Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (24 page)

The man looked down at his medallion disheartened.  “Nobody.  Just a rival gang, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Catherine, now having her suspicions verified.  “I’m sure that’s what they were,” she told him, rubbing her fingers along the etchings, “not two innocent people you and your buddies murdered, surely.”  Then she turned and walked away, ignoring the man as he begged after her.

As Catherine walked out towards the car, a single gunshot reverberated against the thin metal walls.  The moment had reaffirmed a few things for Catherine.  She had called Matt because he possessed the things she couldn’t accept about him years ago.  She needed him now for all the reasons she’d left him then.  And in some ways, being involved and up close to the fray, she understood him better now.  Maybe he wasn’t a bloodthirsty killer.  He’d just been around them so long he’d learned that to survive them sometimes meant playing by their rules. 
God, maybe Amy was right.  Maybe what he did back then was the right thing to do. 
But then she wondered,
But how far can you go before you’re no better than the enemy?
  It was a slippery slope and she felt herself losing her footing.

Jose sat in the Suburban and lit another Marlboro as he kept watch over the parking lot of Richland Community College.  He turned his
tejano
music up and leaned back.  He’d been at this for days.  There were no less than nine Dallas Community College locations, but Mama had told him to stick with the three on her list.  “It’s one of these,” she’d told him.  “If he goes to classes, it’ll be on the north side.”  He’d been starting to think Mama was wrong on this one lately, and had settled for spending his recent hours dozing off.  But right when he was about to assume his most relaxed of positions, he spotted what he’d been waiting for.  Armando’s pickup truck came pulling into the parking lot. 
There you are,
Jose thought. 
Leave it to Mama. 
He got out his notepad and wrote down Armando’s license plate as Mama had told him.  Then he lit another cigarette and waited.

A few hours later Armando pulled out of the parking lot and the
Suburban, to which Jose had applied a horrible tan paint job using spray paint, shadowed him from several car lengths back.  Armando stopped off at a gas station and after pumping gas went inside to pay.  Jose kept his distance and followed Armando back to the little house.  He wrote down the address and then pulled away.  He didn’t want to stay on the street long enough to be conspicuous.  He drove to another nearby gas station and pulled in.  Then he picked up his cell phone to call his mother.

“Any news?” she asked.

“Yes, Mama, I found him.  It was just like you said.  I found him at one of the schools.  I followed him to his house and wrote down the address like you told me to.”

“Good.  Is she there with him?”

“I don’t know.  I didn’t see her, but she might be in the house.”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m parked at a gas station down the road from where he lives.”

“Good.  You did a good job,
hijo
,” she told him.  “Now, I want you to go back and park down the street, close enough so you can see if he leaves, but not so close that he’ll see you.  And go to the opposite end of the street from the way he will most likely go to leave so he doesn’t pass by you.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“If you don’t see anything by the time it gets dark, then park a little closer and try to look in the windows.  But don’t get caught!”

“Okay, Mama.”

He hung up the phone and returned to the subdivision where he sat and waited.  He smoked his cigarettes and ate a meal of chicken and rice Miss Lydia had packed for him, but for the next two hours nothing happened.  Then, someone emerged from the front door of the house.  It was Armando and some other young man, and directly behind them came Yesenia.

Jose dropped his Tupperware container in the passenger seat and picked up the cell phone again.  When his mother answered he told her what he was seeing.  “She’s with him.  They’re getting into his truck.”

“I knew it,” said Miss Lydia, immensely pleased with herself.  “I knew the little bitch had help.  Tell me where they go, but don’t be seen.”

Meanwhile,
Yesenia was sitting next to Armando fiddling with his radio.  “There are so many stations,” she said.  “Oh, I like this song.”  Lady Gaga belted out a tune and Yesenia sang along.

Armando looked at her funny.  “What?” she asked.  “Do I
sound bad?”

“No, but you’re singing in English,” he reminded her.

“I guess, but I don’t know what all the words mean.”  Catalina had a Lady Gaga CD one of her customers had given her and it was one of the only English songs Yesenia knew.

As they drove along Armando would point things out and tell her the English word for it.  When they pulled into a parking lot she asked, “How do you say ‘
restaurante
’?”

“Restaurant,” he told her.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

They ate dinner at the
El Patio
Restaurant, laughing until late.  Armando felt swept away by Yesenia.  Despite knowing where she’d been, he couldn’t help but feel he was falling in love with her, if he wasn’t in love already.  “Hey,” he whispered to his brother.  “Why don’t you stay over at Mom’s tonight?”

“What for?” Ricky asked.

“I want to have a night with her, you know.  Just the two of us.  I’ll give you twenty bucks, bro. ”

Ricky smiled, “Man, you got it bad for her, huh?  Okay, fine.”  They both visited their mother about once a week but rarely spent the night anymore.  Ricky didn’t mind, though.  It might be good to check on his mom, see if she was on a binge or not.

Yesenia was curious about their exchange.  “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing,” Armando told her.  “Ricky was just wanting to know if we could drop him off at our mom’s on the way home, weren’t you Ricky?”

“Yeah, I’m going to go hang out with her tonight and see how she’s doing.”

Out in the parking lot Jose was once again calling Miss Lydia.  “They’re just eating at a restaurant,” he told her.

“Good.  If they’re going out to eat, then they aren’t worried about us looking for them.  You can catch them off-guard.  Come back and get Hector.  You two have business to take care of tonight.”

Catherine and Matt flew to Mexico City the next day, following the lead they had garnered from the Barrio Boy.  They used Catherine’s company card again to charter an old Cessna with a pilot who flew as hazardously as most of the taxi drivers in order to bring Matt’s toys.  The pilot hardly spoke two words to them throughout the trip, and Catherine surmised it probably wasn’t the first time he’d flown strange foreigners with large bags who didn’t want to go through airport security.  Catherine thought for sure they weren’t going to make it during the landing as the plane dipped up and down, side to side, rocking back and forth as they made their approach.  “Is fine,” the pilot told her as she pointed and tried to make sure he knew he was about to send the plane into a cart wheeling ball of fire on the tarmac.  Even Matt had to force himself not to lose his breakfast, but somehow, magically, the plane plopped down evenly on both rear tires, the nose following smoothly afterward as the plane came to a swift halt, sending both passengers lurching forward in their seats.  Luckily, both were wearing their seat belts.  “See?” remarked the pilot.  “Is fine.”

They didn’t bother checking into a hotel.  Instead, they rented yet another vehicle and went in search of the Luna Azul strip club.  When they found it, they drove slowly down the back alleyway and saw a black Mercedes parked under an awning.

“Looks like he was telling the truth,” said Matt.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I’m still wondering if what we did back there was right,” said Catherine.  “That’s strange, isn’t it?  Considering what these people have done . . . what they do.  And still I question myself.”

“That’s not strange,” said Matt.  “That’s what makes you so different from them.  Don’t dwell on it.  He would have killed all of us and wouldn’t have lost a wink of sleep over it.  All that pleading and promises . . . you think the two exes on his coin got a break?”  She’d explained to him earlier the significance of the etchings, as she’d been able to confirm from the man in his last seconds.

“No, I’m sure they didn’t.”

Outside of the Luna Azul, a young teenager wearing the trademark silver chain, a very thin one at that, was watching over the car.  They stayed well back in the alley so as to not arouse his suspicions.

“Look at him, he’s just a kid,” said Catherine.  “These ‘Barrio Boys’ are probably a bunch of inner city kids who couldn’t find work.  They see someone like this Miguel guy with his nice car and a pocket full of cash, and get sucked right in.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Matt.  “You have to remember, Catherine.  It doesn’t matter why someone ends up staring you down through a gun sight.  Once you’re there, it’s you or them.”

Catherine looked at him.  “Is that really how you see it?  You don’t think it matters who that person is or why they picked up that gun in the first place, even if it’s just some punk kid like that one there?”  She wasn’t trying to be accusing, but this was a point they’d long disagreed over, and she’d never second-guessed herself over it until recently.

“If I stopped to think about those kinds of things I wouldn’t be sitting here today, Catherine.  I’d have been picked off a long time ago.  When you have a gun and they have a gun, it’s whoever shoots first.  Hell, you know the only time I’ve been shot was by that old woman in the field, and that was the only time I was dumb enough to let down my guard.  I joke about it now but she was trying to kill me.  It didn’t matter that she might have been someone’s grandmother.  I should have looked closer to make sure she wasn’t armed and maybe I would have seen that AK hiding in the grass like a snake.  It was a mistake that nearly killed me.”

“Yes, I know,” said Catherine.  She looked back to the kid watching the car.  “I just don’t know what I’d do if I saw a kid like that on the other end of my gun.”

Matt looked at her.  “If you’re ever in a situation like that, don’t stop to ask yourself who they are or where they’re from because it doesn’t matter by that point.  There’s no second place ribbon in that race, unless you count a toe-tag.”

She knew Matt was probably right, but she couldn’t help but think there was always hope for kids like the one they were looking at.  It couldn’t be too late for them.  People always had time to change their ways, pick a different path, change who they are.  There was Matt’s side to consider, though.  These weren’t people to feel sorry for, especially since they were responsible for what had happened to Taylor.  Still, the thought troubled her that if she saw someone so young on the other end of her gun, she’d hesitate.  She didn’t think it’d be possible not to.  She might not be able to pull the trigger at all.  Her conscience wouldn’t let her.  “I’m glad you came, Matt,” she told him.  “I couldn’t do this without you.”

A moment of silence passed between them as they watched the boy, each with their own ideas of what he represented.  “You want to go in?” he asked.

“No.  Let’s wait for him to leave.  There’s no telling how many Barrio Boys he’s got in there, and even though I understand everything you said, I’m in no hurry to have to shoot at them.  I’m after the men who took Taylor Woodall, not every stupid kid wearing a necklace.
  Let’s try to catch Miguel alone.”

“Sure,” said Matt.  “That’s probably the better way to handle this.  There’s no reason to go after anyone who wasn’t directly involved.”  She turned her head and watched him for a long moment.  “What?” he asked, a bit unnerved.

“I misjudged you before,” she told him.  “You know, what happened with the guerrillas and the pipeline workers.  I misjudged you.  I still think it was pretty horrific what happened, but I think I understand why it happened, now.  And I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge.  I’m sorry for that.”

Matt was speechless.  Catherine had no idea what her words meant to him.  “You were right about a lot of things,” he told her.  “But it’s a complicated world sometimes.  I shouldn’t have done what I did.  But when I saw that picture in that guy’s wallet, him standing there with his wife and kids, and then me looking down and seeing his headless body . . . it was hard.  I got angry.”

“I know,” she said. 
I know.

They waited in the car until the hours of the night were nearly gone.  At four, a tackily dressed young man came out of the club.  The kid who was watching the car was nearly asleep by now, and Catherine watched as the man kicked him in the shin to wake him up, and then scolded him.

“Looks like our guy,” said Matt.

Catherine couldn’t see him well enough from their vantage point to know if he was the man in the sketch, but as she watched him get into the car and it pull away like a sleek shark stalking prey upon the streets, she felt confident they had found their man. 
God, let it be him,
she thought as they started the car and followed.

They had to remain quite a ways behind the Mercedes to remain unnoticed due to the light traffic of the late hour.  The Mercedes eventually pulled into a large high-rise condominium complex, nicer even than the one Catherine lived in back in Dallas.

“Who says crime doesn’t pay?” remarked Catherine.

“Oh, it does,” said Matt.  “Until it catches up with you.”

“I guess it’s about to catch up to him,” Catherine mumbled, wondering what they were going to do with Miguel. 
It just depends on what he says,
she told herself. 
Nothing is decided.
Although in her heart she doubted that was true
.

They parked across the street and entered the condominium building.  Inside, the beautiful lobby with travertine floors, deep wood furniture and a warmly glowing crystal chandelier was empty save for a security guard who greeted them politely behind a small podium.  “Hello,” he greeted them in English.  “Are you here to see someone?” he asked, pulling a pen and placing it on the next vacant line of the guest registry.

“Miguel Valencia,” said Matt.

The man’s smile faded somewhat.  “And may I have your name?”

Matt firmly but calmly took the pen from his hand.  “No, I’m afraid you may not.”

The security guard looked from Matt to Catherine and realized they weren’t expected.  Matt pulled his gun and the guard quickly held his hands up.  “I’m not armed,” he said.  “You’re Americans, yes?  I know why you’re here,” he continued, an eerie silence capturing the moment before he offered, “I thought it was him.  I would have told someone, but I couldn’t.  I have a family.”

“What do you mean?” asked Catherine, her heart racing, hoping he meant just what she thought he meant.

The guard now looked scared.  He wasn’t sure if he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.  “We’re here about a girl,” Matt told him, “a girl who was murdered in Cancun.”  And the security guard’s face told them they were all on the same page.

Yes!
thought Catherine,
it’s him. 
“What unit number is he in?”

The man gestured to a tablet on the podium.  Catherine picked it up and began going down the alphabetical list.  “Top floor,” he told Matt, eyeing the gun
in his hand fearfully.  “We have four penthouses on that floor, sir.  Mr. Valencia is in number three, the second to the right from the elevator.”

Matt smiled at Catherine.  The security guard acted as though he wouldn’t mind a ringside seat.  Whether it was the gun pointed at him or just that he was happy to see Miguel about to face the music, the security guard was being quite accommodating. 
Or maybe he’d already pressed a hidden button and warned Mr. Valencia. 
Either was a real possibility, Matt decided, but he thought the former more likely than the latter.

“I’m sorry,” said Catherine.  “But we’re going to need to put you out of the way for a while.”

“I understand,” said the man.  “There’s a janitor’s closet down the hall.  I would be happy to remain there until your business with Mr. Valencia is concluded.”

He showed Catherine and Matt to the closet and unlocked it with his key, which he then handed to Catherine.

“We have to tie you up, I’m afraid,” she told him.

“I understand.”  There were garbage twines in the closet and the guard practically put them on himself.

“Is that too tight?” Catherine asked him after he was tied up.

“No, ma’am.  I’m fine.”  They turned to lock him in.  “Oh!” said the guard.  They looked back at him.  “I believe he lives alone and I didn’t see any guests this evening, if that’s of any help.  But I would expect he’s
, um, prepared for visitors such as yourself, if you know what I mean.”

Again, Catherine and Matt exchanged an odd look.  They didn’t know who the guard thought they were, but as it was to their advantage, they didn’t ask.  As they took the elevator up to the top floor, Catherine was almost
chuckling over the man.  “Well that was easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Let’s hope that security guard isn’t trying to herd us into an ambush.”  He checked his gun and made sure it was chambered.  Catherine didn’t think the guard was pulling a fast one, but she followed Matt’s lead just the same.

When they reached the top floor, they quietly approached the door.  Matt stayed low and put his ear to it.  There was no sound.  He pulled Catherine off to the side a bit.  “Do you want me to kick it in, or try to pick the lock?  I’m a little rusty but might be able to.  I brought a pick just in case.”

“Let’s try to get in quietly if we can,” said Catherine.  Matt reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small black pouch.  From it, he pulled two small pieces of metal, one straight, and one with a tiny L-shape on the end.

“How many times have you done this?” asked Catherine.

Matt smiled.  “It’s been a while.”

They returned to the door and Matt put the hook shaped piece of metal on the top of the dead bolt lock and then began searching for the tumblers with the other.  As he pressed his ear to the door, he heard the first clicks of the tumblers.  Catherine stood behind him with her gun at the ready.  Then Matt heard the click.  He held up his finger as if to say,
that’s one.
  Then he repeated the process on the lock of the doorknob.  It took a little while, but after a minute or so he turned the knob and the door opened silently.  Luckily, the building’s maintenance staff kept the hinges of the penthouse doors well oiled, and as they entered, the door gave away nothing.

The front entryway was dark but they could see light spilling out from the master bedroom.  They stalked towards it, Matt’s eyes scanning the shadows as best he could so as to not miss Miguel if he was crouched down somewhere ready to shoot from an unseen vantage.  As they entered his bedroom they could hear water running.  Again, luck was on their side.  Miguel was in the shower and he hadn’t bothered closing the bathroom door.

A Browning Buckmark .22 pistol with a Dragonfly silencer sat on the nightstand. 
Interesting choice,
thought Matt, pointing it out to Catherine.  She didn’t know what kind of gun it was, but she did notice it was a .22 caliber.  As they passed by the closet, near where he’d discarded the clothes he’d worn that evening into a dirty hamper, they saw a Mac-10 with a Bowers CAC-9 silencer. 
Guy’s got an arsenal,
Matt thought.  He pointed to the gun and then held his finger to his lips as if to say,
these are quieter. 
Then he grabbed the machine gun while Catherine walked to the nightstand and put her pistol away, trading it for the silenced Browning.  She quietly checked its clip and chamber, which was loaded as she’d expected.  Her face went red as she held the gun. 
Was this the same .22 that had been used to kill Taylor? 
She knew by picking it up she’d likely tainted it as evidence, but that didn’t much matter after what Ramirez had told her.  The police weren’t going to be coming for this guy.  Even if they did link him directly to the crime they’d never risk the cartel’s reprisal.  If Miguel was going to pay for what he did, they’d have to be the one serving up his bill.