The Cartel

by A. K. Alexander

  “Don’t tell me about my own daughter.” Javier glared at Pedro, who sank down slightly in his chair.

  “I would never do that. It’s only that I know how much she’s longed to have a mother. She tells me all the time she wishes she could have known her own mother. This is hard for her. You’ve been mother and father to her. I think she may feel like she’s losing you as well. Please give her the time she needs right now.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. I really thought she would be happy about this. You know how close she and Miguel are.”

  “Yes, but a brother is much different than a friend. Things may change when you marry Miguel’s mother.”

  “I never thought about it that way. I don’t know what to do. This is more complicated than I thought, but I really like this lady. She’s funny. Yes, a bit different, but I’ve been so lonely, and she really is very…”

  “Beautiful. It is impossible for one to overlook that, isn’t it?”

  Javier didn’t answer Pedro at first, not liking the tone of his words and what that tone implied, but as the words ate at him for a moment he had to say something. “I am not so shallow as to marry a woman for her beauty.”

  “Many men have.”

  “You are overstepping your boundaries here, Pedro.”

  “Maybe this is none of my business, but before you do this, you may want to really consider which head you’re thinking with.”

  “You’re right, it is none of your business. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Pedro watched Javier disappear around the hall corner. He pondered what might take place in this household in the near future. He knew Javier was lonely for a woman, and that Carlotta Diaz wasn’t even close to Javier’s class. But as he himself had done, she had been able to worm her way into the exclusive confines of a powerful, wealthy family. Pedro had to admire and respect her for that. He also had to ache for the sense of abandonment he knew his little Bella was feeling at the moment. He remembered that feeling all too well from his own upbringing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Marta prepared to fly home and bring Alejandro back with her over the weekend. She knew that Elisa would be surprised and happy for her. But there would also be overtones of sadness. She dreaded the trip home and the impending conversation she would have with the dear woman who’d been her best friend for the past seven years.

  As she was folding the last of her things into her suitcase, Antonio flung open the door in an excited rush. “You can’t go until Monday.”

  “Why not?”

  “Javier has moved up his wedding date. Carlotta is pregnant, and they’re getting married this weekend. Go and buy yourself the most exquisite, expensive dress you can find. The plane will be ready to take us to Guadalajara this evening. Be ready to leave by five o’clock. I’ve already telephoned some of the finer boutiques and called around a car. They’re waiting for you.”

  “Oh, but Antonio, I really wanted to get home. It’s been two weeks, and I miss Alejandro so much. He was so excited when I talked to him last night. I told him I was coming home. I can’t break his heart like that.”

  “He’ll be fine. What’s two more days? Besides, he told you himself how much fun he was having with Elisa and her boys. Please do this for me.”

  “I don’t know. I really do miss him.”

  “It’s important.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll call home and talk to him first. If he becomes upset, I’ll go home. If he says it’s okay, then I’ll stay.”

  “Who runs your house?”

  “We’ve never been away from one another.” She frowned.

  “Oh, all right, if that is the way it must be, then call him.”

  Antonio hovered over her as she called home to talk to Alejandro about her plan to delay her return to Los Angeles. Antonio found it humorous and knew he was going to love and appreciate this boy who already ran the roost.

  He could tell by Marta’s responses that Alejandro had granted his permission, as long as she brought him back some really good presents. When she hung up the phone, Antonio laughed. “I can’t help but love that kid.”

  *****

  Bella and Miguel did in fact enjoy their respective parent’s wedding. They played and danced, but each knew there was sadness in the other’s heart. Miguel was actually elated to be gaining Bella as a sister and to be moving into such a grand home, but he couldn’t help experiencing her pain. He realized that she felt as if she was losing her father, and he thought she was, as well.

  There was no doubt that his mother could be quite overbearing. She’d already made it clear to Miguel that he was to stay out of her way and out of his new father’s way.

  Before too long, Miguel knew that his mother would also make sure that Bella was alienated from her father’s life. But for today, the two of them would dance and be happy.

  *****

  Marta enjoyed herself. It was as if her dream had finally come true. Fond memories swirled in her mind of girlish daydreams that she’d long ago set aside for mundane realities. But now those dreams had become her reality.

  The fruity sangria she sipped warmed her soul, but sent her to the bathroom for the third time in an hour. Passing by Javier’s home office, she could hear Antonio’s voice. Knowing it was silly and immature, but being a curious woman by nature, she casually leaned against the door to overhear.

  “They did what? How many of them were there?” Antonio asked, anger rising in his voice.

  “Five or six of them, and I’ve so far received the names of three of the men.”

  “How much was stolen?”

  “A street value of hundred thousand dollars.”

  Marta heard a bang, like his fist being slammed against a desk.

  “I want them dead, all of them. You find out who they are, have them located and killed. I will not have anyone stealing from this operation,” Antonio said.

  “I agree. I’ve already put out the order on the street in Tijuana, where I’ve heard they’ve run to. I don’t know what to say. These are men who have been driving for us forever and to think they’ve betrayed us is unthinkable.”

  “But they have. And, who do they say is the leader of this mutiny?” Antonio asked. “Do we know?”

  “Yes. They say his name is Fernando.”

  Marta gasped. They had to be speaking of the man who’d driven her into Tijuana years earlier from Costa Careyes. They were going to have him killed. She sunk against the wall. A lump caught in her throat as bile swirled in her stomach. How stupid could she be? Antonio was never going to change. Not for her, or their son. Not for anyone. For a man like Antonio Espinoza all that mattered was wealth and power, and if it meant lying to those he claimed to love, then that is what he did. Marta clenched her teeth and bit back bitter tears. He was a criminal and he would always be that—a killer and a drug dealer. Marta ran for the bathroom and wretched.

  She walked out of the bathroom and glanced around hoping to escape undetected. How could she have been so ignorant as to believe this man, who knew his way around lies as much as any card shark knows the tricks of his trade? Without any further thought, she went into the guest room they had settled in, found a wad of cash Antonio had placed inside one of the dresser drawers and took it. After making certain everyone was back out on the patio involved in the festivities, with tears stinging her eyes, Marta grabbed the overnight bag she’d brought with her, and headed for the front door.

  *****

  Terrifying screams soared from the room below awakening Lydia from her stupor. Although dreams and reality often fused together now, she could tell that these sounds were real.

  Lydia had heard screams and laughter coming from other rooms before tonight. She knew that she was nothing more than a whore, living in a brothel where such sounds were commonplace. The thought of it almost amused her: Señora Espinoza. Whore. She once had the finest in everything: jewels, clothes, cars, houses. But she had b
een vengefully punished for her transgressions by a vicious and vindictive husband.

  Panic subtly overcame her as she dragged her lethargic body to the door, cracking it open with the uncertainty of a just-punished child who has been banished to her room. Lydia had been told, on more than one occasion, never to leave her room until she was sent for, yet she retained enough sense to realize that real trouble lurked outside her door.

  A scantily clad woman ran past Lydia’s door yelling, “Fire! Fire!”

  Lydia’s clouded brain processed the scene before her. As quickly as she could make herself react, she wrapped a blanket around her body. Turning back from the door, she saw a cloud of white smoke swirling up beneath the floorboards. Like a demon in the shape of a snake, the smoke curled up from the floor, winding its way into vicious coils, preparing to strike whatever victim stood in its path.

  Suddenly her mind began to clear and a will to fight and gain back all she had lost returned. For a second or two, the power of clarity entranced her, silencing the demons that had been so much in control of her mind and body during the past few months. As the coils of the snake attempted to wrap around her lithe body, constricting each and every organ inside her, she began to search for a way out, for someone to rescue her. Weakened she collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

  With her eyes shut, she prayed to her sweet Jesus for salvation. As if the sun had extended a ray of energy from its own light, she found herself crawling to the window, pulling herself up, and struggling to open it. It wouldn’t budge. In one last effort to escape her fate, she reached up and took the metal crucifix from the wall, smashing it against the window. Blood dripped from the tiny cuts in her hands, but the pain they inflicted was of no consequence. Lydia stared down at the ground, two stories below, and knew she would rather die right now than suffer the ravages of that fiery demon.

  Without further thought, she flung herself out of the small window.

  BOOK III-1989-1993

  Los Angeles, CA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Walking to the outdoor market to buy the groceries their mothers had sent them for, Hector and Alex roughhoused with each other along the way, shoving and pushing their way through crowds of people. Hector ran into an old man, who yelled at them, “Pinche batos.”

  The boys laughed, although Alex tried to stifle his mother’s voice in his head cautioning him about respecting his elders. He knew she was right. She was right most of the time, but Hector was his best friend and it was plain hard to tell Hector that most of what he did wasn’t right.

  After they bought the necessary groceries, they went to the park. “Wanna smoke?” Hector asked as he rolled a joint.

  Again one of those things he knew his mother wouldn’t approve of. “Nah. I better not.”

  “What you afraid of, your mama?” Hector chided. He lit the joint and took a long drag.

  Alex took it from him and even though a sense of guilt hit him square in his gut, he smoked the pot with his friend. "Man, where does your bro get this stuff?"Alex asked, making ringlets of smoke out of the pungent herb. The drug was swimming on his brain now, and the guilt dissipated, but Alex had a keen sense that it would be back and maybe tomorrow he would go to the confessional.

  “His boys, man. You know he said we could join if we want. They’re bad, really bad, you know.”

  “Nah, we oughtta make our own gang. It’d be real cool. All the chicks would be begging for us." He knew that wouldn’t be the case, but he wanted to be cool, even though he wasn’t.

  “Yeah, right. You and that ugly mug of yours.” Hector laughed.

  "Who you callin’ ugly?"

  “You.”

  “No way, man. You’ll be callin’ me Patrón one of these days.”

  “Yeah, right, cuz.”

  “I like that, Patrón. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

  “Patrón, my ass." Hector pushed Alex to the ground and they both burst out laughing. "Maybe you don’t have such a bad idea. We should create our own gang. We could get better stuff than this shit, and sell it out there on the streets."

  “Right, man. I was kidding. No way am I gonna sell dope. I think you’re crazy."

  “There you go again, man. You so afraid of your mama that you can’t even see straight. We start slinging dope and I bet you’ll be able to buy your mama a real house."

  “I’m not scared of my mama.” Alex respected his mother and she’d had so many disappointments, not that she ever spoke of, but Alex could see it in her eyes and the way she looked so tired every night after working for hours on end and then insisting on making him dinner. She was dedicated to him. But, the idea of being able to move her out of the ghetto appealed to him. He’d do about anything to get her out of there and into a home and neighborhood where she deserved to live. He might even cave to Hector’s ideas if it meant that his mother wouldn’t have to work anymore. “Come on, we’d better get home before our mamas get mad at us for taking so long."

  “Pussy,” Hector said.

  “Shut up before I break your face. Now come on.” Not wanting his mother to discover his extracurricular activities, Alejandro decided to run up to his room and change his clothes before her keen sense of smell caught on. Mama continually hounded him about drugs, and not falling into the same traps as most of the other neighborhood kids managed to do.

  “Alejandro, you are way too intelligent to be involved with drugs. I have plans for you.”

  “Like what, Mama?”

  “College.”

  “Right. The only way I’m getting to college is if we win the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes.”

  “We’ll see about that.” She’d shake a finger at him. He knew that underneath her laughter, there was a purpose to her words. His mother was a mystery to Alex. It was as if she had some huge secret, which she kept even from him. But that couldn’t be true. His mother was simple and pure. She wouldn’t keep secrets from him. If appeasing her about college made her happy, then that’s what he would do. The thought of selling drugs and making some real money came to mind again, if he did it for a little while, then he could probably make enough to go to college. He could make her dreams for him come true.

  Over dinner, at the small table with pictures of Christ hanging on the surrounding walls, his mom gave him the same old lecture. "Alejandro," she said in that tone of voice that only mothers used. Alex looked down at his bowl of menudo. "As you know, I received your report card today in the mail. You can do much better than C's. You are a smart boy."

  Alex couldn't look at her, because he knew she was right. He knew that he could do much better. He did well on the tests. It was the homework he never finished. Hector always distracted him in the afternoons and he let it go.

  "You’ll have to try much harder. I want you to start thinking about college and your future."

  "Mama, even if I could get into college, we don't have the money to pay for it."

  "Don't you worry about that," she replied. "The money will be there for college."

  "How do you know? Do you have a night job I don't know about?" Alex teased her.

  Marta didn't smile. "I am serious, Alejandro, you must start thinking about college. I also want you to get a job this summer. I’m going to be working double shifts at the factory, and I won't be here to babysit you. Not that I should have to at your age, but I don't want you stuck in this house, or out palling around all summer with your friends."

  "You mean Hector?"

  "Yes, I do mean Hector. As much as I love Elisa like a sister and both her boys like my own, neither one of them has proven to be worth his salt. She has done everything for those two, and they repay her by doing criminal things."

  “Mama, don't be silly."

  “Don't talk back to me. You will do as I say, and that means getting a job for the summer, and start thinking about college."

  “Yes, Mama."

  “Good boy.”

  After dinner, Alex climbed out his bedroom window and met H
ector down the street.

  “My mom says I gotta work through the summer."

  “Yeah, well did she say what you have to do?"

  “No."

  “I got a job for us then. I talked to my brother about our ideas."

  “Our ideas?"

  “You know, us selling pot. There’s a lotta profit there."

  “Yeah?" Alejandro asked, the word profit piquing his curiosity.