by Karin Story
Apparently the señora wasn't expecting a response. "Now, about the job. You can wait tables, no? You have some experience?"
Tom had obviously decided to include her in his plans, and part of that must be taking a job here, too. She supposed ladling up stew to hungry archaeology students for years while she was on digs with Dad counted as waitressing experience. "Yes, I have experience."
"Ah, excellente. You can start at lunch time?"
"Sure, that would be fine."
The lunch rush, and it was indeed a rush, began only forty-five minutes after Maris accepted the job. She'd had just enough time to don a bright apron and get a crash course in waiting tables from a shy, smiling eighteen-year-old girl with a long, dark braid that nearly reached the backs of her knees. She'd introduced herself as Cristina.
Maris had had only a quick glimpse of Tom as Cristina showed her the way to the kitchen for picking up orders. He'd been engrossed in conversation with an obese man whose large belly, encased in a white T-shirt, hung so far out over his black, polyester pants that he couldn't even reach the stove he was working at. He had to turn sideways as he deftly flipped tortillas in the huge frying vat. She heard the man and Tom exchange a ribald remark, then both of them laughed heartily. Tom caught her eye, a mischievous twinkle in his gaze.
A warm surge swept through her, and for the first time in days, she let it, without a trace of bitterness sullying the feeling.
At the end of the lunch shift she had a fair amount of pesos in the pocket of her apron, and considered her first campaign at waiting tables a success She was taking a breather, reclining against the tall wooden shelves in the alcove beside the kitchen, when Tom came out wiping his hands on a towel. He tossed the towel into a large laundry bin and slipped his green flannel shirt over the white T-shirt he'd been wearing.
"You don't look too worse for the wear after that wicked lunch crowd," he said, smiling.
"Hey, if tips have anything to say about it, I'm a damned good waitress."
"Mare, you'd be damned good at anything you did." His eyes burned into hers and a delicious heat spread through her. "Diego's whipping up a plate of his famous enchiladas. You hungry?"
"Starving."
At that moment, the enormous man emerged from the kitchen holding a huge platter. "Siéntese! Siéntese!"
She and Tom followed his order and seated themselves at the same booth where she and Señora Martinez had been earlier. Tom made a point of taking the bench with his back to a wall so he was facing the door. She slid in next to him, liking no better than he the idea of having her back exposed to the rest of the room.
Diego placed the steaming platter and two forks in front of them with much clucking and grinning, then disappeared back into the kitchen.
Assuming she and Tom were meant to share the dish, Maris picked up a fork and dove into the heaping pile of cheese and chili covered tortillas. Tom followed suit. Enough enchiladas filled the plate to choke an elephant.
She could see why Diego was famous for these. They were the best she'd ever had and she proceeded to stuff herself. In fact, she continued to eat unashamedly for several minutes after Tom stopped.
When at last she laid down her fork, he grinned. "Are you sure you're finished? There might be just a little bit of cheese still clinging to the edge of the plate there."
"Smart ass. They happened to be wonderful and I happened to be starving. I told you that." But a small grin crossed her face as well.
Tossing his napkin onto the table, he leaned back and let out a deep breath. "Yeah, they are good. I know. I've been eating them for the past several days."
"So what's the plan?" she asked him quietly.
He leaned closer to her and kept his voice low. "I'm pretty much stuck back in the kitchen. But with you waiting tables, you'll be able to hear more conversations that go on out here. How are your eavesdropping skills?"
"Exceptional." She'd been doing a lot of it lately, and practice made perfect.
"Good. Just keep your eyes and ears open."
"Okay. I'm listening for anything that has to do with Cardoza, or someone named Emilio Duran?"
"Yeah, there are other names, but I can give you a rundown tonight. Are you supposed to stay and work the dinner shift, too?"
"Not until tomorrow. Today Señora Martinez wants me to stay for a while, though, so she can show me how to run the cash register."
Tom glanced around the room, his eyes hooded, as if he didn't like the idea of her being here until he made sure no suspicious characters lurked about.
She shook her head. He couldn't help himself; he was a protector through and through.
Finally he turned back to her and the tight lines around his eyes eased some. Apparently he'd deemed everything safe to his satisfaction. "If you're going to be okay for a while, I think I'll go upstairs and try to sleep for an hour or two."
She'd already noticed the dark circles under his eyes. "I'll be fine. You go on. It shouldn't take more than an hour or so with Señora Martinez. I'll be up as soon as we're done."
They rose from the table together and he touched her gently on the face with his palm, letting his fingers linger against her cheek. "Be careful."
She leaned against his hand for a moment, loving his touch. Then she grinned. "Hey, it's me, remember? I'll be fine."
He shook his head and sighed. "You'd better be."
"Go on. Get some rest and I'll see you in a little while."
With one last tender look at her, he exited through the rear door and Maris turned back to the restaurant's main room to find Señora Martinez.
Several minutes later she and Señora Martinez were at the cash register in the front of the restaurant when a pair of men came in for a late lunch. The señora seated them. "Take care of that table, will you chiquita?" she said when she returned to the counter. "Cristina has her hands full just now."
Maris glanced around and saw only two other tables with customers. Maybe Señora Martinez was trying to let her earn a little extra money on her first day. Gee, how nice. With a smile plastered on her face, she crossed to the table in the center of the room and asked the two men what she could get for them.
Their eyes traveled up and down her body as if she were a prize racehorse and they were assessing her value. She instantly wished she hadn't taken off her T-shirt and sweatshirt earlier when it had gotten so warm in here. Dressed in a skimpy tank top, she felt on display, and more than a little annoyed at their behavior.
Each time she returned to the table, she got the same treatment from the men, and each time it happened, a little dark pulse of fury throbbed in her brain. She wasn't some whore to be ogled. Her clothes were perfectly respectable. She even wore a bra under her tank top, unlike some women who let it all hang out. So just what exactly was their problem?
Cristina, she'd noticed, was curiously absent most of the time the men had been there, and Maris began to understand why she'd been given the table. Probably these two had been in before. She could imagine the effect they'd have on the shy Cristina.
By the time she gave them their check, her blood boiled. She placed the paper slip in front of them, then rested her palms on the dark, shiny tabletop and met headlong, the stare of the more obvious of the two men.
"Is there anything else I can do for you gentleman today?" she asked in Spanish, leaning forward a bit so they'd get a good view of her not enormous, but still respectable cleavage.
The one she'd locked eyes with grinned, his yellowed teeth evidence of much tobacco and little dental hygiene. Then he laughed.
Maris held her ground, her gaze never wavering, feeling incredibly calm. "Is there something you'd like to say to me?"
Yellow-teeth leaned closer to her, until his head was mere inches from her chest. Then he took a long, deep sniff right at the swell of her breasts that was exposed at the neckline of her tank top.
Unruffled, she let him have his fun.
Raising his head, his eyes meeting hers, he whisper
ed loudly, "Your smell makes me ravenous."
She smiled. "You like that, do you?"
He grinned and nodded. He was practically salivating, she thought with disgust. His friend chuckled, but otherwise remained silent.
"You wanna touch?" she asked, leaning closer to him.
Yellow-teeth's eyes glazed over, and he nodded his head so hard he looked like one of those wobbly-headed dogs people used to put in the back of their cars.
"Well, come on then," she enticed, smiling sweetly.
He put a meaty hand out and touched the top of her breast with one finger. Quickly he jerked it back, as if he were afraid of being bitten. When he saw the smile still in place on her face, his confidence grew and he touched again, this time taking a firm handful of her flesh and squeezing it.
Her smile still painfully glued on her face, she allowed him to manhandle her just long enough for him to drop his guard and get comfortable. When he let out a sleazy laugh, that was her cue. Like lightening, she closed her hand around his fingers, and before he had time to react, she shoved his forefinger and middle finger backward until they snapped.
Yellow-teeth howled in pain and jumped to his feet, calling her every dirty name in the book plus a few she hadn't heard before. She stood confidently, a few feet from him.
Yellow-teeth's friend hollered with laughter, slapping his legs with his hands, nearly doubled over in hilarity. Which only served to infuriate Yellow-teeth even further.
Still spouting curses, he started toward Maris, until they both heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked. Yellow-teeth stopped immediately and glared over Maris's shoulder.
"Vete! Go away!" came the sound of Diego's booming voice.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Diego with the gun pointed right at Yellow-teeth's chest. Cristina and Señora Martinez stood nearby, the girl holding tight to the señora's arm, a vengeful gleam in her eye focused on Yellow-teeth. Señora Martinez stood tall and proud with a no-nonsense look on her face. There were no other customers in the restaurant.
"Be gone with you, trouble-makers," the señora ordered, pointing her finger in the direction of the door. "That will teach you to mess with my girls. Got more than you bargained for, no?"
Yellow-teeth appeared none too happy at this turn of events, but apparently realized he was outnumbered. His friend gave him no help either as he continued to guffaw and chortle behind his hand.
Finally, holding his broken fingers close to his body, Yellow-teeth turned away. His friend trailed after him.
Diego, Señora Martinez, and Cristina gathered around her, congratulating her on a job well done. She waved away their praise, and gave a large sigh of relief that Tom hadn't been here to see this. He probably would have killed the man with his bare hands, and then, quite possibly, killed her as well for egging the jerk on.
Her thoughts were broken as she heard the last words the friend said to Yellow-teeth as they went out the door. "Amigo, she was some woman, no? Worthy of El Tigre himself!"
Every nerve in her body snapped to attention. These men knew of El Tigre? She had to follow them and try to get some information for Tom.
Making the excuse to the señora that she was tired from the ordeal with the two men, and thanking Diego for his timely arrival with the gun, she grabbed her pack from under the shelf in the back room and made her exit.
Hoping the men hadn't disappeared already, Maris glanced up and down the street, and finally saw them a half-block away. Thank God.
Several people strolled the street, so as gracefully and inconspicuously as she could, she followed the men, gradually gaining on them. At last, she could make out some of their conversation. Yellow-teeth's companion was still chuckling occasionally and poking fun at his friend, clearing annoying him. At one point, Yellow-teeth roughly shoved him, but that only made the other man laugh harder.
They turned into a small alley. There was no place to hide in the passageway, so Maris watched them from a distance. They climbed a fire escape ladder to the third floor of a tall brick building, and disappeared into a half-open door.
Contemplating her next move, she considering going back to the apartment and getting Tom. He'd want to know about this. But by the time they got back here, the men might be nowhere around, and she and Tom would lose this lead.
That wasn't acceptable.
She stepped into the alley. Her goal: the fire ladder. She'd find out for sure if the men went into one of the building's apartments, then she'd go back for Tom. At least then she'd have some solid information they could use.
She put a foot on the ladder and found it to be secure, so with nimble feet, she climbed to the third floor. The green metal fire escape door stood partially open.
Taking a deep breath, she squeezed through it.
The stale, musty smell of old building assailed her, along with a hefty aroma of cigarette smoke. It was dark in the hallway, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.
Another wave of tobacco smell hit her, and she realized with a sudden sense of impending doom, that it wasn't just the general odor of smoke permeating the place. There was an actual cloud of it swirling around her head.
With a pounding heart, her eyes snapped into focus and she stared up into a smiling, familiar, yet unknown face.
"Hello, beautiful. I've been waiting for you."
Smoke from the cigarette he was holding between his long, elegant fingers wafted up and around them both.
Maris had the sensation of being part of a slow-motion film. She watched him in fascination, but couldn't make her feet move. Couldn't tear her eyes off his.
Crushing his cigarette on the floor, he took her gently by the arm and pulled her against him. His breath smelled of brandy, mints, and nicotine. His smile was intoxicating, his eyes, mesmerizing.
"Yes, you're quite the handful, aren't you? I'm happy to finally make your acquaintance, Ms. Rhodes."
"My God," she finally managed to whisper. "You're so much like him."
"Yes, quite. And you, my beautiful dear, will serve me well."
The cold prick of a needle in her upper arm caused her to look down in shock as a syringe pumped something into her.
Before she could even react, her body grew heavy and she couldn't keep her eyes open. She felt herself being lifted by his strong arms. Then her head lolled against his chest and darkness prevailed.
* * *
When Tom awoke, it was already dark outside and he knew he'd slept longer than an hour or two. The clock next to the bed showed it to be nearly eight o'clock. Jumping to his feet, he glanced around the apartment, worried when he saw Maris wasn't there. He comforted himself by thinking that she probably hadn't wanted to disturb him and was downstairs with Señora Martinez.
After running a hand through his hair, and shoving his feet into his boots, he went downstairs in search of her.
He slipped in the rear door of the cantina and decided not to bother Diego, who was hard at work frying tortillas with a look of concentration on his face. The cantina was the busiest for breakfast and lunch, and the dinner crowd was usually smaller. Cristina had already gone home, and Rosalia, a plump, fiftyish grandmother of three, was on duty.
Tom went through the back room and knocked on the señora's office door.
"Ah, Tomás!" the woman pulled him into the room and seated him in the chair in front of her desk. Maris was nowhere to be seen. "You must be so proud of your amiga. She was such a hero today. Made Cristina very happy."
"She did?" He asked, a little befuddled by her welcome.
"Oh, sí. She showed those hombres, she did. Proud as a bird she stood in front of them, then broke that bad one's fingers." An enormous chuckle shook her equally enormous bosom.
"She did what?" A surge of irritation mixed with fear crept through him. What the hell had Maris been up to this afternoon. And more importantly, where was she now? "Where's Mar— Marisa now?"
At this, Señora Martinez grew suddenly still and her black mascara-laden eyel
ashes blinked slowly. "She is not with you?"
"No. I thought she was with you."
"No, Tomás. She left here shortly after that incident this afternoon. It couldn't have been later than tres y media. I have not seen her since then."
A large rock settled in Tom's stomach. Three-thirty? That was when she'd left the restaurant? It was after eight now.
"She didn't say where she was going, did she?"
"Sí. She said she was tired from what had happened with those bad hombres. I assumed that meant she was going to the apartment to rest." The señora's face furrowed with concern. "Tomás, do you think it might have something to do with those men this afternoon?"
"Tell me what happened with them. Did you know who they were?"
"They have been in once or twice, have harassed my Cristina, but no, I do not know their names." Then she proceeded to tell him about the incident in the restaurant, with much embellishment of Maris's heroics when she broke the man's fingers.
Tom's heart choked him as she relayed that part of the story. That was such a Maris thing to do. Particularly if she knew these men had bothered Cristina before. She would always be one to stand up for the underdog.
"After they left, she did too," Señora Martinez finished.
Was it possible Maris had heard something to make her follow the men? But if she had, why wouldn't she have gotten him first?
Never mind. Stupid thought. Maris, being Maris, would have followed, then come to him later when she thought she had some real information. Damn her!
"Did you hear the men say anything to her? Anything that might have caused her to follow them when they left?" A sudden thought shot a new bolt of fear through him. "Or maybe she said something that might have caused them to waylay her as she left?"
"Oh, querida," her face grew solemn. "She shamed that man deeply. He started to attack her when Diego stopped him with the gun. It's possible they did wait for her to leave. Dios mio What did I do? I just wanted to spare poor Cristina, and I knew with her spunk that your Marisa could handle it."
Tom stood, trying to quell the panic that erupted inside him. Think. Think.
"I will get Diego and close the restaurante and we will all look for her. Do not worry, querida. We will find your amante." She rose from her desk and patted him gently on the back. "Do not worry."
