we put a ladder against the wall and start messing with the security system?” asked Catherine after Matt explained what they were going to do.

  “You’d be amazed by the power of uniforms,” he told her. “People just assume you’re supposed to be there doing whatever you’re doing when you’re wearing them. And hardly anybody pays attention to maintenance people in these upscale neighborhoods.” Catherine lived in a pretty upscale condo herself back in Dallas and had to admit, she never thought twice about the comings and goings of the various maintenance people in the building. She’d pay more attention in the future. Assuming they had a future, she reminded herself.

  While the camera recharged Matt ironed on the patches to the uniform, which read Alusa, the name of a local security company, whose decals they’d copied exactly. He smiled at Catherine while he worked.

  “What?” she asked, defensively. “I told you I don’t iron. I don’t even do my laundry for Christ’s sake. That’s why God invented dry cleaners. If someone wants their corporation’s contract with a foreign government looked over, I’m your girl. But if they want their clothes done or dinner made, best to look elsewhere.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I like to do some cooking, if you remember.” She did. And he was pretty good at it.

  The magnet sign was a matching logo to stick on the van.

  When the camera was recharged they donned their flak jackets and pulled the uniforms up over them. Catherine kept shifting the vest and trying to the get the uniform to look just right. “I don’t think they make these things for women,” she said about the vest. Matt just grinned. He wasn’t too keen on having Catherine in harm’s way, but she was his only support and he couldn’t ask for a better backup. He still had his duffle bag with all his weapons, supplemented now by Miguel’s mac-10 and .22.

  As they made their way through the lobby of their hotel, Catherine was amazed to see that nobody gave them a second look despite the fact she thought they must look entirely conspicuous. “I told you,” Matt said, not bothering to whisper. “Uniforms.”

  They pulled the van right up to Ortiz’s lot and got out, carrying the ladder and a couple toolboxes with their tools, Matt’s electronics, and guns. Catherine was nervously looking about but Matt was whistling as though he was just enjoying the day on his way to work. They set up the ladder and Matt climbed up. Catherine handed him the camcorder and converter box, and Matt began splicing the wires of the camera.

  He was just hooking up the converter box when a police car pulled slowly by the curb. Catherine tried to look nonchalant, but she felt sure they’d just been done in. Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit, went her thoughts.

  “Que paso?” asked one of the officers.

  Matt looked down with a smile as though he hadn’t a care in the world and told them in perfect Spanish, “Stupid camera acting up again. Don’t worry, though. We’re going to fix it up right this time. Going to put a brand new one in, shouldn’t have any more problems.”

  The officers glanced at each other in the car. They’re never going to buy that, thought Catherine. But then, with a smile and a wave, they drove away. Catherine’s heart was racing ninety miles an hour. That was too close, she thought. Matt just kept whistling while he worked. “Easy, Catherine,” he told her in a low voice. “You’re looking too nervous. That’s a dead giveaway.”

  “They didn’t think it strange neither of us are Mexican?” she asked. Matt, she could almost understand, with is tanned skin, dark stubble, and mop of dark hair. But she didn’t look a bit local.

  “It’s all about walking the walk.”

  Having connected the converter box, he screwed the camera back in place, but this time it wasn’t connected in. He then turned on the video, which was a recording of the day before, and flipped the switch on the converter box while quickly fastening his spliced wires together. “There,” he said. “Now they’re watching yesterday.” Luckily the weather hadn’t much changed in twenty-four hours, which could have caused a delay in their plan. He looked around the lot and all was quiet. “We’re good to go,” he told Catherine, and then quickly scrambled over the wall. Catherine gave a quick look around and then followed up the ladder. When she reached the top ledge, she pulled the ladder up and handed it down
to Matt, and then dropped down herself.

  “Here,” said Matt, handing her her Glock, which he’d kept in the fake toolbox he’d had. “I’ve got the silencer, so I shoot first if we have to.”

  “What about the Browning?”

  “No, I don’t think a .22 is going to cut it. The Glock may be loud but it’ll get the job done if you have to use it. But if we get in a scrape let me take the first shots.”

  “I’m fine with that,” said Catherine.

  They crept through the lot towards the East side of the house and thankfully no alarms went off. Matt quickly set up the ladder and scaled it to the second roof, Catherine just behind him. This was where they were most vulnerable. Looking down towards the front, Catherine could see the security guard’s little station, which meant if whoever was inside looked out the window towards the roof, they’d be seen. She needn’t have worried, though. Inside the little station, the security guard was watching football. He was joined by Ortiz’s other two bodyguards, the ones Yesenia had seen in the restaurant, who were supposed to be watching the house, but had snuck away for the game. The three men sat smoking and cheering the Mexican team.

  They made their way to a nearby window, their feet stable over concrete tiles, designed to look like old clay tiles but much thicker and heavier. Catherine had worried a tile would come loose and fall crashing to the ground giving them away, but they didn’t budge.

  Matt worked quickly with his knife, prying and then cutting the window’s lock away. He held his breath as he slid it open and he gave Catherine a slight smile when no alarms were heard. They looked towards the guard’s station to see if anyone was coming out, possibly being notified by a central monitor, but nobody exited.

  “It could be a silent alarm,” he warned her. “But I think we’re okay.”

  Once inside, they made their way out of a bedroom most likely used by one of the guards given its messy condition. They then entered a long hall, checking each door as they passed to see if anything was either heard or seen if the door was open. When they were sure nobody was upstairs, they descended down the long stairway. Oil paintings lined their descent. A hacienda in an old world village, another artist’s rendition of The Man with the Golden Helmet, and another of horses at drink on a river.

  As they neared the bottom of the stairwell, they heard a television announcing plays of the game. Ortiz was watching the game in his study. As they approached they heard him on the phone, “I don’t need these problems, Lydia! I got problems of my own. This is one of the reasons why I’m sick of messing with this business with the girls.” The voice paused as if listening. “Well, your livelihood has put mine at risk. And I don’t appreciate that, Lydia, not one little bit. Your girls are a drop in the bucket. And you better remember, I have people to answer to as well. What am I to tell them? That I can’t send them their product because you lost your little prostitutes?” Matt gestured to Catherine towards a doorway off to the right of the stairwell. It led into a study where the voice was coming from. “I’m well aware of that, Lydia, and yes, you have always been reliable. That’s the only reason I agreed to help you with your little side project in the first place. I found quite a few girls for you over the years, have I not? And all I asked in return is that you get our goods delivered to the right people on time. Is that too much to ask!?” His voice suddenly became angry. “Yes, and that was your stupid son’s fault! He panicked! What am I to do with you? You can’t control your son, you can’t control your girls . . . you’re putting me in a very difficult position, Lydia!”

  Matt and Catherine entered through the door of the study. There at the desk sat Ortiz, leaning back in his chair watching the game on a 47” hd, lcd mounted to the wall. He looked up in surprise and said, “What is this? Who are you?” Matt put his finger to his lips and gestured for Ortiz to hang up. Suddenly, it dawned on Ortiz that he was in serious trouble. His eyes seemed to fall in surrender. “You’re on your own, Lydia. I got a bigger problem at the moment.” He hung up the phone.

  “That’s a bit of an understatement,” Matt suggested.

  “You are Fernando Ortiz?” asked Catherine.

  “I am,” he said, slowly turning his chair a bit. “And whom, may I ask, are you?” He spoke cordially as if at a business meeting, but slowly his hand began drifting towards the edge of the desk.

  “Keep your hand on that desk or I’ll blow your fucking head off right now,” said Matt. He quickly maneuvered around the desk and pulled Ortiz’s chair away from it. On the underside of the desk was a panic button for the alarm system.

  “I have no weapons,” said Ortiz. “I’m completely unarmed.”

  “Be glad you are,” said Matt, “or you wouldn’t be breathing.”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  “It’s about Kelly Woodall,” said Catherine.

  Ortiz’s heart seemed to stop in his chest, his eyes wide. Then he took a long sigh. He looked, for a moment, as if though he was going to try to claim ignorance as Miguel had, but then something changed. “I received a phone call that my nephew was missing. Police found the guard from his place tied up in a closet. Do you know something of this?”

  “We do,” said Matt.

  “Is he dead?” Ortiz asked, flatly.

  “He is,” said Catherine.

  He dropped his head. “I see. And I suppose I’m next?”

  “That remains to be seen,” said Catherine.

  “Who are you, if I may ask? Who are you working for?”

  “Kelly Woodall,” said Catherine. “You know, it’s funny. You’re nephew asked that same question.”

  “I see. So the girl’s family hired you?”

  “Something like that,” said Matt. “But let’s just say we have a personal interest in the matter. You’re safe to assume you shouldn’t have killed that girl.”

  “I understand your anger,” he began.

  “You understand nothing,” interrupted Catherine. “Don’t think for a moment you can apologize for what you’ve done. Nothing you can say will undo what happened to that girl. Nothing will bring her back or end the grief her parents are going through right now. We’re not here to listen to any more excuses.”

  “You’re right, of course,” he said. “I truly regret what happened to Miss Woodall. I can assure you I had no idea of what was to befall her.”

  “We’ve already heard this story,” she told him.

  He nodded. “Yes, Miguel. I’m sure he would have told you the truth. You may not believe this, but I am not the man at the top of the food chain. The man who killed that girl enjoys that pleasure and we had no clue he was going to do what he did. We would not have indulged him if we knew.”

  “You stood by while he raped and tortured Kelly Woodall,” said Catherine. “You might as well have done it yourself.”

  “So Miguel has told what happened that night? We didn’t know, as I’ve said. We were outside watching the stars. We figured he’d have his way and we’d drop the girl off somewhere. She’d have a sad story, yes, but alive, safe and sound.”

  “Safe and sound? Are you kidding, you sick bastard?”

  “Did Miguel tell you why he took the girl? It wasn’t at my direction.”

  “I had to shoot his kneecaps off, but yeah, he talked,” said Matt.

  Ortiz cringed. “Please. He was my dear sister’s son. I understand that what’s done is done, but please, I do not wish to hear of his suffering. I’m sure you understand,” he added, looking at Catherine.

  “You don’t have my sympathy,” Catherine responded.

  “Nor do I ask any. I merely ask that you refrain from celebrating his murder while we talk,” his said snottily.

  “Shut the hell up, you pompous ass,” said Catherine. “Who are you to talk about murder?” She cut to the chase. “You’re going to pay for what you did but first you’re going to tell us what you know about Arismendez.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know. I’ll give you all the information you wan
t about him. But first, I’d like to propose a deal. I have a floor safe hidden in that bookshelf,” he said, pointing to the wall unit behind him. “In it, I have my files and half a million dollars in cash, American, of course.”