It was a livestock loading pen, the kind that ranchers build in the middle of their pastures to funnel their livestock onto a trailer through a loading ramp. Generally oblong and about two meters high, the structure was made of old railroad ties and wrapped by many rungs of heavy gauge wire with the bottom half wrapped with sheets of rusted corrugated tin such that no animal, big or small, could get under or through the bottom rungs. From where Evey stood, the loading ramp was not visible, but it seemed to be occupied by the men who had hauled him there, as it was busy with straw hats and movement. Ervey stood just in front of the entrance gate, which had not been closed but was filled by the back end of a pickup with the tale gate down. A small crowd of men stood in the box holding rifles.
The only people talking were the men in the pickups and on the ramp. None of the men in the pen dared say anything. Ervey looked around to see if he could spot Lilo, but the crowd was so closely packed that he could only see the men immediately next to him. From that vantage point, it was also not possible to tell how many people were in the crowd.
Nobody in the pen moved. Everybody breathed heavily like cornered animals. Small shadows of breath bellowed from their moths and noses, keeping the cloud of from settling.
"Buenas noches, señores," blared a man's voice through an amplifier without notice. The crowd was startled and stepped back from the ramp, where the speakers seemed to be perched.
"We're conducting an operation this evening that will require your full cooperation," said the man on the microphone.
A loud murmure arose from the penned crowd, the first chance they'd given themselves to try to communicate with each other.
"Silence! Shut up!" shouted the announcer, "you'll see that we'll deal very harshly with those who do not cooperate."
The crowd hushed, but now heads kept turning and nodding as the men were making the most of the limited opportunity they had to communicate with each other.
"Disperse towards the sides of this little corral and form a single file circle. Then slowly circulate from left to right and wait your turn in front of a little bar we have set up at the ramp. The men there will ask you your name, origin, destination, the business that led you to be on the highway this evening, and proof of ownership of the vehicle you were driving. If everybody cooperates, we'll be done very quickly, and all of this will be over," said the announcer in a clam, but commanding voice.
The crowd began to murmur again and was slow to break up.
Suddenly there was a flash and a loud explosion. Though it was not possible to discern where it came from, it was clear to everybody that it came from one of the many high powered rifles that had been on display all evening.
The crowd quickly quieted and spread out to the walls of the corral. Ervey looked around for Lilo, but it was in vain. The lighting was so poor that once nobody's face was visible for more than a few paces. Once he found his spot in the line, he looked across the pen and estimated that there were no more than two dozen men in it. It was not possible to tell how many were his captives. Telling from how the circle was formed and where the questioning bar stood in relation where he ended up in the line, he looked to be among the second half of the crowd to be questioned. Of course, he would first have to pass in front of the tail gate crew at the entrance gate.
The line moved slowly. What was said at the questioning bar was audible to everybody. The questions were the same, but there were also follow up questions asked in an aggressive manner like an interrogator pressing a reviled enemy.
"Name? What? Speak up," said one of the two men doing the questioning, "why can't you prove the truck you were driving's yours? Your relative's? That's what they always say. Next."
As Ervey passed the men at the entrance gate, he looked up at them, and one of them immediately stepped forward and snapped his fingers and motioned for him to move forward. Ervey quickly obeyed. As he turned his back to them, one of the men spoke to one of his companions softly but just loud enough that Ervey could hear.
"Make an example of this one?" he said, "Qué pensás?"
"No," a man answered in a loud whisper, "something bigger, or when they tell us."
The chilling words could not have been clearer. Ervey flinched instinctively and hurried his stride. As he did, he stumbled into the next man in line. The men in the pickup chuckled at his faux pas.
"Perdón," said Ervey as he backed away from the man he had just climbed on. The man looked back at Ervey with a grimace but said nothing and quickly turned away. He was about the same age as Ervey, dressed in a white striped shirt with snap-buttons and pressed khaki pants with western cut pockets and belt loops and a tooled leather belt. In a different setting he would have reacted differently, perhaps more impatiently, but here being herded like cattle headed to market he had other thoughts on his mind. He did not even look at Ervey, only appraised that he was not being attacked and turned away to brood on something that troubled him more.
After a long wait, the line moved forward.
"Another güey that can´t prove it's his truck." said one of the questioners, "move on."
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