by SL Hulen
Eyeing the tattered upholstery of the barstools, he chose to stand. “Give me your best single malt scotch.”
“We got Dewar’s,” snorted the bartender. His mustache looked as though he’d swallowed a horse’s tail.
“It will have to do.”
When the bartender delivered the drink, Mieley wiped the rim of the glass.
Less than fifteen minutes later, they emerged from the corridor where the restrooms were. Mieley shifted to the darkness of a corner at the end of the bar. Fortunately, they didn’t look his way. He threw down a twenty and left most of his drink, hovering near the door until he was sure he would not be seen.
There was not much sunlight left when he walked outside. The street reeked of diesel and rancid cooking oil. The smell reminded him that he was hungry. You can have any kind of food you want in this town, Mieley thought, as long as it’s beans and tortillas.
He trailed them without incident for almost four blocks when the smaller one tried to make it seem as though she was window shopping. In his distraction, he stumbled on an uneven patch of sidewalk. Heightened reflexes kept him from hitting the ground, but his Italian loafers were all but ruined. He bent down to inspect the damage, purposely increasing the distance between them.
Humiliation turned to exhilaration as he imagined the bracelet swinging back and forth, more brilliant and beautiful than ever. He dawdled another moment or two, and then stood with renewed resolve, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt. He looked again, and they were gone.
Chapter Twenty-two Victoria
She could count on one hand the number of times she’d played the part of a damsel in distress; it ran contrary to every fiber of her being. Still, when she had to, Victoria could be convincing.
“I can’t believe it! I’ve locked my keys in the car. My phone, too.”
Thankfully, the guard who manned the detectors on the ground floor of the courthouse recognized her.
“I can’t let you use the phone, but we’re closing the building soon. If you don’t mind waiting, I could walk you to your car and see what can be done.”
“That would be wonderful.”
The guard’s name was Billy. He walked in front of her and Khara, his soft voice belying his heavy steps and hands that swung like mallets on his meaty arms. His name was not a derivation of William, he explained, but a nickname based on his fondness for wielding a billy club.
Victoria gave him a grim smile. “Perfect.”
At the last moment, she produced her key ring. She blamed the poor design of her handbag for the mistake and thanked him profusely.
Khara looked at her approvingly as they drove away. “I see that you are not as lacking in treachery as you would have me believe.”
“If I’d told him the truth, we’d still be there. Who knows what sort of questions he might have asked?”
“Such as, ‘Why is a man you don’t know following you?’”
“Exactly. We’d better find someplace else to spend the night.”
“Why not stay with your aunt and uncle?”
“Elias is upset enough; this will send him over the edge. A hotel is no good, either—too easy to trace.” Cell phone in hand, Victoria scrolled through the directory until she found the number she had been searching for.
“Bea?”
“Vicky? Oh my god, I haven’t heard from you since the baptism. What’s up?”
“I need a favor. Can I come over?”
“Ah, just like old times. I’m just putting Nathan to sleep now,” she replied.
“I have a friend with me. Mind if she comes along?”
“You know better than to ask. Is everything all right?”
“I’ll explain when I see you. Is Duncan at home?”
“He’s the vice president of international sales, Vicki. He’s never home.”
“Half an hour, then.”
Chapter Twenty-three Khara
Inside the home of Victoria’s oldest friend, they sat on tall stools at a gleaming granite island in an elaborate kitchen. With her pale skin, yellow hair, and innocent blue eyes, Bea was the manifestation of a summer day. Her smile matched a disposition that seemed to have never known a moment’s trouble. Barefoot in a grey wool tunic and black leggings, she’d graciously ushered them inside.
Handshakes and hugs barely passed among them before she insisted on giving them a tour of her splendid home. She seemed to have no curiosity about why they’d come.
Every room contained an element of turquoise. Pillows in the master suite, a mirror framed with nuggets in the great room, and paint on the window sills. When Khara asked her about it, Bea answered straightforwardly, “To keep out bad spirits. It’s an old Southwestern tradition.”
Back in the kitchen, Bea asked, “So what sort of narrow escape are we celebrating?” while rummaging through a well—stocked cabinet. She pulled out a bottle of wine and waved it in front of Victoria. “Remember how many times we snuck into the dorm, hoping to get there before the campus police?” Turning her attention to Khara, Bea said, “Without Vicki, I’d have a spotless criminal record.” She giggled, gathering glasses and setting them on an ebony table. “There was never a dull moment when she was around. A word of warning, though; she’ll open your eyes to a lot of things if you’re not careful.” Bea smiled wistfully and asked, “Vicki, do you remember when we staked out that old tunnel? It was rumored to have been used during slavery to smuggle fugitives into Mexico.” Then, addressing Khara, “It was far too big a temptation to resist.”
“Bea, you talk too much,” Victoria chided, her expression taking on a familiar look—the tense turn of her mouth, the way she shook her head. But her gestures were useless; her friend seemed impervious to the faces Victoria made from behind her glass of ruby liquid.
“Anyway, we waited in that bat-infested passageway for hours with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of schnapps, only to get caught up in a raid and almost deported. Through the years, that tunnel had been used for smuggling aliens, drug trafficking, you name it. Vicki, remind me what were we doing there in the middle of the night.”
“Interviewing illegals. I was trying to find out why those poor people would put themselves in the hands of coyotes knowing their wives and daughters could be raped, that every dime they’d make for the next ten years would go to pay those criminals for bringing them in.”
Khara studied the shadow of sadness that was always ready to appear, the way Victoria’s brow knitted as though she were in pain. “What did you learn?” she inquired.
“There is no reasoning with desperation.”
Bea, who knew her friend’s moods well, spoke up cheerfully. “With this blonde hair, the border patrol didn’t give me too hard a time, but Victoria—well they truly insulted her that night. She’s been fighting discrimination ever since.” Sighing, she continued, “I miss the excitement of those days. Mama always said you had more heart than sense. She never worried about the trouble we got into; her real concern was that you’d inspire me to have a career, and five generations of good Texas breeding would be lost.”
Judging from the colored scribbles that covered the refrigerator and the small table and chairs sitting in the corner, Bea’s mother’s worries were groundless. Still, Khara was curious. “If you had the chance to do it again, would you live your life differently?”
Bea blew a wisp of golden hair out of her eyes. “Most days I’m as happy as a gopher in soft dirt, but sometimes a house full of little people is a lonely place. It won’t last forever, though. I see my babies and imagine what the future holds for them. It’s an adventure, all right—just of a different sort.”
Her eyes landed squarely on Victoria and turned serious. “Tell me you’ve grown up, Vicky, that you’re not still hiding out in tunnels in the middle of the night?”
Victoria looked away.
“I am to blame,” interrupted Khara. “Without her, I might be dead by now.”
“That,” Bea said, sipping her wine, “sound
s serious. Tell me everything.”
“I’d rather not,” Victoria answered quickly. “The fewer people who know about this, the better.”
“Still having issues with trust? You came to me, remember? I may be older and three kids heavier, but I never let you down, did I?”
Victoria immediately squeezed Bea’s hand. “Never.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.” Bea’s eyes shone expectantly. “I can’t stand the suspense any longer.” She ushered them toward a tufted leather sofa in her great room.
Stung by a pang of sudden mischief, Khara winked at Victoria. “Shouldn’t we begin with the cuff?” she asked as her hands worked at the clasp underneath her skirt, ignoring the panic in Victoria’s eyes. But it was too late. As she slipped the cuff around Bea’s thigh, Victoria groaned and leaned back on the sofa.
Unlike her old friend, Bea accepted all the cuff had to offer, recognizing it instantly as truth and grateful to share in its secrets. She reminded Khara of a papyrus reed—delicate and of little use, at first glance. But like the plant on which her civilization depended, Bea was far sturdier than she looked. Many hours later, they had abandoned the wine for something called tequila, and Khara had put the man who had followed them out of her mind. She felt safe and had no doubt that in Bea, they had a staunch ally.
In the guest room, which featured a chair upholstered in turquoise-patterned fabric, they waited for sleep to come. As tired as she was, Khara pressed Victoria to tell her more about how they would get to Egypt, the men who would check her documents, how she would answer their questions, and the inexplicable conveyance that would take them there.
“As large as a warship—and it can fly? Impossible.” She took the pad from Victoria’s purse. “Show me.”
“You’ll see it yourself soon enough.”
“Will I be afraid?”
“Not you, girlfriend.” Victoria yawned and turned over. “Tomorrow I’ll see if I can find out who that creep is and what he wants. And we need to do some shopping. You can’t keep wearing my clothes.”
Chapter Twenty-four Victoria
Early the next morning, Bea’s honeyed voice whispered in Victoria’s ear, “Why don’t you sleep in? I know how much you hate shopping. Khara and I will make a morning of it while you take some time for yourself. I’m taking Duncan’s SUV. The keys to my car are on the counter next to the coffee pot.”
The next time Victoria stirred, it wasn’t even nine o’clock, yet the house was silent and empty. Victoria poured herself some coffee in the kitchen and padded silently into the living room. An empty bottle of wine and a half-empty bottle of tequila sat next to the toys on the table. She smiled. Well, it was almost like old times.
She continued straight on to the guest bath, which was at least twice as large as the bathroom in her apartment and tiled in mottled sage and terracotta. She removed the old t-shirt Bea had lent her and stepped into the shower.
Warm water streamed down her back, through her hair, and ran gently over her face. The warm water, the sun-filled room, and the thought of a waiting hot cup of coffee all soothed her. She decided, as she dried off and put on her suit now minus the jacket, that she had probably overreacted. She had responded to a memory, not to the man walking toward them on the street. Suddenly it didn’t seem quite the emergency Khara had made of it.
Just past ten o’clock, Victoria drove Bea’s car to her office and found the reception desk unattended and the phone ringing. The break room, where interns usually sipped coffee and evaluated the success of their weekends, was also empty. She heard a muffled noise and hurried down the hall to the conference room.
“What’s going on? Why isn’t anyone answering the phone?”
Several outraged looks met her gaze. The staff stood in a semicircle that slowly opened to reveal Gracie sitting in a rumpled heap at the end of the table.
“She needs a doctor,” said Laura, her newest employee.
“What happened?”
“I thought he was going to kill me,” Gracie sobbed. “He went crazy when I told him I didn’t know where you were. I asked if he had an appointment, and that’s when he hit me. What kind of man does that?” She removed the mascara-and— blood-soaked wad of paper towels over her left eye, which was terribly bruised and swollen almost shut. “That bastard hit me with the first thing he could lay his hands on. The stapler, por dios.”
Victoria helped her to her feet. “You need stitches. Laura, get the police here.”
“No!” Gracie collapsed back into the chair. “He says you have something that belongs to him. If you hand it over, he says he’ll disappear; if you don’t, he says there’s nowhere for you to hide.”
“Those were his exact words?” She nodded and blew her nose. “Who is he, and what do you have of his?”
“I have no answer. To either question.”
“He had the eyes of death. Los ojos de un muerto.”
Victoria found the mangled face and the bewilderment in her voice unbearable. “This will wait. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
“He’s coming back,” Gracie warned as she took Victoria’s hands and squeezed them tight.
“Let him,” she replied, and kissed Gracie above her good eye. Someone handed her fresh towels, and the room began to empty. “I should have been here. I’m so sorry.”
Gracie’s sobbing slowed to a sniffle. “Do you think it will leave a scar?”
The dejection on Victoria’s face answered for her.
“You’d better take me to the hospital then, before I faint. Better yet, get a couple of gorgeous EMTs to come for me.” Gracie spread her fingers and fanned herself like a Castilian courtesan, and faint smile lines appeared around her good eye. Victoria hustled Gracie into Bea’s car and drove to the hospital.
The nurses refused to let her go any farther than the waiting room, where she sat at the end of a row of empty chairs with only the television for company. Victoria let the confusion in her head loose and tried to rearrange it in a way that made sense.
She dialed Bea’s cell phone and left a message. “There’s been some trouble at the office. Keep Khara with you, and don’t go home without calling me first.”
As she ended the call, a man about her age walked toward her. The blue sweater and tan wool trousers under his white coat complimented an earnest, lightly pockmarked face.
“I’m Dr. Rodriguez. Gracie’s doing well.”
Victoria’s lower lip began to tremble. “Thank god.”
“That must have been some fall. We don’t typically see those kinds of injuries happening at offices. How’s her situation at home?”
“She’s a widow, doctor.”
“I’m required to ask. This type of wound is typical of domestic abuse. If that were the case, the police would have to be brought in.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you any details. I wasn’t there.” He shook his head. “She assured me that she tripped. I recommend that she wear more conservative shoes. It would certainly help with stability, especially for a woman of her size.”
“I’ll be sure to suggest it, but Gracie’s not the best at taking advice. Can I see her now?”
“Yes, we’re just moving her into a room.” With each step along the mottled linoleum floor, Victoria’s guilt grew. Pausing outside the room, she tried to put on a cheerful face. “Hey,” she greeted Gracie as she stepped through the door.
“Hey yourself.” Gracie patted the stretcher and inched over to make room.
Victoria dropped her bag on a chair, put the railing down, and took Gracie’s hand. “I feel so bad—”
“How could you have possibly known?” Gracie interrupted. “Besides, I’m going to come out of this looking better than ever.”
“What did the doctor say about the scar?”
“I’m going to need some time off. For the surgery.”
“As long as you want.” Victoria felt a lump rise in her throat. “What kind of surgery?”
“The elective kind. H
ow many times have I told you I want to fix these saggy eyelids? Now I have the perfect opportunity. I’m swearing you to secrecy, though, especially with Marta.”
“Of course.” Fear crept onto Gracie’s face. “What are you going to do?”
“Tell me everything again, exactly as you remember. Maybe you’ve left something out.”
“I told you. He came in around eight-thirty and said he had an appointment. When I told him you weren’t in, he didn’t believe me. He said you were usually in the office before eight, as though he knew. Anyway, I told him I’d check your calendar—you know, as a courtesy more than anything. Before I could ask him to wait, he slipped through the door and followed me into your office.
“He told me it was imperative that he see you at once. The way he spoke, with a high-and-mighty look on his face—well, you know me well enough. I was more than a little irritated. I told him that where you were was none of his business, that he was no different from any other client, and that he should call for an appointment. Next thing I knew, I was seeing stars. I hit the floor hard and could feel blood running down the side of my face.
“Before he left, he bent down and said, ‘Tell your employer the ball is in her court.’ He told me that if you involve the police, you will make matters much worse. And the last thing he said was that if you give him what he wants, you’ll never see or hear from him again.
“It’s got something to do with that girl, doesn’t it? Since she walked through the door you haven’t been yourself, mija.”
“When will they let you go?”
“In a few hours. My grandson’s going to stay with his abuelita for a few days to be sure I’m all right.” She smiled. “He hasn’t done that in five years.”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow. Can I bring you some dinner?”
“My grandson can get take-out just as easily as you can. You’ve got things to do. Victoria, don’t try to outsmart him. This isn’t a courtroom, you know. Call your uncle; he’ll know what to do.”
