by Peg Brantley
His pattern rarely varied. He remembered his family as he’d seen each of them the last time they were alive. Then he saw the blood. Smelled it. Finally, he imagined what they might have been doing today if not for his choice of integrity—and a certain amount of arrogant pride—over their safety. Then the Sexy Siren of Void would seduce him. “Leave those thoughts. Come with me to a place where there is absolutely nothing.”
But tonight was different. Even through his dark thoughts, even through the total numbness, he sensed there was something about Cade LeBlanc he might find interesting. Later. A sort of hopeful interest he wasn’t quite ready to accept. Another day. He swallowed some more pills and sought the emptiness of
dreamless sleep.
Which didn’t come.
Mex finally gave in to a sleepless night and popped open his laptop. He sent off an email to Chase Waters in Aspen Falls. Chase was one of the few people he trusted, and the fact that he was a detective didn’t hurt. He’d have some of the same contacts, or better, than Mex had and would be able to get the current cartel information Cade needed. Darius would probably run into a bunch of walls, and if Mex began asking the right questions their danger would increase. Besides, Darius was busy contacting his own sources to research Pilar and Luis, and asking Chase to fire up a search on Pilar and Luis would bring in a lot of law enforcement action they were better off avoiding. Chase was his man for the cartel aspect.
He checked his watch. Three o’clock. That would make it two o’clock in Colorado. He doubted if Chase would still be up, or if he was awake, on his computer. He was about to try a text when his phone rang.
He smiled when he saw who was calling. “You’re up late.”
Chase sighed. “Yeah, working on a case where I needed to talk to a guy in London first thing. He wanted to Skype before he left for work.”
Mex considered his depression and insomnia. “Skyping with someone like me would be a bad idea. Don’t think you’d want to see my mug tonight.”
“I don’t want to see your mug on a good night.” There was a pause. “You’re not doing any better since the night at Juan’s?”
The attempted robbery at the bar seemed like years ago. “Not much.”
Mex heard a dog barking. “Is that McKenzie?”
“Yeah, he’s decided that since I’m still up there must be something
nefarious going on.”
“You need to keep better hours so your dog can get some sleep.”
Chase laughed. “You want to meet for breakfast and catch me up? I might be able to have some of the cartel
information you’re looking for by then.”
“Can’t. I’m in New Orleans.”
“You’re there on the cartel case?”
“Cartels are involved, but it’s not the main focus. The initial one, SenoraCiento is the beginning point. As I said in the email, the key person connected to my case is Vicente Vega. I need to know what you can tell me about personal rivals inside his cartel, and who the outside challengers are. Has there been any bad blood spilled? Who would have it in for Vega? Also keep an eye out for any connections to religious cults, especially Santeria.”
“This is all in your backyard, Mex. I mean, you know these guys. You could probably get information a lot faster.”
“I can’t afford to have it get out that I’m interested. And who knows who’s been turned in Mexico? When I left they were falling like flies.”
“Someone’s life is at stake?”
Mex considered. He knew that Chase would connect any agreement to the “life at stake” question to Vega, but he also knew that his affirmative answer might make the father of three remember his own particular loss not too many years ago. Chase had lost a son. And almost lost a daughter. “Yeah. A little girl.”
“Do I need to get official on this?”
“I’m trusting that you won’t.”
Chase paused. “I’m on it. Sleep is for wimps.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“I’ll have something for you when you wake up tomorrow.”
“Like you, sleep is probably not coming any time soon. I owe you.”
“I can never repay you for
everything you’ve done for me. We’re far from even, let alone you owing me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, in person or through email.”
Mex sat his phone on the hotel desk and plugged in the charger. No way would he miss a call because of a dead battery.
Funny. Talking to Chase had lifted some of the darkness he’d been feeling. It was good to have someone else on his team digging up information. Someone he could count on.
Without even thinking much about sleep, Mex found his eyes shuttering. Knowing better than to question their heaviness, he moved quickly to his bed, pulled up the covers, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mex pushed his eyes open to a darkened room, forgetting for a moment where he was. Once oriented, he threw off the bedding and plodded to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face before looking in the mirror.
“You look like hell.” He was in the shower when he remembered his conversation in the early morning hours with Chase Waters. He grabbed a towel and hurried to his laptop.
He powered it up and waited impatiently to access his email account. When he finally got in, he was gratified to see an email from Chase that had come in about two hours ago.
You are in the middle of a bad deal, Mex. The Senora-Ciento cartel has made a lot of enemies over the years. Vicente Vega has been grooming his son to take his place in the leadership. Trusted LEOs in the area tell me that Vicente Vega, Jr. is an entitled bad ass who’s made enemies both inside and outside his own cartel.
Their main rival is a fairly new group called La Familia. LF has
overpowered and absorbed three smaller groups in the last two years. There have been several standoffs between S-C and LF and a couple of nasty retaliation-type shootings.
I’ll have to let you know about the cult thing. I’ve got a couple of contacts I made last year who might be able to help. One in particular is a Santeria guy who lives in Aspen Falls. He doesn’t like me much but since when has that stopped me?
Stay safe and keep your cell on. I’ll call you when I have something more.
* * Mex and Darius met for breakfast in the lobby restaurant. Café La Salle boasted a twenty-four hour buffet but neither man felt up to the effort a buffet required. Coffee came quickly and they placed their orders. Clearly the staff was used to dealing with the flying public.
Mex rubbed his hand over the stubble that covered the lower half of his face. “What did you find out?”
Darius took a sip of his coffee and watched Mex. “We’ll get to that in a minute. You okay?”
I have a headache that would cripple an elephant, Mex thought. I have a river of dark water flowing through my mind that wants to pull me under, and I’m thinking that’s not a bad thing. Instead of sharing his bleak thoughts, he said, “I’ll be better when we get that little girl back where she belongs, whether she wants to be there or not. Now tell me what you’ve got.”
Darius pulled out his tablet and keyed in a few prompts. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Cade LeBlanc.”
“Good. She was easy. You know what we found searching Cade LeBlanc, but Acadia LeBlanc brought a whole new element to the story. Acadia was a smart little girl who grew up poor in a small parish outside of New Orleans. One of her first teachers took an interest early on and became a mentor. He even published a series of articles on the “Gem of the Gulf.” I couldn’t find the details but something must have
happened to make an intelligent young girl give up a promising future to do what she does.”
Darius paused and Mex took a sip of his coffee. He understood about turning points. “And then?”
“Then there’s a gap until all of the recent data on her.”
Mex waited.
“In addition to the news
stories about people she’s pulled out of cults, she’s attended fundraisers for suicide awareness and depression. Whether or not there’s a connection, I can’t tell.”
The depression piece froze in Mex’s mind. It had touched Cade LeBlanc. Hell, it’s touched most people if they just open their eyes. People with loved ones who suffered from this disease often developed radar. He would need to be on guard around her in the future. There might come a time soon when he would need her to trust him and not have a ghost from her past make her second-guess his choices.
Darius hit a key on his tablet and moved on. “Pilar Estrada Velasquez Villanueva was born in a tiny village in Cuba. She came to Florida when she was thirteen and was raised by relatives. She excelled in school, graduated early, and took evening classes at a local community college.”
“What types of classes?”
“Psychology, family health, parenting. Those seemed to be her main choices.”
“All good picks for someone who later became a nanny. Any other
courses?”
“Funny you should ask. One titled Island Religions. Santeria and Santa Muerte factored heavily in the course.”
“Would have thought she’d gotten all that in Cuba. Why take a class?”
Darius laid his tablet down. “I thought about that. She was only thirteen when her whole life changed. Maybe she didn’t get all that much indoctrination in Cuba and wondered if she was missing out on something. She could have been missing home, ya know?”
“Where’s her family?”
“Dead.”
“All of them? How?”
“Mostly natural causes, but two brothers were gunned down in Nogales, Arizona. Their murders were never solved.”
“Cartel connection?”
“Unknown. If they were in a cartel, they were pretty damned low on the scorecard. But given the odds, it’s safe to say that drugs were involved. And if drugs were involved in that part of the country, the cartel had to be close.”
“Do me a favor, Darius. Don’t play the odds or make assumptions. When we do that, we run the risk of missing something important.”
“Sorry, but other than background, I don’t see these deaths having any direct connection to what’s happening with Pilar. Consider my comment speculation and not assumption.”
Mex nodded. “What about Luis Alvarez?”
“I’m coming up with nothing on him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I haven’t been able to find anything. No social networking, no public records, nothing.”
Mex felt his anger rising. “How hard have you tried? You get info on everyone and everything. A girl’s life is at stake.” Not to mention my own sister’s, he thought.
“Look, I know you’re in a bad way, and you’re frustrated.”
Mex could not have heard any worse words at that moment. He
squeezed the hostile feelings he wanted to unleash deep into his gut, right next to the ulcer that was surely forming. His fingers bit the edges of the table until they turned white. Let it go. He’s right. I am in a bad way. Breathe. I know how depression affects my reason. Breathe. “I need some answers.”
“I can’t give you answers I don’t have, Mex.”
“I need someone I can rely on.” Mex regretted the words the minute he said them.
“I have a hormonal wife and a psycho friend. Where the hell did I go wrong?”
Mex couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He wanted a fight. Even if it was with one of his best friends. “If I can’t count on you, I don’t need you around. You can just go piss off
somewhere else.”
“I’ve dug up pertinent information for you. I’ve spent hours away from home to help you. I’ve even put myself in dangerous situations for you. Where the hell do you get off questioning me?”
“I will find out about Luis Alvarez myself. All you want is a story—a book deal. If Dia is killed before I can get to her, you will be as much to blame as me.” Mex threw a few bills on the table and left, swallowing another pill as he walked out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Once Mex left the hotel restaurant his steps faltered, his shoulders sagged and his head drooped. He was at the end of the road. He’d found himself unable to appreciate his friend. A man who had always been there for him. If he was totally honest, it was he who was failing. Not Darius.
He punched the elevator button and waited. A little girl named Dia deserved the chance to grow up, and his own sister had already sacrificed so much of her life to take care of him.
Sacrifice. That word again. He had to stop this pattern. Sacrifice never led to anything positive.
He needed to pull himself
together. Find a way. Find Dia. Was Luis the key, as Cade thought?
When he arrived at his room, Mex pulled out his phone and keyed in the number. Waited. Cursed. Waited some more while it rang.
“Did you find her?” Vicente Vega almost gasped.
“Not yet.”
“She’s dead then.”
“We don’t know that. We really don’t know anything yet.”
“If she is still alive, every minute marks itself as one moment closer to her death.”
Mex waited for the cartel head, the father, to calm down.
“Why are you calling me?”
“I need you to look inside your own organization. I have a name. Before I give it to you, I need you to fully understand that if you don’t keep this quiet, your daughter could die. Do you understand?”
Silence.
“If you breathe this name to the wrong person, Dia is dead. There are a lot of wrong people, Vega, including those you may have no reason to suspect. If you don’t have anyone you can trust, then you’re better off not asking about him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Is this the name of the man who has my daughter?”
“I don’t know.”
“But he’s connected?”
“He could be.”
“What’s his name?”
“Luis Alvarez.”
“This man has my little girl?”
“I told you, I don’t know. I think there might be a connection.”
“I don’t know the name, but I’ll find out who he is. Is he in my
organization?”
“I don’t know that either. I want to find out as much as possible. He could be a key. But if he’s a really big key, you have to understand you could be signing Dia’s death warrant if you’re too overt.”
“I understand.”
“I also need to know who in La Familia might want to do this to you. To Dia. And if not La Familia, then who?”
Silence.
Mex hardened his tone. “La Familia, Vega. Who?”
“There is intense competition between our cartels. Some have died.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Most wouldn’t dare to bring me harm. I’m too powerful.”
“But someone might be as
powerful as you are, and willing to take the risk.”
“Let me think about this.”
Mex ended the call.
Now what?
He sat down and started going through all of his notes and printouts again. There had to be something here. Twenty minutes later he had a theory. But it needed to be checked out. Fast.
And Darius already had the connections.
Damn. When would he learn how to keep his thoughts to himself?
Mex walked through the adjoining door. Darius was sprawled out in the corner armchair, the remote control for the television in his hand. A glass with ice and amber liquid twirled in his other hand. He was watching a news stream from the BBC about a bold jewelry store heist. A part of Mex’s brain registered that the UK seemed to have a lot of exceptionally brazen thefts. With a click, the Denver Nuggets battled to maintain their narrow lead in a rare playoff game. So what else was new?
Mex slipped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed
. Darius clicked back and forth between the channels without acknowledging Mex’s presence.
Screw this. He and Darius would take care of the details later. The makeup shit. Right now he needed
information. “Do you have access to the student registrar where Pilar was taking classes?”
Darius clicked the remote, moving from a weather map of the gulf area to a scene featuring Leonard Nimoy in his Spock role.
“Do you?” Mex asked again.
“I could probably get in.”
“Can you access a list of previous students?”
Darius clicked back to the
basketball game. Watched one of the Nugget players pass the ball to a
teammate, then move to receive it under the basket. The crowd didn’t explode as Mex thought it would at the two-point score. He checked the time left. A lot. No wonder. Close wasn’t close until it was the end of the game.
He and Darius were at the end of their game.
“Can you?” Mex repeated his question.
“If I can get in or connect with an insider, I can probably access anything.” Darius clicked back to the BBC channel. He hadn’t looked Mex in the eye once since he’d come into the room.
“I want you to look for a student, or a staff member. One that would have completed that Island Religions class before Pilar, or maybe they were the instructor or assistant.”
“Name?”
Mex worked to soften his voice. “Luis Alvarez.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mex and Cade sat at the same table they’d sat at the night before. Mex figured it was probably Cade’s table, similar to his booth at Juan’s. Storm clouds were forming. Another New Orleans soaker was about to break loose.
He looked around and was impressed. For being out in the middle of nowhere, Boudreaux’s did some damn good lunch business. His law radar had beeped when he saw the steady stream of customers, and he spent several minutes watching them. His experience said this much traffic had something to do with drugs. Or money laundering. Or both. Apparently all of these people were here for the food.
