Cartel Wives

by Mia Flores

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “Peter and I broke up.”

  I didn’t reveal why. I just couldn’t. I was too scared to tell her.

  For the next two weeks my mom sat with me probably five hours a day trying to console me. When she wasn’t watching me sulk, she was cooking up one of my favorite dishes. At night, she got in the bed with me and didn’t leave till I’d fallen asleep. Even though my mother is the toughest woman I’ve ever met, she had the softest heart for me. During those two weeks, she became more than just my mother; she started to speak to me like a friend.

  “You’re a strong, beautiful, smart woman. You’ll get through this,” she’d say.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  My mom probably thought I was just being some dramatic twentysomething, but honestly, I felt like I was going to be swallowed up by worry and pain. Sure, I had a home and an amazing family, and Peter had left me some money so I could open up the spa we’d started planning. We were going to run it together, and I didn’t know if I could do it without him. I felt totally, completely alone, and Peter could be dead, for all I knew.

  On day 14, he finally called.

  “Peter, where are you? Are you okay?” I was in shock.

  “Mia, you saved my life. If I’d been at my house, the feds would have gotten me. I would have spent the rest of my life in prison. Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “But where are you?”

  “I’m almost to Mexico.” I could tell he was driving. “I can’t lose you again, Mia. I love you.”

  What Peter didn’t tell me was that he and Junior were now officially under federal indictment, so he’d taken a huge risk by calling me. After he’d said goodbye to me, he’d gone into hiding at a friend’s stash house in the projects. While he was there, he’d been so worried about the feds kicking in his door, or someone trying to stick him up, and the neighborhood was known for home invasions. He’d switched out all his phones, collected $15 million from his customers on the streets, and paid his suppliers for the 400 kilos that were seized from their warehouse by the DEA. The last thing he was going to do was leave business undone. He bought a brand new van with Indiana plates and cut up his IDs. Two weeks later, he got on the road to head to the border at Laredo. Worried that the feds had tapped his phones, he couldn’t call me right away. He switched cars several times and looked in his rearview mirror every thirty seconds to be sure no one was tailing him.

  “Mia,” he said. “When I get to Mexico, I have to stay there. I can’t come back to Chicago.”

  I got really quiet. I didn’t just think he was leaving me forever; I was also worried about him getting to Mexico safely. He was my best friend.

  “I want you to come down here,” he said. “I want to make a life with you.”

  I was half puzzled, half in shock. “Peter,” I said, “I love you, but my parents aren’t going to understand.”

  He was steady and firm. “I miss you, and I want to be with you. But the only way we can have a relationship is if you’re with me because I can’t go back.”

  I felt conflicted. I couldn’t imagine leaving everything I’d ever known, but I also couldn’t imagine letting the man of my dreams slip away.

  “If you don’t want to do this,” Peter continued, “I understand. You can still go to school. I still want you to open your spa, too. I believe in you, and I know you can do it.” Then he stopped and got super serious. “But if you want a relationship with me, I can’t give you that from here.”

  The decision was all mine, it seemed, and it was a lot to ask of a twenty-two-year-old girl who’d just spent two weeks curled up in a ball in her childhood bedroom. But if I had to make up my mind, I would.

  Just not yet.

  Olivia

  That February, Junior and I decided to go to Cancún to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Adrian and Daniela came, too, and because Daniela’s brother and his wife were in town, we said, “What the hell? Let’s make it a family vacation.”

  I was completely happy there. I loved the freedom, and I loved the tranquil life Mexico brought. It was me, my man, the beach, and family, and none of us were looking over our shoulders worrying that someone was out to kill us. One night, I had a frozen margarita in my hand and was watching the sunset with Junior when his phone rang. It was Peter.

  I can just hear him now, I thought. “When are you going to stop honeymooning and start working?”

  “Hi, P, what’s up?” Junior asked. There was a long pause, and he screwed on his worried face.

  “What’s going on?” I yelled. That look in his eyes was giving me the chills. Junior motioned for me to calm down, talked for about five minutes, then hung up.

  “Pete’s house got raided. Mine, too, and our sisters’ places, all at the same damn time. They took everything: jewelry, cars, the whole bit. They’re so petty they even took the damn TVs off the wall. If Peter hadn’t been at Mia’s place, they would have taken him, too.”

  “Jesus.” I sat back in my beach chair and started to feel sick. I couldn’t believe my dreams were crushed with just one phone call.

  “The feds have a warrant out for our arrest, and Peter’s hiding out. He’s moving down here once he gets everything together and figures out a plan. We have to get the hell out of Cancún, too; too many people know we’re here.”

  He hopped up, and I just sat there holding my melted drink. My life is fucking cursed, I thought. I’d told myself we’d gotten away, that we could actually start over, far from all the drama I was so tired of. But who was I kidding? I was in this relationship for the long haul. Junior was my world—he’d given up his life in Chicago to make me happy—and I couldn’t forget that, even now, in the midst of all this bullshit.

  When we got back to the hotel, Junior hopped on the phone immediately and paid someone to create two Mexican passports for him and Peter. When you’re a fugitive, you have to get a new identity, and in Mexico, you can buy just about anything. Junior and Peter became Joel and Omar.

  We left Cancún the next morning, expecting Peter would be calling soon to get picked up at the border. We spent the trip to the airport getting our stories straight, in case we got stopped. We didn’t want to attract attention at the airport, either, so we dressed down: muted colors, no fancy jewelry, and no expensive luggage. In fact, we’d gifted our Louis Vuitton bags to the bellboy at the hotel on the way out. He was thrilled, and so was Junior; he loved making people smile. As we approached airport security, my heart was pounding, but we made it through.

  When we got on the plane, Junior ordered a drink, turned to me, and said, “My brother’s on his way to the border now, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, even though my stomach was in knots because I already knew the answer.

  “I hope they don’t grab us and put us in prison for the rest of our lives. We have to get to San Juan safely.”

  Peter called a few weeks later, and we met him at the border. The drive back was over twelve hours, through the sierra, and as I looked out the window I was nauseated the entire time. Whether that was from the long trip or from knowing Peter and Junior were now fugitives, I couldn’t say, but Mexico didn’t seem so peaceful anymore. The beautiful scenery now just looked dry. The long stretches of desert used to be pretty, and now they looked like shit. I kept thinking, Now that his brother’s here, there’s no way he’s giving up this life, even though we moved here to get away from the bullshit. It’s going to take a miracle to make him stop dealing drugs with his partner in crime around. Every time I take a step in a new direction to get away from this craziness, I take two steps back.

  Peter interrupted my daydreaming. “This is the first time in weeks I haven’t felt terrified,” he said. “I want things to get even better, so I’m trying to get Mia to move here. I’m in love with her. She saved me.”

  “Go with your heart,” Junior said. “You deserve to be happy.”

  I remembe
red meeting Mia in Chicago just once. She was this pretty Brazilian girl, with blond hair and green eyes. She was petite with a nice body, really soft spoken and sweet. She was a few years younger than me, and I could tell she was good people. She was different than me, though. I had never really cared to hang out with women, and she was such a girl’s girl. So traditional, not that that’s a bad thing. It was just not me.

  If she came down, was I going to be able to get along with someone like that? Actually, was she going to be able to get along with someone like me?

  Mia

  I honestly didn’t know what to decide about moving to Mexico, to a whole new country. My life had never been about having choices, not because I was a blind follower, but because I thought I had my life all figured out. Anything out of my narrow frame of reference felt really strange and scary.

  What was there in Mexico for me other than Peter? I had no idea. I’d known Peter’s mom, Amilia, since I was sixteen; he was absolutely wonderful to her. He’d take her everywhere, even to the movies or out to eat with us. I liked her. She was so sweet, had a smile that was contagious, and was always happy to be around her sons. I also knew his brother Adrian, who was a drug dealer and had that fleet of cars that he was always getting detailed. Every time I passed by the car wash, there was one of Adrian’s cars sitting in front. And of course, there was Junior. I hardly knew Junior’s girlfriend, though. We’d met once, and all I remember was that she was loud, with lots of diamond jewelry and this crazy body. She was pretty, but she looked like she was from a music video. I remember thinking, This girl has seen a lot. If I moved down there and started spending time with her, was she going to leave me in the dust?

  My grandma Lola was really sick at the time, in and out of the hospital. She was my mom’s mom, who’d taken care of me as a baby when Mom was working and my biological dad bailed. I was her first grandchild, and I’d always been her everything. When I was a baby I had huge, green eyes, so she nicknamed me Corujinha, which means “baby owl” in Portuguese. She loved to play bingo, listen to Julio Iglesias, and eat rice and beans every day. Not a day went by that she didn’t tell me, “You’re too skinny! Eat, eat, eat!” I loved touching her soft, wrinkly hands, and I loved that she was never embarrassed to speak English even though she had an accent so thick most people couldn’t understand her.

  I can’t leave her, I kept telling myself. I love her too much.

  But when Peter called a few days later to ask me what I wanted to do, the first thing out of my mouth was “yes.” I didn’t even hesitate. I think that’s part of being young. You don’t think things through before you act, and believe me, while I might have let questions enter my mind, I didn’t seriously consider them. I just jumped.

  My parents were so skeptical. That’s a nice way to put it; they were in complete disbelief.

  “His family owns a bunch of real estate down there,” I told them. “And they’re going to develop homes in gated communities.”

  “That family is bad news,” Dad said.

  “They aren’t anymore,” I pleaded. “People change, Dad.”

  Mom didn’t believe me. “Two weeks ago I was practically spoon-feeding you because he left you, and now you’re moving to Mexico with him?”

  My dad didn’t say much after that. He just looked depressed. His dream had always been for me to live next door to them when I got married, and he’d even talked about building an extension onto their house for me. Moving to Mexico had sure as hell never figured into that plan.

  But they came around, finally. I suppose they just trusted me, thinking that I must know what was best for me since I’d never really gotten it wrong before.

  “Call us every chance you get,” they said when I started packing up. “And if you change your mind, just come back home.”

  I went to see my grandma in the hospital the night before I left. She wasn’t looking so good—skinny, with circles under her eyes, and a sense of resignation, maybe defeat, that I’d never seen come from a strong lady like her. It broke my heart.

  “Grandma,” I said. “I’m going to Mexico tomorrow, but I’ll be back to see you soon.”

  “Have a nice time,” she said and reached for me with her wrinkly hand. “I never go to Mexico, but I always want to.”

  “Oh, Grandma,” I said through tears, “Don’t worry. I’m going to take you there. Don’t worry, Grandma.”

  I never saw her again. I got on a flight the next day, and four days later I got a call that she’d passed away. My grandma never made it out of the hospital, much less to Mexico.

  Olivia

  When Peter came to San Juan, we were together all the time because I was always with Junior. I think he thought I was like this Yoko Ono figure coming into his little world because he and I started bickering, constantly.

  “My brother is such a good man. Why the hell are you so controlling?” Peter would yell.

  I’d shoot back, “You knew me when I was K’s doormat. I’m not the same girl anymore!” I’d vowed never to let anyone treat me like shit again. People treat you how you allow them to, so I felt perfectly comfortable being as strong as I wanted to be. Junior appreciated that, and he loved the confident woman I’d become. He respected me and needed someone like me by his side.

  So does Pete, I’d think. For the love of God, please let that sweet little blond girl get down here soon so he’ll get off my ass and leave me be.

  Mia

  I was a mess flying down, but the second my plane touched down in Guadalajara, I told myself, If it’s the last thing you do, you’re going to be happy in this new country with your new life and the man of your dreams.

  Peter met me in the terminal with a dozen roses, and he whisked me off to Puerto Vallarta. For the first few days, I’d wait until Peter had fallen asleep, and then I’d cry, missing my parents and my brother and sister. I’d force myself to stop, telling myself, This is your new life. Get used to it.

  I called my parents almost every day, as promised, and my dad would say, “Baby, if you’re not happy, I’ll go down there and get you.”

  I’d pause and collect myself so he wouldn’t hear my voice break. “Oh, Dad. Don’t be so overprotective. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

  I didn’t feel like it, though. Another week went by, and I still felt guilty. But day-by-day, finally, I became happier. And soon, I was so happy. The happiest I’d ever been in my life. When we settled into Peter’s parents’ pueblo in San Juan after a month, I felt like I was home.

  Olivia

  Mia was like a butterfly who’d come out of her cocoon when she got to San Juan. When I first saw her, I was like, “Wow. You’re so sweet and kind. You’re exactly what Peter needs. Hopefully some of that sweetness rubs off on him.” She just made such an impression on me. I finally had a woman besides Daniela and Junior’s mom to talk to when Junior was working, and most important, she got Peter off my back. That man was in loooove. Like so in love that when he made her lunch, he’d cut hearts into her sandwich. I thought it was the cutest, sweetest gesture I’d ever seen.

  Mia

  San Juan made me feel like there was a bigger world out there, and I was ready to tackle it, head-on. In the morning, I’d get up, and a local fruit vendor would be by my front door, asking me what kind of fruit I’d like for breakfast. I’d take my pick, and he’d fix it. I remember thinking, Wow, I actually know how to order something, all by myself, in Spanish!

  Since Peter was always so stressed out and busy because of work, I tried as hard as possible to bring out his fun side. I’d beg him to take me out for a drink.

  “Only with you could I have the time of my life at a bar in the middle of nowhere,” he’d laugh.

  Peter tried to take care of my every need, all the time. He was so interested in protecting me; I honestly think he would have put me in a little bubble if he could have. But at the same time, he wanted to build me up and make me independent.

  “Why don’t you drive here?” he once ask
ed, and sure enough, I got to be brave enough to get behind the wheel of a car on those crazy roads.

  Olivia

  Junior and Peter bought a ranch near their parents’ place, and we all started to remodel it. It was sitting on top of the highest mountain outside of San Juan, so when you were winding down the road that went through town, you could look up and see this huge structure. It was a ten-bedroom, ten-bath house with a huge palapa, and it looked like a villa. We made an infinity pool that extended over the mountaintop, with shooting fountains that looked like the Bellagio in Vegas. The whole thing was lit up with LED lighting, too, so you’d get the full effect.

  We were so far up that, one time, Junior and I decided to make love right on top of the mountain. We didn’t think that anyone would ever be able to see us, but sure enough, a pickup full of men passed by and started honking and screaming, “Yeah! Yeah!” I jumped off Junior and squeezed in next to him, both of us laughing harder than we ever had in our lives.

  “All they saw was a full moon with all that ass of yours,” he said.

  I was so embarrassed because everyone in town knew whose ass it was.

  Mia

  Junior and Peter built a basketball court they’d play on every night. Then they constructed this little zoo that had exotic animals like ostriches, monkeys, toucans, and other exotic birds. They even got a baby tiger at one point. In Mexico, that was just a thing you did if you had money. In the house, we had a rare blue mastiff named Kilo. He was huge and looked like a wrinkled up old sumo wrestler. Every time Olivia and I walked into the house and saw him lying there, it would scare the shit out of us.