by Rachel Renee
“There’s a shipment set to leave tomorrow. Headed for the States. Tonight, they will load the trucks. Might want to spend a little time at the warehouse.” He spouts it all out when the front tires hit the main road.
“I appreciate the intel. Should we head that way now?” I’d prefer to wait until it’s easier to hide in the shadows, but I’m not sure how quickly this is going down.
“Just drive. We’ll come back after dark.”
“Good thinking.” I give Dom a slight smile. I’m not sure I want him coming back with me.
“I want to talk to you about something.” I go into the day I had, telling him about my run-in with the man in the stairwell, hoping he knows him or can keep an eye out for him. By the time I’ve finished the tale, we’re pulling into our apartments. “Also, I’m going to make sure you get a new truck. I know it wasn’t in the original plan, but it might be a good idea for us to at least separate ourselves at the factory.”
“Me getting something new won’t make sense. My job at the factory doesn’t pay much.” He wags his brows. “No one knows about the other.”
“We’ll find something similar to what you had before.”
Dom lets out a deep breath. “I think you’re right. Our association is only going to make things worse for my family. I won’t let anything happen to my girls.”
“If I can help it, I won’t either.” I reach my hand out and pat Dom on his back. “It’s also why I’m planning to go to the factory alone tonight. I may need your help with the exact location the product is moving from.”
“Pero…”
“No buts. I appreciate you telling me what’s going down. And, if it’s okay by you, I’d rather keep you out of the line of fire as much as possible.”
He nods his head. “I’ll come up after dinner.”
“See you then.”
We part ways after entering the building. A quick wave of sadness flows through me as I walk into the apartment and don’t have any cats to trip me up. The boys are like my kids, happy to see me after a long day’s work. You don’t realize those things you take for granted until they’re not there. It’s only been a couple of days, but it already feels like a lifetime.
I call Eliza while I throw together some dinner. She doesn’t answer, but as I’m clearing my plate, the phone buzzes beside me with a number I recognize lighting up the screen.
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
“You’ve only been gone two days.”
“An extremely long two days,” I add.
“Tell me about it. This case is getting the best of me. Can you tell me about what you’re doing?”
“Not really.” She sighs. “You know I would if I could.”
She doesn’t even bother to argue. “The boys were going nuts when I got home. They miss you already, too.”
It takes me back to my earlier thoughts, but now I smile. Feels good to be missed. Eliza and I make idle chitchat for a few more minutes before saying “I love you” to each other. I finish cleaning up my dinner mess and change out of my work clothes into something that won’t make me stand out amongst the crowd.
I pull out the file I brought home with me and read through it once more while waiting for Dom to arrive. The last engineer was quite a bit older than me. He’d been at this factory since its opening. I look at the white hair upon his head, the thick glasses, and the flat effect of his face. I bet it was quite the undertaking, starting up, maintaining the equipment, and updating his machines all these years. I was only there a few hours and was having to solve a problem. He had no idea what was happening in his factories, on his floor, until it was too late. Stumbling upon the cartel never turns out well for anyone. If only he had told someone what he knew. Or, more than likely, he did. Which is why he was killed.
“Who did you tell?” I ask the picture. If only it were that easy.
I send an email to Thompson, requesting the funds or the delivery of something for Dom to drive. I remind him we don’t need anything fancy, just something for him and his family to get around in. With any luck, we’ll have what we need in a day or so. I can’t imagine it would be hard to come up with a beat-up old pickup around here.
It’s going on nine o’clock when there is finally a knock on the door. Dom thrusts a large piece of drawing paper in my direction. “I drew you a map. Easier for you to see than for me to tell.”
“Gracias. This is great!” This guy loves his maps. And I’m not complaining.
“This is where I would park if I were coming with you. It is off the property and far enough away that you won’t get noticed walking up.” He’s pointing to a neighborhood a little past the facility itself.
I want to ask him how he knows this but I refrain. He’s been here a while and had probably completed this exact mission himself. “Is this where they load the trucks?” I point to a spot with a small red x on it.
“Yes. I would go around this side of the building. You will be able to see what is happening but they won’t see you.”
I nod in understanding.
“There are no cameras over here either. No chance of getting caught by security.”
“You have quite a bit of knowledge of the facility and the area. I’m glad they teamed me up with you.”
“You have no idea.”
I bet I don’t. That’s not what I respond with even though I want to. “Thanks for the map and the info. Anything else I should know?”
“Make sure you don’t go past this spot.” He points to the area he wants me to park. “Another cartel is known to have men over that way and the Federales are constantly keeping watch.”
“Got it. I better get going. I don’t want to miss any action.”
“Cuidate.”
“I’ll try my best.”
The two of us exit the apartment together. I leave him on the first floor and head out into the night on my own. Studying the makeshift map carefully against the full map of the city, I have a good idea where I’m headed, so I put the maps in the glove box and the truck in drive.
The night is dark, and the area I’m traversing through, even darker. No street lights, the homes are dimly lit, a porch light few and far between. Once I locate the street I’m to park on, I try to be inconspicuous exiting the truck. The guns are tucked, one hiding in the interior pocket of the black jacket and the other under the seam of my jeans’ leg. I’m thankful for the lack of light while I slither through the neighborhood, hopefully undetected. I see a curtain swinging in the window of the last house on the left, but no shadows lurking behind it. I’m slow to walk past it, taking time to make sure no one sneaks in my direction.
Just beyond the final home, the massive warehouse sits in the near distance. I jog lightly to get to the side of the building Dom alerted me to, and out of the open field. The message I sent to Thompson before I left indicated I was going out alone tonight, and gave the coordinates of the facility but not much more. I wanted him to know where I went if I disappeared, but not what I was doing.
The concrete structure is tall, at least twenty feet above me, and the side I’m on, windowless for the most part. The grass is overgrown, and out of place in the desert area, and I’m a little nervous about what may be slinking through it with me. Bit by a snake or stung by a scorpion are not high on my list of things I want to accomplish this evening. I’m careful in my steps, using my ears to listen to all the sounds of the night.
By the time I’ve traversed the length of the building, I can hear voices yelling out orders. The night binoculars are removed from my neck, the last of it getting stuck in the back collar of my jacket. I yank, removing the tag of the coat along with the cord. I place the little paper in my pocket before getting down on my knees to observe the work being done.
Nothing seems awry as my eyes scan the horizon. Men are loading the trucks, and other men are barking at them to move quicker. From the size of the boxes, it looks as if the part being packed for distribution is the facility’s engine. The high
est-grossing export at this warehouse. I zoom in on one of the forklifts carrying a package to its destination. The side of the crate reads the numbers of the product. I close my eyes as I think back to the document with the product listings and recall the numbers indicating the engines. Having a photographic memory comes in handy in times like these. The number indicates V8 engines. I wonder if that’s truly what’s in them?
I drop the binoculars and listen for a while. Sitting my back against the wall, my left ear is poised in the direction of the voices. I can’t hear most of what is being said, except for the occasional command from a man with a clipboard. I need to get closer. None of this seems suspicious. Could Dom have been wrong about his intel?
I move the gun from the front of my jacket to the back of my waistband, sling the binoculars back over my head once more, and lay down on the ground. My heart rate kicks up as I portray one of the possible creatures lurking in the grass with me. It’s been a while since I’ve army crawled, my elbows cursing me as I negotiate this uneven, rough terrain to get within one hundred yards of the nearest truck.
The voices are louder here, almost as if one of them is right above me. I’m still buried in the dried grasses at the moment, but with the floodlights beaming into the lot, it’s possible I could be spotted if someone were looking hard enough. I stay still, steadying my breathing as much as possible.
“Send truck one,” I hear a voice yell out before the clanging of truck doors commences.
“Truck two is ready to be loaded,” the same voice calls out, even closer than before.
It’s difficult for me to see from this vantage point, the grass almost completely blocking my vision. I chance lifting my head, realizing I could almost sit and still be encased in the overgrowth. That’s what I decide to do. Now I can see directly underneath the truck I’m closest to. I part the grass straight in front of me, clearing my view even more. The men are moving at a slow pace. No one seems to be overzealous about getting the product moved quickly.
From the loading dock, I can see more crates being loaded onto lifts that are beginning to carry them to the second semi. There is a man in a suit standing on the edge of the dock, stamping each box before it officially leaves the building. I lower my eyes, zeroing in on his face to ascertain if he’s anyone from my files. He’s not someone I’ve seen before, which disappoints me.
The numbers on the crates match those I saw loaded into the first vehicle. Maybe I’m never going to see what is in those packages and this was just for me to know how the drugs are being shipped? If that’s the case, why not simply tell me?
After ten minutes, the man with the stamp directs boxes toward me, well, the truck I’m behind. I discreetly pull at the grass that could impede my vision before slouching down a little lower. The crates are not put directly into the truck. Another man in a suit, this one appearing a little more disheveled than the previous, stops the first box, takes a crowbar and lifts the lid. I don’t see anything discerning this crate from any of the others, until the lid is tossed to the side. There is an extra symbol next to the product number on this box. I scan the rest of it to see if I notice it on the side as well—I do.
There’s something different about the newest packages exiting the building. I don’t recall there being any symbols on the products list, so this may be something the cartel is doing to distinguish the true engine from the doctored ones. I watch on as the man with the crowbar practically gets inside the crate. A large metal piece, a part of the engine, is removed and handed to another man in a mechanic jumpsuit. Something else metal is pulled from the box, but the man in the suit keeps this one for himself. He takes a screwdriver and removes a couple of screws, pocketing them before removing the thin layer on the top.
A large white package is separated from its metal covering. The suited man peels away one end, and thankfully, the one I can see the best. He sticks his pinkie finger in and scoops out the substance coating the outer layer. He rubs the powder over his teeth and the inside of his lower lip before shutting his eyes. His mouth slowly moves outward, a rewarding smile appearing on his face. His eyes reopen. He nods his head toward the man with the mechanic garb on before refastening the package and replacing it within the car part hiding spot.
The man in the suit hops down from the forklift, telling the others to begin loading the truck, his grin never leaving. That is until he looks out into the night. I see his eyes widen, his lips slowly moving back into place when our eyes meet. Or at least mine meet his. From the startled expression he’s giving, I think I’ve been spotted. I don’t move, not a muscle, and I won’t until I know for sure he’s seen me. He takes two steps forward, his eyes squinting to get a better look, and he shakes his head from left to right as if he’s just realized his eyes must be playing tricks on him. A crate comes between us, and the last thing I saw was the corner of his mouth tilting up before I heard his voice bellow, echoing through the night.
7
I DIDN’T WASTE any time. I crawled back through the tall, wheaten grass and was behind the building before his voice was completely choked out. I think he told someone to survey the area, but the noise of the truck blocked most of his words. Racing through the neighborhood takes only moments. At this point, if anyone saw me from a window, I’d look like a blur as I whizzed by.
The truck roars to life, which certainly woke someone in the house closest to it. A light flicks on, a curtain slides open. If they were smart, they would have kept the light off to see better into the night. I take the opportunity of their momentary eye adjustment to speed through the neighborhood and back toward the city center.
My heart has finally slowed by the time I reach the apartment. How that man spotted me baffles. It was so dark. Maybe I imagined the whole thing? My Spanish is not up to par, and he could have been looking at anything in the distance. Although, if I were him, I’d be hyper-aware of my surroundings too. I mean, I thought I was.
I send a message to Thompson as I’m locking up the apartment for the night, and ask him to not only get that truck for Dom, but to finagle a new license plate for me, just in case.
My mind is racing too fast to think about sleep, even though I need to get some. I rummage through the cabinets in search of some alcohol. Sadly, that is one thing this place was not stocked with. I’ll have to make sure to pick something up on my way home tomorrow. I grab a bag of potato chips and a soda from the refrigerator and then walk back toward the living room area to maybe watch some television.
I stop dead in my tracks at the whisper I hear outside the apartment door. At the knock, I jump. What is my problem? As quietly as I can, I put the snack on the end table and creep over to the door. I bend down so my eye can look through the peephole. Dom is smiling from the other side, two beers held in the air.
“Cervezas,” comes out almost inaudibly as I open the door.
Dom rushes in and I close the door as quietly as I opened it. He hands one of the beers to me. “How’d you know I needed this?” And how’d you know I was home?
“Intuicion.” His grin widens.
“I appreciate it.” I take a long draw of the golden liquid inside, not recognizing the taste. “This is pretty good.” I turn the bottle out to take a look at the label. Estrella Jalisco.
“It’s not so strong, but it is what we had.”
“I’ve never heard of it. It’s smooth.” I take another big swig, downing most of the bottle in the two drinks.
Dom’s head tilts back faintly before he speaks. “You see anything?”
I like Dom, I do, but I’d rather not give him everything. Don’t trust anyone. “I don’t know what I saw. Too dark and I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were saying.”
“Those did not help?” His large hand reaches out, pointing to the binoculars I threw on the couch when I came in.
“Not really. I mean, they did a little. Those big trucks kept getting in the way.” Not a total lie. Got to give him something.
“Maybe next time.
I’ll keep my ear to the ground on more shipments.”
I want to see what kind of information Dom is willing to give me so I ask him about the numbers I saw on the crates. He doesn’t hesitate to share. “Engines,” he answers.
“That’s what I thought. They were pretty big crates.”
“Were there engines in the crate or something else?” He winks.
I shrug my shoulders. Both.
Dom’s cheery demeanor falters. “Next time we need to get you closer.”
“I agree. Maybe if I could get into the factory beforehand, I could scope out a spot there.”
Dom’s eyes light up once more. “I think I know a way. I’ll keep you apprised of future shipments.” He doesn’t finish his beer and is reaching for the door before I can respond.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell him.
After the door is shut and locked behind him, my mind drifts back to Dom’s exit. For the broken English he speaks, his last few words were quite American and discernable.
Don’t trust anyone, is ingrained in my head, playing on repeat.
I TOSS and turn all night and wake before the alarm goes off, getting some sit-ups and pushups in to get my heart rate up and keep my physical shape in check. A cool shower does wonders and helps wake me even more, along with a couple of cups of coffee before it’s time to leave for the day. It’s been such a short amount of time, but I’ve already got plenty to think about and sort through.
Dom seems to be forthcoming with information and eager to help. He’s not entirely honest despite that. The factory has a connection with the cartel. Men who work in the offices have information and a link as well. The man whose place I’ve taken, disappeared. I suspect he’s connected somehow. What is my way in? Who is my way in?
By 8:30 a.m., Dom has still not arrived at my door. Maybe he got his own truck and went to work without me? One would think he’d have alerted me to this. I send him a message. When he doesn’t answer in fifteen minutes, I gather my things and head out the door. I’ll stop by his apartment and see what’s keeping him.