The Cartel

by A. K. Alexander

  “This Alejandro kid, he worked for you didn’t he?” Julio asked.

  “We had some ties, but he was a bit of a problem.”

  “What do you mean?” Julio ordered another round of drinks.

  “You know, a trust thing, really. He has a thing for the governor of Jalisco’s daughter—Javier Rodriguez.”

  “The priest was her step brother? No?”

  “Oh, yes. They were close, those two, ever since they were little kids.” The combination of cocaine and tequila fueled Emilio’s arrogance.

  “Then why would this man murder the priest like that?”

  Emilio glanced around the bar, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “He didn’t.”

  “What do you mean he didn’t kill the priest?”

  “Nothing, man. Let’s finish up our business. I have somewhere else I need to be.” Emilio realized that divulging what they’d done to Alex and Miguel might not be such a good idea, even if this man was on his side. Secrets got out and he was regretting that he’d said anything. Thankfully, Julio didn’t pursue it.

  “I like you Julio. You’re going to be a big part of my business.”

  Julio smiled in agreement. They finished their drinks, sealed the deal and went their separate ways, with the plan to meet in Guatemala and make their trades.

  It hadn’t taken long for them to set up this big shipment. Apparently, Julio was making inroads with the Gambino family, and Emilio, unlike his brother, had nothing against the Cosa Nostra, as long as they could make a mutually profitable deal.

  Emilio liked to think of himself as being much smarter than Antonio for not going against the tide, but flowing with it. Everyone with any brains in organized crime knew you needed the Italians as partners, in order to really get anywhere. And Emilio was banking on Julio to guide him in their direction.

  They shook hands. “Do you have the money?” Emilio asked.

  “Back there,” Julio replied, pointing to the shack. “And you?”

  “It’s all there.”

  “Can I take a look?”

  “Be my guest. But my guys aren’t going to unload until I see the color of your money.”

  “No problem.”

  They walked over to the plane together. Julio looked inside, tore open one of the clear plastic bags, and tasted the coke. “Mhhmm. This is good yao. Exactly like the sample.”

  “I told you that it would be. Emilio Espinoza is as good as his word.”

  “Okay, amigos, I believe we’re ready to make a deal. Come with me.” He motioned for Emilio to follow him.

  Emilio looked back at Hector and the pilot, nodding his head.

  Another plane was moved out of a hanger. Emilio could see that the pilot looked American. He knew that this was the transfer plane. Julio motioned for him to pull it up next to Emilio’s plane. Emilio looked quizzically at Julio.

  “Don’t look so worried. The faster we get this stuff out of here and into Miami, the better off we’ll all be.”

  Emilio relaxed a little, but he knew he wouldn’t feel completely safe until he was back on Colombian soil. He entered the metal shack behind Julio. Before the door could close, he was grabbed from behind and kicked in the back of his knees. A knife was placed at his throat and he was bound and gagged with duct tape by four husky thugs. Julio put a hand on his shoulders and seated him in a rickety old chair with a spotlight shining directly in his eyes.

  “Now, pendejo, we have some business to deal with,” Julio said.

  Emilio struggled in his seat, his eyes wild and dilated, his fear obvious to everyone in the room. All he could make out were shadows of people. No faces, only shadows surrounding him. He heard a loud boom and realized it was a gunshot. A few seconds later, Hector was seated next to him, bound and gagged as well. They’d killed the pilot.

  “Now,” Julio began, “we have some things to settle. See, you said something the other day that has me curious about the murder of Father Diaz.”

  “What? I don’t understand,” Emilio replied, sweat slipping down his back.

  “I think you do. Who killed Father Diaz?”

  “Alejandro Peña. What is going on here? I thought…”

  “Wrong answer,” Julio yelled his voice high and shrill, his eyes wild. He looked back into the wall of shadows where one muscular hoodlum came forward out of the dark abyss, a machete in his hand. Julio nodded his head and the sharp instrument was brought down abruptly against Emilio’s thumb. He screamed in agony as blood shot from the missing appendage. Julio placed the tape back over Emilio’s mouth.

  Julio walked to where Hector was sitting and pulled the tape off his mouth. Hector shook visibly. Tears formed in Hector’s eyes as he realized that his chances of getting out of here alive were not too good.

  “You don’t look like a liar to me. I’m having a real hard time believing that Alejandro Peña murdered the priest. Why don’t you tell me who did it?” Julio said. “Weren’t you Alejandro’s good friend? How quickly loyalties change. Maybe it is time for you to remember your friend.”

  Hector couldn’t look over at Emilio, but knew that if he had a prayer of getting out alive, he’d have to squeal.

  “Emilio Espinoza and Pedro Torres killed him.”

  “Good boy. You may now die a painless death.” The shadow appeared again, this time with a revolver and placed it at Hector’s right temple. Hector said a frantic prayer. Shortly after that, blood and brains were scattered all over both the floor and Emilio.

  “Why would you do that? Why murder the priest?” Julio tore the tape from Emilio’s mouth.

  He screamed out. “My thumb! My fucking thumb! Why the fuck did you do this? Why?” His eyes darted to his dead compadre.

  “I’m asking the questions and you have choices here; you can answer them and possibly see the light of day, or you can die a very excruciating death via a Colombian necktie.”

  “What? Come on now!” Emilio tried to make out the others in the room, his eyes sly and cagey, his mind in a state of confusion. The pain from his missing thumb, putting him in a stunned state.

  “Fuck you,” Emilio spat.

  Julio motioned for one of the shadows in the dark to come forward. A large man with a machete approached Emilio. The man threw Emilio to the ground and turned him around so that he was face up. Julio nodded his head and the man placed the machete under Emilio’s pecker.

  “Maybe you want to think a little harder about that? You ready to answer some questions for me?”

  Emilio closed his eyes. He nodded.

  “Excellent.”

  Julio took out a tape recorder and pressed “record.” He knelt down next to Emilio.

  “Did Alejandro murder the priest, and don’t tell me he did, because I’ve been fortunate enough to find the priest’s former bodyguard. After you slipped in our conversation the other day, I went looking for answers. It was a good thing I did, because I had already made plans to have Alejandro killed, but you saved the kid, and so did the big mouthed bodyguard who showed up after Father Miguel’s murder in a whorehouse, all liquored up and ready to talk about how he’d made so much money. What happened, Emilio?”

  “We set him up.”

  “Who did?”

  “Me and another hombre in our operation, Pedro Torres.”

  “Why?”

  Emilio groaned in pain and fear. He didn’t respond right away.

  “Why?” Julio screamed.

  “Because Pedro has this obsession with the girl,” Emilio cried out.

  “Who? The governor’s daughter?

  “Yes—Isabella. I don’t understand why, but I don’t really care,” he whimpered.

  “If you didn’t care, then why do it?”

  “Pedro wanted Alex gone and so did I.”

  “Why would you want him gone?”

  “I would think that’s obvious to you,” Emilio moaned. “He’s a problem for me. The kid is too smart and too loyal to my brother. I needed to get rid of anyone who might stand in my wa
y.”

  “Don’t you think your brother might stand in your way?” Julio asked. “Why kill the priest?”

  “That’s one of the reasons I had the priest done away with.” Emilio choked out the words. He couldn’t believe he was telling Julio all of this but he had no other way. Maybe this man would let him go free, if he told him everything he wanted. “The priest he’s been making problems for us. You know about that. He’s had an effect on anyone in this business transporting from Latin America.”

  Julio nodded. “Exactly.” He smiled.

  “I needed to get rid of him for that reason. I also knew to cause a rift between the two Patrons so that things would start to break down. My brother would feel the pressure, especially without his keeper.”

  “Javier?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you kill the priest and frame the kid?”

  “You said you knew the answer to that. You talked to the bodyguard.”

  “I need to hear it from you.”

  Emilio shook his head. He couldn’t take anymore. The henchman inched the machete further into his pecker. “I paid him a lot of money.”

  “Did you pay extra for the Colombian necktie?”

  Emilio could no longer look at Julio. He simply nodded.

  “Thank you for being so honest, Emilio. We have one more thing to discuss.”

  Emilio closed his eyes again, dizzy and disillusioned.

  Julio took a photograph from his jacket pocket and held it in front of Emilio’s tear-stained eyes. “Do you recognize this woman? You ought to. She’s your brother’s wife, the one you got pregnant and then rid yourself of when she interfered with your plans. Remember?” Emilio’s muffled cries were his only answer. “The man with his arm around her shoulder in the picture is me, of course. You thought she died when that whorehouse your boys put her into went up in smoke, didn’t you? Well, sorry to say for you, hombre, that Lydia is very much alive. She’s back in Calí, at our place, waiting for me. She’s glad to be with a man who treats her right for a change—someone who won’t force an abortion on her, like you did. Someone who won’t sell her as a prostitute, like you did. Someone who won’t rape her small daughter over and over again, like you did.”

  Emilio’s opened his eyes wide.

  “Yes, we know all about that, too.” Julio snapped his fingers once. Another man came forward and pinned Emilio to the ground, not that he could go anywhere, Julio liked seeing this maggot squirm and the fear in his eyes. “Oh, and I lied. You won’t live, and my friends will not be nice about the way you die. Instead of a Colombian necktie like you had inflicted upon my dear friend Father Diaz, my friends are going to sever what you have considered your manhood, and instead of choking on your tongue as my friend suffered, you will have to choke on what has seemed to mean the most to you throughout the years.”

  “You bastard!” Emilio screamed.

  “That’s right, I am a bastard,” Julio answered him calmly and stood.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Finish him off,” Julio ordered and headed for the door of the shack. “Enjoy hell, Emilio.” As Julio opened the door he heard Emilio’s screams that only a moment later were muffled as Julio got on the plane and headed back to Calí to tell Lydia she was free to go home.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Antonio needed rest before Alejandro arrived. He’d received word that the boy had been released from the prison in Mexico City in the middle of the night and was transported to a private landing strip where Antonio’s jet waited to take him back to Colombia. Antonio fretted all night that something could go wrong with the transport, but now, knowing that his son was out of prison and in the air, he felt better.

  He wasn’t sure how long, moments or hours, before he was awakened by a noise coming from the cracked open French doors in his room. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on what looked to be the silhouette of a woman outside his door. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand. Putting them on, he could see that there was a woman standing at the door, with the light of dusk streaming around her form, making her appear ghostly, her dress billowing in the breeze.

  “Who’s there?” he asked, hearing his own voice tremble. There was no answer. Something about the apparition, the woman, whatever it was, was frightening and yet there was also something very familiar about her. When she didn’t respond, he got up to see for himself. He walked toward the door, trepidation in his step. His hand stretched out, still shaking. What was it about this figure? Was he dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream. He was walking and feeling and his mind was spinning. He asked again, “Who are you? What do you want? I demand to know.”

  Reaching the door and putting his hand out to turn the handle and further open the door, the figure simultaneously placed her hand on the doorknob opposite him. Antonio pulled his hand back as if it had been scalded. He took a step back and as the figure eased the door open, he took yet another step back his eyes widening with recognition. He shook his head and blinked several times. “I, I, Lyd, Lyd, Lydia?” he stammered in a whisper, not sure himself if her name escaped his lips. “Oh my God.”

  She reached out and touched him on the chest, her hand warm, tears in her eyes. He had to still be sleeping. This was a dream. Had to be a dream.

  Lydia took her hand from his chest and stroked his cheek.

  “No. How? I don’t understand. Is it you? Who are you? What is this? A joke?”

  “No, Antonio.” She finally spoke.

  Antonio felt his mouth drop wide open. It was her voice, and her touch and her eyes and her body. My God, this was his wife, the woman he thought dead for over a dozen years. He brought his hand to her hair and touched the end strands—like silk, still. He stepped back again and brought both his hands over his eyes and shook his head. “How? Why? Where?”

  “There is so much to say. I assure you, it is me, and I am alive. Please sit down.”

  He did as she instructed and nearly fell back into the chair in what had once been their suite. She sat opposite him and took his hands in hers. His still shook. Hers were so warm and so alive.

  “It is you! Isn’t it?” he cried.

  “Yes.” She nodded. Together they sat for several minutes before either one could say another word, both of them in tears and so wrapped in emotion and confusion that no words could be found.

  Antonio’s heart raced when Lydia spoke again. “I need to tell you everything. Please listen and wait until I’m finished to say anything. I know that you have and will have many questions, but I believe when you hear what I have to say, many of them will be answered.” She wiped away the tears running down his face, kissed him on the forehead—her lips tender and soft. She again took both his hands in hers and relayed to him the horror and the pain and even the peace she’d found during the past decade. She told him of the betrayal with Emilio and the knowledge that she had in regard to Marta and his son—and how that pain had caused her to seek solace in his brother’s arms, and because of that betrayal she’d wound up nearly dead, addicted for a time to heroin and prostituted out. She told of the nuns, their kindness and how the meeting and mentoring of Father Miguel led her out of despair and rekindled the need in her to seek out her old life and make peace with her past and wreak vengeance on those who’d dealt her the cruel blows. Lydia explained to him that for years she’d believed Antonio to be the mastermind behind her “death,” and the events that precipitated from it, and how, because of her beliefs, she’d feared ever coming home and being a part of her daughters’ lives. She’d feared him. But, in the arms of Julio, and through his resources she’d discovered the truth: that Emilio had done this to her and her family.

  Antonio sat, stunned, and let her speak for nearly an hour. There were still some pieces missing when she was through. Antonio’s emotions ranged from fear, to hatred, sadness, anger, pity and finally to love. He couldn’t believe she had endured all that she had, thinking that he had done this to her. He didn’t respond, only listened and surpri
sing himself, he actually understood his wife better at that moment than he ever had. It wasn’t rage he felt toward her. Too many years had passed and he could recognize his own wrong doings, and his part in what had happened to her.

  “My God, Lydia, if I had only known.” He withdrew his hands from inside hers and took her hands in his. “I never meant to hurt you so. If I’d only known,” he sobbed. “If I thought you were alive, I would have looked, I would have found you.”