Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller by Michael L. Weems

sitting.
    “It has to look right.  What if this man’s family comes to visit and notices someone’s been digging?  They might call the police, and the police may check the grave.  We can’t have any mistakes.  Otherwise , it’ll be us that are buried next.  You said it yourself.  Your boss is a crazy asshole.  Hell, we’re all dead men either way if we get caught.  If your boss doesn’t do it, the cops will.”  There was a slight pause, and then the man sitting stood up and began to help.  After a few minutes the one in gold said, “There, that’s good enough.  I’ve had enough of this.  Let’s go.”  The two men walked off, leaving the boys dazed in the darkness.
    “Who do you think they were?” asked Juan.
    “I don’t know,” said Julio.
    “Were they grave robbers?”
    “No,” said Julio.  “They were here to bury that body.”
    Juan seemed to think about this.  “Do you think they murdered her?”
    “Yes,” said Julio.
    Juan sat on his butt and leaned against the tomb they’d been hiding behind.  “Should we tell the police?”
    Julio looked at him.  “No.  We can’t tell anyone,” he told Juan sternly.
    “But they murdered someone,” Juan said.
    “Did you see their clothes?” asked Julio.  “They’re gangsters.  If they knew we saw them, they’d kill us, too.  We can’t tell anyone what we just saw.  Understand?”  Juan nodded his head, but it didn’t seem to Julio that Juan understood how precarious their situation was.  “I’m serious,” warned Julio.  “If we tell the police, then they’ll come get the body and those gangsters will know someone saw them. They’ll come looking for us and if they find us, they’ll kill us and hide our bodies just like that woman.”  Juan’s eyes got big and Julio knew he understood now.  “So we were never here and we didn’t see anything, right?”  Juan nodded.  “Say it,” Julio told him.
    “We were never here and we didn’t see anything.”
    “That’s right.  Now let’s get out of here.  They might come back again.”

Chapter 13
    Shortly after midnight, the black Suburban turned down a dirt road.  They had been crisscrossing back roads to avoid any law enforcement, even once cutting through a field when Hector became nervous about headlights ahead.  All the while Yesenia and Silvia had sat in silence.  Silvia kept looking at Yesenia with questioning eyes, and Yesenia had made the gesture of a gun and pointed back to the horror they’d left behind.  Slowly, Silvia began to realize what had happened.  She and Yesenia let their eyes do the rest of the talking to one another.
    At the end of the dirt road they came to a crude fence with rectangular structures ahead of it.   As they approached two large Rottweilers greeted them barking aggressively.  Jose got out and called to one of the dogs, “ Hola, Chico .”  The animals seemed to recognize their master and began wagging their tails.  The man then opened the fence and the Suburban continued on into a little clearing where four very old mobile homes sat in a makeshift compound.  An old woman wearing a muumuu and smoking a cigarette came out of one of the mobile homes followed by a man who looked similar to the two young men who had driven Yesenia and Silvia.  The girls were dismayed to see he was armed with a pistol sticking out of his jeans.
    The old woman moved like a cow, her chin tucked downward and her stride heavy and slow as her slippers shuffled along, the cigarette held between yellowed fingertips before she flicked it away.  Behind her, the younger man walked leisurely with a caballero swagger, sharkskin boots on his feet and an ivory bolero around his neck.
    The old woman walked over and kissed Jose on the cheek in greeting.  “Everything good?” she asked.
    He held his head down slightly.  “No, we had problems.  It’s bad.”
    “What kind of problems?” asked the old woman as Hector got out of the vehicle as