Checkmate

by Nisa Santiago

  Dario entered the room where Chico stood.

  “I don’t know how people can live like this,” Dario said. “Inhumane. And they call me an animal because I kill people. But to keep them alive and living like this . . . Shit, I’d rather be dead.”

  “Yo, Dario, you wanna shut the fuck up? I don’t need your opinion right now.”

  Dario shrugged. He stepped out of the dilapidated bedroom and gave Chico a moment to himself.

  Chico looked around the room, trying to find some evidence of Apple’s existence in the place. He spent a short moment in the room. When he exited, Dario was in the hallway waiting.

  “What you wanna do now?” Dario asked.

  “Continue looking.” Chico walked out the compound feeling disgusted and angry. The men got back into the truck and sped away from the horrid brothel.

  As they sped toward the town, Chico said to Dario, “When we find Apple, I want you to find this Shaun muthafucka, and before you kill him, make that nigga suffer for hours. And I want his torture videotaped. I think it’ll be something Apple would like to have as a memento. I’ll pay you double for that shit.”

  Dario nodded. “You got it. It’s your money.”

  That night, the men checked into the El Dorado motel. The rooms were simply decorated with a full bed, a shaky table, a few chairs, and a retro color TV.

  Chico wasn’t in the mood to watch TV. He stared out the window and took in the town, thinking heavily. He now remembered Shaun, Memo’s brother.

  Dante had taken Memo out with a shotgun. Blew his head right off. Then they had thrown his sister Ayesha off the project rooftop. Dante and Chico had nearly wiped out Shaun’s family in a brutal way. Chico figured kidnapping and brutalizing Apple was only payback. He was ready to hunt the last brother down and finish it.

  ****

  Early the next morning, Chico and Dario were out on the road again, trying to find leads to Apple’s whereabouts. They scoured the town of Los Mochis and Ahome, hitting up the local bars, motels, and underground establishments. Chico was willing to pay money for information on Shaun and “the whore with the burned face”, as the men in town described her.

  “Sí, I’ve seen her around, and then I haven’t,” one of the drunken locals said to Chico. “She pretty and ugly at the same time. Too bad though, that American chocha was some of the best.”

  It angered Chico how recklessly the man talked about Apple to his face. He glared at the drunken patron and clenched his fists.

  The man went on, “And when she was pregnant, sí, the pussy was worth every peso I earned.”

  Immediately, Chico struck the drunk in the jaw, knocking him back into a few chairs. He stumbled and looked shocked.

  Dario ran over to control the scene. He grabbed Chico and snatched him out of the bar.

  “C’mon, we still got places to look into,” Dario said. “I have a lead.”

  Chico walked away and got into the truck. When no one was looking, he shed a few tears but wiped them away as fast as they appeared. He couldn’t look weak, and he couldn’t look desperate.

  He’d left a profitable drug organization in Harlem to come to Mexico to look for Apple. It was an outrageous thing to do for a man in his position. He’d told Blythe and others that he was leaving town for a few weeks to take care of business, but he didn’t elaborate further. Chico knew that if his peers and Blythe found out that he’d planned on scouring Mexico to find an ex-girlfriend—one who’d become a whore—his reputation would be tarnished forever.

  The following week, the men went searching through small towns like La Florida, Bachoco, Ohuira, and El Capulí, but they came up empty. Chico was willing to pay handsomely for any viable information, but he kept getting the same results or excuses from the locals.

  “My friend, you just missed her, but I know where she might be.”

  It turned into a wild goose chase. Two weeks had passed, and they weren’t any closer to finding Apple since the day he’d arrived. It was a tiresome search.

  Chico was also aware that he was in the deadly cartel’s domain, and after what he had done to Two-Face, the last thing he needed was to run into them. Though he’d tried to pin Two-Face’s death on Cross and Kola, Roman, might want to dead Chico just on GP.

  ****

  The men arrived in a town called Guamúchil, an ancient and pastoral town about a hundred miles south of Los Mochis. They walked into a local bar crowded with customers.

  Chico quickly scanned the place, taking in the mixed crowd of elderly and young downing tequila like it was water. Chico didn’t know any Spanish, but Dario was fluent in the language and was his interpreter in the country.

  The duo immediately stood out, catching stares and fleeting looks from most people inside. Chico headed farther into the bar. He studied faces and remained cautious. He pulled out Apple’s picture and began working the bubbly crowd inside. Dario was right behind him, .38 snug in his waist to ward off any possible trouble.

  Chico approached the first individual by the bar. He raised the picture for the man to see, and Dario spoke for him.

  “¿Has visto a esta chica?” Dario asked the man, asking if he had seen this woman around.

  The man studied the picture for a moment and shook his head.

  Chico moved on to the next individual and the next. He received a collection of “no’s” and confused stares from many of the locals. It frustrated him. He assumed that they were all lying, probably covering up for someone. He worked the bar for an hour, Dario following suit.

  It was getting late, and the bar began thinning out. Only a few stragglers lingered behind, drinking their sorrows and paychecks away in the little bar.

  Chico walked over to a short, round, cheery-looking man. He placed the picture in the man’s face and asked in English, “You ever saw this girl around?”

  “Sí,” he answered.

  “You said yes?” Chico questioned. “You speak English?”

  “Sí, amigo, I know her.”

  Chico became alert. “From where?”

  “She’s a whore from my old town.”

  “I know that. But have you seen her recently?” Chico asked.

  “No, not since I came here. But I have seen one of the other whores from there working here,” he said.

  “Where at?”

  “At a brothel a mile from here, amigo. Her name is Alba.”

  It was news that Chico had been waiting for. He had gotten the address from his informer, and he and Dario rushed to the location.

  A half hour later, they parked in front of a weathered two-story teal building with bars around the windows and an iron gate up at the front entrance. Chico knew it was the place the man had told him about.

  They got out and proceeded into the building. There was no security. When they entered the building, there were over a dozen whores around.

  Chico instantly began searching for Apple, hoping she was one of the girls in the place. The men went from room to room, sometimes interrupting a sex act of some kind, startling the whore and her trick.

  The madam approached Chico and Dario and asked, “¿Puedo ayudarte?”

  Dario looked at Chico and translated. “She’s asking if we need help.”

  “Yeah, tell her we’re looking for a girl.” Chico showed her Apple’s picture.

  The madam looked at the picture and shook her head. “No sé quién es,” she replied.

  “What?”

  “She hasn’t seen her,” Dario explained.

  “Fuck that! We close. I can feel it. Alba, ask about Alba,” Chico said.

  Dario began asking about Alba.

  The madam knew the name but was leery about letting them know which girl it was.

  Dario lifted his shirt to reveal the pistol tucked in his jean
s, to give her some incentive.

  Her eyes widened.

  Dario calmly asked again in Spanish for Alba. The madam reluctantly pointed to a petite, young girl seated on the couch in the next room. “No duele le,” the madam stated, saying, “don’t hurt her.”

  Dario assured the madam that they were only there to talk.

  Chico and Dario walked over to Alba, who was dressed in a yellow sundress and barefoot. She became confused. She looked up at the men with frightened eyes.

  “You speak English?” Chico asked.

  She shook her head, so Dario took over. He showed her a picture of Apple, and the recognition immediately showed on her face.

  She uttered, “Apple!”

  “You know her?” Chico asked.

  “Sí.”

  “Where is she?” Chico asked, and Dario quickly translated.

  Alba had no idea of Apple’s recent whereabouts. She told Dario about the shootout and kidnapping at the old place in Los Mochis. She described the men to him as American and black. She then went on to give critical information about Shaun, telling them that he might be farther south in Culiacán, a city in northwestern Mexico, and the largest city and capital of the state of Sinaloa. She also told them that Apple always knew that ‘Chico’ would come to rescue her. That last line nearly broke his heart in two.

  ****

  They left for Culiacán the following hour. They were in the town a few hours later, pursuing Shaun and Apple.

  Dario and Chico searched throughout the city with their routine, but to no avail.

  The third week was exhausting. Until, with enough cash spread throughout the city, Chico was led to an important acquaintance of Shaun’s. A street prostitute pointed them in the direction of Rivera, one of Shaun’s closest friends. He was a regular at a local bar in the rough, seedy section of town. The prostitute gave the two men a full description of Rivera, describing him as tall and lean with long braids, and having a birthmark on his right cheek.

  They found Rivera in a bar called Rio Grails, a quaint bar with cheap drinks, a tough crowd, and shady activity. When Chico and Dario walked in, the interest was on them so hard, Dario kept his pistol close, alert to his surroundings.

  Rivera was seated at the bar with a prostitute.

  Both men approached Rivera and swiftly flanked him, one on either side.

  “You Rivera, right?” Chico asked.

  Rivera turned and glared at Chico then at Dario. “What the fuck y’all niggas want?”

  “We lookin’ for a Shaun, and Apple,” Chico told him. “You probably know her, a young American girl wit’ a disfiguring burn across her face. We know you seen them both recently. Just tell us where, and make it easy on yourself.”

  “Don’t know who you talkin’ about. I’m busy right now.” Rivera turned his back to Chico. “Get the fuck outta here!”

  Chico glanced at Dario.

  Dario nodded and slowly removed the pistol from his waistband. He gripped it by its handle and watched Rivera ignore them as he continued to chat with the short, big-breasted prostitute.

  Chico stepped closer to Rivera. He hooked his eyes into him, tightened his fist, and said, “I’m gonna ask you again—Shaun or Apple, have you seen either one of them?”

  Rivera shouted, “Nigga, fuck—”

  The blow came fast, like a strike of lightning, across the back of his head from the pistol in Dario’s hand.

  As Rivera wailed and stumbled from the bar, Dario hit him again in the same spot, and he dropped to the floor.

  The regulars looked on, but no one intervened. The violence was a normal thing to them. The men and women around knew to mind their business.

  Dario dragged Rivera outside unconscious. They placed him into the back of the pickup truck and sped away. Dario drove away from the city, into the night, en route to the countryside and then pulled off Route 15 going south. He drove for forty minutes.

  Rivera was waking up when they stopped.

  Dario removed him roughly from the truck and held him at gunpoint.

  “What the fuck is this? You know who I am?” Rivera shouted madly. “This is my fuckin’ town. You two won’t make it a mile from this city alive when I get fuckin’ done wit’ y’all!”

  The men were unmoved by his threatening rants. Rivera’s wrists were bound, and he was placed on his knees against the rocks and dirt under a blanket of vast stars above, and nothing but miles of grassland around.

  Chico stood over Rivera, determined to get the truth from him. “We gonna ask you this one more time—Apple or Shaun, where are they?” he asked coolly.

  “Fuck you!” Rivera spat. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit!”

  Dario scowled. He pressed the barrel of the pistol to Rivera’s forehead and cocked back the hammer.

  “You think this shit scares me? Do it, muthafucka! ¡Ir a joder gilipollas de tu mamá!” he shouted.

  Dario whacked him across the face with the pistol.

  Rivera began to bleed, but he was still defiant. He glared up at his captors. “Yeah, you lookin’ for that burnt bitch, I remember her. Yeah, we made some good money off that piece of trashy pussy. She was fuckin’ every day and night. We had that pussy bleeding and shit. ¡Puta perra!”

  Chico was angry. “These muthafuckin’ Mexicans! Just tell me where she’s at!”

  “Fuck you!”

  Chico looked at Dario and nodded. Dario understood the signal. They weren’t getting anywhere with Rivera. He had become a dead end. It was painful.

  Rivera continued to curse and taunt Dario to pull the trigger.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  Dario put three into Rivera’s head, leaving him sprawled out on the ground.

  Looking at Rivera’s dead body made Chico even angrier. He was his last hope in finding Apple.

  “What now, Chico?” Dario asked.

  Chico didn’t know. He had no more resources, and he had been away from home and his business for too long. He didn’t want to give up on his search, but reluctantly, he had to fly back home to take care of business. To keep looking was affecting his mental state. The guilt, the grief, was overwhelming. He couldn’t listen to another muthafucka tell him how they’d fucked Apple, or call her a beast or a monster. It was all too much for him.

  “We tried, Chico. If you want me to keep on looking, I can. But it will cost,” Dario said.

  Chico thought long and hard about it. “Nah, I’m done looking. Fuck it! She’s ghost to me as of right now.”

  Chapter 23

  Apple awoke slowly from her hazy dream, stirring and turning under a dimmed light. She started to regain consciousness. The room was quiet and still, except for the soft hum of a fan blowing. She opened her eyes and saw that she was someplace different—in a room, lying on a bed.

  The bedroom was comfortable and modest. The bed was soft like clouds. She wasn’t in hell anymore. She started to wonder where she was. The filth from the whorehouse had been washed away from her. The clothes that she had on were different. Someone had taken the time to place her in a clean cotton nightgown.

  Apple remembered her nightmare. There was shooting and screaming. It felt like Armageddon. And then she felt herself floating in mid-air—like the wind or the hands of God had reached down and grabbed her soul.

  Am I still dreaming? She looked around the room. It was clean.

  Apple placed her feet on the engineered wood floor and stood up. She had strength in her body. She didn’t feel sick or tired. Was I eating? she asked herself.

  She walked toward the windows to look outside, curious about her location. She pulled back the blinds and gazed outside. The humongous yard she looked out at was grassy and stretched for acres. The trees were tall and plentiful with leaves, and the bright sun beamed across the land for miles.
r />   “Is this heaven?” she asked herself.

  She turned from the window and continued inspecting the room. There weren’t any electronic items in the room, only the bare necessities. There was fruit in a bowl placed on a table, a few books on shelves, and the walls were bare of pictures or posters. There was a dresser and mirror set near the window.

  Apple thought, If it’s heaven, then my wounds would heal. She walked over to the mirror and stared at her reflection.

  Nothing had changed—Her disfigured face was still there as a reminder of the horrors from her past. She touched her wounds and sighed.

  Apple wondered if she was still in Mexico. There weren’t any clocks or calendars in the room, so she had no idea what day or time it was.

  She began to think about Chico. She smiled and said, “He came for me. He found me. . .” It was the only rational reason as to why she was suddenly free from her prison.

  Apple had a quick flashback of the event. She briefly remembered the masked men, and heard the violence, but one of those men was her savior.

  She turned in the direction of the door when she heard someone entering. She smiled, walked toward the door, ready to jump into her man’s arms and kiss him lovingly.

  The bedroom door came open, and a man appeared in the doorway.

  “Chico,” she called out.

  Apple fastened her eyes on the man entering the room. She froze. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It had to be a dream. It couldn’t be him.

  “I see you’re awake,” he said.

  “How is this even possible?”

  “You don’t look happy to see me.”

  “How did you find me?” Apple asked.

  “I have my ways.”

  Fear crept up Apple’s spine. She didn’t know if he was a friend or foe. She slightly backed away from him and looked around the room, trying to find an object to grab in case she needed to defend herself.