The Terror of Tijuana

by S. J. Varengo

  “Unlike the other orphans, Anthony Porter, you’ll be rolling up in a Mercedes sports coupe, so I don’t think the other kids are going to be able to relate to your particular brand of suffering.”

  Shortly thereafter, they arrived at Neal’s and Tony transferred to Dan’s ride. “See you at the mall, Annie.”

  “Ugh. Can you imagine living life with that red mop for hair?”

  “Just another layer in a life of sorrow,” Tony said as he closed the car door and brought the engine to life with a little growl as he gave it some gas. He pulled out of Neal’s drive and headed northeast toward the 16th Street Mall, located in the heart of Denver’s business district. Without discussing it, they both parked on the Curtis Street side (for some reason, they always found parking spots there when they did), and Tony listened for the lock chirp, then waited for J.J.

  They went into the uniquely shaped building and J.J. said, “I’m going to Victoria’s Secret and Hollywood Cowgirl Bling. Coming?”

  Tony looked at her as though she’d just announced she’d taken a job running the showers at Auschwitz. “No!” he said emphatically. “I’m just going to sit at a table in the food court. After you’re done running your estrogen errands, come find me.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, bounding off.

  “Victoria’s Secret, maybe,” he mumbled as he found an empty table. “The wall posters make that trip worth taking. But ain’t no way I’m going to look at cowgirl bling. Or cowgirl anything else.”

  A voice from behind startled him. “You know, if they hear you talking to yourself at the mall, sometimes people call security.”

  Tony turned, then frowned. It was Cark from Taco Bell. “What’s up, Number 12?”

  “Dude, please with the number twelve shit, okay?”

  Cark held his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, just kidding around. Easy. I think we got off on a bad foot.” He offered his hand. “Name’s Marc, formerly of Taco Bell.”

  “I’m Tony. But I thought it was Cark,” Tony said, shaking his hand, but still not allowing his scowl to fade.

  “Yeah, that’s all part of the ‘formerly’ part of the introduction. “I’d forgotten when I talked to you guys that my window mic is always hot, and that everything is recorded in case they ever have to refer back to a specific transaction or whatever.”

  “Oh no,” Tony said. “You’re going to tell me that the numbskull manager who made your name tag heard your … review of her intelligence?”

  “Every word. But that’s not what got me fired. At least not officially. I guess there’s no rules against questioning your manager’s I.Q.”

  “Good thing. I’d expect it comes up often.”

  “Probably in every fast food place in the world,” Marc agreed. “There is a rule against making comments about a customer’s mode of payment, though. And that’s what she used as the reason for my termination.”

  “What? You didn’t say anything about our mode of payment.”

  “Actually, I did. I was impressed by the Centurion card your sister used.”

  “I’ve got one too,” Tony said, nodding his head knowingly.

  “Yeah, she heard me say the name, and even though she could never spell ‘Centurion,’ she recognized it for what it was when I said it, so she fired me.”

  “Shit. That sucks.”

  “What sucks?” said J.J., startling them both as neither saw her approach. Her face brightened as she saw who Tony was talking to. “Well if it isn’t Cark from Taco Bell.”

  Her brother answered, “Marc, as it turns out, is now ‘formerly’ of Taco Bell. He got shit-canned for saying the name of your credit card.”

  “Really?” J.J. asked, appalled that such a thing could be true.

  “Well, only officially. Really, I got shit-canned for telling you about my idiot manager, who just happened to be the person reviewing the feed from my microphone. But she couldn’t use that as the reason. Luckily for her, I also mentioned your Amex. That is strictly forbidden.”

  “That sucks,” J.J. said.

  “That’s what I said.” Tony laughed.

  “You know what, though?” Marc said. “It really doesn’t. The only reason I took the job was so that I’d have enough bread to go visit my sister and her hubby at their beach house in San Diego. Even with the abbreviated pay-week, I’d already made enough for the trip. I’m actually leaving this afternoon.”

  “San Diego! I love it there,” J.J. said. “One of my friends from Notre Dame lives there and I visited her family over a break a few years ago.”

  “You should totally come with!” Marc said, showing genuine enthusiasm for the idea.

  “Oh, I couldn’t just take off like that,” J.J. said. She was battling the fact that she’d known this guy for less than twenty-four hours with the fact that every time she looked at him, he seemed a little cuter than the time before. And he was definitely different from most of the other guys from Denver that she’d grown up with.

  “Why not?” asked Tony, surprising her. “It’s not like Mom and Dad are around to tell you not to go.”

  “I get it,” said Marc. “She doesn’t really know me yet. It was a stupid thing to suggest.”

  “Yes, and then you’d really feel like an orphan if I left you behind too.”

  “Just go,” Tony said. “You need a little adventure in your boring life.”

  J.J. swallowed hard. Tony didn’t know that she’d had plenty of adventure already this year. More than enough. Still, San Diego was beautiful and Marc was cute. “I don’t know.”

  “I have an idea that might solve all our issues. Tony can come too. That way, he’s not abandoned, and you’re not driving alone to California with a guy you just met in the drive-thru window.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Shut up, dummy!” Tony said. “Now you’re messing with my good times. I’ve got friends in San Diego too, most of whom are freaking hot. Remember me, the kid who goes to Berkley?”

  “You’re okay with this?” she asked her brother.

  “Look. The way I see it, we have two choices. We can sit around playing Castle Lords all day until Mom and Dad get back, or we can hit the beach in Cali. Hmm. I don’t know.”

  When J.J. didn’t answer immediately, Tony poked her forehead a few times. “No brainer, Jayj! I was lying. I do know. If Cark’s down with company, we should go.”

  “You really don’t mind?” she asked Marc, who was smiling at the interplay between her and Tony.

  “Tony’s right, there are lots of hot ‘friends’ to be had out there. But I’m okay with showing up with one who is hotter than anything I expect to see in Southern California. I mean, you are my friend, right?”

  Both young men looked at her as she thought the situation through. Finally, she gave a single, decisive nod. “Why the hell not?” she said.

  “Why the hell not!” echoed Marc, obviously thrilled.

  “Why the hell not,” said Tony, grinning as he added his endorsement.

  “Okay. So, we need to drive home and pack a little.”

  “Just grab the essentials. My sis’s place has everything, and they’re out of town until the end of August. We can take my car. It’s already road trip ready. Gassed up, cooler in the back seat.”

  As they were walking out of the mall together, J.J. almost offered up the use of her Grand Cherokee for the trip. She figured a guy who had to work at Taco Bell to earn vacation money wasn’t going to have a vehicle quite so nice for long drives. But as they arrived on Curtis Street, Marc stopped beside a Lincoln Navigator that was, if anything, a little more tricked out than J.J.’s jeep.

  “This is your car?” J.J. asked, immediately realizing she’d jumped to a very incorrect conclusion.

  “Yeah. Don’t act so shocked.”

  “If you’re driving a car like this, you probably didn’t need to humiliate yourself at Taco Bell to earn cash for a trip to San Diego.”

  Marc nodded, his face a little sad. “Yeah, well, how
do you think I knew your credit card was so special? My family has a little money as well. Unfortunately, my dad is one of those right-wing conservative types who feel that if they give their kids too much, they’ll never learn the value of a dollar. He gets me a new car every year, but that’s mainly because he owns a bunch of dealerships, and he uses me as a kind of rolling billboard.” He pointed to the license plate holder, which read “Steiger Lincoln-Mercury.”

  “Steiger, as in Monty Steiger?” Tony asked, already grinning

  “You know him, then?”

  “Dude, everybody in Denver knows Monty Steiger. The only place with stupider commercials is Battery World, and that’s my dad’s best friend’s business.”

  “He is known for his dumb commercials, yeah,” Marc said with good-natured shame.

  J.J. gave Marc their address and the three vehicles made their way out of the busy downtown area and back to the suburban feel of Cook Street. Tony invited Marc in as he and J.J. headed off to throw together a few essential items. As they moved away, Marc seemed to remember something.

  “Grab your passports,” he called after them. “In case we want to pop down to Tijuana for a night out.”

  Tony, who’d been to the border city before, perked up at its mention.

  “Oh hell yeah!” he shouted. “Jayj, we are gonna have us some fun!”

  II

  The Universe as Trickster

  8

  The Hand of God

  It didn’t take Nicole long to get settled once the plane touched down. General Abelardo L. Rodriguez International Airport, mercifully better known as Tijuana International, was unlike the airports of most major European cities, which generally had to be built in a smaller, nearby town. TIJ was on the city’s northern limit and, she mused, it was so close to the international border that if a plane were to go off the runway, it would likely end up on American soil.

  Darlene had been relentless between the time Nicole had told her she was definitely going to Tijuana and her arrival there, trying to backtrack through her own communications labyrinth to determine where Manny had been when he sent the text. Cell tower information in Mexico was easier to access than in the States, but she still had to trace the message through the misdirections she had put in place herself to protect the agency and its operatives. The controller had narrowed the search to an area known as the Otey Contituyentes. In the midst of all that, she had booked Sally North into the Gamma De Fiesta Inn, which was in that region and which described its rooms as “minimalist.” When Cole entered her unit, she saw at once what they meant. Two rooms, including a small bath, furnished with a full-sized bed and a postage-stamp-sized table mounted to the wall in lieu of a desk. The accompanying chair was one of the folding metal numbers so adored by professional wrestlers.

  This was the second mission in a row in which Darlene had put her in a substandard hotel, Nicole realized as she set her luggage next to the bed. In both cases, it was primarily due to the speed with which the arrangements needed to be made, but this time, there was the additional rationalization that it was close to the origin of the Manny’s one and only message. Probably won’t be staying in the room much anyway, she reasoned to herself.

  She assumed Manny would have made the pilgrimage to each of the crime scene areas. She glanced at the map that Darlene had sent her, the murder sites marked with digital push-pins, and saw that they encompassed a very large area of Tijuana. The markers were distributed between tourist and business districts, skewed slightly in favor of the latter. It was odd therefore that Manny would have texted from the zone in which she was staying. None of the virtual pins were stuck nearby.

  The only other thing Nicole had to go on was the name. “Danilo Aguilar Muñoz, aka Cara Rota,” the text had said. Nicole had never studied any languages until after she’d left Greenville in Darlene’s pickup all those years before. Now, out of necessity, she was fluent in several and Spanish was one of the first she’d mastered. So she knew that the alias, Cara Rota, meant “Broken Face,” but was even more nuanced, implying a twisted kind of broken. The distinction might or might not be important. At the very least, if she came upon a random group of people with broken faces, she’d probably be able to determine which was her guy by the subtle choice of the word “rota.”

  Nicole did not hold much stock in television psychics. In fact, she’d once nearly caused Dan to pass out due to non-stop laughter as she’d done her generic spiritualist imitation at the D-Soft Christmas party a few years prior to Dan’s retirement. “Someone is reaching to you from beyond. I’m seeing the letter ‘A.’ No? ‘B,’ then. Not ringing a bell? How about ‘C?’ Hmm. The Batman symbol, maybe? Or wait, it might be an old car. No! I’ve got it! It’s Captain Crunch! Yes! That was the ‘C!’ It’s not? Damn.”

  However, despite her scathing impersonation, she did believe in the concept of energy, not as a marketable utility, but the residual sort, which could be a potent source of direction when, frankly, she had no other. So she opened Google Earth on the laptop in her go-bag (concluding a moment later that the hotel’s Wi-Fi was also minimalist), and eventually located her position. She zoomed out slightly to take in the surrounding area.

  She knew that she was still very near the airport. Although the taxi ride had taken twenty minutes, by looking at the satellite image, she realized that she could have walked to her hotel from the runway and been in her room in about five. Now she wanted to see what else was nearby.

  The answer, even though the satellite showed a densely populated area, was “not much.” It was largely residential and the businesses that invaded the area were the sort that people in America would not want to live near; industry with little concern for the environment butted up against mean houses jam-packed into very poor neighborhoods.

  It was a jumbled mess. But…

  There was an area to the southeast of her to which her eyes kept returning. Specifically, she was drawn to an installation of apartment buildings, all composed of four towers situated around a central hub. To her, it looked as though someone had scattered a handful of asterisks around the neighborhood. She wasn’t sure what about them drew her in, other than knowing that they were not far from the cell tower that Darlene had pegged as the most likely source of the text message. That certainly may have influenced the energy she was feeling.

  She inhaled sharply and let out a slow, controlled breath. One thing that she knew without question was that she was not about to venture into unknown territory without a friend or two, so she contacted her handler.

  When a cleaner arrived at her assigned location, she brought no weapons. Rather, the globe was dotted with CUC staff with that title. They often had to cover a wide territory, and she knew that the man she was texting, Luis by name, was based in Culiacan, which was two states away in Sinoloa. She also knew that this would be the second time he was summoned to Tijuana in less than a week. Using “locals” as handlers was essential because they had a much easier time moving arms and often were able to mine intel that was unavailable even to a web watchdog like Darlene.

  A moment after she’d texted “¡No puedo esperar a verte!” Luis replied in English. “Can’t wait to see you either, cousin! Taikishi, on Blvd. Industrail. Twenty minutes.”

  After looking the place up, Nicole was amused, though not at all disappointed, that he’d chosen a Sushi restaurant rather than Mexican. She was a little off, probably from the flight. It’s because of the wine with Dan, liar, she thought with a half-smirk. Either way, raw fish somehow sounded less risky than authentic enchiladas.

  After a quick face wash and change of clothes, she hit the streets.

  Even though it was daytime, the increasingly disturbing reports of cartel violence were never far from the forefront of Nicole’s mind. Based on the overall impression of the area shown on the computer, she felt it would be smarter to take a cab, even though the restaurant was only a little more than a kilometer away, far shorter than her usual morning runs back home. To be honest, she
could have run to the meeting faster than the nearly fifteen-minute drive. The cab from the airport, she was sure, had taken advantage of her unfamiliarity with the city, a little game played by taxi drivers the world ‘round. This time, the streets were so busy with mid-morning traffic that the pace was snail-like, and she didn’t feel the driver was trying to cheat her.

  She took advantage of the slow going to look carefully at the area through which she was passing. Much as she’d expected from the overhead view, the zone was extremely depressed, and the closer they got to the destination, there was far more foot traffic than vehicular. Eventually, they neared Taikishi, although they were still a few blocks off. “Dejame aqui, por favor,” she told the driver, who took her instruction to “Drop me off here” quite literally. He stopped in the middle of the street, much to the displeasure of the cars behind him. Nicole paid him far more that the fare and hopped out.

  She walked slowly, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the area. Upon spotting the sushi house, she picked up her pace. The Asian simplicity of the place definitely set it apart from most of the other businesses in the area. She’d never worked with Luis before, but as she entered, a man beckoned from a table near the back of the dining room. “Hola prima! Aquí!”

  She walked toward him, and he stood and embraced her warmly. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said loudly. A few patrons looked up and smiled at the “reunited cousins.” They sat together at the table and were quickly forgotten. Luis spoke quietly and, to Nicole’s surprise, in German, saying by way of explanation, “I don’t expect anyone can hear us, but you never know.”

  Nicole looked around and saw that the nearest patrons were about three tables removed from theirs, but choosing neither Spanish nor English was a good move. “Das ist gut. Es ist klug.”