It’s very quiet inside. So quiet, I wonder if I’m the only one who hears the distant, steady hum of a generator, so subtle it takes concentrating vampire hearing to detect it. That generator must be what supplies air and power to the place. Like a heart pumping blood and oxygen through a body.
Even Culebra is dumbstruck. His thoughts are as jumbled as mine.
Ramon moves to the bar. Picks up one of the decanters. “Mescal?”
It takes a minute to pull my brain back from the shock of what my eyes are seeing and to engage it again sufficiently to make my mouth work. “Yeah. A drink would be good.” Then my legs get with the program and I’m at the bar.
Culebra and Max follow, both looking as dazed as I feel. Ramon pours from a crystal decanter with the label Scorpion Anejo Seven Star—I realize he’s pouring the Dom Pérignon of mescals when I see the scorpion floating in the bottle and the flicker of eagerness in Culebra’s eyes.
When we all have glasses in our hands, Ramon tips his toward us and says, “Para todo mal, mezcal, y para todo bien también.”
Yeah, I’ve heard that toast before—from Culebra at his bar: for everything bad, mescal, and for everything good, too. Course we weren’t drinking Scorpion Seven Star at the time.
We all clink glasses and the men drink. I’m more interested in taking another look at my surroundings than indulging in the rapturous moans of pleasure that follow the tasting. It’s hard to take it all in.
“How did you do this?” I ask.
Ramon says, “With a lot of money and an army of engineers.” He raises his glass to Max and me. “American engineers.”
“How did you keep it a secret?” Max asks.
“With a lot of money,” Ramon says again, “and a little coercion.”
“You threatened the engineers if they told anyone?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Didn’t take much. Everyone has something to protect. And they were well paid for their discretion.”
“But this must have taken an army to construct,” I say. “No one noticed?”
He smiles. Not warmly. “Silence has a price. Fortunately I could afford to pay it.”
For a narco, business as usual. I get a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I acted on impulse coming here. Ramon, standing in his elegant hideout, looks less like a father frightened for his family and more like the scumbag drug lord he is. Even his English has improved. Was his original bumbling an affect to gain my sympathy?
I lay the glass on the bar without taking a sip. “What now?”
Maria gestures toward the back wall of the cave. “Let me show you where to freshen up. Then we eat.”
So she can speak English, too. And well.
We follow Maria through an archway and into a hall. There are four doors, two on each side. She opens the last one on the left for me. “There are fresh towels. Shower if you like. I think Gabriella has something that will fit you. I’ll leave it on the bed.”
Then she’s ushering Max and Culebra to the opposite door. I watch as they disappear inside and Maria moves off down the hall. I close my own door and look around, checking first to see if there’s an inside lock. There isn’t.
This is a bedroom with the same diamond-patterned rock walls, ceiling and floor as the great room. This room, too, sports a plush rug, a woven mat of cotton this time, but no artwork. The bed is simple, covered with a colorful Mexican blanket, the headboard banked with throw pillows in red and yellow. There is a dresser on one side, a chest at the foot of the bed.
Both are empty.
I take a quick look around for cameras or microphones but don’t find either. There is neither wainscoting nor floorboards to conceal electronics.
I step into the bathroom. Small. Functional. A shower, a vanity, a toilet. This door locks from the inside. I close and lock it before undressing.
After two days, a shower feels good. Maria has stocked the shower with good soap and shampoo. It smells of trees after a rain, like a growing forest with hints of pine. The bathroom is soon fragrant with it. I linger under the hot water before realizing I’ve been in here almost twenty minutes and the hot water is still hot. Ramon must have a hell of a water heater.
The best drug money can buy. Which most likely explains how they keep the place supplied with liquor and good toiletries. I imagine engineers aren’t the only ones who can keep a secret for a price or a threat.
When I finally coax myself out, I towel dry and peek into the vanity. There are various types of remedies, for headaches, for colds. A comb and brush that looks unused. Several toothbrushes still in packages. A tube of toothpaste—Colgate. American. I take advantage of the chance to brush my teeth and use the comb and brush to detangle my hair. Then I steal a look into the bedroom.
Maria has left a long shift of pale green cotton on the bed. I slip it over my head. It falls to my ankles. It moves when I walk; the material is whisper soft and thin. I wonder if I look naked in the light. The thought makes me uncomfortable enough to take it off.
My jeans and T-shirt will have to do—even if they aren’t the cleanest.
I hear the door open across the hall. In two steps, I’m at my door, too.
Max and Culebra are there, smelling of the same fragrant soap, freshly shaven, wet hair combed. They’ve changed into clean jeans (must be Ramon’s—they are all about the same size, though Max’s thighs clearly strain the seams of his pair) and lightweight Mexican guayabera shirts with colorful embroidery and pleating. Culebra’s is light gray, Max’s a blue that makes his eyes intense as the ocean.
Culebra looks past me into the bedroom. “Maria didn’t bring you clean clothes?”
I follow his eyes to the shift on the bed. “I think it’s a nightgown,” I reply.
He grunts.
Max grins, looking around me, too. “Too girly for you?”
I close the door behind me with a decisive click.
Max sniffs the air. “Something smells good.”
He lifts his nose and moves toward the great room, following the odor of meat and beans and grilled vegetables like a bloodhound on the scent of a rabbit. He heads straight for the kitchen, Culebra right on his heels.
Only I lag behind.
The table seats eight and is set with plates and utensils and a steaming stack of tortillas. There are three chairs in the same heavy dark wood as the table on one side, a long bench on the other, and two captain’s chairs on each end. Ramon is already seated in one of the chairs, watching Maria as she moves around the kitchen. He has showered and changed, too, as has Maria. Still, the shower hasn’t completely masked the smell coming off both Ramon and his wife. They’ve been busy in the last hour—and not just in the kitchen. The musk of their sex tickles my nose.
Maria looks up and sees us approaching. She frowns in a concerned way at me. “You didn’t like the dress?”
I grope for a way to answer when Max pipes up, “Anna’s not big on skirts. She’s more the pants type.”
Shit. He says it with a wink and I see clearly on both Ramon’s and Maria’s faces what they’re thinking. I’m gay.
Maria recovers before Ramon. “I see. No problem. After we eat, I’ll get you a pair of Gabriella’s jeans. She may be a little shorter, but I think they’ll fit. Now, sit. The food is almost ready.”
Three words grab my attention: after we eat.
She’s back arranging food in serving dishes and I look at Culebra. What do I do?
He purses his lips ever so slightly. Maybe it’s time to come clean.
What?
Tell them you’re on a strict liquid diet. For health reasons.
Oh, like that makes sense. Did you see the way they looked at me when Max said I wasn’t big on skirts? Now I’m going to insult Maria by refusing to eat her food?
Got a better idea?
Maria is ready to serve and Ramon motions around the table. “Please. Sit. Eat.”
I take the bench, Culebra and Max chairs, and Maria takes her place at the opposite end of th
e table.
“Where’s Gabriella?” I ask.
“She’s on watch. Outside.” Maria answers. “One of us always takes watch.”
An idea blossoms. “Has she eaten?”
“She will. When we’ve finished, I’ll take her a plate.”
I push myself up from the bench. “No. Let me relieve her. I’m not hungry and I’m sure she wants to be with her father.”
Ramon looks startled but grateful. “Are you sure? You haven’t eaten—”
“I’m sure. Is she just upstairs, in the cabin?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll go now. Send her right back to join you.”
I’m at the door when Culebra’s sardonic voice sounds off in my head. Nice save.
Ramon has crossed to open the door, and I step past him, releasing a sigh of relief when the door closes again behind me. Nice save indeed. You’d think I’d be used to dealing with humans forcing food on me, but it never gets any easier.
At the top of the stairs, I find Gabriella seated cross-legged on the floor of the shack, a laptop balanced on her knees. She has an iPod in her hand and earbuds in her ears. I can hear the beat of a rap song. It’s loud enough that a tank could pull up in front of the cabin and fire off a shot before she’d hear it.
That’s the way she’s standing watch?
It’s my first thought until I see that her eyes are on the screen and projected there are four views of the grounds around, and leading to, the cabin.
She looks up in surprise when I appear from the subterranean stairway, and pulls the buds from her ears. “What are you doing here?”
I point to the laptop. “Nice setup. I didn’t see one camera when we arrived, let alone four.”
She smiles. “The best security system money can buy.”
“Your English is as good as your mother’s,” I say.
She shrugs. “I go to school in the U.S. My mom and I spend a lot of time there.” There’s a pause while she seems to reconsider what she’s just said. “At least we used to.”
I point to the laptop. “I’m here to relieve you. I’ll keep watch. You can join your family.”
But she makes no move to get up. Her face is both youthful and mature—her smooth skin and wide eyes speak of her young years but the sadness dimming those eyes and the worry lines already forming around her mouth make her seem older, life-worn. I’ve seen the look before.
“I know about your brother. I’m sorry,” I say.
She frowns. “My father told you?”
“It’s why we’re here.”
She sniffs. “Then you’ve come on a fool’s errand. It’s too late for my brother.”
“But not for you. We’re going to make sure you and your mother are safe. That the men responsible for your brother’s death are punished.”
This time she laughs. “Well, that shouldn’t be hard, should it? Seeing as how the one responsible is the one you came with.”
Her bitterness is scathing. She can’t mean Max; she couldn’t know about him. She thinks Culebra had something to do with her brother’s death? “You are mistaken. Cule—” I stop myself. “Tomás is a friend here to help.”
“Tomás?” Her eyebrows arch in surprise. “I’m not talking about Tomás. I’m talking about my father.”
CHAPTER 23
“MY FATHER IS THE REASON MY MOTHER AND I are living like animals in a cage.” Gabriella turns away from me, looks out through the ruined doorway. “He is the reason my brother killed himself. Antonio could never be what my father pushed him to be. That last outrage was the breaking point. My father wanted him to fight back against the bullies tormenting him. When he wouldn’t, my father made it clear he thought Antonio a disgrace, a weakling. And then he took matters into his own hands.”
I’m trying to reconcile the story she is telling with the one her father told us. According to Ramon, Antonio never told anyone what happened to him. “Did your brother talk to you about what had been done to him? It sounds like you knew what happened to Antonio before you read his note?”
“What note?”
I stop, take a mental step back. Perhaps Gabriella didn’t know about the note. Ramon may have wanted to protect his daughter from the truth about the details of Antonio’s rape. I certainly have no intention of being the one to break it to her.
“I may have misunderstood. It’s not important anyway. What is important is that we’re going to make sure you and your mother are safe.”
Gabriella shakes her head and hands me the laptop. “Good luck with that,” she says, standing up. “My father is a hard-ass narco. If he can’t protect us, what chance do you think you have?”
She starts for the stairway, then stops, looking back at me. “I’m going to get something to eat. My mother loves to cook. At home, we have someone who cooks for us. I think she actually likes being here because she feels like she’s taking care of us again. Oh well. At least if we die, she’ll die happy.” She’s winding the cord for the earbuds around her iPod and when she’s done, she stuffs the thing into her jeans. “Don’t mention the iPod, okay? My father is paranoid. He thinks any electronic device can be bugged.”
I nod that her secret is safe. She takes a step toward the stairway.
“Gabriella?”
She stops again and turns around.
“You seemed really happy to see your father an hour ago. What’s changed?”
“I thought he came back to take us home. He hasn’t. Another promise broken.”
I raise my eyebrows and shake my head.
Her footsteps echo on the steps and then I hear the soft swish as the door opens into the living area. I’ve pushed the lever that returns the table to its position in the middle of the cabin and perch myself on the edge.
Gabriella’s cynicism lingers in my head. I’ve often wondered how the members of a gangster’s family square their lifestyle with the means by which it’s obtained. I have no idea how Ramon’s family lived before but if this hideaway is any indication, they must have had it pretty good. Gabriella is obviously well educated. Her teeth and skin flawless. Before they went into hiding, did she ever give a second thought to the bloodshed going on around her? Or was she immune because of who she was—or more precisely, because of who her father was?
That didn’t save her brother, though, did it? Even a hard-ass narco answers to somebody.
A click and a whirring sound emanate from beneath the table as the mechanism hums again to life. I jump away just as the table tilts inward, exposing the stairway.
Max trudges into view. He’s holding a plate brimming with tortillas, beans, meat and vegetables. More importantly, he’s carrying two bottles of Dos Equis. We set the table upright again and take seats slouching against the wall facing the door. I balance the laptop on my knees while Max balances his plate on his.
Max hands me one of the beers. “Brought you some food. Maria insisted. But I guess you can’t eat it, can you? Guess I’ll have to take care of it. Wouldn’t want Maria to think you didn’t like her cooking any more than you liked her taste in clothes.”
I punch his arm. “Nice going in there. They think I’m gay. In a good Catholic country like Mexico, I’m sure they feel real comfortable around me now.”
“More comfortable than they’d be if they knew what you really are?” He’s shoveling meat and beans into a tortilla.
“Didn’t you eat downstairs?” I ask. The smell makes my mouth water.
He takes a huge bite. My eyes trail the path from plate to mouth like a dog panting for table scraps.
“Yep. But damn, this is good. Maria is one hell of a cook.”
Great. I let him eat, finding a little consolation in my beer. After a moment, I ask, “What are they talking about?”
“Downstairs? Nothing important. Family stuff.”
“So what happens now? When do we go after Santiago?”
“Ramon told Culebra we’d talk tonight, after Maria and Gabriella go to bed.”
“
Gabriella blames her father for Antonio’s death. She’s pretty antagonistic toward him.”
“She’s a teenager,” Max says. “She’s supposed to be antagonistic. It’s her job.”
“Maybe. But it seemed more than teenage angst. She said something about Ramon wanting Antonio to avenge himself against the bullies and when he wouldn’t, Ramon called him a disgrace, a weakling. And took matters into his own hands.”
Max takes a break from eating to look at me. “You think Ramon’s killing Rójan was premeditated?”
“I don’t know. But Gabriella seems to think so. She didn’t know anything about a suicide note, either. I’m not sure she knew he had been raped. In her mind, Antonio killed himself because he couldn’t live up to his father’s ‘standards.’”
Max lifts his shoulder and takes another bite. “You should probably let Culebra know. He seems to take everything Ramon says at face value.”
His words remind me of my conversation with Culebra the first night. “Maybe not.” I fill him in on the fact that Ramon does not know I’m vampire nor does he know Culebra is a shape-shifter. And that Culebra thought it best not to divulge our natures to Ramon.
Max has the same reaction I had. “Then what are we doing? Why did Culebra drag us into this thing if he doesn’t trust Ramon?”
My turn to shrug. “Culebra owes Ramon some kind of blood debt. One he feels obligated to repay. Besides, this is your big chance to get intel on Santiago, right? I’d think it wouldn’t matter to you how.”
“True.” He drags a tortilla across the plate, scooping up bits of meat and beans and with a look of pure contentment, slips the food into his mouth. When he sees me watching him, he smacks his lips appreciatively and grins.
Show-off. “I think you missed a bean. Maybe licking the plate would be more efficient?”
Max sniffs, still grinning. “Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.” He lays the plate on the table and looks out the door at the early evening sun blazing its lazy path across the winter sky. “We’ve got a lot of time to kill.”
I stand and hand him the laptop. “I’m going downstairs to take a nap. May as well rest while I can. I’ll bring the plate back to Maria and tell her how wonderful lunch was. You can stand guard.”
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