Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (27 page)

Catherine held her hand up to his and turned his hand over, kissing it affectionately.  How thankful she was he was here.  She thought for a moment and then said, “Nobody is asking me to keep going, but I just feel like I have to.  I couldn’t go back to my life knowing these people were out there despite what they’ve done. They can’t get away with it,” she decided.

Matt smiled at her warmly.  “Then we won’t let them.”

Yesenia had lain under the plastic kiddie pool for hours, scared that the moment she came out from under it Jose or Hector would be waiting for her.  She had listened to the sound of vehicles in the alley and had heard people talking, but kept herself as quiet as the leaves of grass upon which she lay.  Her terror and tears had exhausted her and for the space of but a few precious hours, she allowed herself to feel safe in her hideaway as though it were a fortress beneath a mountain, and had drifted to sleep somewhere along the way.

When she awoke several hours later it was well past midnight.  She poked her head out and saw there was nothing but the night and a few ruthless mosquitoes around her.  She crept out from underneath the child’s play pool to see the yellow tape and masked outline of a body in the alley, a rusty Rorschach of bloodstain on the concrete.  She’d heard the gunshots and the sound of a strange voice yelling something in English, but she did not know exactly what had happened.  Did Jose and Hector kill someone else?  Did someone kill them?  That was too much to hope for.  She walked towards the marked outline of body in white spray paint upon the dirt. 
Someone did get killed,
she thought.  She hoped it wasn’t someone trying to help, someone else like Armando.  She felt a hole rip in her gut at the very thought of him.

The emptiness around her reminded her that she was now alone.  She had no one left to turn to, no place to go, and no one left who cared if she was alive or dead.  They had murdered the one person who had tried to help her.  She walked between the shadows of the houses until she could see the little frame house where she’d been staying.  The crime unit and police had left the house sealed with the yellow tape. 
Armando,
she thought. 
It’s all my fault.  I got him killed. 
She couldn’t stop the tears that came.  She crossed her arms over her chest and pulled tightly into herself as she stared at the house. 
It’s all my fault. 
She wiped her tears away angrily, like she’d done that night in the hot box.  She was tired of crying, tired of being a victim.  And at that moment she made up her mind.  It was time Jose and Hector and Miss Lydia and all of them learned that she wasn’t a scared little girl.  Not anymore!  She was going to see them pay.  She walked down the street of the quiet subdivision and out to the main road.  She had considered walking to Armando’s mother’s house and getting Ricky, but she wouldn’t know how to tell him what had just happened and how it was all her fault.  She also didn’t want to endanger him more than she already had.  So she walked down to the same Shell station Jose had parked at the day before.  Its door was locked but there was a woman behind the glass working the graveyard shift.

“
Hablas Espanol
?” Yesenia asked the woman.

“Yes, what do you need?” The woman responded in Spanish.

“Can you call the police for me?”

“The police?  Is something the matter?” asked the woman.

“Yes.  I witnessed a murder.  Two murders, actually.  A couple of bad men I know killed my friend tonight.  They’re also the ones who killed that policeman that’s been on the news.”

The woman behind the glass eyed Yesenia warily as she dialed 9-1-1.

Yesenia sat down on the curb to wait, her arms across her knees holding them close to her chest.  She didn’t care if she went to jail for being with them that night they killed the policeman.  She didn’t even care if they sent more people after her for calling the police.  It was her turn to step up and do the right thing.  Armando had done it for her and now she was going to do it for him . . . for all the girls Miss Lydia had turned into prostitutes, for the poor policeman they’d killed, and for herself.  Her resignation to whatever fate would befall her filled her with a sense of calm.  She no longer worried about what to do or what would happen.  Ceci would be gone by now.  So, now all she had to worry about was herself.  And to Yesenia, that meant making sure to do the right thing while she was still able.  What would happen then, only the stars knew, as she used to say in happier times.

Catherine and Matt left Miguel in the rail car, still staring into the nothingness, and checked into a hotel.  Both were exhausted and hadn’t slept in nearly 30 hours.  Catherine slept uncomfortably, having dreams of Taylor being assaulted, seeing the faces of the men she’d help kill in the last couple of days.  When she woke in the middle of the night, she saw Matt was sleeping like a log. 
How strange that someone can be so good, yet so comfortable with killing.
  As she looked at him, she wished she could take back some of the past. 
I didn’t understand.  How could anyone unless it happens to them? 
She got up, dressed only in her nightshirt and underwear, and walked over to his bed, quietly slipping beneath the sheets.

He woke up, startled, “Catherine?  What’s wrong?”

She kissed him tenderly.  “Nothing,” she told him.  “I just can’t sleep.”

He kissed her back, timidly at first, but then more passionately as he felt the warmth of her tongue caress his sweetly.  He held her close and they made love, far more intimately than they ever did when they were dating those many years ago.

When they awoke late the next morning, they ordered up a lunch and Catherine called her office.

“Law office, how may I direct your call?” came the familiar friendly voice.

“Jenny, it’s me.”

“Catherine, thank God!  I’ve been worried sick.  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  How are things there?”  Her old business routine seemed a remnant of another life.

“They’re going well.  That guy from Petroconnex called for you.  I told him you were on extended vacation, but he wouldn’t talk to anyone else.  He’s really worked up about this deal, Catherine.  Do you want his number?”

“No, not right now.  He’s just going to have to deal with it.  I do need something, though.  Can you run a number for me and find out whose it is and what address?”  Ortiz may not feel the need to hide but something told Catherine she wouldn’t just be able to stick in the phone number on an internet search and the guy’s address would pop right up.

“Sure,” Jenny said.  “What’s the number?”

“It’s here in Mexico,” Catherine said, reading off the number stored in Miguel’s cell phone.

“When do you need it by?” she asked.

“As soon as possible,” said Catherine.  “Also dig me up whatever you can find on the guy, license picture, and bank accounts . . . whatever.  But make sure it’s discreet.  I don’t want any red flags going up.”

“Okay, I’ll do what I can.  You’re being careful down there, right, Catherine?”

“Yes,” she assured her friend.  “I’ve got some protection with me.”

“Good.  I’m glad to hear that.  I hope you hired some good guys.”

Catherine smiled, “The best.”

“Is there a number where I can reach you?”

She thought about it but decided it was best if they didn’t know where she was at for the moment.  She trusted Jenny entirely, but being that this was the cartel, there was no telling if they’d managed to have her office bugged or something along those lines.  It was highly unlikely, but no point in an unnecessary risk, she told herself.  “Actually, I’m going to be mobile for the next few hours,” she said.  “Why don’t I call you back in about an hour?”

“Sure.  Is there anything else?”

“No.  Thanks, Jenny.  I’ll talk to you soon.”

They hung up and Catherine began eating her lunch.  Matt sat at the little table in their room drinking a beer and eating a po-boy sandwich.  “You know getting to this Ortiz guy isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know,” said Catherine.

“If he’s head of even half the operation like Miguel said, he may have some seriously armed bodyguards.”

“I made a promise to Taylor’s parents.  I didn’t think we’d have all this to deal with, but it’s not something I can let go.  Besides, after hearing what these people did to that girl, what they did to Juan, also . . . . I couldn’t just pack up and go home now, even if I wanted to.”

“Are you going to tell them what happened?  Her parents, I mean.”

It was a question Catherine had already asked herself.  “Not right now.”

Matt took a long sip.  “Then there’s Arismendez.”

“Yes,” said Catherine.  “And then there’s him.”

“He’s going to have even more security, I’m thinking.  We may need some help with him.”

“But who?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.  We’ll just have to see what we’re up against, but we’ll figure that out after we deal with Ortiz.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

Miss Lydia was in the middle of a furious tantrum.  “How could you let this happen!?”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” apologized Jose.  “It happened so quickly.  We would have had the girl if not for that crazy gringo with the shotgun.  I don’t know who he is but he came out of nowhere and got the drop on Hector.”

“And where were you!?”

“I told you!  I was getting the truck.  The girl took off running and we couldn’t catch up to her.  She was like a deer the way she was running and jumping over fences.  Rafa Marquez himself couldn’t have caught her.”

Miss Lydia rose up on her tip-toes and hit him on the head.  Then she hit him again.  And again.  And again.  Screaming at the top of her lungs, “Moron! 
Pendejo
!  How could you be so stupid!?  Didn’t I tell you how to do it!  Must I do everything for you!?”

“Please, Mama, stop hitting me,” he said with his arms deflecting the blows as best he could.  “I’ll find the girl, I swear.”

“Don’t be stupid!” she yelled at him.  “Now she’s seen you kill two people!  What do you think she’s going to do?  Just dance back here and apologize and forget the whole thing?  We had one chance!  One chance to get that girl!  And you blew it!”  Jose said nothing as his mother boxed his ears with her cupped hand.  “You’ve ruined everything!”

Finally she let her anger subside and quit pounding on her son.  His thick skull had left her hand throbbing in rhythm to the vein that protruded from her forehead.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Jose said again, cowering in the face of his mother’s wrath.

Miss Lydia eased herself back into her couch and suddenly a tender sadness came over her.  “How many years have we been here?  All this time and no trouble.  Never once have the police driven past that gate,” she scolded, pointing in the direction of the road.  “Never once before now have we even had a girl get away from us like this.  And now look.”  She dropped her bullish head between her shoulders as though she were going to cry.  “Ruined.  All ruined.”

Jose sat on the coffee table across from her, hanging his head in shame.  “Don’t cry, Mama.  I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she echoed.  “What good is sorry now?”

He looked out the window and cracked his knuckles in anger at the girl that had caused all this. 
If only I could get my hands on her,
he thought.  “What do we do?” he asked.

She sighed deeply.  “The only thing we can do.  We leave.”

“Leave?” he asked.  “There must be some other way . . . ”

“No!” she snapped.  “You saw to that when you didn’t do as I told you.  That girl’s out there now with enough information to ruin us all.  If she opens her big mouth, we’ll all die in prison.  You have two murders on you, now.  And me, well I’m an old woman.  How do you expect your mother to survive in such a place?”  He had no response.  “And now you definitely have to get rid of that stupid
Suburban you love so much.  Painting it won’t do any good this time.  Get rid of it.  We’ll have to get us something else.”

“Yes, Mama.”  Jose did as he was told.  He drove the
Suburban down an old country road that became a rutted trail, and then out into a nearby clearing while Arnulfo waited for him in his truck.  Jose got out and took the two gallons of gasoline he had in the rear of the truck and doused the SUV.  Then he stood back, lit a Molotov cocktail he’d brought, and chunked it at the Suburban, which went up like it was made out of papier machĕ.

Then Arnulfo drove them to a used car dealership called Amigo Auto Sales where they purchased a used truck under a false I.D. Miss Lydia had used for many years.

When they returned to the compound, Miss Lydia began putting things in motion.  Catalina was looking out of the window and saw Jose pull the metal trailer around.  “I wonder what they’re going to do with that?” she asked Imelda.

While Jose and Arnulfo began packing only the essential things, Miss Lydia retreated to her office.  She didn’t know where she was going to go.  She had close to two hundred thousand dollars in cash and wondered if she shouldn’t just take it and retire back home to Mexico.  Would there be consequences, though?  She was a link in a chain of traffic.  If the link breaks, so does the chain.  There were powerful people who would be affected by recent events, people who might look to her for an explanation for their interrupted cash flow.  Before she could even consider going back to Mexico, she needed to know what would be waiting for her.  She picked up the phone and began dialing.