“It’s a promise well broken, Karen,” said Leslie. “Thanks to you, we have a better chance of finding him and keeping him safe until this is over.”
“Do you think Fernando would hurt him?” Karen asked. “I mean, his own son? I know he’s mixed up with some bad people, always has been, but he never was a violent man. I even asked Carlos that when he told me he wanted to find him. He laughed and said, ‘the bastard wouldn’t hurt a fly’.”
“That’s our understanding as well,” Leslie replied, “But we don’t think Carlos should be going after him.”
“But all he wants to do is talk him into –” Karen began then stopped as her eyes widened. “Oh my God, does Carlos want to kill Fernando?”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” said Dave, “But we want to do everything we can to make sure it doesn’t happen.”
“What have I done?” Karen cried. “I may have helped him commit murder.”
“Easy, now,” said Dave. “All you did was lend him your car which is a good thing because since we know what he’s driving, it might help us find him faster.”
“I hope you’re right,” Karen replied amid sniffles. “He’s really a great guy.”
“Yes, he is,” Leslie agreed. “Is there anything else you know which could help?”
“No,” said Karen, wiping her eyes.
“He didn’t give you any way to contact him?” Dave prodded.
Karen shook her head. “He said he wouldn’t be using his phone much if at all for a while. He’d call me if he needed to reach me. Like I mentioned, he realized you could track him and he wanted to find Fernando on his own.”
“Would you call me if you think of anything else?” asked Leslie.
“Definitely,” Karen replied, handing her mobile over. “Leave me your number. I’ll let you know if I hear from him too.”
“Thank you,” said Leslie. “If he does contact you, will you tell him you spoke to us?”
“Of course,” said Karen. “You asked about his call to me and I told you he was letting me know he was going out of town for a while. End of story.”
“Excellent,” said Leslie, “And one last thing, will you keep this to yourself? It’s in everyone’s best interest if you share this with no one.”
“Carlos asked the same of me yesterday,” Karen replied. “For what it’s worth I’m in human resources and I deal with confidential matters daily. You have my word that this will stay with me.”
* * * *
Cambridge, Ontario, 9:42 a.m.
Carlos had waited ten minutes after hearing Chris and his colleagues leave for dinner the previous evening to make sure the coast was clear then made his way out of the hotel using the stairs as an extra precaution. Once on the street, he had called Karen, hoping she was home and available, which she was. Telling her he wished to meet and was in need of her help, she had offered to come pick him up once he had specified he currently had no vehicle.
While he had headed east on the subway, boarding at Osgoode on Line 1 and transferring lines twice, Karen had driven westbound from Pickering and met him at McCowan Station, the end of Line 3. From there, they had returned to Karen’s house where she had insisted on feeding her ‘Little Bro’ before listening with growing horror, with her prodding, to his accounts of the last few days.
She had tried to convince him to call the police or, as an alternative, to return to his uncle and colleagues, who seemed to be experienced in dealing with such matters. However, he had held his ground and finally convinced her to lend him her car for a few days. He needed to find Fernando and, as he had told her, coax him to turn himself in and bring an end to this matter. The fact was, he wasn’t yet sure what he would do when he found Fernando but, one way or the other, the bastard had to pay for his mother’s death.
A couple of hours after arriving at Karen’s, it had dawned on him that Leslie had been tracking his phone and he had left in a hurry. Though he had no idea where Fernando might be, a number of acquaintances and locations found in his mother’s file were in Southern Ontario, a region he knew the man was fond of. With this in mind, he had hit the 401 back through Toronto, making it as far as Preston before calling it a night. He planned to visit these people and places in hopes of gleaning information about Fernando’s whereabouts or perhaps even finding the man himself.
Once checked into a hotel, he had found himself unable to sleep and had busied himself studying the photos of the file documents he had taken, searching once again for Fernando’s number. His mother was, or had been, a clever woman and, for whatever reason, she might have included the number in some type of code on one of the documents. While scrolling through the pics, his mind had started drifting as fatigue took its toll and he had decided to attempt sleeping again.
He had gazed at the tablet as he was about to turn it off and noted the pic on display was that of a generic invoice one can buy in pads at dollar stores or business supply outlets. The document had puzzled him, as well as Leslie and Jonathan, all three questioning its importance or lack thereof. Dated several years back, the invoice was written by hand in block letters, including the company name – G&M MAN’S UP. It included no business address and the customer name was FERNANDO GARCIA. The description simply read EMERGENCY SERVICE - $25.00.
Staring at the innocuous document for a moment, Carlos had scrolled on to a couple of other photos of various notes written by his mother. Though most were written in cursive, occasional words or titles were capitalized blocks and he had begun comparing them to the writing on the invoice, soon becoming convinced his mother had written it. If so, what did it mean? Earlier searches of the company name had produced no results but, if Donna had created the document, it likely wasn’t really an invoice. She certainly had little to do with Fernando at the time the invoice was dated.
An idea had come to mind and he had grabbed a pen and paper, hurriedly jotting down the name. He had then looked at the keypad on the hotel phone and jotted down the numbers corresponding to the letters and symbols – 416 62617 87. Might he have found Fernando’s number, given to his mother so she could reach him in case of ‘emergency’?
With difficulty, he had managed to get some sleep, after searching for and finding the address and opening hours of a nearby Best Buy. He had been up early, no alarm required, and waiting at the store’s entrance when a clerk had unlocked the doors at nine-thirty. Now, just over ten minutes later, he was leaving the store with a new, inexpensive prepaid phone – no contract, five hundred minutes of talk time and five hundred MB of data for the next thirty days.
He would go back to the hotel, gather his wits and call the number to hopefully reach Fernando.
* * * *
Blenheim, Ontario, 10:03 a.m.
Sixty-two year old Fernando Garcia opened his eyes and stared blankly at the clock radio on the cheap nightstand by the bed. It took him a moment to remember where he was, the Gold Motel, even though he had been staying there since his vanishing act the previous week. Rolling onto his back, he propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head, a move he immediately regretted as the room went into a nauseating spin.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to contain the urge to throw up. Though he somewhat lost the battle after a moment, he was thankful the resulting bout of dry heaves made no mess. The spinning and nausea subsided and he slowly raised himself to a sitting position, gazing about as he tried to remember the night before. An almost empty forty ounce bottle of whiskey was propped against a pillow to one side, next to a drying puddle of vomit on the bedsheet. Combined, these explained his spinning head and the recent dry heaves. The annoying plastic mattress cover suddenly made more sense as well.
Avoiding any sudden moves, he turned, away from the vomit, and edged to the side of the bed. He placed his feet on the floor and slowly stood, leaning on the nightstand for support. From where he stood, he could see his reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door. He had removed his jeans at some point b
ut still wore his denim shirt and boxers as well as one sock.
He remained in place, trying to determine if he was steady enough to walk but a growing need to use the bathroom helped him make his decision. With halting steps, he turned toward the foot of the bed, wavering slightly but not sufficiently to suggest he might fall. He took a step and another then happened to glance up at the television set on a stand in the corner – and collapsed to the floor as his knees buckled.
“Donna,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as the previous day’s news reports rushed back into memory.
With little to do at the Gold Motel, surrounded by farm fields on the outskirts of the small town of Blenheim, he had been bored. He could have gone for a walk and had even considered getting off the wagon, just for a beer or two at a bar in town to pass some time. However, the reason he had selected a place like the Gold Motel was to get off the grid for a while in hopes Danilo and Gabriel would give up on trying to find him. Though there was little chance of being spotted by someone in the gang in small-town Blenheim, was the risk worth it?
Letting his own safety win over being a little stir-crazy, he had resigned to some channel surfing, looking for something to entertain him. Instead, he had come across a news report about Donna’s murder in Maynooth. Numb with shock, he had managed to keep his emotions in check long enough to make the short trip to the closest liquor store. Upon his return, he had hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside his room door and commiserated with his old friend, alcohol.
A buzzing sound broke through his whimpering and brought him back to the present. He realized it was his mobile phone, the one he rarely used. After disappearing with the cash and dope, he had gotten rid of his usual phone and planned to use this other one going forward. However, nobody had the number, he had only given it to Donna, so who could be calling? Perhaps she had shared the number with Carlos or, alternatively, his son might have found it in the aftermath of her death. Could this be Carlos trying to reach him and, if yes, to what end?
He scrambled to the nightstand on his hands and knees and grabbed at the phone, knocking it to the floor. Cursing, he picked it up, only to note it had stopped vibrating. He checked the number of the last call and noted it was not one he was familiar with. Before he had time to access his voicemail, the phone began vibrating again. Glancing at the screen, he confirmed it was the same unfamiliar number then, taking a deep breath, he answered the call.
“Hello,” he rasped.
“Fernando?” asked the caller.
His heart accelerated as he thought he recognized the voice. However, he hadn’t spoken to his son, now a young man, in years.
“Who is this?” he demanded.
“It’s your son,” Carlos retorted. “Who’d you think it was?”
“Sorry, boy,” Fernando replied. “Not many people have this number and I have to be careful.”
“Why?” Carlos taunted against his better judgment. “You scared or something? You think some people are looking for you?”
Fernando sighed, not having the strength or desire to argue. “I guess you know that as well as anybody.”
“Do you know they killed my mother?” asked Carlos.
“I saw it on the news,” Fernando admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” said Carlos after a moment. “I don’t understand why they grabbed her in the first place but I understand it had something to do with you.”
“Uh, what do you know, exactly?” Fernando asked, puzzled.
“Some guy called me last week, on Thursday,” said Carlos. “He told me they had mom and asked me to track you down if I wanted them to let her go. I asked what it was all about and he told me it was none of my business. When I told him whatever was going on wasn’t mom’s business either, he told me to do what he asked and find you. I haven’t heard back from him since. Then yesterday, the police contacted me to tell me mom was dead. What happened, Fernando? What did you do?”
“I, uh, I don’t know if we should be talking about this,” said Fernando.
“My mother’s dead,” Carlos argued. “You can’t tell me I don’t have the right to an explanation. Of course, we have to talk about this.”
“How do I know you’re playing straight with me?” asked Fernando. “Maybe you’re setting me up for something.”
“Setting you up for what?” asked Carlos.
“I don’t know,” Fernando replied. “Maybe you are helping them find me, or working with the cops.”
“Those fuckers killed mom,” Carlos retorted. “Why would I do them any favours?”
“Maybe they kidnapped you too,” Fernando suggested, “And they’re listening to us talk right now.”
“Oh, go screw yourself,” Carlos snapped. “My mother’s dead and my father’s paranoid. I’m just looking for some closure but why should you give a shit. Sorry I bothered you. Have a happy life.”
“Listen, Carlos,” Fernando said. “You have to understand where I’m coming from, right? Carlos, are you there? Hello?”
He put the phone down on the floor and rubbed his face with both hands. He would have never believed he could feel more miserable than he had five minutes earlier but the conversation had proved him wrong. Though he had lost his wife years before, he had never stopped loving her and she had died because of him the day before. Now, because of his self-centeredness, he had likely ruined any chance of ever speaking to his son again, a son who did deserve to know why his mother was gone.
On a whim, he picked up the phone and redialled Carlos’ number.
“What?” Carlos snorted by way of response.
“Don’t hang up,” Fernando pleaded.
“What do you want?” Carlos demanded as a car horn blared close by.
“Where are you?” asked Fernando.
“I’m taking a walk to blow off some steam,” Carlos replied. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m sorry about before,” said Fernando. “I’m just scared.”
“Whatever,” said Carlos. “I’ve got my own shit to deal with so deal with yours.”
“I just wanted to be sure talking with you was safe,” said Fernando. “They could have grabbed you too to get to me.”
“Yeah, and now they let me go take a walk,” Carlos retorted. “They’re nice kidnappers.”
“I-I believe you,” said Fernando.
Carlos laughed. “Sure you do.” He hesitated for a moment then asked, “Can you do video calls on your phone?”
“Uh, like Skype?” asked Fernando.
“That’ll work,” Carlos replied before giving his address. “Call me on Skype.”
“Why?” Fernando asked, suspicious once again.
“So you can see me roaming the streets of Cambridge without any damned kidnappers,” said Carlos before ending the call.
* * * *
London, Ontario, 12:50 p.m.
Following a fifteen minute video conversation on Skype during which Carlos had gone out of his way to demonstrate he was on his own and certainly not in the grips of any kidnappers, Fernando had agreed to meet with him. There remained a possibility that his son was leading him into a trap with the gang but Fernando doubted it. He had kept tabs as best he could on Carlos over the years, even following him at times, and nothing indicated any criminal penchants. Similarly, Carlos might be working with the police and serving as bait but there really was nothing the authorities could pin on Fernando, at least not in regards to Donna’s death.
Wishing to keep where he was staying unknown, he had suggested they meet in London around one o’clock, a little over an hour’s drive for both himself from Blenheim and Carlos from Cambridge. Intent on minimizing the possibility of an ambush, he had told Carlos to call him when he reached the city at which time he would tell him where to go.
Preferring a public locale as their meeting point, Fernando had chosen Jack Astor’s Bar and Grill across from the White Oaks Mall and had arrived forty-five minutes ahead of time. Carlos had called twenty mi
nutes later and been given the location after which Fernando had kept his eyes open for any potential danger from the safety of his Ford Explorer parked further in the lot. Nobody milling about had given him cause for concern, even since he had seen Carlos arrive in a Rav4 and enter the eatery ten minutes earlier.
Satisfied all was as he had hoped, Fernando climbed out of the SUV, locked up and headed across the parking lot to join his son for what promised to be a difficult reunion.
* * * *
“Holy shit,” whispered Alonso Amaya, stopping short as he walked out of McDonald’s.
Across the lot from where he stood, maybe thirty feet away, a man was walking by – a quite familiar looking man.
Alonso stepped back in, keeping his eyes glued on the man as the latter gazed about as he went. He glanced toward the McDonald’s and there was no doubt about it, it was Fernando Garcia.
‘This is my lucky day,’ thought Alonso, stepping back out as Fernando turned toward Jack Astor’s on the opposite side of the lot. Accelerating his pace, Alonso approached his unsuspecting target.
He had been making deliveries, ironically, deliveries Fernando would have otherwise made, and had decided to stop for a bite before heading further south to connect with some other customers. Closing the distance separating him from his prey, he waited until Fernando was mere feet away before speaking.
“Fernie-Baby,” he murmured, his hand already gripping the butt of the .38 holstered under his jean jacket.
Fernando stopped and spun around, blanching as he saw Alonso and looking about frantically.
“Don’t be stupid,” Alonso warned, pulling his jacket open to show his gun. “You can’t outrun me and I’ll shoot you if I have to.”
“Right here in the open?” Fernando challenged in an attempt at bravado.
The Nephew Page 10
