The Cartel

by A. K. Alexander

  As all his relatives gushed over him, Miguel’s mother rushed back into her kitchen to boil the lobsters his Uncle Eduardo had caught for her. The terrifying noise of the crustaceans’ hideous screams sent Miguel tearing out of the house.

  It was only a few minutes before he saw the dark sedan easing down the road. A wave of excitement stirred in his stomach. He didn't know if he should laugh or throw up. Before he could figure out which, the car came to a slow stop in front of him.

  The driver got out of the front and came around to the rear of the car to open the door. Out stepped Isabella wearing a very pretty, yellow dress trimmed in lace. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with ringlet curls dangling from a large white bow. She wore white patent-leather shoes, and in her hands was a neatly wrapped gift. Her regal father then stepped out of the car. He held a large present in his arms.

  "Happy Birthday, Miguel," Isabella said in her soft, sweet voice, handing him a smaller gift.

  "Thank you," he replied, his hands trembled a bit as he accepted it.

  Bella's father knelt down and shook Miguel's hand. "This is for you, amigo."

  "Gracias, Señor Rodriguez."

  "Ah, Señor Rodriguez…" Miguel heard his mother’s excited voice outside the house, one that Miguel knew Javier Rodriguez would consider a shack. “We’re so pleased that you could come today. I am Carlotta Diaz, Miguel’s mother.” Carlotta stepped in front of the children and held out her hand to shake his.

  Señor Rodriguez smiled and kissed her hand. Miguel had never heard his mother sound so nervous or speak in such an elegant way.

  “And your husband, is he here today?” Señor Rodriguez asked.

  Carlotta turned her face downward and shook her head. “I am sorry; my husband is with our Lord now for five years. When Miguel was barely a year old he died.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She took Javier by the hand. “Thank you. Come with me, bring the present. I have cerveza and ceviche all ready. Before long, the lobsters will be ready as well.”

  Javier smiled and replied, "Sounds delicious."

  "I do hope you like it. My wonderful son is always telling me what a good cook I am."

  "I'm certain you are."

  Miguel could hear his mother's laughter all the way into the house. He was so embarrassed by his mother. However, Bella soon made him forget about her obnoxious behavior.

  "Want to go down to the pond?"she asked.

  "Uh-huh, but what if we get in trouble?"

  "We won't. Come on." Bella took Miguel by the hand and led the way.

  By the time they reached the pond, Bella's dress had a tear in it and Miguel had lost his tie. That didn’t matter to either one of them. What did matter was who could find the largest crawdad and catch him.

  "There's one right there," Miguel yelled.

  "I'm going to get him," Isabella hollered back. As they ran around the pond, mud spattered their good clothes. Bella's tights and patent leather shoes would never be white again.

  Getting carried away, Bella followed the crawdad right into the water. She failed to realize that there was a steep drop at the edge of the pond, which soon pulled her under. She clambered to swim, crying out for help. Miguel started to cry, not knowing what to do. He had only succeeded in swimming with the aid of his uncles before now. He did the one thing that he’d been taught so well: he prayed.

  He watched horrified as Bella slipped under the water. She cried out for him. Without further thought, he went in after her. God would get them out. Miguel struggled toward her. As he got close enough to reach out his arm, she went under, and for a second he thought he’d lost her. But he reached down and grabbed the top of her hair, pulling her back up. Holding her with one arm, he paddled back to the side of the pond and laid her down on the grass, struggling for air. Isabella’s eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. He screamed out at the sky, "No, God! Please don't take Bella away like you took my papa. Let her be okay. Please, God, please!” He looked down at Bella, who spurted out a stream of water as her eyes fluttered. In his relief and joy, he hugged her. "Bella, Bella, are you all right?"

  Her eyes opened, "I'm fine, silly. Boy, you should've seen the pretty angel I saw. She told me she was my mother."

  Hearing Bella utter such strange words, it came to Miguel that Bella had almost died and gone to heaven. At that moment, he vowed to God he would never betray Him and would always serve Him. Always. He also vowed to watch over Bella and keep her safe for the rest of their lives.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  All the signs were there: nausea, dizziness, tender breasts, and the fact that her period was ten days late. Lydia didn't really have to see a doctor to be completely certain she was pregnant.

  Her emotions were mixed. One moment, she felt elated at the prospect of having another baby. But she also knew full well that there was no possibility that the child could be Antonio's. But what could be a more perfect revenge than to conceive a child with his brother? The fact that she was in love with Emilio only made her long to bear his child.

  She sat at her vanity, carefully applying her makeup, contemplating which outfit she would wear. She would meet Emilio for lunch, planning to tell him about the baby then. Lydia sprayed herself with the White Shoulders perfume Emilio had given her last Christmas. She finally decided on a pair of black crepe pants and a white silk shirt with a plunging neckline. She knew it wouldn't be long before her midriff expanded, and wearing anything revealing would then be out of the question. At least she knew that Emilio would not be the type to seek out other women when she was pregnant. He loved her too much for that, she was sure of it.

  As she drove to his apartment, Lydia pondered Antonio's reaction to this situation. He would be angry, naturally, but would he be hurt? That was what she really wanted him to feel, the same pain of rejection and betrayal he had caused her.

  She hoped Emilio would be as happy as she was, and want her to move in with him immediately. Her only problem was Rosa and Felicia. Rosa was her favorite. How would this affect her? Antonio would have to let Rosa go with her mother.

  Felicia seemed to like Chata better than she did her own mother, perhaps with good reason. Lydia never paid the same attention to Felicia as she did to her oldest daughter. But for the past year, Lydia had been so wrapped up in her own life that she allowed that bruja of a nanny to take charge of both children. She was sure Rosa, too, was feeling neglected and she was sorry for that, but she would make it up to her. No, she would not give up her parental rights to Rosa even when this new child was born—a son, possibly. Oh, she would relish in that. The one thing she couldn’t give Antonio, she would give instead to his own brother.

  When she opened Emilio’s door, classical music from the stereo resounded in her ears. "Emilio," she sang out, but there was no reply. She walked through the living room and back toward the bedroom suite. As she reached his bedroom door, she could hear the shower and smiled. He would certainly be surprised to see her. She slipped out of her clothes. Opening the bathroom door, she felt the steam hitting her dewy skin, making her tingle all over.

  She moved the curtain away and stepped in behind him. He was facing the showerhead, washing his face. She wrapped her arms around his waist and whispered in his ear, "Guess who?" She moved her hands down his body and began to stroke him.

  Emilio turned around to face her. He pulled her close and kissed her as their clinging, wet bodies awakened to the heat of their passion. Within the past few months, Lydia had learned very well what pleased Emilio. Her long red nails traced the outline of his body until she was on her knees. As she took him in her mouth, an erotic moan escaped his lips. The water from the shower sprayed them while Lydia brought Emilio complete satisfaction.

  Once out of the shower, he tossed her on the bed and took her aggressively. Her mind flashed on the baby growing inside her. She murmured, "Emilio, please don't be so rough."

  "You know you like it this way," he replied, as he took her from beh
ind and slapped her buttocks hard.

  "Yes, but..."

  "But nothing! Be quiet and enjoy."

  She tried to relax and revel in their lovemaking as she had done in the past, but this time was very different. A child was growing in her womb, which would provide her the insurance to get out of her failed marriage.

  However, no matter how much Emilio tried to please her, nothing could bring her to ecstasy today. Her mind was on her baby: their baby. As she lay in the bed next to Emilio, thoughts of how she would tell him this news plagued her.

  The silence between them was broken when Emilio asked, "What's wrong, love? Is my technique failing you?" he joked.

  "Oh, God, no," she replied as she rolled over onto her stomach and up onto her elbows.

  "Aren't you feeling well?" Emilio asked, turning to face her.

  "Something like that."

  "What does that mean?"

  Lydia knew that this was the right time to tell him. There was no easy way to say it, and it came out before she had given it a second thought. "I'm pregnant."

  "What?"

  "We're having a baby."

  "A baby?"

  "Yes. Are you angry?"

  "Angry? No. I'm amazed. You're certain this is my child?"

  "Emilio!"

  "I'm sorry. I'm in shock. I wasn't expecting this. I thought we’d been so careful."

  "We were, silly, but sometimes these things happen." He reached over and stroked her across the cheek. "You're not angry, then?"

  "Not at all. This is wonderful news."

  "You're happy?"

  "Of course I am. I'm going to be a papa."

  "We do have a problem, though."

  "Antonio?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't you worry about him. I’ll handle him."

  "What if he tries to take my girls away from me? Especially Rosa?"

  "Do not worry about Antonio, querida. Leave everything to me."

  And in Lydia's blind naiveté and her hope for a blissful fairy tale life, she decided to do just that.

  *****

  Once Lydia left, Emilio knew he didn’t have much time to figure out what he was going to do. Thankfully, he was blessed with a devious mind. The moment Lydia told him she was pregnant his brain had shifted into overdrive.

  He had to devise a plan to get rid of her. It was the wrong time in Emilio’s scheme of things for Lydia to become pregnant. Love or not, as of late he’d realized this thing with Lydia had been far more about power and sex than genuine romance. And he’d been rapidly tiring of her and her neediness. He would get rid of her, and fast before Antonio found out. An open break from his brother at this time could destroy everything for him. If her pregnancy could only have occurred later, perhaps, once Emilio had fashioned Antonio’s downfall, such an event might have been an asset. Possibly, Emilio would’ve even arranged a divorce for her and married her himself, as the final coup.

  He pulled on his trousers and a T-shirt, and walked over to the bar to pour himself a drink. This was a very delicate situation, which had to be handled just so. Picking up the phone, Emilio regretted what he was about to do, because, once done, he would no longer have the immense satisfaction of screwing his brother's wife.

  "Rico?"

  "Emilio?"

  "Sí."

  "I'm certain this isn't a social call."

  "Very astute. I have a job for you, and it's a delicate situation."

  "Who do you want me to kill?"

  "I don't think that’ll be necessary this time."

  "A job without blood and gore? What kind of fun will that be?

  "Come to La Casa and I'll leave instructions with Jorge," Emilio responded. La Casa was a tiny bar near the docks. Emilio had only met Rico a couple of times, but he knew he was both trustworthy and greedy.

  "I don't know if I like the sound of this, Emilio. You know my game—hit and run."

  "I'll pay you twice your usual rate."

  "This must be really important."

  "More than you'll ever know. You can pick everything up in a few hours. I want this taken care of within the week."

  "My curiosity is piqued."

  "Above all else, I need you to use the utmost discretion."

  "Nothing but."

  "Thank you."

  Emilio devised his plan, writing out instructions for Rico. He left his apartment and headed down Avenue de Las Banderas, crossing the street at the intersection and heading west toward La Casa. Emilio hated loose ends and Lydia could become one if she wasn't taken care of properly. However, his conscience would not permit her to be murdered.

  After leaving the instructions with Jorge and downing a shot of tequila, Emilio walked across the street, jogging along the shore. He knew that Lydia could be handled. Now he had to come up with the second part of his plan—taking care of Antonio.

  His brother would have questions after he’d disposed of Lydia. If he didn't have the right answers, utter chaos could erupt. Control was crucial. Once Lydia was shut away from the civilized world, he would be able to concentrate on Antonio.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The visit with Marta and seeing his son left Antonio full of emotion. He longed to spend more time with her and really have a chance to meet the boy. He ached at the thought of how abandoned Marta had felt. He always considered himself a man of honor, but now visions of himself in a different light haunted him—visions he did not care to see.

  On his way back home, he thought about ending things with Lydia, but he couldn't hurt her. Lydia had always been good to him: kind, sweet, and loving. But their passion for one another had long since disappeared. If he could discover a way to rekindle it, then he might try.

  For the first time in his life, he felt all of his fifty years. He had worked hard to build his empire but now he wondered if the power and the money were worth the price he had paid. As he was chauffeured toward his home, he made the decision to do the right thing. He decided to become responsible, respectful to his wife and family. No matter how badly his heart ached and yearned for things to be different, he realized what needed to be done.

  He asked his driver to take him to his favorite jeweler in town, where he purchased a beautiful emerald necklace for Lydia. He then picked up a dozen red roses and a bottle of her favorite wine. If Marta did not want him in her life, then he could shut her out of his. He would become as honorable as she had always been.

  As they pulled into his driveway, Antonio saw several cars there, including two police vehicles. His heart sank, because he knew there must be serious trouble. The entire police department and the local justice system were on his payroll, so he knew that whatever they were there for had to be serious. His first thought was that something had happened to one of his children. Stepping out of the back of his car, Emilio came toward him.

  "What is going on here?" Antonio barked.

  Emilio put his arm around his brother. "It's Lydia."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "There is no easy way to say this," Emilio sobbed.

  "What's happened?"

  "She was in a car accident last night. The police are investigating, but it looks as if her brakes went out, or possibly she took a corner too fast and lost control. I am so sorry, but her car went over the side of the cliffs."

  "Is she . . ." Antonio couldn't even finish the sentence.

  Emilio nodded. "They haven't found her body yet. They think it drifted out to sea."

  "Oh, my God!" Antonio cried. His shoulders sank as he stood staring at the ground. His mind went numb, as if he couldn't form a single thought. The faces of his precious girls flashed through his mind. "Do the girls know?"

  "No."

  "Where are they?"

  "Playing with Chata."

  "How do I tell them? How am I supposed to tell them that their mother is gone?" Antonio cried aloud. A group of men whom Antonio recognized as part of the police department, turned around to look his way with sympathy.

 
; The police chief approached him. "Patrón, we are so sorry for your loss." He reached his large hand out to Antonio. The jowls of his face seemed more noticeable with the look of concern in his eyes. He was an enormous, balding man with a mustache that curled at the sides. He was famous for always possessing Cuban cigars, claiming that Castro sent them to him personally in large quantities and that he saved them for special occasions. Everyone knew this to be pure fabrication, but he was friendly and a good storyteller, and therefore well liked, not to mention being an easy pay-off.

  "Thank you," Antonio whispered.