Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (20 page)

That night Armando ran her a hot bath filled with white, fluffy bubbles and complete with a candle in the corner.  When Ricky had to step in to use the facilities, he smirked, “Dude, really?”

“Shut up.  She’ll like it.”

He led her to her oasis by the hand and she reacted with an “Awww.”  She was wearing shorts and stepped inside and waded around, played with the bubbles a bit while Armando sat on the toilet with its lids down and watched her for a moment.  “This is sweet,” she said.  He smiled.

She looked at him wondering what to think of this guy.  On one hand, he was another horny guy, not unlike some she’d known back home.  On the other, he was kind, intelligent, and very openhearted.  He’d taken her away from the brothel and into his home, despite her being a prostitute.  Something she could not have seen herself doing if the roles were reversed.  Until she became one, she’d had no empathy for prostitutes.  After a moment he said, “Well, enjoy.  I gotta take off.  I got class,” he said, leaving her to undress in privacy and relax in her spa treatment.  “I’ll make sure Ricky doesn’t try to walk in on you,” he added before closing the door behind him.  He’d caught his younger brother staring at Yesenia more than once.  He wouldn’t put it past his bro to ‘accidentally’ walk into the bathroom.

What am I to do?
she wondered.

After her bath she toweled off and put on some new clothes Armando had gotten for her earlier.  She laughed when she saw herself in the full-length mirror.  It was nice having something new to wear.  She’d had to recycle the same four pair of underwear for the last three weeks and was glad to be rid of them.

She watched TV with Ricky for a bit, who she noticed was stealing the occasional glance at her legs, before excusing herself to go to sleep early.

Just as she was dozing off she felt Armando slip in beside her, his arm gentle around her waist and his nose nuzzling her hair, inhaling softly.  “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.  That shampoo makes it smell even nicer,” he told her.  “Not that it wasn’t nice before. “  He seemed embarrassed by his own compliment.  “I’m not trying to imply you smelled bad or anything.”

She giggled.  “I did smell bad.  It’s okay, I know.  I really needed a good bath.”  She felt clean for the first time in a month.  “I never felt clean even after a shower back at that place.  You could never feel clean there.”

Armando turned on a small television in the room.  “Try not to think about it,” he said.  “The past is past and tomorrow is another day.”

She smiled, “Yeah, it is.”  She looked up at the small television screen and saw a picture of a man in uniform.  He was black, young, with a square jaw and a focused expression.  “Who’s that?” she asked.

He looked over.  “Oh, it’s just the news,” he told her.  “That’s some trooper that got shot a while back.  I can’t believe they’re still running this story.”  To Yesenia’s horror, the picture changed to a grainy video of a dark colored SUV parked along the highway.  “Watch this part,” said Armando.  “This is messed up.”  The trooper was walking back towards his car, but turned around and went back to the window.  Then a flash of light like a camera or miniature arc of lightning erupted inside the vehicle, and the screen went black before the trooper fell.  Then the video appeared again as a shadowy figure ran around the front of the SUV.  The trooper had fallen just off camera, only his boots visible.  Yesenia began to tremble as she realized what she was watching.  She knew that if it hadn’t been for the dark tint on the back of the windows of that SUV, she might well catch a glimpse of herself.  “Crazy, huh?” said Armando sadly.  Yesenia began to shake.

“Are you okay?” Armando asked.  “You’re shaking.”

"I’m . . . I’m just scared is all.”  She suddenly realized she had tears coming down her cheeks.  “I don’t know what those people from the brothel will do if they find me.”

He wiped her tears away, “Hey,” he said.  “Don’t cry.  It’s going to be all right.  Nobody’s going to find you here.”

“I know,” she said, although she had her doubts.

She looked back at the news report as it ended . . . “Authorities are still searching for leads,” remarked the reporter before a commercial took over.  She didn’t dare tell Armando the truth.  She had no idea what might happen to her if she did.  Would she be sent to prison?  Even if not, they’d at least send her back to Mexico.  And then she’d have people after her.  People like the coyote with the strange eyes.  People like Miss Lydia’s son, Jose.

“You’re okay,” he told her.  “Nobody’s going to hurt you here,” he promised, “and you can stay as long you like.  I’ll take care of you.”

Catherine was back in Cancun and had met Matt at the hotel.  It was less awkward than their first meeting.  This time they exchanged a brief hug again as she set her luggage down and pinched Julio’s cheek.  “Have you two boys been behaving yourselves?” she asked.

“Yes,” Julio assured.

“We’ve been sharing some war stories,” Matt added.

Catherine wasn’t amused.  “I certainly hope not.”

“Just a few.”

Catherine felt Julio’s head and had a good look at him.  “You’re doing a lot better,” she told him.

“I feel a lot better.  How much longer are we going to stay here?” he asked.  He’d enjoyed the hotel room at first, a good place to sleep, safe, not to mention it had room service, something he took to rather quickly.  But now that his leg was feeling better he was growing restless.

“Well, that’s a good question,” Catherine told him.  “Let’s talk about that.”  They ordered up some food and were just about to sit down to discuss what came next when Catherine’s prepaid cell phone rang.  It was Ramirez.

“Ms. James, I’m sorry to bother you but I have some information for you.”

“Oh?”

“Is there any way that you can meet me?  Not in my office, but out somewhere where we can talk a little more freely without having to worry if others are listening in on us.”

Catherine was intrigued, “Where did you have in mind?”

“There’s a little
taqueria
on Del Mar and CiFuentes.  I could meet you there.”

“When?”

“Can you meet me now?  I think we should talk sooner rather than later.”

“Sure,” she told him.  He gave Catherine directions.  “I guess I have to take a rain check, boys,” she told Matt and Julio.  “I’ve got a hot date.”

“I’ll go with you,” Matt said.

“No, better not.  Can you wait here?  It’s the Detective on the case and he wants to talk.  I’m not sure he’ll be quite as open if you’re there scaring the hell out of him.  Plus, I don’t think he wants to see any new faces.  It sounds like he’s got something on his mind.”

They were speaking English so Matt didn’t have to worry about Julio.  “Catherine, I’ve been watching out for the kid here the last couple of days, which I don’t mind, but that’s not why I came here.  I’m not here to babysit.  I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know,” she told him.  “Just this time.  I need him to feel comfortable enough to share whatever he’s got.  Then we’ll figure out a safe place for Julio
so you and I can start having a look around.”  Matt wasn’t satisfied.  “Please,” she told him.  “I don’t want to leave Julio here alone, either.  He may not act like it, but he’s a scared kid and who can blame him.”

“Okay,” he said.  “But hurry back.  And be careful,” he added as she stepped out the door.

At 3:00 she met Ramirez and the two sat down over a late lunch.  “You’ve got good timing, Detective,” she told him.

“How’s that?”

“Never mind.  So why are we meeting here?” asked Catherine.  “Not that I mind.  I’m just a little curious is all.  Who, exactly, are we avoiding?”

Ramirez thumbed his mustache as he did when thinking.  “I’m in a precarious situation, Ms. James.  I have information but am not being allowed to act on it.  My superiors are concerned with how this information could affect the city’s image.  Anymore negative publicity and we could see the tourism income drop off completely, and that would devastate the local economy.  Nothing scares my superiors more.”

“I see,” said Catherine, entirely not surprised.  “And you?”

Ramirez looked at her, “I’m here, yes?  I think catching the criminals instead of pretending they don’t exist is the best thing for the city.  But I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.  Not right now, at least.  Not while my hands are tied.”

She eyed him suspiciously.  “Do you know who they are?”

“We know one,” said Ramirez.  “Alberto Thomas, the shooter in the market.  He’s a member of a gang in Mexico City called the Barrio Boys.”

Yes! 
She thought. 
Finally, a lead. 
“The Barrio Boys?  And you’re familiar with them?”

He nodded.  “There was a popular band in the early
90s by the same name.  I assure you this isn’t them,
señora
.  These guys are about as bad as it gets.”

“This Alberto Thomas, I take it he has a record?”

Ramirez pushed a file towards Catherine, “Oh, yes, though nothing recent.  His last arrest was in 2003 on suspicion of murder, but it was dropped for lack of evidence.  There was a witness but apparently that witness ended up dead in a dumpster not long after giving the police his account of what happened to his friend.”

Catherine picked up the file and thumbed through it.  “What do you know about these people?”

Ramirez looked around as if concerned someone might be eavesdropping.  “Ms. James, before we go any further I need to ask you something.  Do you really want to get involved in this?”

“Of course,” said Catherine.  “I’m already involved.  I want as much information as you can give me.”

He ran his fingers over his mustache again.  “They’re more than a gang, they’re organized crime.  They started out some years back like any other gang, pick pocketing tourists, robbing stores, carjacking, things like that, but they’ve stepped things up considerably in recent years.  They’ve gotten more organized and more ruthless.  They’re killers, Ms. James.  There’s really no better way to describe them.  They don’t care who you are, who you know, man, woman, young, old, they just don’t care.  From what I’ve learned, that reputation has acquired them a position as muscle for a larger organization now.”

“Cartel?” she asked.

He nodded again.  “It’s always about the drugs these days, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, sadly.  “They run illegal smuggling of just about everything, including people.  They have one of the largest immigration operations in Mexico.  Then there are the drugs from South America, counterfeit goods from Panama, kidnappings, and murders, pretty much anything that turns a high profit.  These are very dangerous people, Ms. James.  They have a lot of members, money, guns, connections, and they have no fear of the law.”

“What kind of connections?”

“I would say some of the street police, at least.  Probably some of the higher-ranking officials.  It’s hard to say, really.  What I can tell you is this: every time we arrest one of these bastards, the charges are always dropped.  Either there’s not enough evidence, no witnesses, or they have a rock solid alibi.  They’re more connected than your average gang.”

“So you can’t really touch these guys is what you’re saying.”

The words offended Ramirez, true though they may be.  “Look, I’ve done some checking on you.  I visited your office website and made some inquiries.”  His tone bordered on an accusation.  “You’re not really a private investigator, are you, Ms. James?  You’re some sort of legal consultant.”

“I never tried to hide my occupation,” said Catherine, wondering where this was going.

“Just what kind of consulting do you do?”

“Risk management, mostly,” she told him.

He scoffed, “Risk management?  You don’t seem very good at your job, then.”

“And what makes you say that?”

He leaned over the table.  “Do you have any idea what you’re getting involved in?  This isn’t just some thug street gang that attacked you in the market.  These people are cartel.  You may not know what that means, but I assure there is a difference.  Gangs are disorganized, violent but skittish in the face of government authority.  Cartels aren’t.  They kill cops in broad daylight, judges on the steps of the courthouse.  They blow people up in their cars, poison others in a crowded restaurant when they’re out for a nice dinner with their family.  You’re a businesswoman, Ms. James.  I must say you handle yourself very well, but you’re still a businesswoman.”

“I know, Detective,” she said.  He huffed indignantly.  “I do know,” she said again.  “I’m out of my league,” she admitted.  “I recognize that.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked.  “Why are you back down here?  You can’t go around looking for these people.  Believe me, I’ve seen what they do to people who go looking for them.  It’s beyond your imagining what they’re capable of doing.”

She closed the file and leaned over the table.  “Tell me, Detective.  What would you have me do?  Let them get away with it?  I appreciate you sharing this information with me, but I’m not sure what your motivations are.  If it is your intent to convince me that these are dangerous people and I should go home, then I need to let you know up front that’s not going to happen.  I’m not leaving here until I find the people who murdered Taylor Woodall.  And as for me acknowledging my lack of experience in these particular matters, that’s not to say that I am without resources, Detective.  The first rule in business is to find the right resources, and I’m exceptionally good at that.”

They locked eyes for a moment.  Then Ramirez leaned a bit forward as well.  “My motivations, Ms. James, are to let you know what kind of people you are looking for.  You may not want to find them.”

“They’re the ones who started this,” reminded Catherine.

“And they would gladly finish it if you give them the opportunity.”

“So would I!” she said, now rising half out of her seat. 
Who the hell does this guy think he is!? 
“I’m not leaving until they’re caught!  Period!  And if your people aren’t going to do their job then you can bet your ass I will!”  She slammed her hand down on the table hard.  “They don’t get to get away with this one, Detective.  Do you understand me?  Not this time!  I don’t care who they are.  And I’m not going to sit here and listen to you try to intimidate me.  If these people think I’m just such an easy target then let them come give it a try.  Oh, wait, that’s right.  They already have, haven’t they?  That’s what’s wrong with you all down here.  You let these groups get too big, too powerful, and now they’re running amok while you all hide in your little cubby holes pretending not to notice.  It’s a disgrace.”

Ramirez leaned back again and softened his tone.  “Yes,” he told her, “you’re right, I’m afraid.  And it is a disgrace.”  He motioned for her to sit back down.  “I know how you are feeling right now, Ms. James.”

“Like hell you do,” she spat, still furious at him.  “I’m getting real tired of hearing what the authorities can’t do around here, Detective.  I refuse to believe that your entire government can’t do a damn thing about these people.“

“Believe me, I do understand.  Some of us are trying, Ms. James.  And I know all too well the price of our failures.”  He reached into the pocket of his sport jacket and pulled out a photograph, worn and creased.  He handed it to Catherine.  “Her name was Anna Cruz.”  Catherine took the photo.  It was a young girl with a bright smile and thick brown hair.  “She lived in Chetumel with her mother, Juanita.  A few months ago, Juanita asked Anna to go to the store for her, but on her way there three gang members snatched her off the street in front of a dozen witnesses.  They gang raped her and then sodomized her with a metal pipe one of them had been using to beat her with.”  His voice trailed off.

“She died?” asked Catherine.

“Twelve days,” said Ramirez.  “Twelve days she survived in the hospital, and Juanita wouldn’t leave her side.  I’ve seen many cases, Ms. James, too many cases in Juarez and now even here in Cancun, but Juanita was a fighter.  When her daughter died, she went to the police for help.  When she didn’t get it, she called me.  I sat with her, as I am sitting with you, now.”  He stared at his coffee, a look of shame crossing his face.  “I told her much of what I just told you, but she didn’t listen.  I tried to help but the police had nothing on the men.  We all knew it was them, everyone knew, but nobody would make a formal statement or testify.  Whenever I tried to talk to people, they ran from me, as though I were the criminal.  They ran in fear of their lives, because they knew if they talked to me the cartel would kill them.  And so when she asked me if we were going to catch the men that had killed her daughter, I made the worst mistake of all.”

“What’d you do?” Catherine asked.

He took back the photograph.  “I told her the truth.  Not long after, she bought a gun and went after the men that had killed her daughter.”

Catherine began to suspect where the story was going.  “And did she find them?”

“No.”  He locked eyes with her.  “They found her.”  Ramirez picked up his napkin and began twisting it in his fingers.  “They heard she was looking for them and found out where she lived, and then attacked her in her own apartment.  They beat her to death with, what else?  A metal pipe.”  Through the window, Ramirez watched a moped as it sped down the street.  “I imagine they thought it was pretty funny.  Neighbors certainly heard the attack, but
for 20 minutes they beat Juanita to death in that apartment while her neighbors hid behind closed doors, pretending not to hear.  Nobody would help her,” he said, “and nobody would talk afterwards.”  He looked at her with a look she recognized.  Detective Ramirez had known numb as well.  “Juanita was my sister, Ms. James.  It was my niece they murdered, my own flesh and blood.  And I did nothing.  My own sister had to take it upon herself to bring justice to those men.  But it should have been me.  I should have done what needed to be done in the first place and my sister would still be alive today.”