One of the advantages of day shift in such a remote location is that there are always vehicles available. Most of the real work happens after dusk. The hunt. The relentless waves of desperate, starving and often persecuted but hopeful immigrants that will try and move heaven and hell to enter the US and apply for asylum status. I didn’t have the heart to tell Jane that Vanessa would most likely be scooped up with the next batch that the agents bring back in the early hours of the morning. Sometimes it would just be one or two but often it would be trucks filled with people who had given every penny they had to a Coyote with the promise of safe passage to the US.

Unfortunately, only very few meet the criteria which would allow them to seek asylum in the US. All others get swept-up, shipped off to detention centres before being processed and deported. But who knows what today will still surprise me with?

I followed the near invisible track for three miles. My tyres spraying fountains of sand in the air before the voice of my GPS announced: “You have reached your destination”. I had changed the voice to British, also a Jane. Must be a common name in Britain. I switched off the engine and looked around. The heat was already shimmering in mirage form on the horizon and the heat, climbing out of an airconditioned cruiser crashed into me like an Acme fifty-ton anvil drooping onto my head. The heat was stifling. Draining. I instantly felt my pores open and beads of sweat pooling into streams and running down my back.

I could clearly see where Jane had camped. Everywhere were footprints and I guessed she may have had some camping furniture set up from some of the dimpled impressions on the ground. Equidistant like from a small table. So far things checked out. Up ahead the ground sloped away from me. Downward, hiding its view. I stepped forward to see if there was anything below and, Jackpot. Two bodies. Maybe twelve feet apart. Covered in sand and dirt. Neither moving. Slip and fall my ass, I thought.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

As I got closer my suspicions were confirmed. Both men had at least a broken kneecap and one’s foot was pointing backward. Clearly sheared off internally with torn ligaments and muscle tissue damage. All non-fatal, except for the bullet holes in the back of their skulls. There was no point in checking and compromising the scene. Both men were dead. I could see muzzle stifling around the entry wounds which was a sign that both men had been shot at close range, execution style. I counted at least three different footprints around the bodies and noticed some other tyre tacks nearby.

All around me I could see rocks, dry grass patches and miles of desolate, undulating sun scorched planes that turned mountainous in the horizon. A scene began to form in my head. Coyotes often make their ‘cargo’ walk across the unforgiving land under the same unofficial motto as the French Foreign Legion’s, “March or die”. All I could think of that Vanessa had been travelling under the cover of darkness with a group. They mostly travel at night, under the cover of darkness, and All I could think of is that Vanessa had managed to escape from the main group. Frick and Frack had been sent after her. Found her but Jane refused to hand her back and a scuffle broke out that left Frick and Frack incapacitated. After some time, others were sent out to look for the duo and Vanessa and instead of helping their comrades they cut their losses and killed them. While running the scene through my head the questions in my mind kept multiplying like surfers in the water when the waves are peaking. The first being, who the fuck is Jane.

I used my radio and reported in the bodies to the local PD. Incidents that occur on US soil are their jurisdiction, unless evidence is found that links offenders to other immigration or national security threats. All that time I questioned why am I always the one that ends up picking up the crap? Politics. Red tape. I was still a detective at heart and knew these were Coyote’s. So, let me do some investigating. But no, USBP only get involved while they’re still breathing and walking around without a visa or green card. Two scumbags down do not even scratch the surface of the problems in my opinion. Not when there are thousands standing waiting in line to take their place. Round and round, we go.