by Peg Brantley
It had been years since Mex was last in this cemetery. Even before Katrina many tombs sat in a decayed state, chunks crumbling onto the
walkways in piles of tired mortar and history. Post storm, even though he saw additional degradation, he was surprised not to see complete and utter
devastation.
A few tombs had a voodoo connection. Piles of offerings that included flowers, Mardi Gras beads, liquor, cigarettes, votive candles, and just about anything else you could imagine were colorful invocations for favors to be granted by the occupants. Multiple triple “X’s”, which some think of as a voodoo mark, had been painted on every flat surface of the voodoooriented tombs. It was Mex’s opinion that this practice began as an anonymous signature by people seeking to have their wishes granted. He wondered if one of these tombs was Grandma’s destination.
Mex followed down a new aisle and felt a moment of panic. Grandma was gone. She must have turned again. Where the hell did she go? He
quickened his step, peered down another path and caught a glimpse of yellow before it disappeared. He’d be lucky if he found his way out of here before some voodoo priestess became aware of his presence. He rushed to the corner, and feeling a bit like one of the muggers he’d heard so much about, took a surreptitious glance around a
particularly decrepit family vault.
The woman and the boy had moved to the back of an ordinary looking tomb. All Mex could see were their shadows. He knew what they were doing and moved to the side of another ancient structure where he would be hidden from view. He heard them walking in his direction.
“Can we get some beignets? Please? At Café Du Monde?” The little boy asked in English, completely surprising Mex. He would have laid down a large bet that Great-Grandma only spoke Spanish.
“Yes, Marco. But not Café Du Monde. That is a place for outsiders.” “Please? I like to look at all the
pretty people.”
The woman grabbed the boy’s
arm. “Quit whining or there will be no
sweets for you for the rest of the week.” The two passed and Mex found a
small bench. He pulled out his phone
and called Darius. “I’ve got the drop site. It’s in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. Run a two-mile radius, but focus on the Iberville Projects. They’re right behind
the cemetery.”
“Got it. You okay?”
“I’ll wait to see who shows to
pick up the note from Grandma.” “That’s not what I meant.” “I’m good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know what I
find out.”
“Don’t call me. Even on vibrate
the sound might carry. I’ll check back
with you in an hour.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Darius set the phone down and booted up his computer. He’d begin with the easily accessed public records. If he had to, he’d play his journalist card with his contact in the local media—an old newspaper guy who knew how to keep his mouth shut and wait for a kick-ass story. No way would most of the television journalists he knew
understand the importance of patience. And trust. And IOUs.
Thank goodness for stand-up guys like Martin Van Buren. Darius smiled. He remembered how Van Buren had introduced himself the first time they’d met at one of the many journalist conventions around the country. Van Buren had looked Darius dead in the eye. “Yeah, I know. He was an asshole. But I’m not—unless the story requires one.” Then he’d winked and raised his drink.
Too bad journalists like Martin Van Buren were becoming relics.
Darius logged in to the property rolls and hoped that the Napoleonic law particular to Louisiana wouldn’t hinder his search. Real estate laws in this southern state required a law degree of their own. After twenty minutes of nothing, he decided to give Martin a call.
After the usual jibes about each other's heritage and limited chit-chat, Martin asked Darius why he’d called. Darius gathered his thoughts. His old friend was not apt to miss a note, and he didn’t want to hit a wrong one.
“I need to find someone who might be hard to find. He has relatives in the area, but that doesn’t mean he’s anywhere around.”
“It’s important?”
“It’s important.”
“You’ve got the story?”
Darius hesitated. “It’s important enough that I’ll give you the quick shot— the immediate story—but the book is mine.”
“Talk to me.”
With “off the record” on the record, Darius laid out the pertinent facts, omitting all the names except for those of Luis Alvarez and Margarita Sanchez. “Finding this guy could lead us to the missing girl. And we need to find her fast.”
“Time frame?”
“Yesterday.”
“Got it.”
“Look, my partner is calling me in less than an hour. I need to have
something for him.”
“Then let’s hang up the damn phone so I can get to work.”
Darius went back online. He was tempted to continue his research efforts, but decided he’d wait to see if Martin came up with something before Mex contacted him. Research at this point might lead to attempted hacking, and a hacking charge, even if he was able to do it, would be time consuming and expensive.
He went to the fridge and pulled out one of the beers Mex had brought earlier. When he got to the sofa, he pushed his laptop closed and propped his feet on the coffee table. He wished he could think of a way to permanently help his friend get well.
Aspen Falls almost six years ago. He’d spotted Mex as a fish out of water at the E-Lev 2, a popular Aspen Falls restaurant, almost immediately. But Darius’s already keen sense of a story told him the gray-eyed Mexican was an interesting fish out of water. They’d connected, Darius offering up a
community tour of sorts, and a friendship was born. It was the kind of friendship only guys could form. Firm. Fast. But with limited sharing of history. It went from tentative to a version of “semisolid unless you give me reason to dump your ass” in almost record time. And since there’d been no reason to dump one another’s asses, they’d been friends ever since.
And still, Mex had only recently told him about what had happened to his family. The pain he’d come from. The pain he’d lived through. Now the depression made sense. Darius couldn’t imagine surviving that kind of horror. This explained the sudden bursts of anger that seemed out of proportion to the situation that had occurred from the beginning of their friendship. Darius had always let it go and they’d managed to go on.
He knew Mex well enough to know that Mex was holding something back. Hell, based on the story he’d told him, Mex might be holding a lot of things back. Still, he trusted him. When Mex was ready, he’d tell Darius whatever he’d been keeping secret.
His phone rang. He smiled when he saw who was calling. “My sweet, sweet Pamela. How did you know I needed to hear your voice?”
He heard his wife choke with tears. Gasp for breath.
He froze. “Pammy?”
“Oh, God.”
Darius felt his heart rate double. “What’s wrong?” He waited, feeling his world skid to a stop. “Are the kids okay? Is the baby okay? Has something happened?”
Please God, please God, please God. Oh, please God.
He heard her clear her throat. Suck in a breath. “We’re fine. We’re all fine.” Another choke. Not like Pamela.
But he could breathe again. “Honey, what is it?”
“I got a call.”
He waited, giving his wife time to pull her thoughts together.
“I got a call. On my cell. We were at the grocery store. He said… he said. …” Her voice trailed off to more sobs.
“Shake it off, Pamela. Shake it off. I need to know what’s happened.”
“He said…that if you didn’t let this hunt for the girl go… he said your family would pay the price.
That he would make sure we all died and that you would know it before he had you killed as well.”
Blood roared in his ears and drowned out all coherent thought. He closed his eyes and willed it still. Darius waited for his wife to catch her breath.
“And that’s not all.”
Darius hadn’t realized he’d been pacing like a madman until he stopped. “What else?”
“By the time we got home, I’d managed to calm down a little. I didn’t want the kids to see me freaking out, you know?”
Darius nodded. “Yeah, baby. Good thinking.”
“I thought I’d just get the mail, put on some mac and cheese, then find a quiet place to give you a call.”
“That’s my girl.”
A wracking sob ripped through the phone, straight to his heart. Pamela said something he couldn’t understand. “Pammy, speak slower. Tell me
slowly.”
“I reached in the mailbox without looking.” Her voice shook. “Inside was a headless chicken.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dia wanted to know what was going on and no one would talk to her. She might as well be back home. She stomped from the deck into the house, making sure the screen door slammed as loud as she could.
When she’d walked outside five minutes earlier, Pilar, Luis and Hector’s conversation stopped. And then Pilar started some lame thing about her list of what she wanted Luis and Hector to pick up for her when they went to the city. Like she was a little kid who would never pick up on the fact that they were keeping a secret from her.
Did it have anything to do with the ritual she’d seen the other night? The one where Pilar had her shoes? Pilar had told her she’d found them on the deck and was hanging on to them to remember to bring them to her. Dia wanted so badly to believe her friend she actually thought maybe she’d left them outside for some reason, even though that didn’t feel right.
They were obviously preparing for some other visitors. She figured it must be the ones they’d been talking about the first night they got here—when she’d overheard them in the car while they thought she was asleep in the backseat.
She was getting tired of all the secrets.
* * * Sedona knew she was back in Mexico before she opened her eyes. She heard Spanish being spoken outside a window that brought in the smells she’d grown up with in Agua Prieta. But there was more noise here. More energy.
Then she knew. VV had brought her to Monterrey. Does Vicente know she’s here? Oh, God. Help me. Anything could happen to me now and no one would know.
Would anyone care?
Why move her here? The answer to that question was simpler. More control. More cops in his pocket. He must have border guards on the payroll as well. She felt the beginnings of a headache.
The sheets surrounding her were soft and fresh. This was definitely not the same kind of motel room where she’d first woken up…when? She’d lost all track of time. An eyelid opened enough to see her nearest surroundings. Tile floors. A white dust ruffle.
Colorfully painted furniture legs. She shifted. White baseboards, yellow walls, white curtains billowing in the breeze.
She popped both eyes open. An open window! At the very least she could call for help. She moved to swing her legs over the side of the bed only to find she was strapped down. If she screamed, what would happen?
“Help! Help me! I’ve been kidnapped!” Immediately footsteps crossed the floor and pulled the window closed.
“I was trying to make you
comfortable.” VV swung around. His cold eyes softened and she knew he remembered the infrequent, but special, connection they’d had in the past. He’d only been a boy, but she’d taken the time to talk to him, even given him a hug when she felt he could use one. “I could always have you gagged again.”
“No. Please don’t.”
“Promise not to scream?”
“I promise.”
VV moved to the window and threw it open wider. The ceiling fan grabbed the fresh air and spun it around the room. Would this supposed to make her grateful? Please let me survive and get back to my life.
“Why am I here?”
The young man put his hands on his hips. “You are my insurance.”
“Insurance? Insurance for what?” Maybe they were after Teo’s money after all. Damn him. Damn his money.
“You are my insurance that your brother will do everything possible to bring my little sister home where she belongs.”
“Dia? I’m here because of what happened to Dia? What did happen, VV?”
“We don’t know. She’s gone missing.”
“She ran away?” If Dia ran away, he couldn’t possibly hold her prisoner. That would be a family matter, not something either she or Mex could be expected to resolve.
“Listen to me, woman. We. Don’t. Know.”
Sedona fell silent as she
processed this new element of the little boy she once knew. He would never have been this disrespectful when he was younger.
“Does your father know I’m here?”
VV turned his back on her and paced to the door. He turned, hand on the knob. “Someone will be here shortly to address your needs.” With that he was gone.
Vicente Vega did not know she was here. For some reason, VV was acting on his own.
What the hell was going on?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Mex rubbed his stiff muscles. He’d never been good on stakeouts, and now that he was older there were more reasons to hate them. He keyed a button on his phone and waited. “Hey, Darius. What do you have? Can you pinpoint Luis Alvarez in this area?”
“He had an apartment in Iberville until about a week ago. The manager said he just turned in his keys and took off.”
Mex felt a twist in his gut and he squinted. Something was off with Darius, something in his voice, but now wasn’t the time to talk about it. “We’ve got a meet-up scheduled with Cade at seven to review everything. At
Boudreaux’s. I’ll stick here in case Alvarez shows, but I’m not confident. Especially since he’s apparently moved on.”
“Yeah, but it’s a recent move. He may not have had time to tell Grandma.”
“Good point.”
“Meet you at the shack?”
Mex sensed there would be more coming when they finally met up. “Yeah. Seven. See you then.”
Darius ended the call without saying goodbye. Not a good sign. Mex knew his friend had been blindsided by something that was throwing him off his game. They’d talk about it tonight.
Mex rolled his neck and
shoulders. Stretched his legs. He needed to be quiet and hidden. Should a tourist wander back here, he didn’t want to create a stir. He’d stake out the drop until he needed to leave for the meeting. Not too hopeful that anyone would actually show up, his mind worked to find something engaging.
Brief family moments, like movie clips, flashed through his mind. He and Sedona as kids, the first time he met his wife, Christmas celebrations with the entire family. Flashes of funeral services inserted themselves. The loss and devastation. Then short shots of his home in Aspen Falls. The one he and Maria had dreamed about and designed. The project that had kept him sane when every day was a battle to survive.
He shifted and stretched his muscles, one at a time. Waited. Listened. Stretched. Watched.
Late afternoon clouds began to fill the sky and Mex could smell rain. The heavens were about to dump on this part of town, and he didn’t want to get soaked. He figured he had just enough time to get back to the hotel and put on a clean shirt for the meeting with Cade and Darius.
He rose to his feet and froze. Someone was nearby. Mex looked around the edge of the tomb. A hooded figure was behind the same tomb Margarita Sanchez had stood at only a few hours before. Mex backed up and waited. When he heard the footsteps begin to recede, he moved to follow.
Fat raindrops hit the ground like water bullets. The hooded figure broke into a jog and Mex matched him. All the vi
sitors were jogging toward the parking lot and their cars and no one noticed anyone else.
Was he trailing the Luis Alvarez? Or someone Luis had sent to check his drop? Or just some guy who happened to hit the spot while Mex was watching?
The clouds opened up and threw down so much water it was hard to believe they’d been through a big rainstorm yesterday. While Mex moved to his rental, Hoody hopped into the passenger side of a four-door sedan.
Shit. Mex doubled his running speed and had the key in the ignition before he shut the door. He was pulling out even before he located the
windshield wiper switch. He saw the sedan turn.
Umbrellas were blooming everywhere in the parking lot and because of that people were acting momentarily brain-dead and not paying attention to two-thousand pounds of metal coming in their direction. Mex had to break twice before he got to the exit and turned to pursue the car.
The driver and Hoody weren’t in a tremendous hurry, which was good because the rain was so heavy the windshield wipers weren’t keeping up with the deluge. Mex pulled out his cell and thumbed a key.
“Hey. Raining where you are?”
Darius laughed, but he still sounded off. “I’m trying to locate Noah’s descendants. Figure they might have had a heads up.”
“Need you to meet Cade without me. Someone showed up at the drop and I’m following them now.”
“Them?”
“Guy in a hoody was at the drop. Someone else is driving.”
“Direction?”
“You’re kidding, right? It’s all I can do to follow the damn car in this rain.”
Mex watched the car pull to the curb about a block ahead of him and another person dashed from the shelter of a storefront into the backseat.
* * The sedan took I-10 east toward Slidell. Traffic was terrible, but Mex was able to stick pretty close without being too conspicuous. Drivers were dealing with rain and forward visibility, not so much what or who was in their rearview mirrors. Still, he allowed a couple of cars as buffers between them.
