I was happy to see the RV still parked in its spot as I returned. Jane had already made herself at home and had setup a little garden table, an umbrella and several chairs and was now sitting comfortably with a giant straw hat, wearing sunglasses, and reading a book while drinking a cup of tea with proper crockery. Even a Neanderthal like me could spot it was the expensive kind by the way the china glowed in the sunlight. Vanessa was nowhere to be seen but the Frenchy lay on another chair and began to stretch as I approached.

‘Hi, you’re back,’ Jane said with a smile.

‘Yes,’ I tried to sound nonchalant, but the questions were threatening to explode in my brain. ‘Jane, may I join you? I have a few questions if you don’t mind. Its more for the sake of…completeness, I’m sure you understand.’

I couldn’t tell but I was sure I felt her wink behind her sunglasses. Without replying, she pulled out one of the chairs with her foot and pushed an empty teacup and saucer toward the tea pot. I sat down and placed my hat on the table as she poured the tea. Almost theatrically she leant over and placed the cup and saucer before me. Only when I sat back did I notice that she had done everything so far while staring directly at me. Her hands seeming detached from her consciousness, performing magic tricks before my eyes by grabbing the milk jug directly by the handle and pouring in a short shot of milk. While their master was busy drilling into my soul with her Tiger green eyes.

‘I’m good for sugar, thank you,’ I said as my brain exploded internally sending questions in all directions. Who is this woman? My brain keeps screaming. Jane Bond. The new 0069? Hmm, I wish.

‘So, Jane,’ I said as casually as chatting about the weather. ‘I found your little campsite and your party poopers. You’re right, they will not be bugging you or any one again. Ever.’ I tried to make my statement sound a little threatening but by her expression I could tell she knew there was absolutely nothing I could do bar report it to local PD which would take days before a detective would follow up, if at all. Budget cuts. Got to love them.

‘Oh, are they dead?’ she asked as if ordering another bottle of champers. ‘Nasty looking chaps. Very uncouth. Doubt anyone will miss them.’

She picked up her cup and took a sip. Pinkie finger extended. She grimaced and sat the cup back down.

‘Urgh. The tea’s gone cold.’

At first, I had wanted to laugh. Then I thought to myself: I have a stereotypical Brit sat before me, sipping tea, and telling me that the death of two men is no more inconvenient to her than her tea being cold. So why should a raised pinkie finger be funny? I didn’t laugh. But I did wonder why she was not more curious. Unless she already knew the answers.

Jane clasped her hands together and leaned forward a little and said: ‘So, can we now talk about Vanessa.’

In my mind it was either go back to work and do nothing or stay her and chat to a super model about work. Hmm. Decisions, decisions. I stayed. But not for the tea.

I leaned forward and placed my forearms on the table. She was playing poker and was damn good at it. It was time to turn the tides.

‘Why don’t you tell me what you know about Vanessa?’ I asked. She gave me a look as if to say, “Welcome to the game. There are no limits and the bank hold all the cards”, before settling back.

‘Ok, this morning when I saw Vanessa being chased by those men, I assumed they were Coyote’s and there was no way in hell I was going to hand her back. We scuffled a little, but I assure you, by the time we left they were alive. Incapacitated, but alive.’

I nodded. ‘Please continue.’

‘Vanessa told me that she and her sister, Lucile, who is only nine, were sold by their parents to these Coyote’s and all she knows is that they were being brought to America, but she has no idea why. She said her father came home one night, a few weeks ago, and burst out crying. Apparently, some Cartel scouts had come to their village and her father had been told that they were coming back for Vanessa and her sister, Lucia and that he had to decide. Take some compensation money and go on with their lives or they would be back, shoot him and her mother, and take Vanessa and her sister anyway.’ Jane shrugged. ‘What choice is that for a parent? These people must be stopped, and we need to get Lucia back from these Monsters.’

‘We?’ I thought my ears were about to pop off. ‘No, no, no.’ I waved my hands defensively. ‘All I can do is look the other way and not report on Vanessa. Lucile unfortunately is out of my authority. I handle illegal immigrants who try and or succeed to enter the United States. What you’re talking about is a crime being committed on US soil and that falls under state troopers and or local PD depending on the area.’

Jane took off her sunglasses. Her eyes narrowed as she sat forward and said:

‘In other words, you’re hiding behind politics and the fact that Vanessa and Lucia are illegally in the US? What about the fact that these girls are being taken against their will and forced to come here? Are they not victims themselves?’

I understood where Jane was coming from, and on a personal level, I couldn’t disagree. Men driven by greed. Career criminals who had been indoctrinated into a life of crime from a young age. Probably taken from their families by the cartels. Exposed to daily violence until they themselves became numb. Cold. Inhuman.

How could I explain to Jane that although I was willing, able and would love the opportunity to crack some Coyote skulls, my hands were tied. Tied by bureaucracy, red tape and that stuff that bean counters and pencil pushers seem to weave an endless about of. Webs of political bullshit. Most of it created behind desks by men without a single notion of what the job entails. Driven by testosterone and egos. They must have their way while the soldiers on the front line get killed.

I put on my most phlegmatic expression and replied. ‘Jane, around here we don’t only catch people, we play a perpetual game of inter-agency and departmental chess that is rigged in somebody else’s favour. And I’m still on probation here. There is absolutely nothing I can do. I’m sorry.’

‘Then so am I.’ Jane stood up so abruptly, both me and the Frenchy got a fright. She bent forward and leered at me with slit eyes and thin lips. ‘If this is the way you treat people in need, I shudder at how bad it must be where they are trying to escape from to come here where nobody gives a shit’

Jane picked up the teapot, cups and other bits and bobs and strutted toward the RV with a thunderous expression.

She wasn’t wrong. But in my mind, there are two types of people. The ones that create policy and then the ones who suffer because of them.