West of Laredo by Tom Armbruster (novel24 .txt) 📖

it sure as hell has an exclamation point at the end. They don't usually go for Americans, especially not that young. But the information seems solid that Fatima Ramirez and Luis Hernandiz are buried at Ramos's place. Here's the address -- 1111 Chattahoochee Avenue. Good luck. I'd tell you more about how we obtained this information, but I have to protect sources and methods. You understand."


"Yea, thanks James. I understand, and frankly I don't care how you get the information, I'm just really glad you do." Farrington calls his employees back in.

"All right. How do we get Fatima and Dice out of Ramos' backyard?" Farrington looks up.

Miguel, a roly poly visa adjudicator who will soon be going to prison speaks up. "It's like a search warrant, you have to talk to the judge with jurisdiction. Then if he gives the approval, the city will send a team to dig. I can call and get the Judge on the phone."

The team waits two minutes while Miguel puts the call through. Farrington conducts the call in Spanish. Lee listens anxiously. She wants Dice and Fatima recovered.


"Judge Maldanado, a pleasure to talk with you,” Farrington says. Yes, this recent violence is regrettable, and regretably I'm calling because this latest case involves Americans. I have good information, the very best, that they are buried at 1111 Chattahoochee Avenue. I need your approval to have their bodies recovered for their families." There is a long pause.

"No. No, you have the authority, we do not need Mexico City's approval, but I can tell you the Ambassador is following this case very closely, and he will be in El Presidente's Office with a demarche to have those bodies recovered and he will have a complaint lodged against you personally if you do not sign off today. I need and expect your cooperation, for the sake of those families. Seriously!" Farrington hung up.


Lee sits stunned. Consul Farrington was threatening Maldanado. He was angry. You could see the vein in his forehead. And he was throwing the Ambassador's name around not having spoken a word yet to Mexico City about the deaths. It was a total bluff as far as Lee could see. She had only seen Farrington at official events, making nice, speaking fluent, beautiful accented Spanish. On the phone he made grammatical mistakes, his accent was purely American, and he was not making nice at all.

"I think he'll do it. Who's duty officer tonight? Miguel? Be ready for a call. Call me as soon as there is any word. Lee you be ready tonight too. Sorry. I've got an engagement on the U.S. side till 8 p.m. Call my cell and I'll be over." Farrington walks out.


The call comes just after 7:30. It's Miguel. "Sir. We have the permit. They tell us there is a good chance the house is booby trapped with explosives. I don't know if you should come."

"Look," Farrington says, "Meet me at Chattachoochee. Don't go to the house, not yet. Let's let the cops open it up. The bridge looked a little backed up coming over, have Lee go with you. Be safe."


Farrington closes his phone and exchanges a look with his wife. "I have to go."

She squeezes his hand and he's gone.

The intersection where Lee and Miguel are to meet Farrington is blocked. Mexican army troops have an armored vehicle in the way. They decide to try to get access to the Ramos house. Penny shows her diplomatic carnet. The wooden roadblock is moved and they drive to the house. Park and enter the front door, just as the first group of officials is going in. Lee and Miguel look at each other. Miguel goes first. No bomb. No booby trap.


The house itself is not over-the-top nouveau riche drug baron. The art inside is. Naked women. Panthers. All rather poor taste in Lee's opinion. They go through the house quickly and are in the backyard.

Lights are set up, two men with shovels begin the job. Somehow, they know where to dig. It's the northeast corner of the yard. A well dressed man approaches Lee. "You know I could be next because of this."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm Judge Maldanado. I gave the order to dig. People are not going to be happy. I hope you get your Americans back." He turns and walks out.

Lee calls after him. "Thank you Judge, you've done quite a service for your community and we appreciate your courage."

The judge holds up a hand but doesn't turn around. Lee can't tell if the gesture means 'your welcome,' or stop talking before you really have me killed. She regrets speaking out loud.


Farrington comes in and stops the judge on his way out, pulling him aside, still gripping his hand. Quietly he says, "Judge, if you need to get to the other side, we can help you. I know what you did today wasn't easy. Here's my card, my personal cell number, and home number. Call me. We're grateful."

"Thank you. I appreciate it, but you know I can't leave."

"I understand, but things can change. Just let us know."

"This will never end."

Farrington nods and lets him go. He then makes the rounds, shaking hands with everyone in the courtyard, including the men with the shovels who are beginning to joke with the police. It dawns on Lee that this is just a normal day for them.


They dig for an hour with no physical result but the smell of death permeates the courtyard. Lee sits as far from the hole as possible. The Mexicans continue to joke. Miguel is talking with some of the police. Farrington is on the phone with the FBI. Then the crowd shifts to the hole. Lee is drawn in. She sees a young man's naked back. Twenty minutes later both corpses are on the ground. She knows she will have to identify the bodies, and she wants none of the problems she had to face with Marker. She looks for tatoos. Anything. Luis is identifiable, but mutilated, tortured, and clearly shot in the head. The girl is unrecognizable. No hair, her face is battered, the area around the eyes swollen. She is not the beautiful girl from the picture, that's for sure, but she is slight, as she was on horseback. Clara will have to identify her. Lee calls. Clara still holds out hope that it is someone else, but she is relieved to have some news. They all agree to meet at the morgue in an hour.


Miguel has faded to the background. Lee can see that he looks a bit green and asks if he is ok. Miguel chokes down a swallow, gulps some air and waves her off, as if to say 'I'm fine.' But Lee can see he is not fine. Miguel sits with his back to the courtyard wall and puts his head between his knees. Lee leaves him to recuperate the best he can.


*31*


Clara comes alone. She had been talking with the FBI and knew the worst was possible. She is alone with her daughter for maybe 10 minutes. She comes out. Quietly she says, "I'm not sure. I'm not sure. Maybe it's not Fatima. They said they would do some tests." Consul Farrington takes her arm and escorts her to his car. He motions to Miguel to arrange for Clara's car to be driven back over to Laredo. He helps her into the passenger seat and they leave.

The sun is just coming up as Lee gets home. She is a bit unsteady. Unsure of what to do. Usman is in the garden already. "I have to beat the heat today!" He calls out brightly.

"Usman." Lee is not able to say more.

"Are you alright Miss Lee?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I just... please, burn my clothes. We found two missing Americans last night. They were dead."

"Throw your clothes outside in a plastic bag. I'll take care of them."

"Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you Usman." Lee would have put her hand on his arm, but didn't want to touch anything or anyone until she had been in a hot shower. She takes her clothes off, throws them in a plastic bag and out of the window. She doesn't look for Usman. She goes into the shower, turns it as hot as possible and sits in the bath, washing, over and over. Then she begins to shake.


*32*


Lee feels drained, but better after the shower. Changes into shorts and a t-shirt and goes downstairs to bring in J.O. Usman is already done for the day. A few cut flowers lie on the table, his tools are neatly put away, and he is dressed for the street, his gardening clothes in a backpack. Lee notices that he has moved the birdbath to the shade and that a finch is actually perched on it.

"Oh, I forgot to pay you in Monterrey." Lee manages a smile.

"Nevermind. Next week."

"But you might not be here next week. It could be Isola. Come upstairs. I'll get my wallet."


Usman follows her upstairs. Lee pours a glass of watermelon juice, sandia, that she made earlier in the week. "Come sit in the front room."

They sit and Lee pays him. She relaxes on the couch. She begins to