They showed up on time as agreed; which was rare to have such integrity from coyotes. It was a little after midnight in central Mexico. The white truck looked remarkably clean considering the dusty roads it just drove across. It definitely wasn’t what the people expected to get them across the border. It was smooth and with the shine of a new white kitchen appliance, except for the painted signage on each side, “Esmeralda’s Tortilla’s – Homemade Goodness From Mexico since 1964”. Funny, none of the Mexicans waiting in the moonlight had ever heard of it. There was another thing that made the truck stand out, across the top were vents; 3 on each side. Good. At least they knew they’d be able to breathe.
There were 35 people waiting to pack in. Two men got out on the passenger side of the truck first, then the driver. Both passengers each had a semi automatics slung around their shoulders. The driver brandished only keys and a hand gun neatly stuffed in his waistband along with his stomach. “No hablen sin que alguien te direja la palabra primero.” He gave the crowd the once over to be sure all understood. The nods of acknowledgement were unanimous. There were many ways to get across the border; this was just one of them.
The sliding door on the back of the truck went up. The driver held out his hand, the people paid him and then stepped up into the truck. There were no names, no direct eye contact and only the driver was to do the talking…unless otherwise instructed.
Once on, you were to move all the way to the back of the truck. There were chains that hung from hooks in the ceiling. The passengers were suppose you use them to steady themselves while standing for however long the journey would take.
An old woman was approaching. Her son was holding her up by her waist. It was clear she could not walk herself. Each step she took was a struggle. His wife looking ragged, walked with her head hung, behind them. Each person was to hand over the money for their own passage. The old woman reached in her bra to get her money. She held out her hand until it tremored. The coyote took the money from her and but it back into her bra. “Demaciado Viejo.” (Too old) The woman began to cry to her son, her whole body shaking. “Perdon senora, pero no le puedo ayudar.” (I’m sorry Ma’ma, I can’t help you) the Coyote said with all the compassion he could pull out of himself.