“Señorita! Bless me! Sir won’t be home until this evening; would you like me to call him?”
Michelle looked at Ethan, not bothering to hide her shame or keep up the pretense. Ethan was unable to talk. His extremities were numb, and there was a lump in his throat. Before leaving him, Michelle said goodbye in a whisper.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me. I won’t ask you to do anything else for the girl.” She got up and started to walk away before turning around. “It was all true, everything I said.”
Then she walked on, being fussed over by the servant, who sent the guards back to their post. Ethan drove away completely stunned. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. Eventually, he parked in front of his apartment, pleased to be where it seemed safe and comfortable. He went to a sports bar, the same kind one might find back in Florida, and sat down to watch a game, trying to relax. Andrés called him several times, but he answered with a text message apologizing and saying that he didn’t want to talk. In addition to being hurt, angry, sad, and lost, he felt ridiculous. That was Michelle’s magical power: he’d forgotten about that. She dusted each thrust of the knife in icing sugar and then came back to apologize, lifting him up higher and higher only for the fall to be that much more painful. Then she left him down there alone and rudderless. But he also told himself that this time had been different; this time he hadn’t been the one waiting at home; he’d been the one to whom she’d whispered her words of submission, with whom she’d made crazy plans. After all these years, his role had changed. It was so much more depressing to see himself embrace her fantasies after all this time. He didn’t dare share his anguish with anyone; it made him feel stupid and ashamed. He didn’t even think of Ari. He was purposely avoiding that.
Andrés sent him several messages, which he answered out of politeness.
My sister just told me what happened. I knew the lie would end badly. Please forgive my part in it, I never should have allowed it to happen.
Andrés, all that matters is your brother and mother. The rest is nonsense. None of this is your fault. If she asked you to lie, you had no choice.
God forgive me but I have no tears to shed over my brother. I’ve suffered over him for too long. I watched him drift into the clutches of the Enemy and there was nothing I could do to save him. I’ll understand if you don’t want to continue your investigation. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.
Of course I’ll continue. I just need a day to rest.
Calvo contacted me. He gave me information but asked me not to say anything until he’d spoken to you.
Fine. If it’s not urgent, we can discuss it tomorrow.
Later in the afternoon he got more calls from an unknown number, which he decided not to answer. Finally he received a text message.
Don Ethan, it’s Adrian Calvo. I’ve heard. Please accept my condolences but it’s important that we meet. I have what you’re looking for. Call me on this number when you can.
Calvo knew how to push his buttons. Ethan finally decided to call him at the end of the day.
“Good afternoon, Don Ethan. You know, we started out almost like boyfriend and girlfriend, but now you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“I thought as much. I said how sorry I was, didn’t I? Let’s move on. There’s a lot we need to discuss. Did you know that Leidy was hiding in Doña Maria’s house?”
“I don’t know anything about anything. Do you know where she is now?”
“For her sake, I hope she’s no more. She was taken by the Doce; the best we can hope for her is for it to have been over quickly. The funeral is tomorrow.”
“Hers?”
“Oh no, they’d have to find her for that. For Beto, and they’ll also say something for Jonathan. They were good buddies. But you must know that. I hope to see you there.”
“At Beto and Jonathan’s funeral? You must be kidding.”
“It sounds like it. I agree. But no. You can learn about our traditions.”
“And say hello to Michelle and Maria while I’m at it?”
“Oh, they’re not going. I certainly wouldn’t bring you if the family were going.”
“But of course the family is going. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Now you’re beginning to get the idea. The gang has forbidden them from coming. But we can; we’re not locals. What you see there will teach you more than all our other activities put together. We won’t get too close, just in case. It’ll be worth your while—you’ll see.”
He opened his eyes and realized that he’d fallen asleep. He looked at his watch: almost half an hour had passed, and it would still be another half hour before the guy to whom he was going to make the handoff arrived. He rubbed his chin and was surprised by how long his beard had grown; he hadn’t shaved in almost a week. Used to life on the road, he searched his bag for his brush and razor and went to the bathrooms, which he knew well. The buses went in both directions, but there weren’t many people around at such an early hour. It was still before dawn. He went to the bathrooms on the platform; these were the ones the drivers used, so in addition to being empty, they were clean. The sinks were large, and a long mirror ran along the counter. They weren’t covered in graffiti or lewd pictures, and they smelled of disinfectant. Just as he’d assumed, he was the only one using them, and he liked that. He had spread the foam over his face and started to shave when the door opened and a short man in a suit came in and walked past him to the toilet. Irritated by this intrusion, he went on, ignoring the man. The question came from the cubicle that the man had gone into. He thought he might be talking on the phone.
“Have you brought the merchandise?”
The man might be talking to him, but then it might also be a stupid coincidence. He went on shaving. The question didn’t come again. He heard the toilet flush, and the stranger came back out. This time the stranger looked him in the eyes as he washed his hands in the sink farthest away from where he was shaving.
“I asked you if you’ve brought our merchandise.”
The Beast looked into the man’s cold gaze and answered firmly. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t know you.”
“But I know you. Here’s what we agreed.” Without a hint of discretion he took a bulky envelope out of the inside pocket of his coat and threw it onto the counter. It fell onto the hair and soap, and the Beast had to be quick to stop it from getting wet. He glanced inside; there seemed to be the right amount of bills. Then he eyed up the man, who was standing still, staring at his reflection. Seeing this as an invitation, the Beast took out the money and counted it twice. It was all there. As he bent down to put it in his backpack, the man came right over to him.
“Now take me to the merchandise.”
“Where’s the gentleman I usually deal with?”
“That’s none of your concern. I’m here. Take me to the merchandise.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
“I’m leaving now. If I leave the station without what you promised us, you’ll be killed right here in the bathroom. What more do you need to know?”
Confused, the Beast led him through groups of travelers to the busy streets of the working-class neighborhood where the smells and voices mingled together until they seemed one and the same. This stranger seemed composed but made no effort to conceal his disdain for their surroundings, as if the air itself might stain his immaculate clothing. His shoes and pants cuffs were covered in orangey dust by the time they turned into a lot where dozens of articulated trucks were parked. Hidden at the back was the black trailer.
“She’s in here. Did you come in a car?”
“No. I’ll ride with you to the site where we make the exchange. You drive, and I’ll give you directions. You must do exactly as I say.”
The Beast, uncomfortable with taking orders, didn’t object and allowed himself to be guided out of the crowded area into a more remote neighborhood that bordered slums. The danger in this area was pal
pable. They came to a stop in an abandoned lot containing a ruined building. An old factory for a product that had been forgotten. The man told him to switch off the engine, and they waited in silence. The Beast grew more and more nervous until the sound of eight wheels and eight blinding xenon headlights announced the arrival of a pair of Lexus RXs. They stopped on either side, and four or five shadows got out. They unceremoniously walked over to stand by the doors without bothering to say a word.
The Beast’s passenger broke the silence but still didn’t look at him. “Now you can hand over the merchandise.”
The Beast warily climbed out of the cabin and went around to the tank, opened the latches, and removed the false bottom to release the semiconscious, dirty, sweating, bruised, and disheveled girl. Two of the shadows reached for her and helped her to stand while they untied her and removed the gag. As soon as they untied the rope around her knees, she collapsed, and they had to catch her. One of them held her gently, seeing to her comfort, while the other listened to her heartbeat and checked her vital signs.
The client ordered the Beast back into the cabin and told him to wait in his seat. He started to sweat, worried at what the little bitch might say. He’d restrained himself. He’d barely touched her. It was more than the pig deserved; he should have had his way with her until she was dead. That was what she deserved, but now he found himself at the mercy of the lies she might tell these bastards. In spite of his repeated reassurances to himself, the truth was that he was afraid. He’d gone too far; he’d kept her in the tank longer than he’d needed to in revenge for her having made things difficult, and he knew that that wasn’t right. He’d gotten carried away, but these bastards, these perverts who paid him to bring them little girls to do who knew what with, didn’t know what he’d been through. He leaned over, trying to see what was going on in the side mirror. He could see the man he imagined was a doctor examining her back. The man walked over to the negotiator, saying something with a disappointed expression. Feeling the hairs on his skin stand on end, the Beast bent farther forward to get a better look, but his movement must have caught the attention of one of the guards because the man came over, took out something like a hammer, and smashed the glass. The Beast kept quiet. The voice sounded again next to him.
“She’s not in good condition.”
“If you know a better way of taking something like that from its home and crossing the continent, you’re welcome to try. But if we use a truck, this is the only way.”
“We warned you. The last one came in much better condition.”
“That one was easier. This was a half-wild Indian. You have no idea where she lived.”
The negotiator held up a finger to silence him. The Beast heard his frighteningly bland drawl. “We gave you two warnings. Hand back the money.”
“You can’t!”
“Give me back the money.”
The Beast trembled in frustration, but he didn’t dare argue. He reached into his bag and picked up the envelope. He was about to throw it onto the ground but was afraid they’d make him get out to pick it up. He decided to place it carefully in the man’s hand. To his surprise, the man took out half the bills and gave back the rest.
“We won’t accept any further failures. We’ll have to decide whether to hire you again. Wait for our visit at your hideout.”
“I’m not waiting anywhere. I have more orders to fill, things to do this week. A lot of clients.”
“We’ll check the merchandise. If the damage is superficial, we’ll give you back the rest. The visit will occur in five days.”
“What if I have to go, huh? What will you do then?”
The client turned around and walked back to the Lexus, ignoring him.
The Beast’s blood boiled at the snub. Unable to control himself, he shouted through the window. “I can’t wait! I have other jobs! Send me an email if you want to reach me! You’ll work it out!”
“Five days,” repeated the monotone voice.
The Beast didn’t dare answer. He waited for them to leave and finally let out the rage he had been repressing for the last hour. “That fucking little bitch, fucking little bitch, fucking, fucking, fucking little bitch!”
He screamed and hit the steering wheel, cursing with all his might until his words started not to make sense anymore. But that didn’t help. Choking on his own bile, he knew that if she’d been there at that moment, he would have ruined her. He’d have smashed her face in. But he was alone. They’d left him alone. They’d threatened him. The little shit had threatened him right there, in his own truck, and then taken half the payment he was due. The money he’d earned, the price they’d agreed on. Weren’t they men of their word? Who was putting his ass on the line? He was. They owed him everything. He was the one who organized the trips. In a way, he’d invented them. Hadn’t he? Without him they’d be unable to indulge their perverted desires. They couldn’t do anything without him, and they dared to threaten him, to steal his money. He’d only failed once, just once in all these years, and even then the whore had survived. He’d told them she had a problem with her lungs or allergies. Whatever—it hadn’t been his fault, and the next delivery had gone perfectly.
They were a bunch of fucking ingrates. They only dared to act like that because there were a lot of them. But that anal bastard, talking to him like that . . . There aren’t any real men left in the world, the Beast said to himself, as he had so often. There aren’t any real men left in the world. And he pulled out, savoring his hatred of everyone and everything. They weren’t going to get rid of him. If they’d wanted to do that, they’d have done it there and then. They wouldn’t have given him five days to get away, he reassured himself, trying to think strategically. They needed him. He was the only one who’d been able to organize all those trips without any trouble at the borders. Fucking whore. It was all her fault. If he ever got his hands on her, he’d make her pay for all the humiliation he’d suffered on this journey. It had been his worst ever, except for that asthmatic bitch. But he wouldn’t get the chance; those girls never came back. And again he allowed the waves of hatred to crash down over his employers. They treated him like shit, as though they were better than him, but really they were worse. They lusted after little girls and didn’t even dare to do it themselves. Why take all that trouble over those little whores? They didn’t even have any tits. He could find better asses in any of the cities he passed through, in any park almost, and take them without having to go farther than a mile. Not to mention the fact that the parents would gladly sell them for a lot less money. These rich people had no idea what to do with their wealth. Europeans were like that. He’d known about them since he was a child: grasping, low-down, weak, fat, millionaire pigs. Inbreds who had plundered Latin America once and were now coming back to give free rein to their mysterious, twisted fantasies. How dare they presume to judge him like that? As though he were nothing. When he didn’t need them anymore, he’d show them why he was known as the Beast. He’d do things to their wives and daughters right there in front of them. Things they’d never dreamed of in their mansions. He’d show them who was truly to be feared.
The morning was clear and sunny, but the air was full of dust, giving everything a cloudy complexion. Ethan had learned that this augured a sticky, dense, humid day. A circular, tropical day that provided a good metaphor for the society around him: always in a hurry but never getting anywhere. A society trapped in a secret war, whose forms changed with each new generation. He wondered if this land was destined to be violent until the end of time or if this was just a stage. It was like the tropics themselves: Were they stuck in a repetitive climate? Or were they in fact free and constantly changing in a never-ending orgy of natural renewal?
The cemetery grew out from the road. There was no paving or railings; you climbed up the bare stairs carved into the clay. The whimsical scene that greeted you at the top of the embankment was a favorite spot for walkers and courting couples: a sea of irregular tombstones and memorials
in faded greens, blues, pinks, and yellows. This was an innocent, festive place that left no room for sadness.
A crowd had gathered in one corner. A wide range of clothing and tattoos was on display. Sitting on a small white stone laid for a child, Calvo was watching the proceedings from a distance. He hissed for Ethan to come over. Once they’d met up, he continued in a whisper: “Please accept my sincere condolences.”
“You’ve already given me those,” Ethan said.
“No, these are for Leidy. I’m truly sorry. My assistants tell me that she’s been found.”
The congregation was murmuring a song that came to them in fragments. Calvo tried to make it out.
Sometimes it can be tough when a friend leaves
and his soul heads for eternity.
He’s gone and won’t be coming back;
he’s gone forever.
His memory will remain,
but now he’s resting in peace.
“It’s a song they sing,” he said, unnecessarily.
The group stood still, drawing Doce symbols in the air during the recitation, which finished with a shared amen.
“This is for Jonathan, all for Jonathan. It’s their way of taking control of the funeral.”
Once the hymn was over, the ceremony leader, who was in a bright-white shirt and blue tie and had a Bible in his lap, started to speak passionately, like a television evangelist, making his sermon into a diatribe against violence. He railed against those who had lost sight of scripture and courageously condemned the Mara, expressing his pity for each and every one of them and describing them as wayward sheep. He decried their criminal activities and made sure that they knew how ashamed they should be. He talked up the Christian soul and begged them to show compassion and pity. Over and over again, he cited the peaceful example of Christ and the power of the church: the only solution was to turn the other cheek.
“Worthless!” he informed them. “Worthless! Joining a gang that only cares for the body when it’s the soul that matters. Oh, the soul, my brothers! Only the Lord can account for the soul! Because everything we have is given to us by him! You can’t turn your back on the Creator, just as you can’t forget the love that Jesus Christ offers us. He who does not serve God serves the enemy! It is he! He who keeps you mired in poverty and suffering. It is he! He who plots harm, the harm you do to yourselves and those you love.”
Shadows Across America Page 18
