by Peg Brantley
afternoon. I’m on my way back to the hotel. I’ll grab some beer and
sandwiches. We’re there until we can figure out our next step.”
Mex left the conference room and walked down the short hallway to the headmaster’s office. He stopped when he heard the man talking to someone. The words he heard were rapid, more stage whisper than sotto voce, and Mex only caught a few. Vega. Cartel. No choice. Mex listened to ascertain whether or not the man was alone. Only one voice. Must be on the phone. He moved to the office door and waited. He listened. He moved into view.
The headmaster was busy spouting something to do with it being a privilege to have the son of such a prominent man in their school and didn’t see Mex standing behind him. He promised the man he would personally see that the American left and did not return. He went on to assure him that the Vega family did not control the decisions he made.
Yeah, right.
Mex cleared his throat. The headmaster whipped around with such speed that his glasses spilled off his nose and onto the desk.
Mex raised his eyebrows and motioned for the beet-red educator to hang up the phone. Then he watched as surprise, fear, and embarrassment fused and solidified, pressing the human being in front of him into a non-moving statue of flesh and dripping sweat.
Mex walked over, removed the phone easily, and pressed the off button. He laid the phone on the desk and reached for the man’s glasses. “Talk to me.”
“It was nothing. Just a parent who heard you were talking to students.”
“Heard from who?”
“Another parent. Their child received a text message.”
Shit. The three hour window he’d hoped for had seriously closed.
* * On his way back to the hotel, Mex stopped for some cold beer and soda and fresh sandwiches. When he walked into the hotel room, Darius was hunched over his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard. He’d somehow gotten hold of a printer, and there was a stack two inches deep of research piled on the edge of the table. Mex put the bags down and reached for the paper.
Darius waved him off. “Wait. I’m almost there.”
Mex shook his head and grabbed the top few pages anyway. Remains of Headless Goat, Roosters Cause Stir in Miami’s Affluent South Beach read the headlines on the first page. Mexico Drug Cartels in Regions Steeped in
Witchcraft, Demonic Influence topped the page for the next article. Darius had been busy. Mex grabbed the next few pages and began to read.
Oh, God. Mex pushed down a fistful of fear and anger. VV had his sister. Was he subjecting Sedona to this shit? The papers shook.
“I said wait. I’m about to save you all kinds of time.” Darius leaned in closer to his screen.
“Saving time is good because we’re running out.” Mex continued to scan the pages held in his hands. What he read sent chills down his spine. “Human sacrifice? Are you kidding me?” Sedona.
With a flourish, Darius typed the last few keys and turned to Mex. “No joke, amigo. But that’s a cartel thing, not all of Santeria.”
“And since we’re operating in the middle of a cartel…”
“Yep. It could be bad for Dia, unless she’s bait or something.”
“Either way, she’s a kid. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” Mex didn’t like the “or something.”
“That, kemo sabe, is exactly why I have rounded up not only an expert in non-traditional religions and cults, but Santeria in particular. This expert knows all about extricating people from groups and deprogramming them. What the politically correct people now call “exit counseling.”
“Good. Is he local?”
“Not exactly.”
“Don’t tell me he’s in Central America.” Mex did not want to go back there. Not ever.
“Louisiana. We’re booked on two flights out of Monterrey tonight.”
“Why two flights, and why can’t we just call this guy and talk to him from here?”
“I booked us separately because I assume we still have unwanted company keeping an eye on us. It seemed like a good idea to split up.” Darius grabbed a sandwich and popped open a beer. “And this is why we need to leave tonight.” He handed Mex a large flat envelope.
“What’s this?” Mex asked as he looked at the front. It had both of their names on the front in block printing.
“Take a look. It was delivered by a bellman about twenty minutes ago. He said the front desk found the envelope sitting on the counter. No one saw who delivered it.”
Mex opened the envelope and carefully pulled out two photographs. One was Dia with a pretty woman and a surly young man. The woman and Dia were smiling. The young man glowered. He turned it over. Nothing. The second picture was grainy. It looked like it had been taken in poor light and on the move. A dark, older, four-door sedan was centered but it was the background that drew Mex’s attention. A row of
structures that reminded him of the dollhouse Sedona had as a little girl. He turned the second photograph over. NEW ORLEANS was printed in block letters.
Mex nodded. Louisiana.
Something about it… damn. He was tired. “Tell me about this
deprogrammer.” He took a bottle of beer and opened it while he stood and paced. He knew he should have chosen a Coke when the depression was on him, but a cold one felt right.
Darius took a quick gulp and sat the bottle down next to the sandwich. He rifled through the stack of papers and handed several to Mex. “I don’t know too much. Cade LeBlanc’s name
appeared in three or four recent articles about kids who’d been brainwashed into some crazy religious cult. The parents didn’t have any luck in getting their kids out, so they hired LeBlanc to kidnap and deprogram them. But like I said, they call it exit counseling now. Same shit, nicer name.”
“And the Santeria angle?” He took a pull on the beer while glancing through the articles Darius had printed out.
“One kid in Mexico, one in Florida. Both of them hooked up with Santeria through friends. Both of them counseled by LeBlanc. One of them was the nephew of some cartel boss. The background on the cartel kid is included. Unfortunately, both the kid’s parents were killed less than a year later and he was sent to live with his uncle.
LeBlanc’s good but can’t control the kind of lessons the cartel dishes out, as you know.”
“Is he expecting us?”
“Some crab shack at midnight.”
Mex sat down and looked at him. Relief that they had a plan and were moving forward without wasting time mixed with a twinge of uncertainty about meeting someone associated with cults and cartels at midnight in an unfamiliar location.
Darius nodded. “I get your reluctance.” He closed his laptop. “Apparently LeBlanc knows the owner.”
“Where in Louisiana?” Mex wanted to know if he had a contact in the area for backup.
“Outside of New Orleans.”
Damn. He knew a guy in
Texarkana. Had the meet been in Shreveport, he might have been able to arrange something. “Give me your gun.”
Darius looked at him.
“We can’t carry on the plane and even if I had somewhere to ship them to, they wouldn’t get there in time. I’m going to rent a safe deposit box here in Monterrey. At least if we need to return I won’t have to buy more weapons.”
His phone rang. Vega.
“Anderson.”
“What have you found?”
“It looks as if your daughter has become involved in Santeria.”
“Dia? No. There is no way she would—”
“It also appears she’s a runaway as opposed to a kidnap victim.”
Silence. “And do you know where she is now?” The bluster had left. Now his words were quiet, almost timid. Mex almost felt sorry for the man.
“We’re working a lead near New Orleans.”
“Wha—”
“And we’re likely to be out of pocket for the next couple of days.”
“Out of pocket?”
�
��Unavailable. I’ll call you with updates.”
“That is not acceptable.” The bravado was making a comeback.
Mex answered by ending the call.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sedona felt as if she were fighting to get to the surface. The surface of what, she had no idea. The air was thick and hot and it was hard to breathe.
They’d drugged her. When her brain wrapped itself around that realization, things cleared faster. Because she’d learned that Vicente Vega, Jr. was involved in her
kidnapping, if not behind it, she knew that it wasn’t Teo’s money that had put her in danger. But she also knew that somehow her brother was the end target. The one who could set her free.
Damn . She prayed Teo wasn’t disabled with depression. Her fate would be sealed. Teo had been known to spend days, even weeks, isolated and oblivious to the rest of the world. She squeezed her eyes tight.
“Well, lookey here. Look who’s coming back to the land of the living.” Her captor had the inevitable cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
“What did you give me?” Even though she was no longer gagged, she fought to form the words.
“Nothing serious. I just made you a little more convenient.”
She wanted to wipe her eyes. She wanted to pee in private. She wanted to let this pendejo know that all idiots lose in the end. Instead, Sedona tried her best to smile.
The man hacked out a laugh. “You don’t fool me none. I know a problem when I see one, and my eyesight is crystal clear.”
“Why? Why did you take me?” Sedona struggled to stay focused. This man’s physical presentation did not match his current crude behavior and poor language skills.
The man scratched the stubble on his cheek, new since she’d first seen him. “I told you once. I took you because I was told to take you. Up to me, I don’t see no upside.”
“And um… um… is VV a part of the reason?”
“Sweet cakes, VV is the whole shittin’ shebang of the reason.”
“Is it because of my… my…” Sedona’s words just couldn’t come.
“Girlie, I don’t know why the hell VV wants you. It ain’t to fuck you, or he would have by now. It ain’t for money, or I would have been told and maybe even been offered a cut. I just don’t want no problems. Not from you, and
’specially not from VV.”
She swallowed. “Does my brother know? Does he know where I am?” “He was the first call.”
“Did you… does he know—”
“It don’t do you no good to ask me anything. I just needed to nab you, hide you, and keep you alive. That’s all.”
“So you aren’t gonna kill me?”
“Don’t know yet. VV hasn’t said.”
Sedona closed her eyes. What had happened to bring her to this point? Why in the world would Vicente Vega, Jr. want to bring this on her now? She blamed her brother. Teo was at the root of all of this. Teo was the root of all of their problems—including the loss of the rest of her family. There could be no other answer.
* * * “You actually eat this?” Dia looked up at Pilar. She tried hard to keep her face from screwing up in distaste. She didn’t want to look judgmental. But mostly she didn’t want to look immature.
“Honey, it’s not like it’s from outer space or anything. It’s alligator. Plain old simple gator. It won’t hurt you, and it’s what we’ve got on hand.”
Dia thought about the monster that had threatened her when she was walking to the house. Plain, old, or simple didn’t apply to the creature hellbent on grabbing her for its own meal. Didn’t even come close. But maybe eating it would make her feel like she had the upper hand.
She brought the fork up to her lips and sniffed. Took a nibble. Chickeny. Not bad. “Oh yeah, gator. Sure. It’s been awhile.” Dia finished up the piece on her fork and cut off another.
“We’re going to have some special visitors, Dia.”
“For a ceremony?”
Pilar’s face pulled tight. “What makes you think they’re here for a ceremony?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Dia’s eyes went to the kitchen counter where several small bowls held the íbo tools for special ceremonies. Smooth black stones, representing immortality
clustered in one, crushed eggshells for a positive answer in another. Cowrie shells, used for financial ceremonies bunched in a third bowl, and broken china for use in divining things related to wars and feuds was in a fourth.
Pilar’s face relaxed, but only a little. “You have learned well in a short time.”
“When will the visitors be here? How many are there? Does that mean we’re staying in this house?” Dia thought of the alligator again. But since she’d eaten alligator and no alligator had eaten Dia, she felt more confident. She would learn how to deal with the creatures.
“So many questions, Dia. You’ll have your answers when the time is right.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mex and Darius reasoned that if they were going to continue to be watched, Darius was the least likely target. He got the direct flight from Monterrey to New Orleans, and was already at the Hilton where they’d arranged to meet up. Mex had taken an earlier flight, one with a short layover in Dallas. He checked his watch. They’d touched down five minutes early at the Louis Armstrong International Airport, and with only his carryon to contend with, he should be at the hotel inside of twenty.
There’d been some talk of a tropical storm forming but no one had any idea where it might be going. At least their flights hadn’t been delayed.
His phone rang. Darius. “I’m on my way.”
“Good. A freelancer I know was just here.”
Mex closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What for?” All they needed was for more people to get involved in looking for Dia. He would never see Sedona again.
“He’s an old buddy of mine and wrote a couple of the articles I found about Santeria. Turns out there’s quite a group right here in N’awlins.”
“What have you told him?”
“Just that I was chasing a story on non-mainstream religions and cults and Santeria came up.”
Mex realized he’d been holding his breath even as he had a death grip on his phone. He forced himself to relax.
The next words from his friend were like flint. “Hey, man. You know me better than that. And I know you.” Darius sucked in a breath of his own. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Can you not be a journalist for a change?”
Darius didn’t respond. Finally, he spoke softly. “I wasn’t being a
journalist, Mex. I was being a friend. A friend who, by the way, left his pregnant wife and kids to be your partner in finding a little girl.”
Mex began to speak, to apologize. But his words sounded hollow and flat without a live connection. Darius had hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, Mex walked in to his side of the adjoining rooms. Darius had made the reservations under false names. He was Martin Riggs and Darius was Roger Murtaugh, the two main characters in the Lethal Weapon movies. Mex was kind of surprised no one seemed to have caught on. Probably because neither Mel Gibson or Danny Glover frequented the Big Easy’s Airport Hilton.
He tossed his duffle on the bed and headed to the bathroom. He needed to take a leak and throw some water on his face. It was going to be a long night.
He was toweling off when he heard a knock.
Mex pulled the connecting door open and began the apology he’d tried to say earlier to dead air. “I trust you, Darius. I just get a little obsessed from time to time. It gets in the way of my relationships.”
“No worries.” Darius avoided eye contact. He pushed into the room and tossed a battered looking Glock on Mex’s bed. “The best I could do. I knew we couldn’t go to this meet without protection.”
Mex looked at the banged-up gun and cringed. “What’s yours?”
“I could only get one from my connection. I didn’t want him to think there were two of u
s.”
Crap. Darius really did know what he was doing. Mex felt like an ass.
“I cleaned it and checked it out. It looks a lot worse than it is.” The journalist shrugged his shoulders. “At least I hope so.”
“Hey buddy, I—”
“I said, no worries.” Darius turned and looked him dead in the eye. Mex couldn’t read his expression. “When you want to fill me in, you will. I’m guessing that whatever it is you’re keeping to yourself you think you have to keep to yourself. I’m also guessing that it’s what’s making you lose your
perspective.”
Mex decided they didn’t need to go there. He picked up the phone in the room. Hotel room phones these days were pretty much expensive internal communication devices. Did anyone use them to dial out any more? “You
hungry?” Mex knew his friend—he was always up for food.
Darius gave a shrug. “We’re going to a crab shack in,” he looked at his watch, “three hours.”
“Kitchen will likely be closed.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s eat.”
Mex hid a smile. “If you’re sure. We can always wait and see.”
“Probably shouldn’t risk it. Hard to get down to business if we’re hungry.”
Mex, wanting to make up a little lost ground with his friend, ordered two full steak dinners with every available side dish.
* * * Darius replied to an email from Pamela, then closed his laptop and pushed it aside on his bed. He stretched out and checked his watch. He had about fifteen minutes before they needed to head out to the crab shack. He considered his relationship with Mex Anderson. Their friendship went back to the first days Mex had turned up in Aspen Falls. From the beginning, Darius’s journalist antenna had registered an ethical, if troubled, man. In the five plus years he’d known Mex, his initial impression had not proved wrong. They’d become close friends and shared a lot of their
histories.
So what was going on now? What secret was Mex keeping? Could it endanger him simply by his association with Mex? If Darius didn’t have a family things would be different. His
responsibilities wouldn’t be the same. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
