by Rene Natan
Eleven
Alvaro Luzardo, better known as The Adjuster, stopped in front of the building where the monotony of blue-glass walls was interrupted by brick columns of an intense okra color. He never failed to admire this brilliant realization of modern architecture. Located in downtown Toronto, the slick construction housed the import-export office of Mr. Charles Michael MacMillan. The Adjuster sauntered into the building and took the elevator to the third floor. He’d taken a few steps into the reception room when a beautiful red-headed woman, rhythmically balancing her weight on high heels, walked toward him briskly.
“Mr. MacMillan is expecting you,” she said, and smiled. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“Not at the moment, thanks.”
“Nice to see you again.” She shook her long, wavy hair, put a hand on his arm, and led him to a door. She opened it and closed it behind him.
“It’s about time you showed up! With what I pay you, you don’t even call me regularly. What’s your excuse?” Charles MacMillan was a strikingly handsome man, with a mane of curly blond hair and green eyes. Even seated behind the mahogany desk, one could guess he was tall.
Uninvited, The Adjuster sat in the chair in front of him. “Camilo has problems—he suspects that the police have discovered his setup in Delaware. He’s thinking of moving elsewhere.”
“I’m not interested in all this. I hired you to find Helenita, my daughter. Do you have any idea where she is?” MacMillan rose and sat on the desk’s edge, looking down on The Adjuster.
“No. The information you got from your contacts wasn’t correct. There is no girl with green eyes in Camilo’s organization. Never been, either.”
“She was supposed to be shipped six or seven weeks ago.”
“The new acquisition is twelve years old, not fourteen; she has dark hair and dark eyes.”
“Any arrival due soon?”
“Some are on the way, but only two are for Camilo. I’ll go down to Falcon Lake to receive them. That’s the best I can do.”
“How come Camilo gets so few girls?”
“First, there’s a strong competition south of the border; second, Camilo is a small operator; third, Camilo is getting old and doesn’t take care of business well.” He gave a look at Charles and pondered whether it was wise to make a suggestion. MacMillan was well-known in the Toronto import-export business; part of his success was due to a rich wife, who’d dump him the moment she got wind of an affair with an offspring as a consequence. At thirty-three, tanned, and with an athletic build, the man exuded confidence and camaraderie. That was only appearance, however. When he had control of a situation, he became arrogant and unpredictable. Finally, The Adjuster decided to risk MacMillan’s anger and spoke. “I think you should go to Mexico and talk to the girl’s mother. She must have more detailed information than what the grandmother told you.”
The man threw his arms up. “What a freaking idea! Assunta doesn’t talk to me.”
The Adjuster rose. “I can’t do much else, at the moment.”
“You don’t get any more money until you find my daughter!” MacMillan hissed. “Get out!” He picked up the lamp from his desk and threw it at the man.
The Adjuster grabbed the cord in flight, making the lamp scrape the floor. “I’ll look after the next shipment,” he said. “After that, you’re on your own.” With firm steps, he strode out of the room.
***
How can a woman sell her daughter to a pimp? Incredible! Well, not quite, actually. Charles MacMillan was aware of a few cases dictated by extreme poverty—too many children in the family and not enough food for everybody. But his case was of a different nature; Assunta had sold her daughter for revenge.
Charles sighed as he remembered how it all happened.
He’d taken a business trip to Mexico City and had fallen in love with Assunta, the chambermaid at the Best Western Hotel Royal. He was in his early twenties, working for his father for a meager salary. The family’s import-export company dealt with a variety of food products, and Charles’ job was to discover new condiments; new spices or sauces that would please the Canadian palate. He visited Mexico regularly and never failed to see Assunta and proclaim his love to her. At one point he promised to take her with him and renewed that promise when Assunta got pregnant.
Then things changed radically. His father died, surprising everybody by leaving the company in the red. After a few dramatic and stormy family meetings, Charles’ mother, his two younger brothers, and a sister put pressure on Charles to marry the rich widow, Abigail Louise. Ten years his senior, Abigail had often accompanied Charles to official parties and hadn’t hidden the pleasure she drew from Charles’ presence.
They married quickly, and Abigail became a partner in the import-export company, housed in one of her buildings in downtown Toronto. Charles kept seeing Assunta on his trips as much as before. He’d give Assunta a bit of money to provide for the newborn, Helenita, and reiterated his promise to take mother and child with him, one day soon, very soon. Things were passable when Assunta got sick with an advanced case of tuberculosis and had to quit her job. She went to live with her mother in the country, thirty miles from Ciudad Juarez, near the United States border. The geographical position of the town favored illegal trafficking, be this arms, drugs, or people.
The little girl grew to be a beauty. With her mother’s delicate facial features and the green eyes and fair hair of her father, Helenita attracted immediate attention. Charles was very fond of the little girl and still hoped, one day, to be able to bring her to live close to him. Then it happened. During a reception at the Canadian Embassy in Mexico City, a picture of him and his wife appeared on TV.
Assunta hadn’t talked to him since that day, and the bits of information he got about the little girl came from Assunta’s mother. Then the shocking news—Assunta was going to sell Helenita. Charles had rushed to Ciudad Juarez to rescue the girl, but was too late. He only got the names of two possible contacts linked to the trade. For two weeks he went from one to the other, without getting any precise information. Camilo Estorbar’s name popped up, but that was all. He couldn’t find out who he was or where to find him. His so-called contacts didn’t trust him, Charles concluded. He needed a local. He was desperate when he met Alvaro at the hotel bar. In the past, Alvaro had taken him to local restaurants and introduced him to some typical Mexican dishes. Until that day, Alvaro had been only one of his many business contacts. Alvaro was a mysterious man who had worked, on and off, with the international company, Flavors of the World. He was an expert in spices and condiments, and had several connections in North America. They called him The Adjuster for his ability to resolve difficult issues and mediate between opposite sides, even if Charles could never find out what kinds of problems Alvaro had been able to solve. After a few drinks too many, Charles had talked about his personal situation and asked for help. Alvaro had assented. And so, for a substantial sum, The Adjuster took over the search for Helenita, and got detailed information on Camilo Estorbar, a small Canadian operator in the sex trade.
For more than a year, Alvaro had kept trying to locate the little girl—without much success, unfortunately.
***
Alvaro Luzardo, aka Vicente Perdiz, walked down Bloor Street and turned into Yonge Street, a street he particularly liked, because of the variety of shops and the crowd who populated it. He stopped here and there to seek any bargains worth pursuing. Walking was also a means of collecting his thoughts. He had two masters—one worse than the other. How did he manage to be trapped in this situation? It happened in a smooth way, one fact bringing another, one problem seemingly merging into another, each time the new situation appearing to be the solution of the previous one.
His parents’ tiny parcel of land provided for a family of five. Vegetables and corn grew plentifully when there was enough rain in the hot season. A cow and three sheep supplied the daily milk; two dozen chickens, with their eggs, were the daily source of proteins. The slaughtering
of a pig around Christmas was a big event in the family; the meat was preserved with the ancient method of smoking it in an open-air oven. The house was nothing more than a reinforced hut. They could have had a real house, if his father hadn’t saved all the money he made for his education. Vicente was smart, learned quickly, and loved his family. He spent the time at home playing with his little sisters, ten and eleven years old, and teaching them a bit of English. He had just graduated from the University of Texas at Austin and taken a job in Dallas, when he heard the horrible news. Half a dozen girls had been abducted as they left school, and in a subsequent confrontation with police one of his sisters had been killed.
The other, Fatima, was missing.
Vicente vowed to find out who had been behind the raid, and make the perpetrators pay for what they’d done. He worked, on and off, for several people, hoping to find a clue about the gang that had been responsible for the kidnapping of one sister and the demise of the other. That was one of the reasons he’d accepted Camilo Estorbar’s offer. Rumor was the destination of the girls abducted from the school was Canada.
So far, however, he’d slaved for Camilo, done all sorts of things for him, and hadn’t advanced one inch in identifying even a single member of the gang.
He was still searching for Fatima.
Twelve
Louis arrived in London when dawn tinted the sky pink, pale blue, and indigo. He parked his motorbike at the back of Miriam’s house and tugged at the back door. Fortunately, it was unlocked, so he sneaked inside, descended to the basement and jumped onto the bed, immediately welcomed by a cuddly Crumb. He didn’t know what to do next. So many problems…First, he’d taken the key to the girls’ prison—that was what those terrible living quarters really were. By doing so, he’d precluded the only possibility for the young women to escape, now that the brass was in disarray. Second, starting his march to the west would be problematic, since he didn’t have enough money, and needed to go far away and fast enough to prevent Camilo or his goons from catching up to him. Third, he didn’t want to abandon Selina. She was prey to cruel people, and he felt sorry for what she had to do.
Louis looked at his watch. Six-thirty. It was almost time to get up, but where to go? He had no safe place for refuge. Voices from upstairs began to sound louder, and he rose to start his day. A group of women were coming down the stairs, talking about courses and timetables. Students, Louis thought. Miriam was renting rooms to students.
He let the crowd go out, then grabbed a clean set of clothes and stepped into the bathroom upstairs. Showering felt good, and he indulged under the spray of warm water. He wished he knew what to do next, but he’d think about it later. At the moment, he was hungry. He opened the door of the bathroom and was confronted by an angry Miriam. Her curly gray hair stuck up from her scalp, and her light eyes bulged.
“What do you think you’re doing, coming home in the middle of the night?”
“It just happened…”
“What happened?”
“I went to see some friends, and one thing led to another,” Louis whispered.
“I want to know what you’re involved in. I talked to Ms. Cardel. You were hunted down by a guy who wanted to use a razor on you. A razor, for heaven’s sake! You must be in big trouble. I want to know what this is all about.”
“I can’t tell you much.” Louis tried to skirt her, but Miriam blocked his way.
“I don’t want bad people coming into my home, looking for you.”
“They won’t. They don’t know I’m here.” As Miriam didn’t move, he said, “I can leave right away, if you prefer.” His uncle taught him to be polite in any circumstance, so he tried to follow his advice.
“Hmm.” She gave him a scrutinizing look. “Come to have breakfast, and tell me about your parents and where you went to school.” She turned around and moved slowly toward the kitchen. “But it better be the truth, because I’ll check up on you.”
Louis sat at the table while Miriam cooked bacon and eggs and toasted four slices of bread. “Start talking,” Miriam said. Goldie sprawled at Miriam’s feet, while Crumb jumped on his lap.
Louis recited the short story of his life, but Miriam was hardly satisfied.
“What did you do to the fellow who chased you?”
Louis shrugged. “He claimed that my uncle owed him money, and that I should pay it back.”
Miriam put a dish in front of him and one for herself. “Watch out for the dog. Goldie’s trained not to bother us when we eat, but Crumb’s fast. He sneaks underneath your arm and grabs the food.” She paused, then asked, “Why don’t you go to the police?
“They know about it.” Louis savored the scrambled eggs, and spread margarine on a slice of toast. He alternated a morsel of bread with a bite of bacon. “It’s really good,” he said with his mouth full. “How much do you charge for boarding?”
“One hundred and forty a week, but I accept only girls. I took you in as a special favor to Ms. Cardel.”
“Oh, I see. Thanks.” He used the last piece of bread to wipe his dish clean of the remaining food. If I ever manage to get Selina out of The Tranquility she could board with Miriam, he thought. “Do you have room for an extra border, female, of course?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, I know of this girl. She’s in a bit of trouble.”
“Did you make her pregnant?”
Louis felt the blood going to his cheeks. “No, nothing of the kind!”
“Then why do you ask?”
Louis regretted to have asked. This woman was too curious for his liking. “The family she’s with doesn’t treat her well.” Under Miriam’s inquisitive look, he added, “She’s just a friend.”
“Well, she can get the bed you have now.”
“Oh, it’d be good enough, I think.” Louis rose, more to escape the questioning than because he needed to leave. “I’m going to clean up my motorbike, and then I’ll be going. Be back before dark, for sure. Thank you for everything.”
Louis felt relieved as he took to the road. Everybody wanted to know things he didn’t want to talk about or couldn’t disclose. Before telling anything about the girls, he wanted to be sure their positions would improve and not worsen. He’d gone from Stevenson’s questioning to Miriam’s inquisition, one more poignant than the other. At the moment, he couldn’t do anything for the girls. Maybe he should be planning his trip to the Yukon. For that, he needed a new set of tires. He drove out of town and took Highway 22. He knew of a place close to Lobo where he could find what he needed.
***
Miriam was impatient to contact Jocelyn and let her know what she’d learned about Louis Saura. She owed her big time, as Jocelyn had risked her life by coming to her aid when a man brutally beat her.
Miriam waited until she heard the noise of Louis’ motorbike taking off, and called Jocelyn.
After a brief response to Miriam’s hello, Jocelyn said, “I was expecting a call last night.”
“He didn’t come home until five in the morning.”
“Oh. Did he say why?”
“No. He told me about the fellow who was after him—the same story he told you about the money his uncle owed him. Nothing new there. One interesting thing. He asked me if I’d take in a girl.”
“Name?”
“No name and very little about the reason, except that she’s not happy with her family.”
“That’s the majority of the young female population, unfortunately.”
“Right. I’ll keep an eye on him. He said he’d be home before dark.”
“Call me as soon as he comes in. If you can’t find me, call Detective Stevenson.” Jocelyn rattled off Stevenson’s number, said goodbye, and clicked off.
Miriam descended to the basement and quickly went through Louis knapsack and bags. Nothing of interest, she concluded, and put back the clothes and the shoes that seemed to be the only property of Louis Saura.
She kept busy with house chores, took the dogs for
a walk, and had a late lunch. She sat in her recliner to have a well-deserved nap. Around six o’clock, she heard the noise of an engine coming around the house. It didn’t sound like Louis’, but she rose just the same and went to see. The young man was back. She watched him from the door’s glass pane.
Louis was polishing an old motorcycle with a rag.
Miriam opened the back door and asked, “Where did you get that…that thing?”
“At a shop in Lobo. I took mine in since it needed new tires. This beauty—it’s a 2004 Guzzi—was in a corner together with other junk. Nobody could make it run. I worked on it for a few hours and here it is, running like a charm.” He smiled at Miriam, a proud look on his face.
“Is it yours now?”
Louis laughed. “Not really. Just until mine is fixed.”
Suddenly Miriam thought of the call she had to make. She needed some privacy. “Would you mind going to the store and getting me some potatoes? I just ran out.”
Louis put on his helmet and turned the motorcycle around. “What store?”
“No Frills, not too far from here. Let me give you some money.”
“I know where it is, and no, I don’t need any money. I have some.” And Louis was gone.
Back to the kitchen, Miriam placed a call to Jocelyn. As the voicemail came on, she dialed the new number Jocelyn had given her. Detective Stevenson was out of town, she was told, but she could leave a message with Constable Nick Primo. Louis had come back, apparently with the intention of staying for at least another day, Miriam said, and left it at that.
Thirteen
Nick Primo would follow Louis Saura in an unmarked car. It was the first occasion, after the botched operation at the drugstore, that his superiors trusted him with surveillance. Early in the morning, he parked on Waterloo Street, not far from Miriam Danton’s house. Around eight o’clock, an old motorcycle with a big stripe in discolored red came out of Miriam’s driveway and took off southbound. He immediately recognized the slick profile of Louis Saura’s body and his old leather coat. Louis drove within the speed limit, but he had the advantage of sneaking between cars to beat the morning traffic. On Wellington South, Primo crossed almost all the lights at the amber, and still he could see Louis’ vehicle only in the distance. It was only when Louis took Highway 2 that he had his target in full view. He let a couple of cars pass him, to be sure not to be spotted. Once in Delaware, Louis took a side road that meandered through cultivated fields. When The Tranquility Resort Complex drifted into sight, Louis slowed to a crawl, keeping the engine at a minimum. Primo stopped in front of one of the fancy cottages, waiting to see what Louis would do. The young man drove in front of the main building and then turned to its right, disappearing from Primo’s view. Primo put the car in gear, and followed. To his surprise, after a few hundred feet of manicured lawn covered with snow patches, he was confronted with thick bushes and trees. No way could he drive through. Where had Louis gone? Clearly, he knew of a passage he could follow with his slim vehicle. Not much Primo could do without raising suspicion.
