Bitter Root

by Laydin Michaels

  Griffith didn’t know why she was taking this route, but it felt right, like her intuition was shoving her down an unavoidable path. She watched Nerbass as he processed what she had said. His face went pale, registering shock, then red with anger.

  “Why on earth would you propose such a thing? I’m not amused.” He motioned toward his bodyguard, signaling that the meeting was nearing its conclusion.

  “I certainly mean no disrespect, Mr. Nerbass. I just wanted your perspective on a reunion with a lost child. This is completely hypothetical. I’ve asked all my interview subjects the same question. Some people were taken aback, but the majority were overcome with the what-ifs and had really great constructive ideas of what they would do if their child returned. Do you find more comfort in the idea that your daughter is gone from your life forever?”

  “That is a completely outrageous thing to suggest. How dare you even contemplate such a thing.”

  He was becoming visibly enraged the longer she stood there. Why? If he loves his child and wants her back, why would the possibility enrage him?

  “Let’s take a step back from this, Mr. Nerbass. I can see this was the wrong question to ask you. How about you tell me how the loss of your daughter affected you? What did you change about yourself, your goals and dreams, when you lost her?”

  “You want me to forget you asked the question? You want me to continue as if you hadn’t just ripped open an old wound? What kind of person are you? How did I change? I was gutted. Literally destroyed by the loss of my daughter. She was the world to me. Did I throw myself into my work? Yes. Did I benefit financially from that? Absolutely. Is that wrong? Does it make my pain any less? Not in any way. You want to know what I would do if my daughter walked into this room right now? I would fall to my knees and thank the Lord. I loved my child. I love her still. Write that in your little article. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a busy day ahead. Jones will see you out.”

  The anger in his voice and the acrimony in his body language gave Griffith a taste of what Mabel and the barkeep saw in Nerbass. He came off as smooth as melted chocolate, but rub him the wrong way and his spines came out. She knew if she analyzed the puzzle of his rise to wealth and power, she could uncover a big story, but that didn’t interest her at the moment. Right now all she could think about was how that anger would’ve felt when directed at a fourteen-year-old. Poor Adi. Growing up with that kind of hidden monster.

  What had taken place in that little house in Dulac? Why would it still cause him to lose his temper, eight years later? She thanked him for his time and tried to appear calm as she left his office, though she could feel the animosity of his glare on her back. She hurried to her room and gathered her belongings. The rest of the answer wasn’t here in Mexico. It was back in Louisiana.

  *

  On her way out to the waiting cab, Griffith noticed Nerbass walking toward a black sedan. The back door swung open and he slid inside. She thought about it for a minute and then asked her driver to follow the sedan at a safe distance. She wanted to see where he was going.

  The driver didn’t blink at her request, just pulled out after Nerbass. Must be plenty of subterfuge in Mexico. They drove along Paseo de la Reforma heading toward Alameda Central. The sedan slowed as it neared the Palace of Fine Arts. When Nerbass stepped out onto the plaza, Griffith had the cab pull in, closer to the park. She watched him walk up to the winged statue and stop.

  Soon a second figure walked up to the statue. A man who looked familiar to Griffith, though she couldn’t place him. He was older than Nerbass, dressed in jeans and a work shirt. They remained at the statue for several minutes. The man and Nerbass shook hands before they headed in opposite directions.

  The man, flanked by two younger men with the posture of bodyguards, walked toward Griffith’s cab, passing almost directly in front of her. She snapped a discreet picture with her phone. She knew that face but not where she had seen it, and her instincts told her it was important she find out.

  “You ready to move on, miss?” the cabbie said.

  “Yes. The airport, please.”

  What was Nerbass up to? Who was the man in the jeans, and why did he look familiar? She wondered if her old contact, Martin Beltran, still worked at El Sol de Mexico, the local paper. Maybe he could identify Mr. Jeans. She pulled up the masthead for the paper and was happy to see her friend still listed. She shot him a quick email asking for his help just as the cab pulled up to the departure entrance.

  “Gracias, señor.” She paid the cabby, adding an extra tip for his efforts.

  Security and Customs were the typical time consuming annoyances she had always known, and after an hour or so of lines and searches, she was comfortably seated at her gate. She slid her phone out of her pocket and checked her emails. Martin had responded and was more than willing to lend a hand. She sent him the photograph without much explanation. She didn’t really know what she had witnessed or how to relate it to her current story, so she avoided the question.

  He responded quickly, but his message was perplexing. He didn’t identify the man outright, but asked her why she wanted information on him. Not sure how to answer, she asked him for a number so she could call him. It would be easier to explain over the phone than in email. His response was downright baffling.

  “I will call you from a safe line. Where can I reach you? It won’t be until late this evening.”

  She sent back her number and let him know she would be in transit and not available until after six. A safe line?

  The flight was unremarkable in every way, leaving her plenty of time to think about what she’d found out, and to daydream about Adi’s beautiful smile and strong arms. As she left the plane, she tried calling Adi again. Why wasn’t she answering? What had happened? T didn’t answer either. She wanted to drive straight to the Pot when she finally left the airport, but she was tired and needed a few hours’ sleep before she tried to get behind the wheel. She booked a room at the Hilton and arranged a rental car for the morning. After a quick shower and a bite to eat, she fell into bed. Although she couldn’t wait to see Adi, she needed to get her feet under her before she could face her with what she knew. She didn’t want to risk another fight, especially if it could mean she’d lose Adi altogether. She hadn’t heard from Martin yet, but he might have gotten called away. If I’m asleep when he calls, the phone will wake me.

  She was asleep minutes after her head hit the pillow. When she woke the next morning, there was still no message. She sent him an email, but worded it vaguely. If there was something about Mr. Jeans that would cause Martin problems, she didn’t want to exacerbate them. It bothered her that she hadn’t heard a word from him, especially given his need for security. She called Adi’s cell phone, but had no luck. She was on the road to New Iberia before nine.

  Something felt off at the Boiling Pot. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, but this time, Griffith could see a handwritten sign in the window. When she read the sign, she understood the disquieting feeling she had, and why no one was answering their phones. Bertie’s gone. How could that have happened in just the few days she’d been away? She seemed so full of life. How can she just be gone? And what about Adi? This had to devastate her. She entered the restaurant on the off chance Adi would be there. It didn’t smell like Adi’s cooking, and the conversation at the few occupied tables was subdued. The feeling of loss was palpable. She headed for the kitchen.

  “Hello, Ms. Griffith.”

  “Hi, Jose. Is Adi around?”

  “Ah, no, ma’am. She’s taking some time off.”

  “That makes sense. I guess I’ll check her house. I really need to talk to her.”

  “She should be there. The service is tomorrow, so I’m sure she’ll be around. Mr. Michaud has been in and out today, but I haven’t seen Adi.”

  “Thanks. If she does drop by, would you tell her I’m looking for her?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks.”

  Griffith dro
ve to the house, hoping to see Adi. The driveway was empty, but she knocked on the door anyway. When there was no response, she tried to think of where else to look for her. There was too much to say, too many questions. Maybe I should park myself in a porch rocker and wait for her to come home. She eyed the comfy rockers. Yep, that’ll do.

  Her phone rang as she settled into the chair. It was an unidentified caller.

  “Griffith McNaulty.”

  “Griff? It’s Martin. What are you getting yourself tangled in?”

  “Hey, Martin. I’m trying to stay clear of tangles these days, but I’m following a lead on a story I hadn’t expected. Why do you ask?”

  “What in God’s name would possess you to not only take a picture of El Mayo, but to email it on an unprotected number? You’re going to end up dead, and quick, if you keep that up.”

  “El Mayo? The drug lord?”

  “Exactly. You took a really good picture of him too.”

  “Damn. Refresh my memory, which cartel is he with?”

  “Umberto Ismael Garcia, El Mayo, runs a faction of the Sinaloa Cartel. He’s the shit, man. You don’t want to mess with that.”

  “Are you kidding me? The guy in jeans is el jefe for Sinaloa? He looked like an average guy.”

  “Yeah, he lives real. He was a farmer before the cartel, knows all there is to know about botany and agriculture. He is also muy paranoid. He would kill you if he knew you took his picture. This guy is very dangerous. Why are you looking at him?”

  “Funny thing, that. I’m not looking at him for anything. He just happened to meet with the guy I’m checking out. J.B. Nerbass?”

  “The businessman? Seriously? What has he got to do with the Sinaloa?”

  “That’s a very good question. And exactly what I’m trying to find out.”

  “Word of advice? Keep your shit far from Garcia. You don’t want him thinking you were breathing in his direction. I’m talking serious, graphic death. Not what you want to experience. Trust me. And listen, you never heard any of this from me. I have to live in this city. I’m also somewhat fond of my head and want to keep it where it is.”

  “Got it. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

  “Damn straight. Hit me up next time you’re here. We’ll talk about things that won’t get us killed.”

  “That’s a promise. Take care.”

  “Bye.”

  So why was Nerbass meeting El Mayo? Is drug cartel money funding his little empire? She considered various possibilities, allowing her experience to guide her as she examined one possibility after another. A drug cartel would certainly make Adi wary of divulging information from her old life. She wasn’t sure it was the best way to broach the subject of Nerbass and El Mayo, but her time was limited and her options few. She sent the photo she had taken to a friend in the DEA. She might lose the story, but she didn’t care at this point. She’d do anything to help Adi.

  Griffith nearly gave up waiting after an hour. It was getting dark and she really had no idea where Adi might be. She called her again, but only got a message that the voice mailbox was full. Where are you? The need to connect with Adi was becoming overwhelming. She’s got to be hurting so bad. I need to find her. I have to let her know she’s not alone, that I’m here for her. She tossed her phone on the chair beside her. I’ll sit here until you get back, no matter how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere. More than anything, she wanted to wrap Adi in her arms and let her know how she felt, what it meant to be with her. She wanted take her pain away and hold her. Just hold her.

  Headlights suddenly illuminated the yard. She stood, hoping it would be Adi at last. When the truck was fully in the driveway, she realized it was T’Claude. He’d know where Adi was.

  “Hey. I’m really sorry to hear about Bertie,” she called as he exited the truck.

  “Oh, hey there. I didn’t see you. Thanks. It was sure unexpected, but at least she didn’t have much pain. Is Adi here?”

  “No. I was hoping you knew where she might be,” she said.

  “Nope. I called her about six times, but she hasn’t called me back. I figured maybe she was sleeping or something so I decided to drive by.”

  “Well, she’s not here.”

  “That’s strange. I know she planned to be here tonight. We were supposed to go over some stuff for the service tomorrow,” he said.

  “Do you think we should be worried?”

  “No, not yet. She’s taking all of this real hard, but she’s tougher than you think. She’ll be okay. It just takes time. But she sure could use a friend right now. I kinda hoped you would show up at the hospital. We figured you’d gone back to LA.”

  “I would have gone to the hospital, if I’d known what was going on,” Griffith said.

  “I don’t get how you didn’t know. Seems like you’d have called or gone by the restaurant.”

  “I did call. So many times. You and Adi both have full mailboxes and weren’t answering. But that’s beside the point. I’m here now and I need to talk to Adi.”

  He nodded and gave her a small smile. “I stopped checking my phone, sorry. Too many well-wishers, making it even harder. I imagine Adi has done the same. I need to talk to her too.”

  “Where could she be?” Griffith didn’t want to worry, but it was hard not knowing what was going through Adi’s mind. She wouldn’t be able to relax until she knew she was okay. T looked just as concerned.

  “She probably went out on the bayou. She had to go to the lawyer’s today. I’m sure she needed to clear her mind. Tomorrow’s going to be hard on all of us, especially Adi. I guess I’ll go check on the Pot. You’re going to stick around, right? You’ll be there tomorrow?”

  “Yes, without question. If you talk to Adi, please tell here I was here.”

  “Will do.”

  Griffith left him on the porch, disappointed that she had missed seeing Adi. She headed to the hotel, hoping to hear something soon. The Boiling Pot wasn’t going to be the same without Bertie. She needed to fill Dawn in on what had happened. She called from her room and they spoke at length about the evolving situation. Griff told her there might be more to the story, something particularly interesting, but wasn’t free to talk about it just yet. Dawn decided to put a hold on the article for the time being. Griffith knew Adi would be relieved, and now that she knew who Nerbass was connected to, she was relieved as well. It would give her time to reconnect with Adi and talk to her about what she’d discovered. If he’s her stepfather no wonder she’s terrified he might find her. That’s one scary man. For Adi to not only survive him, but to make something of herself as well, was amazing and made Griffith admire her that much more. Whatever it took, she would help Adi be free of him for good. Then, maybe they could find their way back to each other.

  She might not have any future with Adi, but she had to give it her best shot. She would regret it if she didn’t. As she slid into the soft sheets of her bed, the memory of velvet kisses wrapped around her, and she knew she would never change a second of the time they had spent together. If these fleeting memories were all she had in the end, at least she would understand the value of what they’d shared. The last thing she remembered as she fell asleep was Adi’s smile.

  *

  Adi loaded the kayak into the back of her truck. She had driven down to the Basin after dropping the papers at the attorney’s office. She needed time and quiet to deal with her feelings. She didn’t know why this had been Bertie’s time to go, but it had. She couldn’t change that. She needed to come to grips with the fact that life was going to move on. She’d have to make some serious decisions in the next week or so.

  I don’t want to go back to the Pot. I don’t know what I want. Damn, Bertie. What am I supposed to do now?

  No matter how many times she asked, no answer came. She was utterly alone, and all the choices were hers now. What do I want? I used to want a bigger place, a larger crowd to lose myself in. Is that what comes next? Do I cast off the old and start fresh? Maybe I should
. Maybe it’s time to grow up, see the world a little.

  That sounded good inside her head, but she wasn’t sure about the reality. Could she make it in New Orleans or Houston? Would anyone hire her? She felt the knots of dread building in her gut. Why was it so hard? People did it every day. Kids left home, went to school, built a life of their own. Why did it seem so insurmountable?

  She ratcheted down the tie on the boat and it hit her. Bertie knew this would happen. She knew you’d have questions, doubts. She already answered you, “Don’t be stuck. Let life take a hold of you and fly.”

  Adi jerked as the meaning of Bertie’s words became clear. She knew Adi better than anyone. She’d know how losing her would lock Adi up like a bike left out in the yard. Chain rusted, stuck fast. But she also knew a little grease and a few good knocks would get that chain moving again. She’d given her the grease, a stake in the business and a house, and with her parting words, the first good knock. It was all there for her. She just had to let herself fly.

  She’d talk to T’Claude about selling her share of the Boiling Pot to him and put the house on the market. If she had a big enough nest egg, she’d build a life somewhere else. She’d have the funds to settle in and a bit of time to wait for the right job opportunity. It was time.

  She felt her chest constrict as anxiety about starting over kicked in. This is what you need to do. It’s time to grow up and take charge of your life. I’m not going to even think of looking back. Bertie, I’m going to fly.

  Her fear gave way to excitement. She’d leave as soon as possible. She was sure T’Claude would help her with the details.

  She’d found just the place for Bertie’s ashes. A cypress tree with the face of a woman in its weathered surface. She’d call the tree “Bertie’s rest.” She had circled it several times, taking pictures from all angles so she would know exactly where it was. A printed copy of the place would be the cover to Bertie’s memorial program. Her phone had been dead since four due to all the pictures, and she couldn’t deal with the amount of voice mails from people calling about Bertie, so she’d ignored them, and was somewhat relieved when the phone died and stopped ringing all the time. She grabbed her car charger and plugged it in. T’Claude had probably been trying to get a hold of her, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d call him when she got home.