Fourteeners
Page 24
“What are you saying?”
“Tomorrow evening, after el changuito goes to bed, I’m laying my cards on the table.”
Samuel was perfectly composed in the Cabrals’ formidable library, the last traces of his depressive episode having dissipated like a spent thunderstorm. He sat beside me on the stiff company couch. Across from us, Alonso and Sofia each claimed an armchair, and Dani propped her very swollen feet up in the recliner, the room’s only comfortable piece of furniture. I wasn’t sure why Alonso hadn’t led us to the cozy family room of our happiest memories. Perhaps for that very reason: Alonso was not happy. He was furious, despite Sofia’s persistent intervention.
A tiny, snide voice whispered that he now reaped what he’d sown (after all, hadn’t they hidden Samuel’s bipolar disorder for years?), but ‘I told you so’ had no place in this conversation.
“I couldn’t forget the letter my father wrote to you,” Samuel said to Alonso. “How he found the country girl in the mountains where you used to hike, how he lusted after her. In the exaggerated imagination of my childhood, he had been a hero. I didn’t want to believe that he could cheat on my mother and me, so I decided to unearth the truth.
“I combed every street, tavern, business within a five mile radius of La Vereda, Tamaulipas. The village is only a scattering of homes on two mountain slopes and a valley, more burros and cows than residents. My sister—Marieta Sanchez is her name—told me that many of the residents are campesinos, making them attractive recruits to the cartels. The homes are cinder block, small, brightly colored like you find in most of the mountain towns on the outskirts of Ciudad Victoria. Kitchens are outside on the patio and everyone cooks with wood...the smells in the evening were incredible. Mexican orange blossoms everywhere; they all plant them, crush them into fragrances.”
“Not much has changed in fifty years.” Alonso’s expression was wistful.
“La Vereda is no different than any small town, in that everyone knows everyone’s business. But the cartels have made them tight-lipped and it was impossible to convince anyone to help me with what little information I had: Young man from Ciudad Victoria, Harvard educated, used to visit thirty years ago? But an old woman did remember a well-dressed city-slicker named Antonio Cabral Treiño, and warned Marieta I was asking questions. So, in the end, she found me.
“I was eating lunch at the only store in town, a white-washed grocery with tamales that reminded me of home. She pulls up a chair and says, ‘I hear from the señora that you’re looking for my mother. This is her.’ She shows me an old photo and there’s my dad with his arm around a young village woman. She wore one of those brightly colored flower headdresses women make on festival days, and she looked at my father as if he were a king.”
“The Cabral men have always been too dashing for their own good,” Sofia tutted.
Samuel shifted uncomfortably but pressed on. “See, this woman thought he was a golden boy because his second apellido was Treiño, like the wealthy family from Nuevo Laredo. This also pleased her older brother and he encouraged the relationship. When the brother found out the Cabral-Treiños were has-been hacienda owners, he told her to break it off, but it was too late. She was in love with the ‘pocho.’
“My father trysted with her whenever he visited his family in Ciudad Victoria. Then he stopped.”
“Because he shut himself up in his garage with a running Chrysler,” Alonso grimaced. Samuel nodded. “Once the girl discovered she was pregnant, she tracked down Mamá Marieta in the city, searching for Antonio. There, she learned of his death. She had no money of her own and she feared once her pregnancy became apparent to the older brother she lived with, he’d turn her out. She explained her plight to Mamá Marieta. For all her hardness, I believe Abuela grasped at this connection with her dead son and helped this scared, pregnant girl.”
Alonso shook his head. “Mamá never said a word to us.”
“From what I understand, the last thing Mamá Marieta wanted was another scandal darkening their door. She kept them secret from the entire family, even you and Mariángel. But Mamá Marieta visited La Vereda every March until the year she died, to mark Antonio’s birthday. And, given my sister is also named ‘Marieta,’ I don’t doubt Mamá Marieta was a godsend to a cast-off, scandal-plagued single mother and her illegitimate child.”
“What happened to the woman Antonio had an affair with?” Dani asked.
“She passed away a decade ago. Cancer. Even then, Marieta still felt the sting of her origins with every whispered word, every bit of gossip. She told me the neighborhood was disappointed to learn I was her brother instead of a secret lover.”
“Why didn’t she just leave?” Dani asked.
“It’s more complicated than simply hopping on the first bus out of town, sweetheart,” said Sofia. “It sounds as if she had no money and no acquaintances outside of La Vereda. Because you’ve never struggled to survive, you’ve had the opportunity to plan a future, make big dreams. When every day is a fight for food and safety, there is no future plan. You cling to what you know. That was me until my childhood friend opened my mind to a bigger world.” She held Alonso’s gaze, the air thick with unspoken memories.
“That’s how she got involved with the cartels,” Samuel said. “Her uncle had a foot in the door with drug smugglers. It was a lot of money, and the small bit Mamá Marieta squirreled away for her had been burned through by the time she finished school. For a poor teenager plagued by debt and depression, the ‘easy money’ was difficult to resist. She was a drug mule up and down the Tamaulipas highways, Texas, New Mexico, posing as a college student, a waitress, the daughter of such-and-such. Then she graduated to running valuable drug shipments through the cross-border tunnels. And, as we all know, when someone struggles with depression, ready access to drugs is like flicking a Bic next to a powder keg.
“The second time I saw her, six years ago, she was forty pounds lighter, gaunt, messed up. But she wanted to get better. She wanted out. So I took her to rehab and, while she detoxed, I researched ways to help her escape this cartel. The problem is, the U.S.-Mexican border is so pocked with drug tunnels, it resembles Swiss cheese, and Marieta knows where half the tunnels are located. The Zacatóns don’t allow those who know the tunnels to escape and live.” Samuel focused on the laces of his shoes. “That’s where my involvement gets dicey.”
“What did you do?” Alonso pressed.
“I obtained false documentation for Marieta—new name, identification—and accompanied her on one last drug run under the border near Nuevo Laredo. The tunnel was six football fields long, began in a Mexican cemetery and ended beneath a pool table in the backroom of a Texas bar. You would not believe how sophisticated this thing was…electricity, ventilation, automated carts. The plan was to dump the drugs and settle her into a new life, far away. But there was a hitch. When her ‘cargo’ arrived, it wasn’t just two kilos of cocaine. It was ten kilos of ‘pure cocaine,’ packed in coffee crates from Colombia. We wore ski masks so the distributor wouldn’t recognize us, but he might have known Marieta.”
Sofia’s face was a study. “And the drugs?”
“We never delivered it. Marieta tased the receiver, then we dumped the crates in a farm pond and ran.”
Dani snorted. “Bet you OD-ed an entire school of carp. Way to kill the ecosystem.”
Sofia pressed a palm on her chest. “I’m glad you got rid of that poison.”
“But don’t you see the dangerous position in which he’s put the whole family?” Dani said. “Ten kilos! Over a million dollars’ worth of cocaine is literally swimming with the fishes. They just don’t forgive something like that, and everyone knows the drug mules are considered expendable. They either get arrested or murdered.” She shot daggers at Sam. “You’re going to end up on Forensic Crimes.” My fear exactly. “Furthermore, any road that leads to this ‘sister’ leads to Samuel, to Kaye, to us, and my kids. I should just kill you with my bare hands and get it over with!”
Dani’s look could have melted rock. “Nice, Kaye. Let’s just tempt the hell out of fate, shall we?”
“Is my niece safe, wherever she is?” asked Sofia.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.”
“Is she trustworthy?” Dani glared at her mother.
“I believe so.”
Samuel may have had faith that this woman he’d only met a handful of times wouldn’t give him up, but I sure as heck didn’t.
Why would she return to Mexico after Samuel went through so much trouble to get her out?
Why would she ask for his help once more, only to vanish?
Well, I had my summer project list: Run a business, build a house, climb mountains, and find out everything there was to know about this woman, down to how she took her coffee.
Empty soda cans stood yards away on Jaime Guzman’s gravel driveway, lined up like condemned men on the top of an old wire kennel.
“Tell me again why I need to learn to shoot? I carry pepper spray in my purse.”
“An anonymous little birdie thought it in your best interest.”
“Have your brains and those of your little birdie—whom I assume is Samuel—gone to absolute mush? On what planet is putting a gun in my butter fingers a good idea?”
“Normally I don’t agree with your fancy-pants playboy, but in this case, I think he’s right. He didn’t say much, but it sounds as though a shady character is skulking around. Better safe than sorry.”
Samuel was in L.A. for a script meeting he’d put off for as long as possible until the Water Sirens producers all but threatened legal action. His dynamic PR duo also booked several signings, a talk-show or two, a comic-con, and any other promo events he could do to cultivate interest in his upcoming mountain climbing series. He hadn’t wanted to leave, as this Javier fellow still frequented our Boulder County haunts. Despite the man’s claim of friendship with his sister, Sam didn’t trust him. Thus, the firearms training.
“I don’t know what good this will do, because I’m not about to start packing heat.”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“I’ve heard about one too many divorce attorneys gunned down by their clients’ raging ex-spouses. Received a few death threats myself.”
“I had no idea. Can I see your gun?”
“What are you, five? It’s in your hand, Kewpie.”
“Ah.” I inspected the gun, turned it over, careful to keep the muzzle away from my person.
“Argh! Don’t ever point a gun at someone else, even accidentally, unless you’re ready to stare down manslaughter charges. Rule number one in gun protection.”
“The safety is on, right?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. Always, always point it toward the ground.” I saluted, gun prudently pointed toward the ground. Jaime glared. “You’re going to shoot off your toe.”
We practiced hitting targets on the back of Jaime’s property for a couple of hours, until my ears rang and my finger joints ached from the kickback. As the sun set, we packed it up and waded through waist-high prairie grass toward Jaime’s home. Her kenneled Labs barked with hyperactive glee and, one by one, she set them free. Two tried to take me out. I shoved them back and wiped streaks of slobber on my jeans.
She grabbed two beers from her fridge, and we settled onto her deck to watch her dogs run laps in her yard.
“You gonna tell me why your husband is worried about this person?”
I fished prickly burrs out of my shoelaces.
She took a swig of her beer. “What would you say if I told you I already had an inkling?”
“How could you possibly?”
“I have connections.”
“I don’t think your gossip magazine contacts are going to be much help in this situation.”
“Yeah, probably not. Heard an interesting news story a few weeks back.”
“Oh?”
“Things are heating up in Tamaulipas, what with the cartels stomping all over the highways like bulls wagging their balls. I have family there, you know. I’m concerned.” I bit the inside of my cheek.
“That’s where the Cabral family comes from, isn’t it? Ciudad Victoria?”
“What are you getting at, Jaime?”
“I’m not finished with the news story. A man named Daniel Rodriguez released a slew of information on the Dark Web linking various people to the Zacatón Cartel. Addresses, photos, pseudonyms, cross-border tunnel routes. I bet Samuel’s worried.”
I met her stare for stare. “Why would he worry?”
Jaime smirked. “You can’t lie to save your life. He’s worried because somewhere, sometime, he got tangled up with the Zacatón Cartel. He’s worried because the information released on the Dark Web might lead back to him.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I remember hearing this story on the nightly news a couple of days ago. The man that released the info is a member of the hacktivist group ‘Unknown.’ He’s missing, possibly dead…” My brain made the link.
“Those ‘connections’ you always brag about. Are they able to access the Dark Web? We might be able to see if there’s anything of concern. Hypothetically, of course,” I added. “Samuel’s never had any dealings with the Zacatóns.”
Jaime held up her hands. “No judgment here. He’s too pretty and rich for them to ignore.”
“The connections?”
“You’re kind of relentless.”
“Jaime, dammit! Can you or can’t you access Daniel Rodriguez’s information dump on the Dark Web?”
“I can.”
I sat up straight. “Flaming hamsters, I knew it. You’re an Unknown! Oh man, it makes so much sense. You hate lying, cheating scumbags. In fact, you hate most people but especially people who prey on others. You’re a loner, but you must have some social interaction.”
“What a lovely picture you paint.”
I ticked my fingers, one by one. “You’re sneaky. Snarky sneaky, constantly have these ‘operations’ up your sleeve. And you can always, always find the dirt you need. Your ‘connections’ are other Unknowns—even the gossip magazine connection. You’re a member of Unknown!”
Her face reddened, and I knew I’d cracked her M.O. “Why would I play war games with a bunch of entitled college brats who think hacking is some sort of service to society?”
“Because sometimes it is. Freedom of information, right? And I’m betting while Unknown has its fair share of hanger-on goobs, at its core they’re serious business. You said yourself you’re concerned about your family in Tamaulipas, and isn’t Unknown trying to pick off the cartels? You’re one of the good guys. You’re a secret superhero, Jaime, and I just ‘Lois-Laned’ you!”
Her face had soured so much, I swear fermentation oozed from her pores. “You are batshit crazy!”
“Says Batman. Where do you keep your Guy Fawkes mask?”
“Honestly, do I look like a disaffected protester to you?”
“Honestly, yes. Is it in the top of your closet? Under your bed?”
“Shut up.” She shoved my shoulder, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to mean business. “Even if I were an Unknown—which I’m not—I wouldn’t tell you. The whole point of Unknown is to remain unknown.”
She leapt to her feet and grabbed an empty water pail. While she sloshed out to the dog kennels, I scanned her property. Beautiful house all alone in a wide-open meadow, just on the fringe of the foothills. Accessible only by a dirt road off a blacktop, off a two-lane highway, on the fringe of the grid. Her address bordered the Mexican neighborhood in Lyons but was not a part of it. Jaime herself, always watching, never a part of society. Always on the fringe... Everything about her cried ‘fringe activist.’ How did I not realize this before? Now that I’d found this missing puzzle piece,
the picture of Jaime finally became clear.
“Did Hector know about your alter ego?” I called.
“That’s it! Give me back my beer.” She yanked the sweating bottle from my hands and stomped up the stairs. I followed, catching the door before she slammed it in my face.
“Marieta Sanchez, age thirty-three or thirty-four. Grew up in La Vereda. Last known residence was Tizilicho, a slum in Mexico City. That’s all I ask.”
She sighed. “What about Samuel? Want me to see what’s out there on him, too?”
“Just…be careful not to tip off anyone. But I definitely want to know anything you can find on Marieta.”
“Marieta…Sanchez.” She jotted the details on the back of a napkin.
“Does she have anything to do with this mystery woman Samuel visited in Tamaulipas? The one you were twisted up about earlier?” I pursed my lips.
“Kaye Cabral, with nothing to say. I bet this whole ‘practicing discretion’ thing is killing you.” She tossed the napkin in a desk drawer, among a dozen other notes scribbled on napkins. “It might take a while, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“I can pay you.”
“And now you go and insult me. Just let me be a nice person for once.”
“Okay.” I went in for a hug, but she dodged me.
“Quit blowing sparkles out of your ass. This is hush money, not a favor. No one finds out about my alter-ego, got it?”
We sat on her deck for another hour, her dogs panting contentedly at our feet. The sun dipped below the mountains and soon the sky was brilliant with stars. It was a moonless night.
“Do you know the Unknown hacker responsible for the data dump? Daniel Rodriguez?”
“We may have interacted online once or twice, but no. My people are from Tampico. He’s from a little mountain town outside of Ciudad Victoria.”