The disreputable-looking man with the blue Impala drives back up to the border crossing and presents his passport to the American officer, who asks him what he brought back from Juarez after his few hours there. "Nothin' but a smile," the man glowers, unaware that he clearly lost it along the way somewhere. He claims to have been seeing a friend, and the officer mentions a friend of his own in Juarez whom he hasn't seen in six years: "Ain't worth gettin' shot." Some friend. So the man makes a show of shiftily admitting, "I was there for the senoritas." A couple of creepy smiles later between the two, the man has his passport back and is on his way. That was disturbingly easy.
I was not previously aware that El Paso boasts an illuminated star shining from the side of a mountain, but apparently it does. In addition to being a literally glowing symbol of civic pride, it's also handy for establishing shots. After admiring it briefly, we're back at the hospital where Charlotte is awaiting word on her husband. And when the doctor, still wearing a tuxedo shirt, comes up with no good news, she nearly collapses in shock, but refuses his help and manages to keep it together long enough to turn away from him. Well, at least nobody will be getting screwed in the divorce.
Ruiz is awakened by a call from Cross, who seems shocked that he was actually sleeping. "I do that at night, yes," he mumbles. She informs him there were two women on the bridge. "You found another one?" he asks as his wife stirs next to him. Cross explains about there being halves of two different women. "Holy shit," he says in Spanish, starting to get up, again painfully. Cross wonders if he's found the upper half of a dead girl in Juarez. He lists off parts like the owner of a macabre junkyard, and it probably doesn't help when she adds that the body could be more than a year old, as the legs had been frozen. He promises to look into it first thing in the morning. "Who can I call to look into it now?" Cross asks. Wearily admitting defeat, Ruiz says he'll get back to her and hangs up. "When?" she asks the dead line in her hand.
Meanwhile, with his wife's bedside clock in the background reading 3:24, even though it was clearly getting light outside earlier, Ruiz explains to his wife about the detective from El Paso. "I can't tell if she's crazy or if it's because she's a gringa," he says in subtitled Spanish. Is there not an autism spectrum in Mexico that huge swaths of the population like to speculate other people are on? Like we do here in the U.S.? I suppose that based on both of Ruiz's conversations with Cross thus far, they must be more worried about where people fall on the dismemberment spectrum.