“We don’t want your money,” said Catherine.
“You’re not buying your way out with us,” added Matt.
He raised his hand, “Please, hear me out. I understand that you have a personal interest in this matter beyond money. What I am proposing is to trade my life for information.”
“What sort of information?” asked Catherine.
“If you allow me to live,” said Ortiz, “I’ll give you everything you want to know about Arismendez . . . where he lives, the layout of his place, his security, even where he likes to go and what he likes to do, everything you need to get close enough to kill him. And you will need my information to get close enough, I assure you. Additionally, I’ll also give you several other lives.”
“Lives? What lives?” asked Matt skeptically.
“I have intimate knowledge of close to two dozen young women working as sex slaves in the United States. I know who they are and I know where they are. Allow me to live, and I’ll give you their information.” Catherine and Matt exchanged glances. “Think of it,” said Ortiz. “These girls are the same age as Kelly Woodall, some as young as sixteen. Right now they are locked away in hidden places all across the U.S., forced to live under terrible circumstances, raped night after night, sold for a few measly dollars to anyone who’ll pay. It’s too late for any of us to save Ms. Woodall, but you can save these others.”
“Who are they?” asked Catherine, angered by this new turn of events and the prospect Ortiz might actually have a viable bargaining chip.
“They’re just girls,” he told him. “Girls who, for one reason or another, gave everything up here to try and find a life in America. But once they get there, they were forced into slavery.”
“Forced by you!” she said, angrily.
Ortiz was unfazed. “I do not deny I have had a small role in this. I merely connect them with the people who run such places. These are desperate girls who’ll do anything to get across the border.”
“And how much do you sell them for?” asked Catherine, indignant.
“A pittance, I assure you. Many of the brothels are located in places we use as transit stations for the drug traffic. That is my business, ma’am. It is by mere coincidence it has brought me in connection with flesh peddlers.” He spoke as if though he were equally disgusted by them, a farce that only angered Catherine further. “I was speaking to one such operator when you entered. As we speak, a young woman who ran away from one such place is now running for her life. If I’m killed these people will track down this girl and kill her, I promise you this. She will suffer the same fate as Kelly Woodall did. The only thing that can save her is the information I can give to you. It’s your choice. You can do for her what you couldn’t do for the American girl, save her. You can save all of them. All you have to do is let me live. Hand me over to the authorities.”
“A lot of good that will do,” she said.
“I can write you out a full confession right now. I won’t be able to buy my way out if they have a confession, not with the world watching. I’ll do my time. But I’d rather live in a prison than die here, now. Spare me and I will help you. That’s a small price in the grander picture, isn’t it? And besides, it’s not me you want, anyway. It’s Arismendez. I am clearly the lesser of two evils.” Ortiz rose from his chair. Matt tensed and held the gun on him, but Ortiz didn’t advance. “Think of these young women,” his eyes locked on Catherine. “Think of how you would feel if you knew Kelly Woodall was still alive somewhere, being forced upon night after night. Isn’t it worth letting me live to save those girls? One life for a dozen. I’ll give you everything . . . the money, the information in my safe, which includes a list of every individual we have in our pocket, from the police, to judges, mayors, you name it. It’s all in there. And I’ll tell you how to find the girls. There is no other way without what I can tell you. And I’ll help you get Arismendez. I’ll give him to you on a silver platter. He’s no friend of mine and I certainly don’t want to die for his actions. It’s he who deserves your retribution. My people would never have done that to that girl. I’d be happy to see him pay for his crime. If I’m lying, you can always kill me later. You’re obviously quite capable.”
Catherine weighed the man’s words. He spoke of trading the girls’ lives as though trading in a car. Still, he was smooth. And he was right in that the information he had did have significant value.
“He’s probably lying,” said Matt.
“I’m not,” said Ortiz, still looking directly at Catherine. “I think you know that already.” If there was a soft spot to be found, Ortiz had quickly surmised it would be with her. “If you’ll give me your word that you’ll allow me to live, I’ll give you some of the information this very moment.”
Catherine considered the deal. “Okay,” she said at last. “If your information is accurate, we’ll let you live.”
“I have your word?”
“You do.” Matt looked at her in frustration, but he could tell by her tone she’d already made up her mind.
“Okay,” he said. “As that is all I am able to ask for at the moment, I will trust you to keep it. And I will uphold my end,” he said pointing to where the floor safe hid. He looked to Matt who motioned him and then he went to the wall unit and opened a door at the bottom. Matt kept his gun on him the entire time.
Inside of the little cabinet area of the wall unit, Ortiz removed a false bottom, and there below it, was a large floor safe mounted into the very foundation of the house. He turned the dial around, left, right, and then left again, and opened it.
“Move,” said Matt, pushing Ortiz against the wall. He leaned over and inspected the contents, making sure there were no hidden weapons. “Looks clear,” he told Catherine.
Catherine moved forward and while Matt kept Ortiz covered, began emptying out the contents of the safe. First came a large leather binder full of papers. “Those are my records,” said Ortiz. “You can find the name and information for each girl in there, but I’m afraid their location is not included. You’ll need me for that.” Next came stacks of cash, tightly wrapped one hundred dollar bills of American currency. Catherine began to realize how deep the safe was as his arm kept going lower and lower removing the piles of money. “Four hundred and seventy thousand, I believe,” said Ortiz, “last time I counted, anyway.”
Lastly came a small bag. “And this?” asked Catherine. “Cocaine?”
“Diamonds,” he answered. “About a quarter million dollars’ worth. Good for transporting large sums without the need for bulky cash. The highest quality.” Catherine began thumbing through the brown binder. It was divided into sections. The thickest appeared to be transactions between Ortiz and Arismendez. Numbers were scrolled down the pages. “The dates, quantities, and amount of money exchanged,” said Ortiz helpfully. Catherine’s eyes paused as she saw one of the most recent entries. H. Vargas. Thank God it doesn’t say Ramirez, she thought. “Ah, yes, Detective Vargas,” Ortiz offered, seeing where her finger rested on the page, “Arismendez had me deal with him, as you can see. He considered it a cost of doing business with him.” Catherine had been infused with doubt about Ramirez ever since she’d been followed back to the hotel after their meeting, but now she was satisfied. He’d probably been telling the truth about the girl and her mother who’d been killed by gang members.
She flipped to another section, which contained one-page summaries of girls. It had their names, ages, family members’ names, addresses, and amounts. At anywhere from two to three thousand per girl average, Ortiz was correct that the drugs were his primary income. Catherine felt flush with anger as she read through the names. Marissa, Silvia, Erika, Yesenia, Lucia, the names went one and on, twenty-seven of them from Texas to Georgia, all the way up to New Jersey. “You can help each and every one of them,” said Ortiz. “I’ll help you.”
Catherine held the names in her hand and thought about her options. What could they do with Ortiz? If they turned him in, he’d only beat the
system. She knew any confession he wrote wouldn’t be worth the paper it was written on. He’d say he was under duress, for fear of his life, and it’d be tossed in the garbage. That’s if it even went that far. More than likely he’d pay someone off the charges would be dismissed before he spent so much as a night in jail. If he had this much in his floor safe, he surely had more hiding in accounts somewhere in the world. So what if he did actually make it to a trial? He’d find a way to use it to beat that charges. Plus, he had a gang on call. If he couldn’t bribe or pay off a judge or jury, he could have them threatened or killed. And if they killed him, what would become of these girls? She cursed the predicament. If they let him go now, they’d never get close again. And if they called the police, they’d be the ones arrested. But there were the girls to think about. And there was still the matter of Arismendez. She looked at Matt for help.
“There’s no question,” he told her, understanding completely what was going through her mind. Her word wasn’t more important than the lives Fernando Ortiz would destroy if he were left alive. “You know that.”
She nodded.
Ortiz had seen the look between them and Matt raise the gun a bit, “Wait!” he cried, the silver tongue suddenly sounding like a rusty hinge on an old fence about to fall off. “We had a deal. What about Arismendez?”
“We’ll figure it out,” said Matt. “We’re pretty good at that.”
“But the girls? What of them? Are you going to just leave them to their suffering?”
“No,” said Catherine. “We’ll look for them. But we’ll do it without you. The best thing we can do for those girls right now is make sure you never touch their lives again.”
“But, wait . . . .” Ortiz tried, his mind spinning for something, anything, else to offer.
“Oh, you may find this interesting. That’s the same gun your nephew used on Kelly when you told him to make sure she was dead,” added Catherine.
“Wait, please, let’s . . . “
“Let’s not,” said Matt, pulling the trigger. A small hole punched through Ortiz’s head right between his eyes and he stumbled backward, falling into the bookshelves.
Catherine and Matt stood for a moment looking at Ortiz’s body. She thought again about the slippery slope. “Have we gone too far?” she asked.
He put his hand at the back of her neck, “There’s only one more to go, Catherine. But it’s your call.”
She sighed. “Let’s finish it.”
“Okay,” said Matt. “I’m with you all the way.” They sneaked out the back, eyes darting left and right for any guards, but the game was still playing and Mexico was winning. Both were relieved to not find a swat team waiting for them as they made their way back of the fence. The streets were quiet as the Asuna security van drove away.
When they returned to the hotel, Catherine called Ramirez and told him what they’d learned so far; leaving out the coercive measure they used to garner such information. Ramirez was understandably shocked. “Arismendez!? Yes, I know of this man, but I would never have imagined his involvement. He is a powerful man in the city. He dines with the highest members of government, people who are my superiors. He runs several businesses but there has long been rumor he is cartel. He has many bodyguards wherever he goes and he has personal security as well as off-duty officers he hires on the side guarding his home. I know people who work for this man . . . people I have considered friends. How did you learn all this?”
“I’m afraid I can’t share that with you. You wouldn’t want to know anyway. It’d probably place you in a difficult position. Let’s just say a measure of justice has been dealt out to those who might otherwise not receive it.”
“I see.”
“We’ll be returning to Cancun shortly and I have something to give you, a ledger of sorts. Ortiz seems to have kept track of everything in it. There’s something you should know,” she said. “Miguel told us a police officer in Cancun turned over the other homeless boy to the Barrio Boys. I figured it was Vargas but wasn’t sure until I saw his name in the ledger. Ortiz paid him twenty five thousand dollars recently.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone as Ramirez thought about this news. He lowered his head in sadness. He had long suspected improprieties, but this.
“Are you certain?” he asked. What have you done, Hernando?
“There’s an entry the same week I met you in your office. H. Vargas. $25,000. You do the math,” said Catherine.
“I just can’t believe he would do something like that,” said Ramirez. “He’s an ambitious man, but to kill a witness . . . a child, no less.”
“Believe it,” said Catherine. “And you know he has to be held accountable.”
“I know,” he said, still shocked. “It shall be handled. I must make certain of his role, but if he is guilty, he shall pay for his crime.”
“We’re going to need your help, Detective. I know you may have your hands tied, but I think you may one of the good guys. There are not enough of us right now. We need more good guys. Can you help?” She wouldn’t have been surprised if he declined. What she was asking for could likely end up with Ramirez’s head on the steps of the police station. It’d happened before. But Ramirez was one of the good guys. And he was tired of the bad guys killing off the good guys and getting away with it.
“I will help,” he said. “But Arismendez has better security than most governors. We will definitely need help and I’m not sure who I can call about this. I’ll have to do some thinking. We can talk about it when you get here.”
“Be careful,” she told him. “We’ll see you soon.”
Yesenia sat at the Dallas Police Department’s downtown office retelling her story. “And you say you saw, with your own two eyes, this man Jose shoot Trooper Daniel Shoal on the evening of April the third?”
“Yes,” she told him again. “I saw him do it.” In the corner of the room, a video camera was recording every word and gesture she made. Across from her sat Detective John Zuniga, an eighteen-year veteran of the force who had been assigned for both his proficiency in Spanish and his way of handling both suspects and victims with respect and sympathy, earning their trust.
“Now Yesenia,” said Zuniga. “Tell me again how you ended up at this compound you were telling us about. You said it all started with a flier you had seen in Mexico City?”
“Yes,” she told him. “It’s all a big trick. They promise you a job, a place to stay, but it’s all lies.”
“Tell us more, Yesenia. What did they do to you?”
The tears came down her face as she spoke. She relived the entire nightmare from its beginning. She talked about her conversation with Ortiz who she met through the man from the flier. Then she told them of her trip to Texas. She told them about the coyotes and how they were ready to let the little boy die at the river to save their drugs. She told them about being locked in the cargo truck for the long drive to Houston, and then about Jose shooting the trooper. She even told them about Miss Lydia, the compound, and about being raped by the crazy man known only as The Mechanic.
With each word she spoke she felt a great weight being lifted from her shoulders. She let the words flow like the Nigales back home. She talked about how Armando had helped her run away, but then Jose and Hector had somehow found them and been waiting inside the house. Lastly, she told them how they gunned him down as he told her to run. “He saved my life,” she said. “Twice, really. He saved me twice.”
By the time she finished, Zuniga was leaning over the table hanging on her every word. Finally he spoke, “You’re a brave woman, Yesenia. You just wait here. I’m going to talk with my boss for a few minutes.”
Outside of the little room, Zuniga stood repeating Yesenia’s story in English for his captain. “What do you think?” asked his superior when he was done summarizing.
“I think she’s telling the truth,” said the detective. “Look at her.” They could see Yesenia crying on the little monitor. “I think every word sh
e told me was true.”
Border Crossings Page 30
