I launch into an account of the last week’s events. I haven’t quite finished when he interrupts.
“Sounds like you’ll need help getting your brother back from the narcos.” Carlos cracks his knuckles and turns to me with a knowing smile. “That why you’re here?”
“Trying to rescue Oscar would be dangerous,” I tell him.
“Talk about an understatement,” he says. “Count me in.”
“Carlos, are you sure? Don’t rush into this. Take some time—”
“To do what?” he interjects, his expression growing serious. “Decide whether or not I’ll help the lady who has helped me for years? To decide whether I’ll help a friend or let them down? It’s not really much of a choice, is it?”
I smile and cast a glance at both friends. “For most people it would be.”
He shrugs. “How soon can we start?”
My laugh reflects the release of pressure from pent-up nerves. “As soon as we have a plan. And to make one, there’s someone we need to talk to first.”
CHAPTER 20
We squeeze into Carlos’ battered tow truck and depart for the city center. Its engine groaning like a World War II bomber, the aged vehicle lumbers along asphalt roads that have seen better days.
“So who are we going to see again?” shouts Miguel over the diesel engine’s growl.
“Lily Castilla,” I reply.
“Don’t know her.”
“Yes, you do. The one-handed lady. The one who sits on Guadalupe Street with the ‘help me’ sign.”
He nods in recognition. “And why are we going to see her?”
“She and I have been friends since I was a little girl. She knows a lot about what happens in Capilla de Guadalupe, so I asked her to keep her ears open and let me know if she heard anything about the narcos on my property. On my way over to see you guys, she texted and said she has information she can only share in person.”
“Gaby,” says Carlos. He licks his lips. “It’s great that you’ve known this lady most of your life, but that part of town has some pretty rough people in it. Are you sure we can trust her? Really sure?”
“Yes—with our lives.”
I don’t blame Carlos for asking the question. Outside of my family and these three friends, there’s no one else in this city I’d trust to help us. Volante has proven to be both ruthless and clever. He could have anyone on his payroll.
Carlos slows the truck. Taking a corner, he swerves around a scrawny beagle trotting across the road. The crowd thickens as we move further downtown, prompting him to take more evasive maneuvers.
At last, the truck groans to a stop against a cobblestone curb.
“Why don’t you all stay here?” I ask.
Miguel cocks his head. “Why?”
“We need to know everything she knows. If you didn’t trust her, she might not trust you. So if you two are there, she might hold back information—maybe something that’d prove critical to rescuing Oscar.”
“Makes sense. But we’re still going to keep an eye on you from here.”
I climb from the vehicle and lower myself from its high frame onto the curb. I cross to Lily, where the fresh scent of flowers provides a strange contrast to the odors of stale alcohol and rotting garbage coming from the liquor store’s overflowing trash cans. Above Lily, the facade’s faded paint peels in spots, and city noises echo down the narrow street.
We exchange greetings, and I take a look at the flower cart, inspecting the blooms.
“And how are you, my friend? Do you still have the pain?” I ask while motioning to her right arm, the one with the missing hand.
Lily clutches her stump. “Ah, people say you can’t have pain in a limb that’s missing, but they’re wrong. Sometimes it hurts so much I can’t sleep.”
“And today?”
“It’s not so bad. The tequila helps.” She motions towards a half-empty bottle at her side. When you’re too poor to afford a doctor, you self-medicate any way you can.
I take a seat next to my friend. She passes the bottle over. Normally, I’d pass, but today I take a deep swallow.
“You’ve found out something?” I ask.
Lily hesitates, waiting for a middle-aged lady in lavender pants to leave the flower cart with a bouquet of gardenias before answering. “Until a few hours ago, the only thing I’d heard about the Granjero is that he has something going on—too vague to be useful. But this morning, I saw a new guy leaving the liquor store.”
“New guy? You haven’t seen him before?”
“Exactly. Almost everyone who comes to this shop is a regular. But what caught my attention wasn’t so much that he was new. It was his tattoo, one that shows two hands shaking. That’s the gang symbol for The Brotherhood, Volante’s cartel.”
“So based on that tattoo, you think he’s in Volante’s crew?” I ask.
“For sure. He had all the signs—clothes, language, tats. So once he started a cellphone call, I made sure to listen in to his conversation.”
Lily stops speaking. A trio of farm workers with grimy hands and clothes amble across the sidewalk in our direction. She waits until they’ve entered the liquor store before continuing. “This gang banger went to the other side of the doorway, right across from me, and called someone.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t notice you were right here?”
Lily chuckles, but her eyes bear evidence of pain. “I’m telling you…I’m invisible to people. If folks think you’re homeless, it’s like you don’t exist, even to a gang member.”
I lay my hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. And hey, if that wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have heard everything he said.”
“I’m guessing that what he said must have been important, or you wouldn’t have asked me here.”
“Right again. So the gang member was giving directions to someone up north. He told them to bring the two trucks disguised as Supermarcado La Villa vehicles to ‘the distillery’ the day after tomorrow at six in the morning. He said they wanted to ‘move the product’ before sunup, so they couldn’t be late.”
“You’re right. This is important, because it tells us that’s how long Oscar is safe. Once the drugs are picked up, they won’t want to hang onto a hostage they no longer need to keep us quiet.”
“Maybe they will,” says Lily. “The narco said to make sure the trucks would be ready to come back here again next week.”
I chew my lip. “If they’re going to have enough drugs to fill up two supermarket trucks so soon, that can only mean one thing: The Brotherhood is planning on using someplace around here as a permanent waystation for their drugs, beginning with this first massive shipment. They probably won’t use my family’s distillery, now that they know I’ve seen them there. But it must be someplace close, or the trucks wouldn’t be returning.” I pause a moment. “The bigger question is why here in Capilla de Guadalupe at all? They’ve never been here before.”
“The cartels’ usual distribution routes head due north and northwest. Looks like Volante is making a new route to the northeast. We’re on that route.”
“Makes sense,” I say. “Have you heard anything else?”
“Word has it that the Sinaloa Cartel isn’t happy with Volante’s plan. There could be a war coming.”
Lovely. Like I need any more complications. Retrieving Oscar is going to be hard enough without getting caught in the middle of a cartel turf war. “I know you said people ignore you, but it’s hard to believe he’d say all this out loud.”
“He used the gang slang. He didn’t know I understand it all.” Lily glances at her stump and grimaces. “Not that it’s always helped me.”
“Well, you’ve helped me. Thanks, Lily.” As I turn to leave, it occurs to me that it’d be best to keep up with the most recent intelligence.
“I’ll check with you tomorrow, okay?” I call back to her.
“Sure thing.”
Back in the tow truck, I share this info
rmation with Miguel and Carlos.
Carlos rubs his chin. “That explains why Volante hasn’t killed Oscar yet.”
“Yes,” I reply. “He doesn’t want to draw attention to the distillery until the operation to pick up his first major drug shipment is complete. After that, he’ll be changing to a new location.”
“But once this first shipment is picked up…?” asks Miguel.
I nod. “Volante will have no further reason to keep Oscar alive.”
CHAPTER 21
Back in Carlos’ garage, we crowd around the desk in his tiny office. Faded newspaper articles about his Taekwondo school line the walls, as do a half-dozen plaques and awards recognizing his service to the community.
Carlos looks up and peers out the door.
I follow his gaze. From the other side of a car on a hydrolytic lift, one of the mechanics studies the three of us.
Carlos rises and shuts his office door.
“You’re not worried about that guy, are you?” asks Miguel. “He works for you.”
“I don’t think I need to worry, but I can’t compete with the kind of money narcos throw around. Best to not take any chances.”
“That’s right,” I add. “We’ll be taking chances soon enough.”
Carlos raises an eyebrow. “I guess that means you have a plan for rescuing Oscar in mind?”
“Sort of.”
“Don’t we need to know where Oscar is being held first?” asks Miguel.
“I think we can make a pretty good guess,” I reply. “If I had to bet, I’d say my family’s old distillery building. We know from Lily that the drug shipment in there is huge. I saw a bit of the haul myself when I stumbled in there yesterday. So you know they’ll have tons of armed guards keeping watch, more than enough to watch over a scared teenager.”
Carolos nods, long and slow. “Your reasoning makes sense, but you want to attack that place?”
“It’s the last thing they’ll expect.”
“True,” says Miguel with a snort. “No one else would be that insane.”
“Exactly,” I say. “With the element of surprise, we’ll have a chance.”
CHAPTER 22
After I draw a rough diagram of the distillery buildings and surrounding fields on notebook paper, we spend the next few hours discussing the best way to infiltrate it. Do we want to stay under the radar both in and out, or do we attack the gang’s forces at some point? If the latter, do we wait until we have Oscar? And do we need a contingency plan in case we’re spotted?
We’re in the middle of a heated discussion about weapons when my phone chimes.
It’s a text message from Lily. I have another bit of news. Come see me.
I share this message with the others. “Carlos, can you take me down there again?”
“Sure. Let me tell the boys I’ll be out for a bit.”
We navigate the maze of narrow streets, making our way to Guadalupe Street.
As we approach Lily’s usual spot, Carlos slows. The road is blocked off, and a crowd has gathered around the liquor store.
My heart sinking, I jump from the tow truck as soon as Carlos brings it to a stop. I push through the milling crowd and burst upon the second terrible scene in as many days: the death of a loved one.
Lily lies in a twisted heap at the edge of the sidewalk, her bloody head arched back and leaning over the curb. One of her arms lies behind her face-up body.
I push through the last couple of gawkers.
“What happened?” I ask one of several policemen at the scene.
“Hit and run,” he says, not glancing up from the notebook into which he’s scribbling.
“But how?” I ask, dismayed.
The grizzled police sergeant raises his eyes from his notebook, studying me like I’m the stupidest person he’s ever encountered. “A car jumped onto the sidewalk and hit her. Then it drove away.” He lowers his gaze and takes up his writing again.
Poor Lily! I’m saddened by the loss of my friend. And dismayed to know that any information she had that might have been used to rescue Oscar has died with her.
And like Abuelo, did she die because of me? Did my attempts to find Oscar lead the narcos to her? The answer is clear. There’s no way a car randomly veered onto the sidewalk minutes before my friend was set to share key intelligence with me. It was murder, plain and simple. No one in this town is safe.
The scene takes on a dreamlike quality, onlookers and policemen and Lily’s body and the flower cart jumbling together in a wash of color.
My mind snaps back into focus. Lily’s killer might be lingering nearby. Remaining here could be dangerous.
I take a last look at the spot on the sidewalk she occupied for so long. The cardboard sign and nearly empty bottle of tequila remain, as does the threadbare shawl she used most days to protect herself from the sun.
I’m turning away when I notice something under the flower cart. Can it be…? It is! Lily’s cellphone. I’d recognize that candy-apple red case anywhere.
Maybe it’s not too late to find out something useful. But how do I retrieve the phone without the police noticing? Above all, nothing I do must arouse suspicion. If any of the police here are on Volante’s payroll, they’ll already know why Lily was murdered…and might be on the lookout for me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have approached the sergeant, but that can’t be helped now.
I walk around the police barricade and approach the flower cart, pretending to examine the bouquets while considering my options.
I catch a break. A fat lady in a sunflower dress steps around the row of orange cones set up around the scene to get a closer look at Lily’s body. While the police sergeant turns to shoo her away, I let my own cellphone slip out of my hand onto the sidewalk. While leaning down to retrieve it, I reach under the cart and palm Lily’s cellphone, too. Seconds later, it’s safe in my pocket.
Not wanting to make my actions obvious, I turn back to the flowers and examine them a minute more.
I saunter back to the tow truck at a leisurely pace and climb in. “Let’s go.”
“What happened?”
“Lily was murdered. But whoever did it left her cellphone behind. Maybe she’ll still be able to tell us something.”
We drive in silence. I think about my friend and the help she rendered. And I think about her cellphone. Spiriting it away from the scene will keep my name from falling into the hands of policemen Volante has in his pocket. And it just might provide a hint of the information that cost my friend her life.
CHAPTER 23
Once again, we crowd around the cluttered desk in Carlos’ office with the door shut tight. His work crew might wonder what’s up, but unless they’re already on Volante’s payroll, it seems unlikely they’ll guess we’re plotting to rescue my brother from a drug cartel that’s set up shop in town.
I pull out Lily’s cellphone. The road back here was too bumpy to read it in the truck, so I’ve waited until this moment to do so. I cross my fingers and press the on button.
The screen lights up. Success! No password needed, and the accident didn’t break the device.
Now to see what I can discover…
None of Lily’s few text messages from the last twenty-four hours provide any insight into my brother’s location or the narcos’ activities. Thirty minutes into the search, though, I stumble across a promising lead.
“Listen to this,” I tell Carlos and Miguel, who have been waiting patiently. “Delivery of Little Monkey moved up to 11:00 tomorrow night at the Frying Pan.”
“What does that mean?” asks Miguel.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Half the message is gang slang.” I look to Carlos. “Do you know what ‘Little Monkey’ or ‘Frying Pan’ means?”
“No. I know a fair amount of gang lingo, but those are new to me. I’ve never heard those phrases before.”
I shake my head. “Lily did. And she recognized it as something important. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked me to meet her.”
“We’ll have to.”
“It’d help if we knew who sent it. Does it say?” he asks, peering at the phone in my hand.
I shake my head. “No, and we won’t be able to find out. They didn’t send it using a text. If they had, we might be able to trace the number.”
“How did they send it?”
“Facebook messenger.”
Miguel scowls. “Why would someone use that instead of just sending a text?”
“I can think of two reasons,” I reply. “One, it keeps the sender’s identify secret. They can set up a fake account and send whatever they want without it being traced back to them. In this case, the sender used the name Kingsnake. Two, they can attach files, which it looks like is the case here.”
Carlos perks up. “What’s in the file?”
“Let’s find out,” I say, tapping the attached PDF document.
A topographical map springs to life on the phone’s screen. Contour lines show the rise and fall of the landscape…wherever this is.
We cram our heads together—literally—studying the phone.
“Who would send this to Lily?” asks Miguel.
“Maybe she knew someone in the gang,” I reply. “Or maybe she knew a friend of a gang member or a paid-off cop. She’s so connected, there’s no telling. But there’s a bigger question.”
Questioning eyes rotate from the cellphone to me.
“Anyone know where this is?” I ask, turning my attention back to the squiggle of ridge lines on the cellphone’s screen.
“I don’t think I—wait. Maybe I do,” says Carlos, bending over to study the map in more detail. “See this ridge here? That looks like the southeastern side of Tequila Volcano. I used to go hiking there when I was a kid.” He examines the map another minute. “Yes, this must be it. See the little valley here? It has an old riverbed at the bottom.”
“I wonder if that little valley is the ‘Frying Pan’ in the message,” says Miguel. “It kind of has that shape.”
The Rebel of Goza Page 6
