Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (31 page)

Catherine and Matt decided they’d return to Cancun in a bit more style.  They used ten thousand dollars of Ortiz’s money to rent a Cessna XLS, a state of the art jet worlds apart from the single engine 70s-era Cessna they’d arrived in.  “I’m probably going to need some of this cash to pay for the rental cars we’ve damaged,” she told Matt.

“Yeah, and I may need to reimburse my company for the trip up here.  I’m sure they’re good and well pissed off at me at the moment.”

Before they left she called Jim.  She left out all the gory details, but told him everything else, including who had kidnapped Taylor, why they’d picked her, and most importantly, that Victor Arismendez was the man who murdered her.  She preferred to wait until it was over, but there was the chance she and Matt might come to an unfortunate end, and if that should happen, Jim deserved to know who had taken his daughter’s life.  She could only wonder how unbelievable this sounded to Jim.  She could hardly believe it herself as she heard the story unravel from her lips.

“It was completely random, Jim.  There was nothing more to it than she was the prettiest girl in the place.”  She wondered if it was of any comfort to him.  Probably not.  “We’re about to head back to Cancun now,” she told him, staring out the car’s window at the sleek jet waiting for them.  “I’m not entirely sure what our next step is, but we’re going to get the guy.  He may think he’s untouchable but we’ll get him, I promise . . . even if we have to hire our own private army.  We’ve got the means to do it at the moment thanks to Ortiz.”

“I can help,” Jim said.  “I can call up the news and tell them everything you just told me.  They’ll have to take action if the world knows it was him.”

“No, don’t do that,” she said, concerned.  “He’ll run.  And if he runs we may never get him.  He may end up in some village in Peru nobody has ever heard of, or worse yet, Venezuela.  We’d never get him.  No, just let us figure it out.  We’ll get down there and assess the situation.  I know it’s tough, Jim, but I just need a little more time.”

“Okay, but I can’t just sit here.  Wait,” he said.  “I can contact people here, the governor’s office, maybe.  Hell, I can probably get him on the phone personally, he was at the funeral.  If I explain to him what you just told me, maybe he can help.  Our government can put pressure on theirs - quietly, though, no media.”

“Maybe,” she said.  She didn’t like the idea of involving any Mexican government officials considering there was no telling if someone would tip off Arismendez, but she knew he was going to be a lot harder to get to than Ortiz.  “Try the governor’s office, then,” she decided.  “But be careful who you talk to and what you say.  They need to understand just how well connected this guy is down here.  If someone tips him off, we’ll likely never catch the guy.”

“I will,” said Jim.

As she hung up the phone, Matt escorted her to the plane, “Your chariot awaits.”

Once on board, he tossed her a Coke.  “The governor, huh?  I’m not so sure about that one.  We may end up on the wrong side of that call.  We’ve left a mess of a trail lately, if you recall.  They might be sympathetic to the cause, but we’re well outside of legal parameters.”

“I know,” she said, the newly-departed Ortiz still fresh in her mind.  The thought made her queasy.  She popped the top of the soda can and took a sip.  “You’ve been amazing.  More than amazing.  But we need help, Matt.  We can’t keep running around like a couple of vigilantes, not with this guy.  There are some good people around, but they’re scared.  We need to light a fire, something to bring them together and take this guy off the streets.”

“That’s awfully optimistic.”  He smirked.

She smiled.  “I know what you’re thinking.  Maybe it is naïve, but I’m a believer, Matt.  I think I understand now that sometimes doing the right thing means getting dirty.  But at some point people have to get out of the bloody mud pit and stand on their principles.  It’s not okay for so-called civilized people to turn a blind eye to people like Arismendez.  If they do, more like him will keep coming, keep kidnapping people for ransom, keep killing innocent people in a crowd without the least bit of fear.  Did you hear the story about the cartel in Sinoloa?  They skinned a man’s face off, stitched it to a soccer ball, and left it on the steps of city hall.”

“No,” said Matt.  “I can’t say I’m surprised, but no, I didn’t know that.”

“They were making him an example,” she said.  “And that’s the point, Matt.  They’re winning because they’re setting the bigger, scarier example.  We need to do something else here.  Even if we could get to Arismendez by ourselves, the greater good here is for those who are supposed to be protecting people from someone like Arismendez to actually stand up and do it.  Otherwise, who’s going to stop them?  You and I are just two people.  We’re lucky we haven’t been killed already in all this.  There has to be a reckoning for these killers, Matt.  There’s no stopping them if they think society can be kowtowed against standing up to them.”

“So you want to make an example out of Arismendez?” he asked.

“If it’s possible, yes.  I want the world to see there are good people here that are willing to stand up and say enough is enough.”

Matt leaned back, contemplating.  “It’s not a perfect world, Catherine.”

“I know,” she said, looking back out the window.  “Believe me, I know.”

“Well, it may be a little naïve, Catherine, but I still admire you for it.  I can’t say as though I agree with you, but part of me wishes I did.”  The jet’s engines roared as they raced down the runway and then lifted up into the sky.

Around 11:00 that morning Zuniga got a call from a small auto dealership in the Dallas area.  “We got this sheet you faxed over about the people you’re looking for.”

“Yes?  Have you seen them?”

“Yes, sir.  Two of them, at least.  We sold them a truck the other day.”  The fax had been sitting on the dealership’s machine and the manager had grabbed it and was ready to throw it in the garbage until the name jumped out at him.

“Are you sure it’s them?” Zuniga asked.

“Yes, sir.  No doubt.  I already checked with the salesman on the description.  It was an old woman and her son and they put it in her name.  Paid cash.”

“Do you have information on the truck?” asked Zuniga excitedly.  He snatched up a pen and quickly wrote down the truck’s description and VIN number.  As soon as they hung up, he gave the information to dispatch and issued an A.P.B. on the new description, a white Chevy C1500 extended cab, possibly pulling a metallic trailer.

Meanwhile, a truck matching that exact description sat parked at a secluded camping area in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park, 2 ½ hours away from the border.  Miss Lydia was wracking her brain trying to make a decision.  Should she continue on westward within the United States, set up shop in New Mexico, possibly?  Or should she cut and run, take her money and head for Juarez?  Ortiz hadn’t been any help, jumping off the phone saying something about having his own problems to deal with.  She cursed him again under her breath.

They had stopped and picked up some food, and the girls were all sitting around a picnic table eating.  They were becoming difficult to handle, as she’d put them in the trailer for the long drive which meant they had to make periodic stops to give them a rest from the heat.  The girls were not happy and Miss Lydia eyed them suspecting that they might be plotting something.

“Keep an eye on them,” she told Arnulfo.  “I don’t trust them.”

“It’s too hot in the trailer,” he responded.

“That’s why we’re getting some air.  They’ll be fine.”

Inside the truck Jose was picking his fingernails clean with a pocketknife, listening to a police scanner for signs of trouble.  Suddenly, he heard it.  Over the police scanner, a state trooper was asking for confirmation of the tag numbers on the truck Jose was driving.  He had a possible match at a truck stop, but after the info was relayed to him, he confirmed it was not the correct truck.  “That’s a negative.  It doesn’t have temporary tags and no trailer,” the officer said.

Shit!
He jumped from his seat and ran to Miss Lydia who was sitting at a separate picnic table from the girls, trying to decide the best place to go.

“Mama,” he told her.  “They know about the truck.  I just heard it over the scanner.  They’ve got all its information and they know about the trailer.”

Miss Lydia cursed.  They had little chance of continuing west now without being seen, even at night.  The police would be looking everywhere for them, and even the truckers out on the roads would know what to look for.  The minute they passed someone, they’d take one look at the truck with the metal trailer and it’d be over. 
It’s time to make the hard decisions,
she decided.  The only chance was to lose the trailer and make a run for Juarez.  But what to do with the girls?  She couldn’t fit them in the truck, and even if she could, at this point she didn’t trust them to keep their mouths shut if something happened. 
They’ll give us up to the police the first chance they get,
she thought.  She pulled Jose aside and began whispering to him.

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Catalina asked the other girls, spying the furtive meeting being held and taking note of Jose’s inability to keep from glancing at the girls as his mother spoke to him in inaudible tones.

“Probably where to go,” said Silvia.  “Do you think they’ll let us go?”

“Not her,” said Imelda, referring to Miss Lydia.  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I smell trouble.  Yesenia must have called the police.  That’s why they’re running.”  As she watched the old woman, she began to have suspicions they might be planning something terrible.  She took the opportunity to visit with Arnulfo, with whom she’d always had something of a friendship.  “Arnulfo, what are they talking about?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “Just go back with the other girls.  Don’t bring attention to yourself.”

“But Arnulfo, look at them.  They’re up to something.”

“I’ll find out,” he told her, “but please, go back with the other girls.  Now is not the time to risk getting Miss Lydia upset.  She’s already on edge.”

Imelda did as she was told, but she picked up that Arnulfo was also worried.  He might even be scared, which made her even more concerned.  “Something’s up,” she told the other girls, “but he doesn’t know what.”

Eventually, Miss Lydia walked over to the girls, speaking in her false grandmotherly voice.  “Well, it seems things have not gone as we hoped.  You girls have been like a second family to me, but Yesenia has sold us all down the river.  I’m sad to say we’ll all have to say goodbye soon.”  She acted as though she was close to tears over the matter, but Imelda wasn’t fooled. 
What is she up to?
She wondered.  “I have decided to go home to Mexico,” she told the girls.  “We’ll all drive down to El Paso and from there, you girls can go where you wish.  Your debts are all forgiven.  You’re free to go where you like.  As for me, this old woman is going to go back to the village where I lived as a young girl.”

The others looked at each other skeptically.  Could it be true?  Were they all going to be released in El Paso? 
Then what?
Silvia asked herself.  She had no desire to continue living as a prostitute, but she had no place to go, either.  She had no papers and would surely be deported as soon as someone stopped her.  Still, what was the worst that would happen?  She might get sent back to Mexico?  Her old life was a hell of a lot better than the life she’d found in the north.  She just wanted to be free now.  She didn’t care where.

As she looked around, she saw the other girls were also trying to absorb the news.  Catalina’s eyes were bright with excitement, as were Maria and Isabel’s, but Imelda looked disturbed.  “So come on, now,” continued Miss Lydia.  “Let’s go ahead and get going.”

“Miss Lydia, it’s the middle of the day.  It’ll be too hot in the trailer,” said Arnulfo.

She gave him a sharp look.  “It’ll only be for a little while.  We need to start moving.”

Imelda gave him a look that said,
I do not want to ride in that thing in this heat,
but he only shrugged his shoulders.

Jose herded the girls back into the cramped trailer and they all climbed in.  Imelda was the last to go in and she made sure to give Jose a look which clearly let him know she’d be perfectly content if he went straight to hell.  She also gave one to Arnulfo.  “This is such bullshit,” she told the other girls as Jose clamped the doors shut and locked them in.

“It’s only for a little while longer,” said Catalina.  “Then we don’t have to deal with them anymore,” she added with a whisper.

The truck started up and pulled out of the campground, the girls bumping along as it went, but before heading back to the main road, Miss Lydia pointed to a dirt road and the truck turned down it.  “Where are you going?” Arnulfo asked.

“Back way,” was all she replied.

Only a few minutes later the truck went down a small incline and Miss Lydia told Jose to stop.  Arnulfo said nothing but in his mind he was becoming very concerned with these odd actions.  The three got out of the truck and Jose went to the back and began unhitching the trailer from the truck.  “What are you doing?”  Jose used all his strength to pull the little trailer back a few inches and then the trailer tongue dropped to the ground, the girls jostled hard with the thump.  “I said what are you doing?”

Miss Lydia stood next to him and put her hands on his shoulders in that false grandmotherly way she conjured so often.  “It’s the only way,” she told him.  “The police are watching for the trailer and we can’t trust the girls anymore.”

As the realization of what Miss Lydia was planning set in, Arnulfo’s eyes widened.  “No!  You can’t just leave them!  Not in this heat.”

“They’ll be fine,” she told him.  “Park patrol will probably be along soon and see them.”

“But why lock them in?”

“Because, we need time to make it to the border.  If we don’t, the girls will flag someone down and call the police.  We’re not trying to hurt them, we just need some time.”

But Arnulfo wasn’t buying it.  “But there’s nobody else out here!  Why not at least leave them at the campground, not here!  There’s nothing here!  They’ll die in there.”

“They’ll be fine,” Miss Lydia assured him.  “Come now, let’s be on our way.”

“No!” he yelled, so loud that inside the truck the girls heard it, too.

“Arnulfo?” Imelda asked.  “What’s going on out there?”

“Stop it, Arnulfo,” Miss Lydia hissed.  “You’re going to get them all excited.”

“Miss Lydia, please.  We’re in the desert and so far from the trail.  How will anyone find them in the next few hours?  They won’t.  You know they won’t.  You can’t do this.  We can’t do this.”

“Get in the truck,” said Jose, walking up behind Miss Lydia.

“I’m not going to leave them here,” said Arnulfo.  “Not like this.  Please, let’s just leave the door open.  They can walk back to the park entrance or something.  It’ll take them hours, at least.  Why can’t we just do that?”

Miss Lydia glared at him.  “You’re just one of the girls, aren’t you?” she said maliciously.  Arnulfo looked stunned.  “Don’t think I don’t know,” she told him.  “I’ve always known about you.  You don’t think I know some of the places you’ve gone to for your little outings?”  Jose said nothing, confused at the exchange but ready to do whatever his mother wished in an instant.  “You’ve forgotten your place.  Which is it, Arnulfo?  Are you going to be one of the girls or are you coming with us?”  He said nothing.  “Get in the truck,” she warned him.

Arnulfo decided.  He glared back her.  “What’s the matter with you?  You’ve always been a bitter old woman, but this is too much.  We’re not going to leave these girls to die in this heat.  Now open the trailer.”

“Or what?” asked Jose, pulling his pistol from his belt.

Arnulfo stared at him.

“Hold on,” said Miss Lydia.  “Let’s not get carried away.”  She kept her eyes on Arnulfo.  “It’s them or us, Arnulfo.  You can come with us to the border, or you can be locked in with them.  Think carefully.”

He did.  He knew Jose was fully capable of shooting him and he also didn’t want to be left here with the girls, either.  There had to be a way.  “Fine,” he told them.  “We’ll leave them.  But we have to call the park when we reach El Paso and tell them where they are . . . the moment we get there.”

“Of course,” said Miss Lydia.  But as she turned, Arnulfo saw the twinkle in her eye, as though she were almost winking at Jose.  He knew it was a lie.  Miss Lydia had no intentions of calling the park rangers.  Not only did she know full well that it was unlikely the girls would be found that day, or possibly even the next day, the old woman was counting on it.  She was getting rid of evidence.  She wanted them to die in that trailer.

As Jose turned to walk towards the truck, Arnulfo reached into his own belt to pull his gun, but Miss Lydia saw him and called out, “Jose!”

Jose whirled around and saw Arnulfo pulling the pistol.  He fired one shot and it hit Arnulfo in the chest.  He fell to the ground, his ivory bolo covered in blood.

“Why’d you do that?” Miss Lydia yelled at the dying Arnulfo, walking over and standing over him, “
Idiota
!  Why!?”

His only answer was his last exhale.

Inside the trailer, the girls had heard the gunshot.  It seemed Imelda knew immediately what had happened.  “Arnulfo!?” she tried to yell through the metal chamber.  “Arnulfo!”

“What happened?” asked Silvia.  “Did they shoot him?”

Jose could hear Imelda’s cries.  “We should just get rid of all of them right now,” he told his mother.

“No, someone may have heard that gunshot.  Let’s just get out of here,” said Miss Lydia.  And they quickly got back into the truck, desert sand taking flight as they sped away.

  “Arnulfo!?” Imelda yelled one more time, but only the silence answered.  She began to cry, as did the other girls, both for Arnulfo who’d tried to help them, and because they now knew they’d been left to die in the trailer.