Across the Border

ACROSS THE BORDER By Cheryl Robbins Berg Foreword Most of the characters and the storyline in this book are fictional. I conducted research into the drug wars which are raging in Mexico, the United States, and other Central and South American countries, and included factual information to make the story realistic. The reader will recognize the names of some of our nation’s leaders, such as President Barack Obama, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano. Also, I reference Mexico’s President Felipe’ Calderon. Many of the cities, towns, and businesses described herein are also real. However, none of the names of the drug lords are in any way accurate, nor are any of the other characters in the book. This is a work of fiction. Prologue She lifted her foot from the accelerator and slammed it onto the brake, as she cranked the wheel hard to the right. Taking the corner on two wheels, the BMW then bounced back onto all fours and shot down the darkened side street. She glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the lights of the SUV that was chasing her careen around the corner only split seconds behind her. “Crap,” Charity muttered. “Crap, crap, crap. . .” Her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her heart pounding in her chest, she whipped the car left into an alley and barreled down it, praying that no one would step into the street carrying a trash can or leading a dog on a leash. Behind her, lights turned into the alley and the other car bore down on her. She shot out of the alley, screeching sideways on “M” Street, and tried to correct the out-of-control fishtailing. But she could not. As the car whipped around for the third time, it jumped the sidewalk. She almost felt, rather than saw, the telephone pole looming toward her the darkness. There was a deafening crash. And everything went black. Chapter One Three Months Earlier Charity McLaughlin rode the elevator to the fourth floor of Old City Hall in Tacoma, smiling to herself. It was going to be a good day, a really fine day. She actually giggled a little. It had been a long time since she’d felt so happy. And on a Monday morning, too. Who would have thought she could be so content, so pleased with life on her least favorite day of the week? The elevator doors opened and she stepped out into the hallway, turned right and walked the few feet to her office door. Looking through the glass, she read Law Offices of McLaughlin & Grey in big gold letters, adorning the wall above the reception desk. She was still pleased whenever she read her name like that, emblazoned across the wall. Mom and Dad would have been so proud. She paused a moment in wonder, her hand resting on the door knob. Amazing. It had finally happened. Enough years had passed since their fatal accident that she could now think fondly of them and no longer feel an aching sadness. They were good, solid, caring parents, and she’d been lucky to have them. Now they were at peace, together. She smiled. Actually, she liked to think of the afterlife more along the lines of psychic Sylvia Browne’s description. “What do you mean, at peace?” Sylvia had asked once on the Montel Williams Show. “ ‘At peace’ conjures up an image of someone sitting quietly, hands folded in their lap, contemplating a cloud. Heck, no! They’re having a ball up there!” Yep. Mom and Dad were having a ball up there. And her own life had gone on. Quite well, actually, thank you very much. Well, eventually, that is. A frantic waving of arms caught her eye, and she realized that their receptionist was wildly trying to catch her attention, while cradling the phone to her ear. Chuckling, Charity pushed the door open and stepped inside. “One moment, Mr. Atchison,” Trish was saying into the phone. “I think I might see Ms. McLaughlin coming down the hall. Could you hold, please?” And she quickly pushed the hold button. Charity had heard the name. “All right!” she exclaimed at Trish, giving her the thumbs up signal as she hurried around the reception desk toward her office. “Get back on, and. . .” Trish cut her off, with, “Gotcha’, boss,” as she punched the hold button again. “Yes, Mr. Atchison, Ms. McLaughlin is on her way to her office. She’ll be with you in a moment, okay? Good.” Once again she pushed the hold button, hauled herself with some difficulty from her chair, and hurried after Charity. As she passed Buzz Grey’s office, he called out, “Where’s the fire?” Backing up, Trish looked into Buzz’s office and said, “Atchison’s on the phone. State Farm. The. . .” “Reynolds case,” Buzz finished for her. He held up crossed fingers. Trish returned the gesture and scurried the next few feet to Charity’s office door, her hand pressed to the ache in the small of her back. Leaning against the door jam, she prepared to listen in to Charity’s side of the conversation, her eyes trained on the lawyer’s face. Charity pushed the button for line one and spoke politely into the phone. “Hello, Bob? Charity here. How was your week-end?” Best to make a little small talk, covering up how anxious she felt. “Fine, fine, Charity,” the insurance adjuster replied. “Beautiful May weather, wasn’t it? I got a little sail boating in. How about you?” “ A friend and I took a day trip to Vashon Saturday.” Vashon Island was reachable by ferry boat from either Tacoma or Seattle. Surrounded by Colvos Passage, it stretched from the southern city to the northern one. “There’s a neat little restaurant and bar there called The Hardware Store. Ever been?” A slow smile spread over her face as she remembered the perfect day with the new man in her life. Trish’s face registered exasperation. She shook her fist in the air, silently mouthing, “Get on with it!” at Charity. Cher waved at her dismissively. “So, anyway; Reynolds,” Atchison was saying. “Yeah, we’re ready to start trial Wednesday,” she said. “Too bad the mediation failed last week.” “Right,” the adjuster said, and hesitated a moment. “Well, we thought maybe we could continue to talk a bit. Derek and I met on Saturday for a while.” Derek Douglas was the defense trial lawyer. “He’s ready, too. But, you know it’s always better for everybody to avoid the uncertainties of a trial.” “Yes,” Charity said. “And this one’s going to tug on the jury’s heartstrings. Fine fellow, David Reynolds. A high school teacher, so highly thought of. And now look what he’s had to deal with, all because of your driver’s negligence.” Charity didn’t have to repeat the injuries suffered by her client, as both she and the adjuster were well aware of them. Most of his broken bones had healed, except for a limp in his right leg, which would be permanent. The worst injury had happened when his head rammed through the side window, slicing his windpipe. Thankfully, he could still speak. But it had taken nearly a year of speech therapy to rid himself of most of the slur. Now it was minimal, but clearly noticeable. He still taught, pushing through his partial disability. Charity looked up at Trish and waited for the adjuster to respond. “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” she nodded into the phone. “Well, Bob what are you talking here? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Well. . .” Trish leaped forward, grabbed a legal pad and pen from the side of Charity’s desk, and shoved them at her. “What, what?” she mouthed. Charity swiveled away from her, causing Trish to kick the desk in frustration. Charity continued to talk, her back to Trish, as Buzz appeared in the doorway. “So, what’s the new offer?” he asked Trish. Sliding him a look, Trish murmured, “I don’t know. She won’t write it down, damn her.” “Okay,” Charity was saying, turning back toward them. “I’ll call the client and his wife and pass the offer along. But I’m not going to recommend it. I’ll talk with them about whether we’ll counter, Bob. Yeah, okay. Let’s try and t