by Jessie Cooke
“Catalina Guzman!” I stood up, smoothed my dirty dress and turned towards him. I expected him to look like Al Pacino. Instead, it was more like Kevin Costner in an extremely expensive suit. His hair was sandy blonde and full and his eyes were a stunning dark green. He didn’t look the slightest bit like a Vitucci. He looked more like a Smith. He was smiling like it was a joyous occasion and as he took me in he shook his head and said, “My God, you look just like your mother.”
I didn’t say anything. I suddenly had no idea why I was there. I’d traveled thousands of miles to get away from my uncle the thug and there I was trying to forge some kind of weird bond with his American twin. He stood there waiting for me to respond so finally I said, “Hello.”
He grinned. I could see what my mother saw in him, looks wise anyways. He was a very handsome man and his charisma was almost palpable in the room. He came towards me and stopped about a foot away and said, “Sit, relax. Were you offered a drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I sat back down and Dominic took a seat on the couch opposite me. He was staring at me like he was looking at a ghost. Finally he said,
“How is Margarita?”
How do I answer that question? “She’s okay…I guess.”
His green eyes were almost mesmerizing as he held my gaze. “Did she send you here?”
I cleared my throat. There was a huge lump in it. “No, she doesn’t know that I’m here. Do you remember me as a baby?”
He smiled again and his eyes got a faraway look in them. “I never got to see you. I was…away for about eight months. I wasn’t aware when I went away that your mother was expecting.”
“You know they deported her.”
“I know she went back to Mexico. I wasn’t aware she’d been deported. I do recall she had some trouble with the District Attorney.”
He recalls she had some trouble? From what Pope told me he was the source of her trouble with the D.A. “Mr. Vitucci, can we cut through the bullshit here and jump to the point of my visit?”
He laughed and slapped his leg. “You are Margarita’s daughter, that’s for certain. Go ahead young lady and say what’s on your mind.”
I took a deep breath and said, “My mother has lived the past twenty-one years in hell. She was forced by my uncle to marry a man who abuses her. Now, my uncle wants the same fate for me. I don’t know how much you know about my family…but I suspect you know who Arturo Guzman is. He’s not someone that I can just walk away from. So I ran…and I came to the place that my mother talked about my whole life. The only place she was ever happy. When I was growing up she told me that my father was an important man in Las Vegas. She led me to believe he was some kind of upstanding citizen…a politician who righted wrongs. I found her scrapbook and I came to the conclusion that District Attorney Pope was my father. He denied that when I confronted him. He claims my mother was…unstable and he feared for his family’s life, and he had her deported. Right now Mr. Vitucci, I would just like to know if you’re my father.”
The look on his face didn’t change at all throughout my soliloquy. When I finished I took a deep breath and waited. He looked at me with his intense green eyes for a long time before finally saying, “I asked Margarita if you were mine. She told me that you weren’t. The last day I saw her, she told me she was packing to leave and she wouldn’t be back. As far as I knew there was no one waiting to deport her…I suppose if we’re cutting through the bullshit I’ll tell you that the last time I saw her it was on visiting day at the Clark County Jail. I was awaiting trial. I have to doubt that a woman being forced out of the country would have been let in to visit me. I’d been in jail for eight months at that point. The last time she’d been to visit me was a few months before that and she had been pregnant. That time, she wasn’t. I asked her if you were mine both times and she denied it. But with Margarita it was often hard to tell how much truth there was in what she said. She was…”
“Unstable?”
He smiled. “I’m not sure that’s the perfect word. She was wild and when I first met her she wanted to be free more than anything. She acted like someone who had been in a cage for an extended period of time and had just been set free. She wanted to taste everything and smell everything and it was all she could do to keep herself from dancing in the streets naked. We had a great time together. She was attracted to me because she saw me as dangerous, but what she and I had was never exclusive and when she told me that you weren’t mine, I took her word for it. I was twenty-two and she was eighteen…neither of us were looking for forever at that point in our lives. I do know who your uncle is. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him…but his reputation precedes him.”
“I have to ask you this because my very life may depend on it. If you were my father…would you be willing to say so in court so that I’d be allowed to stay in the U.S.?” He drew his brows together and stood up. Shoving his hands in his pockets he walked over and looked out the window. He was silent for a long time. I finally stood up and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.” I started for the door and he said,
“Catalina…wait. I’m sure that you can understand why this would be difficult for me. I’m a wealthy man. More than one person has tried to find a way to get close to me for that reason alone.”
I turned to face him and said, “My uncle is a wealthy man too. The man he wants to force me to marry is a wealthy man. If wealth was my end game, I wouldn’t have paid a coyote to get me across the border and traveled all this way. What I want Mr. Vitucci is my freedom. If I thought I could achieve that on my own, I would not be inclined to ask for anyone’s help…let alone yours.”
He smiled. “Let alone, mine? You’re funny, Catalina. On the one hand you seem ready to plead for my help. On the other hand you seem disgusted by the mere thought of being related to me in any way.”
“I’ve spent my life in the presence of rich thugs who like to call themselves businessmen. Forgive me if I have no respect for your lifestyle. I’ve seen it up close and personal and I have to say that I’ve found it lacking.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You have a bigger set of bolas than any man I’ve ever met, that’s for certain. Sit down Catalina. Let’s talk.”
15
Conan
When the doctor finally came in on Thursday he told me that the bleed inside my head had caused a baseball sized hematoma that had pressed against my optic nerve causing the problems with my vision and my dizziness and instability. He got me out of bed and told me to stand on one leg. I couldn’t do it. I tried six fucking times and I fell over each time. Then, he had me sit down and hold out my arms. He told me to bring my pointer finger to my nose with my right hand and then my left, over and over until he told me to stop. I poked my cheek three times and plunged my finger into the uncovered eye twice.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
“How many fights have you been in Conan?”
I shrugged and looked at Tim. “About thirty, give or take an exhibition here and there,” he said. “Have you ever heard of CTE or as the old timer’s called it, ‘punch drunk’?”
I could tell by the look on Tim’s face he had. I had a vague idea of what it was, but I was a glutton for punishment, I guess. “I’m not sure,” I said.
“CTE is a condition that athletes…particularly fighters and football players get. The best way to explain it is to say that if you don’t stop getting hit in the head now while you’re young…it will only get worse. Your brain will stop cooperating with you. Conversations you had twenty years ago will still be crystal clear, but what you had for lunch today will be a total mystery. Even if someone sat and described the last eight hours of your life to you, it would be like you’re listening to them describe your first birthday party. Your moods will be unstable, you won’t recognize your friends and family and they won’t recognize the man you’ve become. But…you will go on living and you will live another fifty or sixty years in that state of mind.”
I was confused. “Are you telling me I have this?”
“The only way to accurately diagnose it is during autopsy…so no Conan, I’m not saying you have it. What I’m telling you is that you sustained one hell of an injury to your brain and looking at your MRI’s, I can see that it’s not your first. This one caused a baseball sized hematoma that pressed into your optic nerve causing the blurred vision and the loss of peripheral vision. That damage, even though the bleed is taken care of, is permanent. There is no way to repair those nerves.”
“Wow…you’re kind of a downer, doc.”
“Conan! Don’t make jokes at a time like this.” I couldn’t look at her. I could hear the tears in her voice. I looked at Tim instead. That wasn’t much better.
“When can I get out of here?”
“I’d like you to stay at least through the weekend. You’ve just had major surgery and we need to keep you under observation.”
“If you’ve fixed all you can fix then why can’t I just go now?”
“Conan, you need to listen to the doctor.” That’s when I snapped.
“I listened to him Mom! I listened to him tell me I probably had a disease that was going to ensure the last fifty or sixty years of my life were going to be fucked up! I heard him say I was going to be practically fucking blind the rest of my life and I wasn’t going to be able to do what I loved any longer. I listened and now I want to go home is that too much to ask?” I heard her sob. I was still not looking at her. She didn’t tell me not to cuss and that was scarier than what the doctor said.
“Conan, I understand how upsetting this must be…” he started. It was his turn to receive my wrath. Tim was the only one smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
“Do you? Really? If someone suddenly told you that your brain wasn’t going to cooperate with you being a doctor any longer do you think ‘upsetting’ would be the right fucking word? Maybe next time go with devastated; Doc…or you know what? Royally fucked sums it up the best.”
“That’s enough!” Okay, Mom was pissed now. She’d raised her voice in front of people. She never did that. That’s good though. That’s what I wanted. I didn’t want her crying and fussing over me like I’m a fucking invalid. “It’s not the doctor’s fault you’re in this condition.” I heard what she didn’t say in her voice.
“No, it’s not his fault is it, Mom? It’s my own fucking fault, right? If I had listened to you, none of this would be happening.”
“I didn’t say that.” She had big ass crocodile tears running down her face and I felt like a total dick but I couldn’t stop myself.
“You didn’t have to say it. I can hear you thinking it. ‘He should have listened to me.’ That’s what you’re thinking. I should have never gone to Mexico and I should have been a fucking rancher like the old man and then I’d live forever…oh that’s right, he…”
She grit her teeth and said, “Don’t you dare say it! Don’t you dare disrespect your father because you feel sorry for yourself!” Her voice was raised and her finger was pointed. “You want me to say it young man, okay! You’re right! You didn’t listen to me and you chose this life and now as sad as it is, you have to live with the consequences of it. You can do that like a man or you can continue to act like an insolent child and turn your anger out on everyone else. But I won’t stand for you disrespecting your father in any way.” A lead pipe can fuck you up in a single swing. A mother can fuck you up with a few well-placed words. She shut me up, but I was still angry…too angry to apologize.
“I’d just like to be alone now.” I felt Tim’s hand on my shoulder and then he left the room. The doctor went with him, probably gladly. Mom hung back and I knew that meant she had more to say. I wasn’t in the mood to hear it, but I was sure she didn’t give a shit.
“I love you Conan. I’m going to leave and give you the time alone that you need to process this…but while you’re processing it I want you to remember a few things. He’s not telling you that you’re dying. He’s not telling you that your brain is already not working. What he’s telling you is that you can’t get back in a cage and let anyone kick the shit out of you anymore…and maybe you should stay the hell out of Mexico. My point is that it could be so much worse. I know that you love being a fighter, but you’re twenty-four years old and there are so many other things you can do with your life. So take a day to be upset and pissed off and then remember how lucky you are to be alive and move on.” My mother rarely said “Hell” much less “Pissed off.” She was mad…maybe more at the situation than at me, but either way, she was pissed. “I’m staying at the Flamingo. The nurses have my contact information and I left it on the table there for you. You call me when you’re ready to see me.” I let her walk out. I should have told her that I loved her too, and that I knew how lucky I was to be alive. But I was in the wallowing in self-pity phase and at that moment I felt more like I was drowning than wallowing.
I wallowed for an entire night and day. I snapped at the nurses and I refused to take my meds like a pissed off kid. I couldn’t imagine my life without fighting. It was all I’d wanted to do since I was a kid. I tried listing out all the good things in my life like Mom told me to…but it was like losing your lover and then being told to hurry up and pick another one. It was too fucking soon. I was walking around my hospital room thinking about just taking off and still pouting on Friday afternoon when Jacob and Brock Carter showed up. Jacob had on a sleeveless shirt and all his colorful tattoos were showing. Brock’s t-shirt looked like it was going to shred off his torso like the fucking Hulk. The sight of them looking all healthy and shit put me in a worse mood, especially when suddenly it took two fucking nurses to take my vitals. When the star-struck nurses were gone Jacob said,
“How are you doing?”
“I’m fucking fantastic. How are you?”
He raised an eyebrow and said, “I’m okay. I came by to tell you that my brother Ian is an attorney. He talked to his friend who works in the D.A.’s office about Guzman being in town. I guess the D.A. is pretty interested. There’s a detective here that would like to talk to you about it.”
Shit! I’d been so fucking wrapped up in my own misery that I almost forgot about Catalina. “What do they want to talk about?”
“Dude if you’re not up for this…”
“I’m up for it!” I rubbed my face in my hands. They’d taken the bandage off my right eye today. I found out they’d repaired the orbital socket when they had me under. It still hurt like a bitch. I winced and then cleared my throat so I wouldn’t sound like a pussy as I said, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s kind of been a fucked-up week. I’ll talk to him.”
16
Catalina
“You ready for this young lady?” I must admit that I had been more than a little disappointed when eight o’clock rolled around and I had to accept that Conan wasn’t going to show. He was probably already back in Austin, living his life. I took a deep breath and nodded at Dominic. He and I had talked the day before for hours. I wasn’t sure if I was pleased or disappointed to find out that despite being a vicious street thug, he was also a nice guy.
“I’m ready. I’m going to try to reason with him. If I need you I’ll call out for you, otherwise you and your guys stay hidden. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”
He smiled that smug, confident smile I was getting used to and said, “It won’t be any Sicilian blood getting spilled.” I rolled my eyes, but I prayed that he was right.
I stepped out from behind the wall of the Golden Nugget as soon as I saw the black car drive up. I was holding my breath as it pulled to a stop in the alley and I saw my uncle’s driver step out. I wasn’t ready to believe that he actually came himself until I saw him step out of the back of the car with my own two eyes. I’ll be a son of a bitch, Arturo Guzman getting his hands dirty. He was dressed to kill as usual in a tan Armani suit and a pair of ostrich skin boots. Every hair was in place and his mustache was perfectly trimmed across his
upper lip. He looked every bit the part of a Cartel leader and when I saw that he had come himself, I was happy that Conan hadn’t shown. The only reason he would be here himself would be to show Conan what happens to people who fuck with him up close and personal.
He smiled and I saw every one of his perfectly straight, white teeth as he walked towards me. I didn’t return the sentiment. When he was about two feet away I said, “That’s close enough, Uncle.”
He stopped, but the smile didn’t drop off his face. I saw a black SUV pull in behind his car and then another pull in behind that. He’d brought lots of back-up. That part wasn’t surprising. “Catalina,” he said with a sigh and a tsk, “You have caused me and your parents so much worry.”
“You weren’t worried about me Uncle. You were worried about the merger you want to make by marrying me off. And do not call that pig who lives with my mother a parent.”
His smile was quickly fading. “You had better check your tone young lady. Where is this big, tough fighter of yours? Are you suddenly so brave because like your mother you came to America and found yourself a big dick? I see he sent you here alone…real tough guy, huh?”
“You’re disgusting. Conan could kill you with his bare hands. And for your information he has been nothing but good to me, unlike the men you want to pair your female family members off with. If you harm one hair on his head again, so help me…”
He laughed. “You’re threatening me now? My, you are brave little one.” He put on his drug lord face then, the one that used to scare me and he said, “Get in the car.”
“No. I’m not going back with you.”
He sighed again. “Catalina, let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be. You will do as you’re told. Now, for the last time, get in the car.”
