The Engineer

by Rachel Renee

  “Won’t they chase us?”

  “If we are not who they are looking for, no.”

  I peer out of the back window as a bullet whizzes through, shattering glass behind me and then in front of me. “We might be who they’re looking for.”

  Dom can’t press down the gas any further, the Toyota going as fast as it possibly can, but we might not be a match for the speedy vehicle that has pulled out onto the desert road behind us. “Do you think we can lose them?”

  “Not on the open road,” he answers after cussing vehemently and punching the steering wheel.

  “Maybe we should stop?”

  I think he’s going to heed my advice when he turns left and the truck slows for a second, before his foot pushes the pedal down once more and my head is thrust against the seat. “We will die if we stop.”

  I’m confused as to why this is happening. Who are these armed men and why are they chasing us with guns blazing? “What aren’t you telling me? Why are they after us?”

  “Because we evaded their blockade.”

  “Why didn’t we stop then? Show them our papers?”

  “They would have shot us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We’ve crossed cartel territory. They will know we have evaded their checkpoints and will be wondering why.”

  “We could have made something up. Told them the same story as before only we needed the shortcut to get to your mother sooner.”

  “Only government comes from that airstrip.”

  “They don’t have to know we came from the airstrip.”

  “They would know. They know every plane that lands, how long it would take for a person to get to them. It was a routine flight today. They aren’t usually there. Somebody must have tipped them off that there was an extra passenger on the flight.”

  I turn my neck to get a better vantage point of the car that is quickly catching up to us. Another shot is fired, and the bullet goes through the same hole as before. I’m not sure what the likelihood of that happening is but something tells me that the man behind the gun is a pretty good shot if the target is a little more stable. Dom turns the wheel this way and that, swerving to miss boulders and huge divots in the dirt. The car stays on our tail, a bullet whizzing by my ear more times than I’d like to count. The back glass is completely shattered at this point, the front glass in even worse shape. I don’t know how Dom is seeing to drive, then again, there isn’t much on the road that we need to worry about hitting.

  “I think I’m going to heed your earlier advice. Brace yourself!”

  “My earlier advice…”

  Dom releases his foot from the gas, immediately placing it on the brake and stomping. I’m thrown forward, thankful for the seatbelt holding me in the truck and kind of thankful for the fact the windshield is mostly busted up already when my forehead smacks into it as the car in pursuit nails the rear of the truck, the momentum pushing me even further forward in my seat.

  The men in the car were ill-prepared for our sudden stop. The loud thud as one of them smashes into the back window alerts me to this fact. My head instinctively turns at the sound and I watch as his face, or what was once his face, slide down the broken glass, smearing blood as it goes. I reach up to my head, throbbing pain radiating down my face, and the warm liquid oozing from the top tells me how lucky I was to get just a gash on the brow. I look over to Dom whose own head is wobbling, a large goose egg forming right between his eyes. He must have hit the steering wheel in the collision.

  He mumbles something about the fact that he should have left the airbags intact as he rubs the aching spot on his head. I’m kind of in a daze as my driver unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door. He stumbles to get out, which causes me to unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the handle of my door. “Stay in the truck. Going to remove the guy from the back.”

  I’m not going to leave Dom to clean up the mess on his own. The door opens and I hop out, quite unsteady on my feet and losing vision in my right eye from the amount of blood dripping into it. I survey the damage of the truck and besides the broken glass, it doesn’t look too bad. Until I get to the rear, where the small car is tucked neatly underneath, the bumper lying torn from the truck on the windshield of the other vehicle. I notice the driver is still in the car. Well, partly. His front half is through the glass, his arms practically hugging the truck’s bumper. He’s still, more than likely just as dead as his counterpart.

  Even in his weakened state, Dom jumps easily over the side of the truck, hauls the man sprawled on the bed over the edge, and hops back out. “Get in,” he yells in my direction.

  An engine revving in the distance makes me hustle even faster. There may be others after us and we need to get out of here before they catch up. We may not be as lucky a second time. Dom speeds off before my right foot is in the truck, making it hard for me to shut the door, but I manage. “This has been an eventful beginning to my trip,” I tease, hoping to lighten up the mood.

  My hands are shaking as I look at the rubble that’s now in the far distance. That could have gone very differently for them and for us. I release the breath I’d been holding as I turn back around without spotting any other vehicles in pursuit. I’ve lost all sight in my right eye at the moment and have a lingering ache in my head, but I’m alive, and we seem to be out of trouble, at least for now.

  Humming from the seat next to me starts low and grows before I finally turn to look at the man. With a huge grin on his face, he lets loose the song and speaks. “Welcome to Mexico. I guarantee this will be the most exciting”—he releases both hands from the wheel and air quotes—"'trip’ you’ve ever been on.”

  4

  DOM ADJUSTED his original route and took us the long way around to the apartment. I made sure to mark the directions on the map as I’d much rather take my time getting around than have to engage with all the mess we dealt with earlier. Plus, the long way around included some scenery and no checkpoints. I questioned him as to why we didn’t just take the safe path in the first place and he told me it took too long. He was right. By the time we hit the city and parked the truck in front of the place I would be staying for the foreseeable future, it was pitch black outside.

  I was surprised by the darkness. No streetlights lit the way once we exited the main thoroughfare. “This is not the safest part of town, but you will be safe,” Dom told me as he hoisted my suitcase out of his truck bed. It was hard to make out anything, let alone see the face of the man standing so close to me, so I couldn’t see his expression as he spoke.

  “How far are you from here?”

  “No muy lejos,” he answers, and I barely make out his hand pointing toward the building in front of us. Dom shoulders me, pushing me and my belongings forward.

  “You live here too?”

  “Si.”

  My spirit dropped at the thought of a roommate. Not that I don’t like Dom, it’s that I wasn’t planning to live with anyone on this mission. The dim light at the entrance is bright enough for Dom to place a key in the metal door without fault. He hands two keys to me as we cross the threshold. The light inside is so vibrant I’m blinded in both eyes and struggle to grasp what is being given.

  “All the way up, last door on your left. You will find me down here, a little to the right.”

  Not a roommate, just close by. I feel the weight lift. “Thanks for getting me here.”

  “I notice you did not say safely.”

  I chuckle, and so does he. “A slip of the tongue. I’m alive. Can’t really ask for more than that.”

  “You can, but I can’t guarantee you’ll always receive it.” His broken English has grown on me over the few hours we’ve been together. A trip which should have taken thirty minutes or so, spread out much longer because of the detour we ended up taking. It had been worth it because now I can understand almost everything he says.

  We part ways. I climb the stairs slowly, trying not to let my heavy suitcase hit anything on the way up. It did
n’t seem this full when I left this morning, but it was a struggle to drag it up the forty steps to my floor. I was pleasantly surprised to see the expansive room, fully modernized, as I turned the knob of 310. The couch is large and u-shaped, a beautiful dark wood and metal coffee table with a matching end table and TV stand fitted with a forty-inch flat screen fill the living room. The open kitchen is covered in stainless steel and granite, white with dark specks ingrained. I drop my suitcase and my duffle right inside the door, turn the lock, and head straight for the bathroom that’s to the left of the kitchen’s half-wall.

  The shower is large, the showerhead round and likely big enough to douse my whole body at once with the spray. The water is adjusted to as hot as it can get it. I soak my blood-caked face in the spray, allowing the clotted substance to soften before I use my hands to wipe the rest of it away, freeing my right eye from its prison. Unfortunately, in my rush to clean up the wound on my brow, I reopen it, and new red liquid is spilling over. I stand in the water until it runs cold, releasing the tense muscles throughout my body and allowing the stinging of the injury to subside.

  After the excitement of the day, I’m exhausted, but I tend to my wound with the antibacterial spray I found in the cabinet. Then I send a message to Eliza through the encrypted server on my personal phone to let her know I’m safe in my new apartment. I even spend some time unpacking, hanging clothes in a small closet and placing others in a three-drawer dresser. By the time midnight rolls around, I’m spread across the queen-sized bed, my legs hanging over the side, but too tired to care they’re falling asleep before the rest of me.

  Hours later, incessant banging brings me to. I bolt upright, untangling myself from the thin sheet that had been covering my underwear-clad body. I got so hot at one point, I threw the comforter off the bed. As warm as I was, I needed the sheet to stay in place. The comfort of the small blanket gave me some inkling of security. The banging continues as I tumble from the bed, pull on the pair of shorts I’d stripped off before falling asleep, and saunter toward the front door.

  “I’m coming,” I yell out.

  I throw open the door, not completely coherent, as I am now realizing I’m unaware of the fact the person standing on the other side is not someone known to me.

  “Oh, um…where’s Miguel?” The woman’s dark eyes are wide as she stares at my bare chest, before looking up at the wound on my eye and scrunching her nose at the sight.

  “Sorry, there’s no Miguel here,” I answer, opening the door a little wider so she can see for herself.

  “This is his apartment. He told me to pick him up this morning. Gave me the address and…” The woman looks down at her phone, then back up at me, to the number on the door, and back down at her phone. Her small hand, nails long and polished bright pink, raise to cover her mouth.

  “I’m so sorry! I thought…his apartment is 301…this is 310.”

  I can tell this woman is out of place. Her accent tells me she’s from the south, but not this far south. Maybe Texas. “It’s fine. We all make mistakes.”

  “It’s just that…the banging…I woke you.” She looks up into my eyes, then allows her own to roam the rest of me. “I feel like an idiot.”

  I give her a huge grin. “Seriously. It’s okay. I needed to get up anyway. Maybe not so loudly”—I watch as she grimaces—"but I’m up now. You did me a favor. I may have slept all day and missed my first day of work.”

  She lets one side of her mouth turn up before she apologizes once more.

  “Selena. Cosa stai facendo?”

  The woman turns her head to the voice ringing out down the hall. I move forward, turning my head in the same direction. I’m going to guess Miguel is standing in the middle of the hallway, looking perplexed at the woman standing before me. Selena gazes back at me once more, giving a slight wave before responding. “I got the apartment number wrong. I guess I’m meeting your neighbor.”

  Miguel raises his brows, walking slowly in my direction. He’s a few inches shorter than me, actually, not much taller than the woman I now know as Selena. I watch him intently until he makes a move to shake my hand. His grip is firm, the muscles in his arm bulging as he grasps my hand. “I’ve not met the neighbor yet. As of yesterday, that apartment was empty.”

  I introduce myself to the couple, alerting them to the fact I’ve just moved in. After formal introductions, we part ways, Selena finding her cousin Miguel and me now knowing another person who lives in the apartment building. Miguel is from Chihuahua and as I suspected, Selena is from Austin, Texas. She’s visiting with her family, coming by to get her cousin for some sightseeing.

  The fully stocked kitchen is already coming in handy as I brew a small pot of coffee, needing to fully wake myself. I slept for nearly eight hours, but that doesn’t seem to have been enough. My head is pounding and even though I didn’t have a drop of liquor last night, I almost feel hungover. I look at myself in the stainless-steel refrigerator door. My eyebrow is swollen and my whole right eye almost looks like it’s bruised. I move in closer but it’s hard to tell the magnitude of the black eye when everything looks darker than normal. I reach my hand up to touch the wound and wince at the pain it causes. Guess I should have put some ice on it last night. The hot water pouring over it for a time surely didn’t help matters at all. Didn’t realize how hard I truly hit the windshield yesterday.

  After coffee and making myself presentable, I send a message down to Dom.

  He’s my ride to work and it’s about time I make an appearance. I’m intrigued by my new identity and ready to try it on for size. It’s always a challenge becoming a new person, each time the alternate identity seeping into the folds of the true one. Changing me, but not completely. I struggled for a while, trying to figure it out, and after more than a decade, I’ve finally realized it doesn’t matter who I become, what those identities instill in me. I’m Liam Cauley and at the end of the day, that’s who I’ll always be.

  The slight knock at the door lets me know my ride is here. At least I’m hoping it’s Dom this time and not another lost woman. “Hola!” he greets me as I open the door.

  “Buenos Dias,” I answer.

  “You look like you got into a fight last night.” He snickers and I crack a smile.

  “Something like that. Didn’t realize I hit my head so hard. Apparently, you didn’t fare well either.” I point to Dom’s forehead as he removes his hat to show me the lump the steering wheel gifted him with.

  “Mi esposa played doctor…it looked worse before.”

  My grin widens. “Maybe that’s why I look sorrier than you. Didn’t have anyone to patch me up.”

  “Should have made you come in to see my Natalia, she would have fixed you right up. Maybe even put a stitch in your eyebrow.” Dom pokes the cut. “Lo siento, amigo.” He flinches when I pull away. “It is healing. Will most likely leave a scar.”

  “Won’t be the first.”

  “Not the last, either.”

  I turn the lock on the door before pulling it closed behind me.

  “You look very professional for work,” Dom expresses as we make our way down the stairs.

  “Want to make a good first impression. The injury is going to throw people for a loop.”

  “What does that mean, ‘for a loop?’”

  I explain the saying to him and he agrees. “Engineers are well-respected here. They will wonder what has happened to their newest countryman after just losing their last.”

  “I was in a car accident, and that’s all they need to know.” A thought occurs to me. “We aren’t driving your truck to work today, are we?”

  “Would make your story more believable, no?” He laughs a big belly laugh and opens the front door for the both of us to walk through.

  “And more speculative, with the bullet holes and all.”

  “Si. But, no. We’ve got a new ride.” His right arm flails outward, showcasing the practically brand-new truck parked where we left the beat-up one last night.

/>   “Is that your wife’s vehicle?”

  “No, il mio capo.”

  His boss? Who else is he working for?

  5

  DOM THROWS the keys at me, ordering me to get in the driver’s seat. “Is your boss okay with me driving his new car?”

  “I don’t know, is he?” He wags his brows, awaiting my answer.

  “How should I…wait a minute. Are you telling me this is my truck? You’re working for me?”

  “Tombola!”

  “That’s news.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud but the shock let it slip.

  “Not technically working for you, but with you. This is not okay?”

  “Oh, it’s great. I just wasn’t aware.” And I shouldn’t be surprised as this is how the job works. Most of the time I’m last to know about advancements.

  We spend the twenty-minute drive consulting on our individual knowledge of the facility I’ll be working in. Dom has been an employee with the company for the last two years. He knows all the players, the ones in the game and even a few on the sidelines. He could be how the agency was aware of who’s who in the cartel we’re after. A few of the names he mentions are ones from my files.

  We don’t get the chance to discuss everyone fully before arriving at our destination, but we agree to continue the conversation on the way home. The two of us part ways. He works in the factory and after I’m badged in, I’ll be in the main office building. Dom and I won’t interact during the day and will do our best to keep our connection under wraps. Which could prove difficult if people witness us going in and out of the parking lot together. We will need to minimize that.

  The office building isn’t extremely tall, two floors, the façade similar to anything you would see in a United States city—concrete and glass. I press the buzzer to the right of the front door and the woman behind the intercom asks me my business. “Liam Sanchez, the new Mechanical Engineer from America.”

  “Señor Sanchez, bienvenidos.” The door buzzes and releases the lock for me to enter. There’s an older woman on the other side of the glass doors, her crooked teeth of no consequence to her as her lips are upturned and they’re displayed for everyone to see.