Spotters

The cigarette butts piled up near his feet. He checked, again, to make sure he arrived at the location agreed upon earlier in the day. He thought back upon that chance meeting. He always wondered what he would do if approached with this very request. After telling his wife what he agreed to do, he turned his back and left her holding their baby.
He didn’t live too far from the busy corner. He often passed it several times a week taking his bride to El Paso for some shopping. Occasionally, he would pass by on his way to El Paso to find a day or two of work. So, he knew the corner well, and he assured his new friend of this.
At 4:38 PM, two cars pulled up alongside the corner. A bright, new shiny car that Armando recognized as belonging to his friend pulled up beside him. Behind it, an older, maroon colored Dodge Dart beckoned to him. He looked at the car, and he could see himself driving it across the border. He walked towards the Dodge inspecting it. He tried to feel it and understand all of its nuances. He wanted to know the car. He felt that that would be an important part of his mission.
His friend, Javier, exited from the shiny car. “Armando,” he said, “Glad to see you. Ready to make $100?”
Armando did not look his friend in the eyes. Although he was larger than this guy, Armando knew that any intimidating or threatening move would end with his death. He looked at the ground and tried to slump his shoulders to make himself look smaller. “Yeah, sure,” he said, “What’s going to happen to the car afterwards?”
“Why?” Javier laughed.
“I don’t know,” Armando said, “but I sure could use a car like that.”
Javier laughed even louder. He slapped Armando on the shoulder a few times, “I tell you what man,” he said, “when I can, I’ll personally deliver the car to your house.”
Javier continued laughing and some of the other guys that arrived with him started laughing too. For a brief moment, Armando thought to ask how they would know where he lived. They had never asked before. They didn’t even ask for his last name. Armando shoulders slumped even lower, however, when he realized the implied message in Javier’s tone.
“O.K. man,” Javier got very serious, “There’s a new jerk in the booths tonight.” He stood in front of Armando. “He’ll be at lane 2 at 5 o’clock. When we tell you, just drive to lane 2, o.k.?”
By Javier’s tone, Armando could tell that he was supposed to look at Javier’s eyes. He looked up, and Javier was holding 5 brand new 20 dollar bills in front of Armando’s face. Armando quickly diverted his eyes while reaching up to grab the money.
Some of the guys that Javier arrived with started walking up to the toll booths on this side of the bridge. Before long, the once long line at the booth was gone, and no other cars approached it.
“Just drive to the booth and then to number 2 when I tell you.”
Armando took his seat in the Dodge. He adjusted the seat and mirrors to where they felt comfortable. He examined the inside of the car, the radio, the glove box, the gear shift, the lights. He wanted to be familiar with all of the intimate details of the car.
“Javier,” Armando whispered to his friend, “Please, tell me, where is it?”
“Where is what, my friend?” Javier gave a big smile and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey,” Armando did not avoid looking into Javier’s eyes this time, “I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing. I want to know where it is to know when to run over that jerk if he asks me to reveal its presence.”
Javier smiled. “I know your not stupid my friend. But the less you know, the less problems you might have, o.k.?” Javier looked towards the bridge. “O.k.. So tell me your story? What are you going to say? You know, when the jerk asks you ‘where are you going? What are you bringing with you?’?”
“I’m going shopping at Walmart. Nada.”
“Good. Just remember that.” Javier leaned against the car sticking his head partially into the window. “My friend tells me that this new jerk doesn’t know what to look for. Just be cool, and he’ll let you pass. He’s new. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Armando gave a quick nod of his head to let Javier know that he was ready and that he understood. Javier patted on Armando’s shoulder a couple of times before walking away from the car towards the bridge. Armando tried to start the car.
The high pitch squealing, which denotes the fact that an engine is already running when the starter engages, made Javier stop in his tracks. As he turned back toward Armando, Armando just gave him the most innocent smile he could muster, and then he turned his attention to the interior of the car. Javier shook his head while smiling, and continued his walk to the bridge.
At exactly 5 o’clock, Armando saw Javier waving for him to go. He caught himself before he could try to start the car again, put the car in drive, and drove toward the empty toll booth line. When he arrived at the toll shack, he had money ready, but the attendant just waived him through. The 300 yards up to the apex of the bridge were wide open. He smoothly crossed over to the “other side.” Lane 2’s line was the shortest. Armando’s hopes soared.
Armando was seventh in line when he pulled up. The line was moving quickly, but it afforded him enough time to think of the $100 in his right front pocket. He decided that he really would go to Walmart to by his wife a nice gift. Not too nice of course; he had to keep most of the money to pay the bills, but nice enough to soften the look of fear in her eyes when he walked away. He felt confident. When he was number three in line, he got his crossing card out of his wallet and held it in his hand. He put his wallet back in his right rear pocket. As the car in front pulled ahead, he practiced his lines. “Shopping, Walmart. Nothing.” He said them twice before he pulled up to the Jerk.

Before going out on the line, Mike wondered if the stories about spotters were true. He felt that they were because with the quick traffic on this bridge they would work. Where he had spent the last two years, however, they would not work. With a two hour wait in the traffic line, a spotter could not tell if a particular inspector was in a particular line at a particular time that a car was due to cross. Impossible. Mike was prepared for his first thirty minutes to be exciting.
Although the evening was relatively cool for the desert, Mike didn’t choose to where his jacket. He thought, however, that if the spotters were looking for new faces they would also be looking for rank insignia on the shoulders. The jacket allowed no such insignia, but it did cover up the uniform. Therefore, in the interest of science, justice, and just the desire to bust some scum bags, he wore his jacket.
He relieved the inspector and quickly logged into the computer. As he did so, he watched as cars pulled into his line. Before he walked out to the booth, he noticed that 4 cars were in line. After the forth car, all cars would be suspect. He told himself. His experience on the free bridge taught him that he could inspect vehicles and occupants quickly and efficiently without holding up the line. With only a few cars in line, however, Mike was less worried about the quickly side of it.
Mike took his time completing his log in before inspecting the first vehicle. He theorized that maybe someone on the inside could inform the scum of a new, unknown face. He didn’t want to miss a single inspection.
As the car waited for Mike to exit the booth to ask the standard questions, Mike marveled at the ingenuity of the computer system. To the laymen inspector, the IBIS (Inter-Border Integrated System) was nothing more than a way to see if a particular license plate was stolen or wanted. To the professional, however, the wealth of information available within seconds was an invaluable law enforcement tool.
Mike had a pattern of analyzing the available data. First, he would look at the crossing history of every plate. This information showed up on the first screen. It showed how many times within the past seven days the plate crossed, and in which port of entry it crossed. Hitting F7, revealed the details of each crossing (i.e. what lane number, was it customs or immigration, was the car trunked (told to open the trunk), and the SS# of each inspector who inspected said vehicle). And that was only for license plates. Instead, an inspector can choose to look up an individual’s name. Doing this ran an NCIC check on the subject revealing past arrests and warrants. Passport numbers could be run. Aliases could be cross checked. The system is worth its weight in gold.
The patterns of drug smugglers and the like were relatively easy for Mike to recognize. The daily commuter (crosses at the same time at the same bridge) at this time of evening was usually a U.S. citizen returning home from work in Mexico (yes, it does happen). The commuter that crossed two to five times a week at this time but on different days was usually a Mexican citizen who had friends/relatives in the U.S. or that did a lot of shopping in the U.S.. A Mexican citizen that crossed at this same time every day, usually had a night job in the U.S., so, therefore, was illegal. Cars with many crossings at different times and at different bridges raised flags, but not as much as cars that have never crossed or only rarely cross through lines manned by immigration officers.
As an Immigration Inspector, Mike enjoyed the irony of the fact that some smugglers aimed for his line. Customs Inspectors and Immigration Inspectors jointly man the bridges and border crossings. Many times the departments would swap lane assignments when they wanted to watch the flow of traffic. Quite often, when this happened, at least three cars would visible change lanes to avoid going through a line manned by blue shirts (Customs). The true irony, however, was that Mike was even better than the Customs officers he knew.
Mike began his inspections by looking into the eyes of the driver. Not all drivers looked into his eyes, some people just hated cops, but what people did with their eyes told stories. The first driver casually met his eyes while declaring to be a United States citizen bringing nothing from Mexico. Mike had already recognized the pattern of crossings of this driver as being a daily commuter, so he just smiled and told the driver “Thank you.” Mike quickly inspected three other commuters. He recognized some of them because they, at times, crossed through his line at the free bridge.
As the first of the “new arrivals” came to the booth, Mike took particular care examining the IBIS screens. The first car had the pattern of a frequent, non-suspect border crosser. He intensified his personal inspection of the vehicle by walking around the car looking for tell-tale signs of modifications. After he ensured himself that all was well, he made the driver get out of the vehicle to open the trunk. As he expected, nothing out of the ordinary existed.
The second car’s driver happened to be a rather cute Mexican girl with a student visa. Although married, Mike couldn’t fight back the urge to flirt with her. Mike took his time examining her F-1 Visa enabling her to study fulltime at UTEP.
“What are you studying?” he asked.
“English,” she said while smiling at him.
“It says here that you already have the requisite knowledge of English,” Mike grinned, “Why would you want to study it, if you already speak it?”
She broadened her smile as she reached for her passport, “I’m trying to get my Masters in English so I can teach it back home.”
Mike graciously handed her the passport and said, “That is very noble of you, good luck. Have a nice night.”
Her memory hadn’t even begun to fade when Mike began running the license plate of the third “new arrival”. Before the car pulled up to the booth, Mike’s interest peaked.
The license plate DHC33001, Fronteriza, Chih. Mexico, had absolutely no prior crossings. Mike almost began salivating. He let the car sit at the booth for a few seconds before turning to make his bust, I mean, inspection.
When Mike turned, instead of looking at the eyes, his attention was diverted by the shaking hand of the driver. It shook so much, Mike almost laughed. As it was, however, Mike reacted quickly. 'Get him off guard.' He thought.

Armando kept his left hand on the steering wheel and held up his border crossing card in his right hand. He sat there for a second waiting for the inspector to turn towards him. He wanted to scream out the lines he had been rehearsing.
When the jerk finally did turn, Armando was taken aback. He didn’t mean to look into the guy’s eyes, but when he accidentally did, he thought he could see them on fire. When he noticed the officer about to ask his first question, Armando got ready to say ‘Shopping at Walmart,’ but the officer, in an almost too friendly voice said, “Good evening, how are you?”
Armando didn’t know what to say, he hadn’t expected that. He hesitated trying to think of how to answer. When the jerk reached in and took his border crossing card, Armando heard himself say, “Fine.” Armando, however, knew that something bad was about to happen.
“What are you bringing from Mexico tonight?” the officer asked.
Again, Armando found himself confused. He desperately wanted to tell the jerk he was going to walmart to shop. After a moment he answered. “Nothing.”
“Well,” the officer hooked his thumbs over his gun belt. Armando’s card was nestled between the first and middle finger of his left hand. Armando considered grabbing the card and running. “What is your intention of entering the United States?” the officer asked.
Armando felt dazed. ‘What did he just ask?’ he thought. ‘Intention? Intention? Oh, shit…’ He cleared his throat. “Shopping, Walmart.” He blurted out.
‘There,’ he thought, ‘that’s everything.’ He wanted to reach for his card, but the officer kept his hands on his gun belt. Armando began searching the car with his eyes hoping to see either an escape route or a weapon. He knew he was in trouble. He wanted to strangle Javier. He wanted to be in his wife’s arms. He quickly regained his composer and settled down. He still had a chance.
“How much money are bringing with you to go shopping?” The jerk actually smiled at him.
Armando reached into his front right pocket and brought out the 20 dollar bills that Javier had given him. He showed them to the officer. At that time he wanted to give them to the officer. Upon showing the bills to the jerk, Armando laid them on the seat next to him.
The jerk nodded then looked about the interior of the car. He then asked, “Who’s car is this?”
Armando didn’t think, he blurted out, “My father-in-law’s.”
The jerk’s eyes pierced through his soul. “What’s your father-in-law’s name?”
Armando could only stare at the officer. “What’s you father-in-law’s name?” He said again.
Earlier, while examining the vehicle, Armando noticed that the title of the car was in the glove box. Without speaking he reached for the box and pulled out the title. He handed it straight to the officer.
The jerk glanced at the title then asked, “What’s your father-in-law’s name?”
“It’s there on the paper.” Armando pointed to the title.
“Ok. Ok.” The jerk’s smile grew. “Let me see your driver’s license.”
‘What?’ Armando thought, ‘Is he robbing me?’ He took out his wallet from his left rear pocket and started fumbling through it to find his license. The jerk almost yelled.
“Just give me the wallet, give me the wallet.”
Armando tried to think of what was happening. He had more than five hundred pesos in his wallet ($50). ‘Is he robbing me?’ he thought again.
The officer took his wallet and immediately opened the bill fold to the money. “Take out your money,” he said as he offered the opened wallet to Armando. He slowly slid the money out of the wallet and placed it with the 20s on the seat.
The jerk grabbed the tire stick and started walking to the front of the vehicle. He said, “We’re going to go over to the side, to lane number 5. O.K.?”
Armando looked beyond the officer. He knew that he could drive through the barricades. He knew that he could get away. He would have to run over the jerk, but he could get away. At that point he wanted nothing more than to get away. The officer was standing just off to the side in front of the car.
Armando got prepared to floor the gas pedal.

When Mike had enough fun playing with the dieing mouse, he grabbed the “stop stick” (a triangular tube that when placed in front of tire, immediately flattened the tires with the row of sharp tubular spikes. He had directed the driver to pull to the secondary inspection area, and he now stood in front of the car but off to the side. He noticed that the driver was struggling with the next move.
Quickly, effortlessly, Mike transferred all that he was carrying into his left hand. With his right hand, he grasped the grip of his Berretta. “NOW!” He ordered. He scanned what beyond his target. The line of cars in his field of view prevented him from even thinking about pulling the gun, but he hoped the driver didn’t know.
Reluctantly, hesitantly, the car pulled ahead and started angling to the side. It started accelerating faster. Mike ran to the driver’s side window and yelled, “Slow down! Go with me!” The car slowed, and Mike walked in with it ever ready to take out the wheels or the driver.
As they were walking towards a Customs K-9 unit, Mike heard whooping and hollering coming from the right. He quickly noticed that a dog was indicating the trunk of a vehicle already in secondary. ‘The Customs guys got one.’ He thought. His spirits sank. It is very uncommon that two loads of drugs pass at the same time. Mike began to wonder about his “system.”
The unoccupied K-9 officer in secondary waved the car in ahead of Mike. As the car came to a stop Mike reached in a yanked the keys out of the ignition. The engine sputtered to a stop.
The K-9 officer walked up, and Mike placed the driver’s border crossing card in the officer’s hand. “This guy is shaking in his boots,” he said as he then placed the title of the car in the waiting hand. “He says the car belongs to his father-in-law, but he doesn’t even know his name.” Mike smiled as he gave over the wallet. “I just wanted to keep this from him until I was sure he came over.” He placed the keys on the trunk of the car.
The Customs officer smiled with Mike. “Sounds like we’ve got something. I’ll get my dog on it right away.”
“What’s the story with that car?” Mike indicated the car surrounded by Customs officers and the first dog.
“Looks like they’ve gotten something too,” the officer didn’t even look over, “I bet ours is more.”
Mike smiled. He started walking backwards towards his booth as the Customs officer made the driver get out of the car. Immediately the officer patted the guy down and put him in hand cuffs. The driver was then made to sit on the ground while the officer got his dog.

All chances of escape were blocked. Armando realized that he would be sent to prison. Only his fear kept the tears from streaming down his face.
He feared that it would be a long time before he saw his wife and boy again. He feared that he might not ever see them again. He imagined that Javier, at that very moment, was running a knife through his wife’s heart. He felt that same knife driving through his own spine.
He tried to reconcile with himself with what he would say. ‘God,’ he thought, ‘I don’t even know what I’m carrying.’ He tried to describe Javier to himself, just in case he was asked to cooperate with an investigation, but to his dismay, the description sounded like every one of his own friends. Brown skin, black hair, about 5’7”, 160 pounds. No scars, no marks, no tattoos. He’d met him in a bar. In the bar he seemed taller.
As he sat on the concrete, he felt the dry, cool December wind drive through his mind. He looked up, and he saw the car that Javier had been in approach another lane. Javier shook the hands of the inspector in lane 4, and drove off. Armando hoped he would look over and give him a sign. But Javier just kept driving.

Mike arrived went back to his booth. He noticed that the K-9 officer he had talked with had just gotten his dog out of the van. The dog was trying to pull the guy towards the car. Mike’s pride inflated. Without hesitation, the dog started biting and scratching and barking at the closest tire of the car.
Mike couldn’t hide his smile. His smile itensified as the rest of his inspections produced not so much as a bead of sweat. Mike knew that he wouldn't find another ounce of drugs. He knew that no other car would pull into his line. With no cars in his line, Mike peered out towards the bridge.
He truly hoped to see the spotters that he knew were there.

Because Armando couldn't see his wrists, he had no idea how long he had been in handcuffs. He sat in the holding cell replaying the vision of the dog biting the tire of the car he drove. Silly jokes about dogs chasing cars kept creeping into his mind.
He prepared himself to speak with whomever wanted to speak with him. He told his wardens that he wanted to speak with whomever wanted to speak with him. He even asked to speak with the officer that had him arrested.