“Si. What do you want?” Interesting. Not conversational, this question seemed wary, like demands were expected.
“You have a daughter. Maria Luisa Carmela.”
The threat, when it came, was quiet, but vibrating with hatred. “If you harm one hair on my daughter’s head, I will kill you.” Shiiiiit. This did not sound like a father who was down with what his brother did.
“No, man. No. Fuck no. It’s not like that. I…my men, we rescued her. About a month ago. Today, she gave me your name and number. I called to—”
A shout and then the sound of something falling, crashing in the background, the voice on the phone changing as it shouted again, echoing as a tortured question rolled through and to Watcher. “She is alive?”
“Yeah, she’s…she’s alive.”
Surging swells of Spanish, a woman’s voice joined in, shouting and screaming, a babble of language which managed to communicate one thing clearly. Joy. Joy that Mela lived. Joy and a release from a terror so stark Watcher prayed he’d never know anything like it. Moments passed as the voices and sounds wound down, becoming quiet, and then the man’s voice, “May we…can she…would she speak to us? My wife and I. Will she talk with us?”
Making a split second decision to not question them further, Watcher told him, “She’s outside in the pool with my daughter.” He wanted to give them the knowledge not only was she alive and safe, but she was also being treated well. “Let me step outside and call her.”
“She’s playing in a pool.” The tone was quietly jubilant, and probably Estavez passing information to his wife, because it was followed by a quickly stifled female cry.
Watcher quickly covered the distance across the interior of the barn to the outside door. Once through the opening, he pulled the phone slightly away from his face and called, “Mela. I have someone on the phone for you.”
Quiet in his ear, then a hoarse repetition, “Mela. Mama, he called our Maria, Mela.”
Carmela’s head lifted and she saw him with the phone. She had frozen for a second before a pleased expression flashed across her face and then she was clambering excitedly out of the pool, eschewing a towel as she raced through the grass and dust towards him, mouth open in a glad shout, “Papá!”
Twenty minutes later, her words and tears had slowed, and she uncurled from where she’d been sitting on Watcher’s lap. He’d gone to his ass in the dirt outside the barn when her legs collapsed from under her, catching her and guiding her down as she talked and talked, the flow of words from her slow and pained at first, then transitioning to a swift and happy chatter. Over the past minute, he’d heard his name twice, and now her gaze drifted up to his face as she said, “Si, Papá. He’s right here. Si, Papá. Te amo muchissimo, Papá.” She giggled, and nodded, “Mucho.”
Holding out the phone, she told Watcher, “Papá would like to speak with you, Papa Watcher.” She stood, looking down at him with a sweet smile. “Gracias, Papa Watcher.” Fingers to her lips, she smiled again and took two steps before she was running, her run ending with a shrill scream as she cannonballed back into the pool.
Watcher spoke into the phone, “Yeah?”
“I should like to meet you, señor. Maria…explained things. Mi esposa and I will be in El Paso in the morning. Before we…” The voice trailed off, then picked back up. “I would like to know if you could be persuaded to continue sheltering Maria, for a time.” Fuck. Juanita was right.
“Mela is welcome to stay here for as long as she likes.” He emphasized both the name and pronoun in that sentence, making it clear Estavez didn’t factor as much as he might think. Not if he was going to throw away the precious gift of a daughter returned alive, when he’d clearly believed her dead.
“I have certain—” A frustrated huff of breath, then, “Perhaps speaking of these things in person would be best.” Now Watcher was intrigued because it might mean the asshole Estavez brother might not be the only one with things in play. “Thanks are not…could never be enough, señor. This day you have performed a miracle, raised my daughter from death. To hear her voice, her words which speak of your care for her, how you have treated her as if she were your own child. Tomorrow is soon enough for business, right now I want to bask in the knowledge there is a God, and he has seen fit to return my daughter to me. Thank you.”
A few words later and Watcher disconnected, staring across the yard as Mela lifted her arms in the air, whirling around in the water, shouting and laughing as she played with Bella.
Bikes are like livin’
Juanita
Juanita woke with a start and rolled over in an empty bed. Blinking and squinting against the dim nightstand light, she looked up at a figure standing next to the bed.
She relaxed, blowing out the breath that had locked in her lungs.
Her husband.
Watcher was staring down at her as he emptied his pockets, placing his phone on the nightstand. His wallet was next, followed by an object which gave her a chill, one of his pistols, drawn from the back waistband of his pants. He always carried a gun, but typically it remained in the pocket of his vest. Watcher’s expression was tense and serious, and seeing this look on his face gave her another chill. “Papi,” she whispered, shoving up to a sitting position. “What’s happened?”
“Nothin’, honey.” Said soothingly, it was an obvious lie, but one he would stick to, which told her whatever had happened involved the club. A matter for the men, but not her, nor the other women of the Soldiers. His posture told her he was weary, ready for relaxation and rest. “Girls sleepin’?”
“Si,” she said, her lips curling into a quick smile. Both girls claimed to have scarcely survived the last days of the school year and had been excited this was the first long weekend of summer. “Mela is a demon on that bike.” Before he left two days ago, he had brought home a small dirt bike for the girls, and Mela—no surprise—had taken to it immediately. She was older, true, but her experiences had matured her in painful ways.
Juanita worried because at times Mela’s need to compensate for what she went through incited her to daredevil stunts. Adrenaline helped the girl push back the pain of what she’d endured. That and Mela constantly looked to find ways to bind Watcher to her even tighter. The girl knew embracing the smaller version of what he rode would make him happy. “She must have tipped the bike over a dozen times, but each spill only made her want to master it more. She is determined to have your approval when you first see her ride it.”
This brought a sincere smile to his face, one which warmed his eyes and she basked in his approval at sharing part of their day, aware in this regard she and the girls were the same. “And our Bella?” He shrugged out of his cut, laying it aside. He discarded his clothing, and she froze at the bruising revealed on his body. He had been in a fight. A fight or an accident, but if he wasn’t willing to speak of it, then she couldn’t even acknowledge anything was amiss. “How’d she do? The girls were supposed to take turns.”
“Bella would rather be the passenger, Papi. You know this.” And he did, because he had carried her pillion behind him many times. Her tiny body balanced on the motorcycle, hands clutching tightly to his belt loops, helmet obscuring much of her face. She was terrified of bikes but rode with her papa because he loved having her with him. “Mela got some photos of her on the bike, but when our Bella took a turn around the field, she frightened herself, and handed it off to Mela.”
He frowned. “What’d Bella do? She wreck?” Easing his body prone on the mattress next to her, he hissed through his teeth as he settled in.
“I think she hit some loose dirt. It frightened her.” Juanita moved closer, stroking up his arm with her fingertips. Risking his dismissal of her concern, she quietly asked, “Papi, you need anything?”
“No, honey, I’m good. I took something before I left the church.” She froze, knowing now why he didn’t want to talk about whatever had happened tonight. Being at the church meant the club had refugees to drop off at the she
lter there. Refugees might mean women. Women like me. His hand cupped her jaw, turning her for a soft kiss. “No, baby, nothin’ like that. We needed to make a donation to the padre. Nothin’ more.”
She took in a shaky breath, despising the way her chin quivered. She loathed knowing he saw and felt her fear, and knew how he hated it, too. “Okay, Papi,” she whispered.
“Sleep, honey,” he ordered, brushing against her lips with his again. “It’s all good.”
In minutes he had followed his own advice, resting heavily against her side, arm draped across her chest to pin her in place. Not that I’d ever want to leave, she thought, feeling her lips curling at the idea. She stroked his arm. Not that he’d allow me to.
A donation. With the evidence of brutal combat on Watcher’s body, Juanita knew what it meant. They’d found a coyote or group of the grasping human extortionists and stripped them of the money paid by men and women who longed for a better life. Things were so bad in Mexico. The cartels were fighting amongst themselves, and every day the news brought stories and pictures of fighting and death. Just yesterday the girls had been watching cartoons and a shout from Mela brought Juanita running into the room. Their program had been interrupted by a live news report of beheaded and dismembered bodies which had Bella crying in terror.
Mela had folded her sister close in her arms, cradling the back of her head to force the smaller girl’s face into her neck. Television off, silence in the room finally, Juanita knelt next to the girls and wrapped them up in her arms and love, holding tight until their fear passed.
The first meeting with Mela’s family had gone better than Juanita could have ever believed, nearly as well as she’d prayed for. On a hunch, Watcher had trusted Estavez with the address to their home, and the four of them had stood outside in a sea of black leather and his brothers as they watched a caravan of cars and trucks roll up the road towards the house. Even Watcher’s strong hands couldn’t restrain Mela when her father stepped out of the vehicle, and she had darted away, her long legs flashing underneath her dress as she raced towards her papá.
It had taken a long time, but the tiny family of three had finally gotten themselves under control enough to approach the house, Mela carried in the crook of her father’s arm. Legs around his hips, she had her arms wrapped around his neck, head to his shoulder. Raul hadn’t wiped the tears from his face when he greeted Watcher, proud to let the other man see his joy. Then he turned to Juanita and recognition flashed across his face followed by a quick shout of happiness. Her cousin swept her into a close embrace with him and his child, the tightness of his grip testimony to what the reunion meant to him.
She knew their connection had made Raul’s request easier to make, because he needed Mela to remain in the United States for her own safety. The business part of the discussion was restricted to the men, as it should be, but he had told Juanita enough to make her understand this wasn’t a casual appeal. Carlos was on the warpath and had long ago joined his fortunes to the wrong men, the fruit of his associations coming ripe, finally, and choking all around him with its poison.
She’d watched over the next weeks as Raul became a frequent visitor at their home. Rewarding to see how comfortable he was around them, around Watcher. His wife a different story, because after their first visit, she hadn’t returned. Her initial horrified reaction to the markings Juanita and Mela shared had made Watcher angry, as well as Raul, but in the end, she had more than redeemed herself in Juanita’s eyes.
Leaning forward to embrace Mela’s mother in greeting, Juanita was startled when the woman pulled away without touching her, then saw the expression on her face. Lips pressed tightly together, her sad eyes were fixed on Juanita’s neck, and she knew what the woman had seen. Unable to stop herself, Juanita turned to the side and buried her face in Watcher’s back, shutting out the world and this gutting reminder she would never be what she once was.
“Does my Maria…” Her voice was trembling, but Raul cut her off, his words and tone firm and unyielding.
“Maria is alive, Consuela, and this is all that matters.”
Trying to recover, Mela’s mother murmured, “Of course, Raul. Of course. She’s alive. My baby lives. We are so blessed.”
Watcher’s arms curved around Juanita and pulled her close. “Let’s go out back. Mela can show you her prize-winning cannonball.” Clearly communicating the topic was closed, he steered the conversation for the rest of the afternoon. Then the men retired to the barn to discuss business, leaving the women and children beside the pool.
“Will you have it removed?” The straightforward question surprised her, and she looked up to see Consuela staring at her. Since the initial clash, the woman had gone out of her way to try and put Juanita at ease, a laughable endeavor since Consuela was the reason for the anxiety. A good woman, a kind one, she hadn’t known for certain about Mela’s brand until the girls changed into their swimming suits. While she’d done a good job disguising her sorrow at the mark on her daughter’s skin, Juanita had seen.
“No, I will not.” Juanita paused, then decided to give her the argument she used most often on Watcher. “It’s on my soul. That cannot be removed.”
“Do you think…” When Consuela paused, Juanita looked at her, surprised to see her fighting with emotion. “Do you think I could assist, my cousin?” Claiming family connections, Consuela was doing more than mending a breach caused by her instinctive reactions. “I could approach your mother. She mourns, Juanita. The last I heard, she still lights candles every day.”
“No, please no.” Juanita shook her head, feeling her hair sweep across her shoulders, letting it drape across her neck, hiding her shame. Staring at the girls playing in the pool, she left the concealing cover in place, needing it for now. “Better she never knows.”
“Would you have kept Maria from me, then? Made me weep every day for the daughter lost? Wondering every day if she were dead, or trapped in hell?” The fierceness of the whisper took Juanita by surprise, and she turned to stare at her cousin’s wife. “Sentenced me to a purgatory without end?” Shaking her head, Consuela said, “Far better to know and find a way to come to peace with the blows life has laid in her path, than to not know the path. Or wonder at the destination. Give me this, cousin. Let me approach her. We can leave the decision to contact you up to her, but if you do not let me reach out, the answer will always be the same. Give her a chance to change your mind.”
Consuela had more than redeemed herself, because today, Juanita’s mother had called, and the two women had spent an hour on the phone crying and shouting and laughing. Tomorrow, Juanita thought. I’ll tell Watcher tomorrow.
***
Watcher
“How you findin’ Memphis, brother?” Watcher stared out the barn window towards the back of the house, smiling at an excited Bella draped over Spider’s shoulder. The man was currently spinning in circles, and she was arched up, arms spread wide, as close to flying as she could get. Four more kids, three of Spider’s and one of Watcher’s, waited their turns nearby. “You’ve been there a few months. You get all settled in? That job work out for ya?” Watcher’d sent Andy to a friend of a friend, hoping to smooth the way. Bethy knew a guy who was looking for unobtrusive but efficient security, and as Spider had learned, Andy was far more powerful and skilled than he looked.
“Yeah.” One word could carry a wealth of information, and with Andy’s response, Watcher knew everything was not good. Shouted laughter pulled his eyes back to the window in time to see Spider fall to the ground, cradling Bella in his arms, Mela tackling them both.
“You ridin’?” Depending on what was eating Andy, blowing through a tank of fuel would likely set his head straight.
“Not as much. It’s different here. I keep the bike locked up most of the time, catch rides or the bus to work.” His voice held a note of melancholy. “Miss having folks around I can talk to. How’s my Mela?”
Maybe we can lure him back here if he’s missing riding with broth
ers, Watcher thought. Ignoring the question, he said, “Brother, you need to get your knees in the breeze.”
“Yeah, just…there’s been some shit going down up here. Got me thinking. A drug dealer named Ling killed a woman I knew. It seems he’s notorious around here for that kind of shit. And Memphis, man, it’s a hotbed of hard times. Everywhere you look, people struggling and then folks like this Ling making their lives harder. I had enough of that shit in my life with my mom, ya know? So it’s all been weighing on my mind.” And it would because Andy was like that, tender underneath his façade of impassivity.
“Maybe Memphis ain’t the place for you. You thinkin’ of movin’ on?” Watcher paused, then threw a line in the water, fishing to see if there was a chance he could retrieve this man for the Soldiers. “Any chance you’ll be rollin’ back this way? Mela’d be excited to see you.”
“Thinking north.”
Fuck. Was worth a try. “Yeah? Got a destination in mind?”
“Chicago. Heard some good things about Chicago.”
Spider was lying on his back between the kids, one arm pointed upwards at something. Bella had both arms up, gesturing with her hands as if she were shaping dough. Cloud watching, and she was explaining what she saw. My girl’s a dreamer, he thought with a smile. Andy, however, needed to not have his head in the clouds because he was right; Memphis wasn’t the safest of cities to be in. “Then you should go to Chicago. Or head home for a visit. Or come back out here. Get your head in the wind, brother. Roll those twos, man.” Watcher shook his head. “I can hear it in your voice, you’re a brother needin’ a good ride.” He paused. “Or a good brother to ride with.” If Andy went to Chicago, Watcher knew he’d be able to hook his friend up with like-minded folks, help find him a permanent home. Bones or Mason, either of them will welcome someone like Andy.
“Riding doesn’t solve everything, Watcher.” From the humorous tone of Andy’s voice, Watcher knew he threw it out as a joke, but Watcher wanted him to understand sometimes what we choose to do is a reflection of who we are.
Watcher Page 20
