The Cartel

by A. K. Alexander

  When she arrived home by bus, she checked the mail. Like clockwork every month, there was a check for five hundred dollars. The name on the check was from a company in Colombia called “Por el gente,” which meant, For the People. She knew that Antonio must be the one sending the checks. Marta was certain that he had somehow found out about Alex, because the money began arriving shortly after her son’s first birthday.

  Her initial instinct was to tear them up, but after thinking it over, Marta realized that she could use the money for Alex, to buy the things that he deserved. She saved the money each month, only taking out what she needed for her child. She put away the rest for him, hoping that someday, she would be able to send him to college. However, there was a part of her that didn’t feel right about taking the money. Yes the man was Alex’s father, but Marta could not help feeling that by taking that money she was almost as much of a liar as Antonio was. She knew there would come a day when Antonio would want to see his son and the money would then become an issue.

  She and Elisa worked busily in the cove of a kitchen making tamales. Marta sighed.

  Elisa stopped stuffing the masa with pork and looked at her. “What is it?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Why such a heavy sigh. Why are you troubled?”

  "I was thinking again about Alex’s father, and I wish I didn't feel guilty about using Antonio's money.”

  "Guilty. Ha. I think you're stupid. You should take all that money and move into a nice place. Get out of this dump. He owes you so much more than five-hundred dollars a month. That money though could get you into a small house, Marta. You should do it."

  "And where am I supposed to tell Alex the money came from?"

  "Tell him the truth. He deserves to know, Marta. He needs to know he has a father." Elisa scooped out seasoned meat into the masa and handed it to Marta who rolled it and tied a husk around it.

  Marta shook her head. "I can’t do that. I've told him since he was very little that his father was a hero, who died trying to save people in a building that crumbled during an earthquake."

  "That's very creative of you, Marta." Elisa smiled. “I didn’t know you had that in you.” She winked.

  "Please. Leave me alone about this."

  "Leave you alone about this? Then stop talking about him and thinking about him. Consider the money a gift. Treat is like it is. I've only heard this story a million times. Either use his money or quit complaining."

  Marta sighed and gave her friend a dirty look. They didn’t speak for a few minutes as they went through the repetitive motions of making the tamales, which they would take down to Olivera Street and sell .

  "You still love him, don't you? You wouldn’t think about him, talk about him and have these guilt feelings if you didn’t."

  "Stupid I know" Marta whispered. Elisa walked around the counter and embraced her. Marta wiped away her tears, and let out a little laugh. “If something should ever happen to me, I would like you to hold the money for Alex in a savings account and give it to him when he is old enough and wise enough to handle it.”

  “Why would you say something like that?” Elisa pulled away from her. “Nothing is ever going to happen to you.”

  “I have to think about these things, even so. I have to make certain that Alejandro is provided for. I’m his mother and I, I mean we are all he has. No matter what I still may feel for his father, he has no right to my son and if something ever happens to me, I do not want Antonio near him.”

  “Ridiculous. You’re talking crazy words.”

  Marta stopped set her tamale down and took her purse from the kitchen counter, pulling out an envelope, handing it over to Elisa. “This is the paperwork and information you would need. Promise me that you’ll do this if needed.”

  Elisa stood her jaw dropped. “I don’t understand.”

  “Take it.” Marta shoved the envelope at her.

  “Of course I would do anything for you. You know that. We’re not only friends, you and I. We are sisters.”

  "Thank you.” Marta kissed her cheek and then looked at her watch. “It's time for me to get ready to meet Alex."

  "My goodness. I didn’t realize it was so late.” Elisa wiped her hands on her apron. “Hector!" Elisa yelled to the little boy tossing a ball around in the street. He came running in, panting.

  "What, Mama?"

  "Do you want to go with Tía Marta to meet Alex?"

  “Yes!” the six-year old responded, grinning from ear to ear. His love for Alex was obvious as his face lit up with the prospect of seeing him soon so they could play.

  Both children were unhappy that Alex was going to a new school, but Marta, wanting the best for her son, had arranged for him to be bused to one of the better public schools in the city. She knew that by doing so, it would give him more opportunities for a better education, and she’d studied what made successful people in America. Education was a key factor. It was why she took as many night classes as she could, when she could, and why she’d become an avid reader of history, politics, culture and anything else she felt would better her for her son and for herself.

  "Go change your shirt first, and wash your hands and face. You look like a filthy pig," Elisa ordered.

  Obeying his mother, Hector quickly did as he was told. With her hands on her hip, Elisa turned back to Marta. "I really think you should put Alex back in school with Hector. He is sad and anxious lately. You must see it. You know that they tease him there. He isn't white and he never will be. In their eyes, he's nothing but a poor wetback."

  "I don't think it's all that bad. I think he simply misses Hector during the day. It'll take him a little time, but once he gets used to it, he’ll be fine."

  "You never get used to people making fun of you. You don’t, Marta. This is a harsh world and I know you want to give Alex the best opportunities possible, but putting him in a white school won’t help him. It’s going to hurt him."

  Marta leaned her head to the side feeling the crack in her neck, her face burning slightly. One thing about her friend was that she always spoke her mind. They definitely didn’t always agree. "They'll stop. He's getting a good education. What more can he ask for?"

  "To be happy," Elisa replied. “He deserves to be happy and you know that.” She took off her apron. “I have to get my shoes.”

  Marta couldn't respond as Elisa walked back into her bedroom to put on her shoes. She knew that Alex hadn’t been happy since he started going to the new school about a month earlier. But she was only thinking about him. The schools in their area were poorly structured, with teachers who couldn't manage the overcrowding problem. Marta knew that he was still having a hard time adjusting. She hoped that before long, he would fit in with the other children.

  "Come on, let's walk to the bus stop," Marta called out to Hector, who was still in the bathroom, scrubbing up.

  "I’m coming. Don't leave without me." Hector came bouncing out, a huge grin on his face. He grabbed Marta’s hand and they set out on the mile-long walk to the bus stop.

  She said a silent prayer that her child would come home with a smile on his face today.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Alex watched the traffic outside as he sat alone on the bus. The girls across the aisle were whispering about him. Every once in a while, he could hear one of them say beaner or wetback, and the words sliced right through him knowing they were bad words about him. He swallowed hard and bit the side of his mouth. He wanted to cry. His mother always taught him to be proud, so he certainly wasn't about to let these gringos see that he was upset.

  A large boy, a couple of years older than Alex, came and sat down next to him. Alex didn't bother to look up at him, because he knew what they were going to do. The boys in the seat in front of him turned around.

  "My dad says that greasers are good for nothing but weeding his lawn. He can't believe they let you into our school," the freckled-faced kid remarked.

  "Yeah, you’re a wetback, right?
Look at you, all dark and everything. You look like a monkey,” another bucktoothed boy taunted him, while the girls across the aisle laughed.

  Alex wanted to get up and get off at the next stop. He ached for his mother to appear and rescue him. She would make everything all right.

  "Beaner! Beaner! Beaner!"

  "I bet your mama is fat and ugly, and makes you beans every day. That's why you're a stinking beaner!"

  "Stinking beaner, stinking beaner--with a big ugly mama! Big, ugly, stupid, beaner mama! Beaner boy has beaner mama," they jeered.

  That was enough to push Alex over the edge. No one made fun of his mother. He shoved the huge kid as hard as he could, sending him off the green vinyl seat where he landed on the floor of the moving bus.

  "You little son of a bitch!" the kid yelled getting to his feet and punching Alex in the face. Alex's head snapped back, smacking hard against the window. A surge of pain shot through his skull and he tasted blood on his lips.

  The entire busload of kids whooped and hollered. The bus driver, hearing the commotion, pulled off to the side of the road, and walked back to see what was going on. The woman with three chins stormed over to Alex’s seat. Everyone on the bus grew silent.

  She looked at Alex, then at the other kid, and bellowed, "Who started this?"

  All the kids pointed to Alex, who fought back his tears—a humiliation worse than the physical pain from the bump on his head.

  The woman reached down and took Alex by the hand, walking him up to the front of the bus. She bent down, inches away from Alex’s face. She took a tissue from the box on the dashboard and wiped his bloodied nose. In a lowered voice she said, “Listen, kid, I know you didn’t start the fighting. It’s not your fault, but take it from someone who knows, it won’t stop. Kids are mean. They tease and hurt and well, it might be best if you talked to your mother about driving you or doing something else other than riding the bus. I’m sorry. Why don’t you sit up here the rest of the way?” She pointed to the front seat directly behind hers.

  Alex nodded his head. His mom couldn’t drive him. Although she’d been going to school at night to become a citizen, she’d never learned to drive, and even if she could, they didn’t have enough money to buy a car.

  When he reached his stop, he saw Hector and his mama waiting for him as usual. His mother lingered behind as Hector ran to the door of the bus.

  "What happened?" Hector asked, his eyes widening at the sight of his beaten friend. Alex burst into tears and could hardly steady his breathing. He finally gained control of himself and told his friend the whole story. Hector jutted out his lower lip. “I’ll have my daddy beat them up. He will, too. He will beat them up and their dads too.”

  When Marta approached Alex and saw that something was wrong, she cried out, "Oh no!” She pulled him into her arms. “Horrible, horrible children! You don’t have to go back to that school. Never again, mijo!”

  With his mother’s comforting arms wrapped around him, he sighed and leaned into her. After a few moments the event on the bus was on the way to becoming a distant memory. Alex let go of his mother and took Hector’s hand as they walked home together.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The sun floated on the mountain tops to the West like a misplaced beach ball as Emilio watched as his beautiful sister-in-law stood gazing at the fiery sky. He decided to make this the night that he would take her into his bed. His flirtation had gone on long enough. Unfortunately, she was a proud and faithful woman, and although there were a couple of times over the years when he thought she would succumb, she had not and he hadn’t pushed it. The timing had never seemed right, and instead of pursuing her wholeheartedly, Emilio occupied his nights aplenty with little girl whores that succumbed to everything he asked of them, and were easily tossed aside when he was finished.

  He liked them young. Fourteen was a nice age, it reminded him of his first love, his Marianna. But those memories were growing dangerous with each young girl. The night before he’d almost gone over the edge after finding a girl who looked so much like Marianna he found himself watching her for nearly an hour. He’d studied her as she stood next to a fruit crate talking to the boys and men who walked by. She obviously hoped to lead one to her bedroom in order to more than likely provide dinner for her family—a family who’d surely been the ones to send her out into the violent streets of Calí. What an insane and cruel world. Emilio found himself wanting to reach out and save the girl.

  He’d approached her. “Hello.”

  She smiled. Very sweet. He took her hand.

  “No,” she said. “You can come to my room.”

  Emilio didn’t let go of her hand or listen to her protests, which although quiet, were also firm. Probably a rule her parents had taught her, due to the dangers of the violence this part of the world witnessed on a daily basis. When she saw the luxury hotel he was taking her to, she stopped the protesting. He made her wait outside until he’d secured the room. It was a risk by bringing her there, but he wanted her to see the finer things in life. Maybe she would realize there was so much more to the world than the piece of filth her family had chosen to make her into.

  Once inside the suite with its decadent furniture, fine silks and breathtaking view of the mountains the girl couldn’t stop giggling. This delighted Emilio who ordered wine for them. “What’s your name?” Emilio asked.

  “Violetta.”

  “Beautiful.”

  She blushed.

  “Tonight, your name is Marianna.”

  She nodded. He took the glass from her and set it on the nightstand table and he took her hand and led her to the bed, where he undressed her and made her lay on the sheets while he looked at her for several minutes. The longer he looked, the more she reminded him of his dead Marianna and the day he’d killed her—the day his brother stuck the knife into his heart and back. Memories flooding him, Emilio brutally took the girl and with every thrust she cried and begged him to stop, until he wrapped his hands around her neck and she stopped saying anything. As he watched her face, he was shaken from his fury and he uncurled his hands from her. She gasped for air, her hands going to her neck. Emilio gave her five-hundred dollars and told her if she ever spoke of what had happened he would kill her and her family. He knew his threat and giving her more money than she’d probably ever seen in her lifetime would keep her quiet and keep her family from asking her too many questions. She nodded and ran out of the room.

  Thinking about it, Emilio knew he’d gone too far with the girl and now he had to focus on the woman who’d become his ultimate challenge. The one who would help him gain all the power he desired and bring down Antonio.

  Lydia had grown even more gorgeous during the past few years. He knew how his brother ignored her, too busy for his attractive wife. He was certain that tonight she was ready to take the sinful plunge. He also knew that she’d finally realized that she could never have the same Antonio whom she’d once known. Her disillusionment was complete.

  "Beautiful."

  "Hmmm," she turned around, startled. "Oh, the sunset? Yes, it is."

  "No, I mean you."

  "Emilio.”

  "I'm serious, Lydia. You’re the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

  "Please, Emilio, I'm your brother's wife. Your silly flirtation has to stop."

  "But why? I'm only telling you that you're beautiful. Why should Antonio care? It’s only the truth, no?" He moved closer to her and caressed her golden face. She shook her head, backing away from him.

  "Don't do that," she whispered. She glanced out the window.

  "Why not? You can't tell me you don't want to be touched. I see my brother with you. His mind is always on business. He flies here, there. He doesn't take the time to be with you. I understand how you must be hurting. He has obviously forgotten what a treasure you are. Although I find that impossible. I could never forget."

  Lydia avoided his eyes, her own filling with tears.

  "I don't mean to hurt you, bu
t you must know that he has other women. Why else wouldn’t he come to you every night? My brother is a fool."