Scratchgravel Road (18 page)

Chester pawed at the top of an old ammunitions box beside the front door that Dell kept filled with dog treats.

“That doesn’t sound like a very good idea,” he said.

She shrugged. “It’ll be a quick trip.”

“Work-related?”

“Sort of.”

“Not going to fill me in, are you?”

She smiled. “Nope. You’d follow me with your arsenal. We’d both end up in a Mexican prison. And who’d take care of Chester?”

*   *   *

By the time Josie met up with Ellis and Marta at the entrance to the foot crossing it was after three o’clock. There was a light rain, but the forecast showed a break in the activity later that afternoon through midnight.

Ellis wore rugged brown sandals, jean shorts, and a brown T-shirt that perfectly blended with his surroundings. He looked as if he had recently buzzed his own hair with a pair of clippers. He stared down at the bridge and the rushing water about six feet below it. “It’s made it through worse than this,” he said. But Josie couldn’t remember seeing the water any higher than it currently was.

Across the bridge was the expansive Chihuahuan Desert with low-lying mountains, cactus, and scrub brush that was already turning green with the recent rain. The river cut through the east end of a canyon that traveled through Artemis. The opening of the canyon was relatively shallow, with twenty-foot-high walls. The bridge was attached to the sides, on either side of the river, about five feet down from the ledge. The canyon rim was a rocky slope down to the bridge, hiding it from the road, but making the entrance accessible. The crossing was only visible from within the canyon walls so there was no cartel traffic, just an occasional local wanting quick access, usually to family members.

The muddy brown river had reached the banks, flowing fast and dragging debris. Josie knew if she fell in, or the bridge gave out, she would almost surely drown. She hated the water and was not a good swimmer, although the current was flowing so fast that swimming would be a moot point. If the water didn’t kill her, the trees and limbs floating down the river would.

The rope bridge spanned twenty feet, with three-foot-wide wooden slats, and was surprisingly taut across the water. Josie had crossed it easily with Ellis several years ago just to check out what was on the other side. Desert scrub, it turned out, and a cattle road heading south from Piedra Labrada into Ojinaga, Mexico.

Marta had called Sergio back after they had formed a plan and he had agreed to drive Josie into town. Unless the road was severely washed out from flooding, she figured the drive would take about ninety minutes.

Josie wore blue jeans, hiking boots, a long-sleeved navy T-shirt, and carried her Artemis badge and passport in a black backpack. Her hair was in a tight ponytail and she carried the backpack secured tightly to her back. She didn’t carry a weapon of any kind. Federales escort or not, she was still entering the country illegally.

She stepped onto the bridge gingerly and took several steps out. The water was pushing at the metal supports and the bridge dipped under her weight, but felt secure. She walked several feet out and came back to the edge where Marta and Ellis stood, looking on in concern.

“I think it’s fine. I don’t feel comfortable bringing Teresa back across it, though.”

Marta nodded. “Sergio said he would reserve a room at a little motel downtown. It’s safe. You can stay until morning. Sergio said the closing was precautionary. He’s predicting the International Bridge will open again in the morning.”

Josie frowned. The idea of staying overnight in a motel room with Marta’s sixteen-year-old daughter worried her worse than the water. And Josie wasn’t as convinced as Sergio that the bridge would be open again that soon.

“What if we can’t cross in the morning?” she asked.

Marta’s expression froze at the question and Josie regretted it instantly. She reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

“You can’t imagine how much I appreciate you,” Marta said. Her eyes carried worry for her boss, but Josie could see the deeper fear of a mother desperate for her daughter’s safe return. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you for this.”

“Marta, friends don’t require payment. I’m helping you because I care about you and Teresa.”

Marta hugged Josie tightly, tears streaming down her face. She pulled her cross from under her blouse and clutched it in her fist. “I will pray nonstop for your safe return.”

Several minutes later a small dark blue car with the words
POLICIA FEDERAL
painted in large white letters across its side pulled to a stop across the river and a stocky gray-haired man got out. He was wearing street clothes, a white T-shirt tucked into jeans and running shoes. He waved and the three did likewise. Josie agreed to call Marta as soon as they’d found Teresa and then stepped back onto the bridge.

Two-inch-thick rope handrails ran down either side of the bridge, and Josie had to bend awkwardly to reach them. She wondered if Ellis had helped construct the bridge—if so, he had seriously miscalculated the design. Her five-foot-seven-inch frame felt off balance on the narrow boards.

About three feet in, she stopped and stood still, focusing on the slats under her feet, not the churning brown water below her. Once she steadied herself, and accustomed her eyes to the rushing water under the bridge, she gained some confidence. She took slow six-inch steps, rubbing the skin off her palms as she slid her hands down the rope rails.

By the middle of the bridge, the feeling that it was ready to flip, dropping her into the churning water below, was almost unbearable. Not daring to let go of the railing, she forced her muscles to relax slightly and took smaller steps, carefully sliding each foot across the slippery wet slats. She kept her focus on the wood so she wouldn’t trip. After a five-minute walk that seemed to take hours, she made it onto the other side to the applause of Sergio, who’d just allowed her access into his country illegally, now smiling as if Josie were the prodigal daughter come home to stay.

ELEVEN

“Well done, my friend. Well done!” Sergio hugged Josie and patted her back, laughing into her ear. Josie stood about six inches taller, but Sergio was powerfully built. He had the kind eyes and smile of an old-world gentleman, and a demeanor that put everyone around him at ease.

Marta had grown up with Sergio in Mexico and had been gently pushing away his advances for many years. Josie thought the two loved each other, or at least deeply cared for one another, and couldn’t understand why Marta accepted only his friendship.

The landscape was rocky, with mountainous desert sprawling south into Mexico. The hour-and-a-half-long drive back to Ojinaga took them along a canyon road high enough to avoid most of the flooding. One small detour took them around a tributary that flowed into the flooded Conchos River. Sergio said that at least twenty residents had drowned in the Conchos after they refused to evacuate their homes along the river. Sergio said the International Bridge wasn’t flooded, it was the street in Ojinaga that the bridge fed into that was currently underwater. He expected the water to recede within the next several hours, and for the bridge to reopen by daybreak.

Sergio spoke fluent English, occasionally mixing the two languages, but Josie had no trouble understanding him as he filled her in on the local feuds and battles that sounded identical to stories she heard about Presidio, the city across the border from Ojinaga and just to the south of Artemis. Mostly though, Sergio talked about Marta, and their childhood growing up together.

“As small children we lived in Barrio Montoyam, along the canyon. We spent our childhood in the river, scrabbling up and down the rocks and valleys. Thirteen kids between our two families. It was a good life. Then both our fathers took jobs in Ojinaga at the new
maquiladora
. That’s when Marta met Javier.” Sergio looked at Josie and smiled, shrugged, giving a look that said,
What can you do?

“Was Javier always trouble?”

Sergio hesitated. “Marta was always spiritual, even as a child. She looked to the angels and the saints in place of her mother. I used to tell her, ‘Marta, your home is here. Make better use of your time here, instead of wishing away for something you can’t know.’ When we settled in Ojinaga we were both sixteen. I was in love with her, but too proud to risk the truth of her knowing. Then, she met the Lazoyas and I lost her to Javier. His father was a curandero, a spiritual healer. Very respected in the region. Javier has the gift as well, but he never grew comfortable with his sight.”

“Why is that?”

“He was afraid of the responsibility. He was a coward, and I told Marta. It just made her angry with me. She thought she could fix him. That’s always been Marta’s goal in life, fixing up people. She says that’s why she could never love me. Nothing to fix.”

Sergio glanced at Josie and smiled sadly. “Marta was too kind to give me the truth, but I knew. Her heart was with Javier.”

Josie sat quietly a moment, watching the waterlogged desert pass by them, thinking about Marta’s life growing up along the river. “Would Javier have been considered a priest?” Josie asked, not entirely certain she understood Sergio’s explanation.

Sergio laughed. “No, no. The curanderos learn their art from the Indian shamans of hundreds of years ago. A gift passed down, an understanding of the spirit world. Javier’s father was consulted when the
brujas,
or the witches, brought harm or mischief to families. He heals with herbs and potions. People still seek out his remedies, but he’s old and tired. Javier is a great disappointment to the family.”

“What kind of healing?”

Sergio lit a cigarillo as he drove and rolled his window down to the warm evening outside. “Curanderos say prayers to bring you luck in bingo, to help you find your lost husband, to get rid of warts and cancer and diarrhea. You think of it, they have a saint and a prayer to help you through the problem.”

As they approached the city the sun had fallen enough to cut the harsh glare from above, and the city’s edges were not so rough. It was 6
P.M.
and Josie hoped there were enough daylight hours left to find Teresa and get her in a safe place for the night. However, the daylight also left Josie more exposed. As an American police officer in the country illegally, she was very cognizant of her situation.

Josie had only visited Ojinaga a few times, and was always struck by the angular shapes: the buildings were cubes with square windows and rectangular doorways stacked atop each other like kids’ building blocks. The stucco and arches she associated with Mexico were not found in these neighborhoods, but the brightly painted blues, reds, and oranges turned the streets into a kaleidoscope.

Sergio pointed out a small Catholic church with rooms to rent and said a room had been prepared with two twin beds. A tall stone wall encircled the church for protection. Josie thanked him for the arrangements and hoped she and Teresa were inside their room by sundown.

Javier’s house was in a tumbled row of flats with power lines draped precariously along the rooftops, dangling almost to street level in between. The street had a dusty, slapdash feel to it, but Josie noted how clean of debris the area was. Sergio pointed to a small brown apartment, no more than a box perched atop a bright blue building with a large advertisement painted in yellow and red across the storefront:
AGUA CHILI!

“You’re sure this is Javier’s place?” she asked.

Sergio frowned. “No doubt. His father has begged him to move home, but what can you do?” He turned the engine off and removed the key. “I’ll walk up with you, make sure he doesn’t give you trouble. If Teresa is here you can get her, and I’ll take you to your room for the night.”

“And what if I can’t get her to come with us?” The question had troubled Josie since she first decided to cross the border.

“After spending the day here, she’ll be ready for her mama. That’s my prediction.”

Sergio opened a street door on the building. The door led up a dark, narrow set of stairs nailed together with no regard to conformity. A tape measure and plumb line had not been part of the building process.

“Watch your step,” Sergio called. The street door slammed behind them as they started up the stairs. He turned on a pocket flashlight to illuminate the stairwell. Cockroaches scurried from the light.

At the top of the stairs Sergio shone his flashlight on a narrow wooden door. The landing wasn’t large enough for Josie to stand on as well, so she remained behind him. He knocked, but after several minutes no one answered and neither heard any sound from inside.

“Teresa? It’s Sergio. Come answer the door.” He listened again, ear to the door. “I just want to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

A half a minute later the door opened three inches, as wide as the door chain would allow. Even in the dim light Josie could see Teresa’s smile at the recognition of her mother’s friend. The door closed and opened again, with Teresa stepping into Sergio’s warm embrace. She stepped back, suddenly noticing Josie. Her eyes were wide and she looked down the stairs as if for her mother, or a police force come to collect her.

“Chief Gray?”

“Your mom’s pretty worried. She sent me looking for you.”

She looked confused. “But they closed the bridge.”

Josie noticed her red eyes and could tell she had been crying.

Sergio gestured toward the apartment. “Can we come in?”

Teresa looked back into the dark space and nodded reluctantly. “He’s sleeping. But he won’t wake up.”

She flipped a light switch on the wall and the room was bathed in the light from a bulb hanging bare from the ceiling. There were no windows in the room. Javier lay in a drunken stupor, curled on his side, passed out on a frayed dark green couch. He snored quietly and one arm dangled to the floor. Teresa looked around, as if noticing there were no seats. A twin-size mattress lay on the floor opposite the couch, and a sink and toilet against the other wall. A small refrigerator was in one corner of the room while the opposite corner was a makeshift shrine filled with statues and trinkets and candles all arranged neatly on a small table covered with a lace cloth. Josie noted several candles were lit. It was an oddly personal touch in the dirty, forsaken space. She wondered how much Teresa understood of her father’s unused spiritual talents.