by Rachel Renee
I knock quietly in case Dom’s children are still in bed. Not a good idea to wake them. When no one answers, I knock a little bit louder. Still nothing. “Hello,” I call out as I try the knob. It’s locked. I’ve got a sinking feeling something is wrong.
Pulling the phone from my jacket, I hit the button to call Dom. It rings for an entire minute before his voicemail picks up. Do I break the door down? Should I worry something has happened to the man and his family? Or, could this be something else entirely?
“Buenos Dias,” a beautiful dark-haired woman calls out, walking in my direction. I greet her, sticking out my hand to shake hers. She eyes it and then looks up at me.
“I’m looking for Dom. Do you know, is he in?”
She looks down at my outstretched hand once more before answering. “No. He is at work.”
So he did leave without me. “Thank you.” I introduce myself, pulling back my hand since she has since refused to shake it.
“Nice to meet you.”
At least she responds. “Are you Natalia?”
“Si.” She lowers her glare.
I don’t know why she is so suspicious of me. “Well, I guess I’ll catch up with Dom at work.” I give her a smile, but she doesn’t reciprocate, only stares, boring a hole through my head.
After a moment, she nods her head, basically dismissing me. Giving a slight wave to exit, I maneuver past her and head back to the front of the building. Maybe Dom hasn’t told her about me yet. He probably tries to keep her in the dark about his work too. It’s safer that way, especially with children.
Before this moment, it hadn’t dawned on me. They are letting Dom reside with his wife and children while on a mission? It’s possible the agency isn’t aware, but does he not realize the danger he’s putting everyone in?
Hot air hits me in the face and my forehead begins perspiring immediately as I exit the apartments. I notice my new license plate right away and am thankful the boss came through so quickly. I wonder what type of truck they sent for Dom. When I arrive at the facility, I scan the lot, looking for something different than what I saw yesterday. There are many cars and trucks in the lot, some newer, others older, but I realize I haven’t been here long enough to know all the different vehicles yet. Any of these could be Dom’s. I park two spaces over from where I did yesterday, perusing the parking lot once more before leaving my own vehicle.
I keep an eye out for the guy I bumped into yesterday, but between the front door and my office space, he’s nowhere in sight. My door is open when I arrive even though I remember closing it before leaving last night.
“Buenos Dias,” a familiar voice calls out, causing me to turn back in the direction I came from. “There were some faxes for you. I put them inside,” Rosamaria says to me as she approaches. “Two more just came through.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you getting them to me promptly.” I grab the papers from her and she turns immediately and marches back toward the front.
Despite the intrusion, my office looks the way I left it. The only other evidence of a visitor are the few pieces of fax paper sitting on the desk. Dropping my bag to the floor, I take a seat and read over the papers. There’s an invoice for engine shipments, dated yesterday, the other is a confirmation of receipt for the same shipment. The papers that were handed to me are orders for engines from another plant in Florida. This isn’t my area, so I’m curious as to why the papers were given to me. I sit them on the desk and open up the laptop.
Before five minutes are up, the older gentleman who delivers the mail is standing in the door frame. I didn’t even hear the cart being pushed down the hallway despite the fact the door was left open. He waits until I summon him before he comes in the room.
“Posta,” he calls out again, two more manila envelopes in his hand.
I search the man’s chest for a name tag and when I don’t find one, I look to his weary eyes and ask, “Cuál es tu nombre?”
There’s a tiny glimmer of response in his eyes, the lids rising ever so slightly. “Me llamo Luis, Señor Sanchez.”
I stand, not only to grab the envelopes but to shake the man’s hand. “Encantado de conocerte.” I’m not sure if he’s happy to meet me or not as he stares at my hand, unmoving. Finally, he grasps it, tighter than what I would expect from his demeanor. He says he is happy to meet me as well, staring me straight in the eyes as he speaks.
When he lets go of my hand, he places the mail in it before turning and walking away. “Gracias, Luis,” I call out to him. His hand comes up to wave. There’s a little more vigor in his step as he leaves the office.
The cart wheels squeak as Luis moves on to the next office. Going back to my seat, I catch a glimpse at the name on the envelope. It’s not mine, or the last guy who held this post. I begin to stand, to take the envelope back to Luis, but then I think, maybe I’m supposed to see what’s inside.
Slowly, I open the package, inspecting what’s in it before I’ve pulled it all the way out. It’s a plan for an engine. Red pen has marked out certain parts, commanding they not be included in the production of the product. Seems weird they would not want the crankshaft built into the car engine they’d be receiving. Does this company manufacture their own crankshafts? I type the company name in the search engine on my Mac. Nowhere on the site indicates they do their own manufacturing of engines or engine parts at their facility. The only task they seem to do is take the engine and put them in the vehicles themselves.
What would make a company sell a half-built engine to another company? They are using the engine for something else. Exporting drugs. That’s what I witnessed last night.
The second page of the document includes the requested number of items to be built and the number is quite surprising considering the fee for an incomplete product, which is also typed out in the invoice. The signature at the bottom is large but illegible. I snap a picture of the documents before replacing it in the envelope. I try to make it look as though it was never opened, which is easy since it was only shut with the brad.
The squeak of the cart down the hall indicates Luis hasn’t made it very far. I rush to get to him although I’m not sure why since he doesn’t move that fast.
“Luis. Estos no son para mi.”
He swings around very quickly, which causes me to halt in my tracks. “Si, son tuyos.”
“No…” I point to the name on the envelope and the man’s eyes widen. The calm façade makes way for something very different.
His legs move quickly now, his right hand pushes the envelope into my chest, and the muscles in his jaw tighten. He points to the name and then jabs me in the chest with the same finger. His eyes are open wide, his head nodding up and down as he points back and forth one more time. “Son tuyos,” he states again through clenched teeth.
I get the picture. These papers are for me. But who wanted to make sure I got them?
I force a smile for Luis, now moving my head in the same direction he is. He turns slowly, limping back to his cart. I’ll keep the envelope despite not knowing exactly how this fits into my mission yet. Scratching my head as I walk back into my office, I realize Luis is not as frail as he seems to be and definitely knows more than his position would require. Now, I’m wondering who in the world he’s truly working for.
8
THE REST of the day goes without incident. It seems like a regular nine-to-five when I leave. I tried all day to get in touch with Dom, but he never responded. I don’t know if I should be worried for him, or for myself.
Upon reaching the parking lot, I notice a beat-up old truck parked in front of the one I’m driving. I’ve not logged it before, but the man waving frantically from the driver’s side I’m happy to see. He’s not smiling, but his look doesn’t scream dread either.
“I’ve tried to get in touch with you all day.”
“Something came up this morning. Did Luis give you the package?”
“The pack…Oh, wait, that was from you?”
“The
cartel plans for the engines.” His head is bobbing up and down.
“I was uncertain how they ended up in my hands. Thanks.”
“I intercepted them this morning. I’ll make sure all future packages from that sender end up in your mail delivery.”
The package didn’t have the name of the sender, other than the company requesting the specialty car part. “Do you know who heads that up? Will I be able to find the contact if I research the company?”
His head continues in the same direction. “I’ve got to get out of here.” His eyes scan the lot. There are no goodbyes and if I hadn’t been watching where Dom’s tires were pointed, I may have gotten my toes run over.
Without checking out my surroundings, I get in the car and turn it on before allowing myself a glance in the direction Dom had looked before he hightailed it out of here. Multiple people are getting in their vehicles or driving off the lot. It could have been any number of them that set him off and I’d be none the wiser. But, I notice him. Mr. Mustache is lingering outside of a silver Nissan Sentra, taking a drag off of a cigarette and leering in my direction.
Even though I’m pretty sure we made eye contact, I make no move to acknowledge him. I pull my sunglasses from the visor and slip them over my eyes, looking out in front of me instead of where the man is standing. I can still see him in my peripheral, staring and puffing, puffing and staring. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, even when I drive past him and out of the parking lot. I watch as he flicks his cigarette to the pavement, and the last thing I see is his hand on the door handle as I drive out of view of him.
My eyes glance up at the rearview mirror every so often on my drive to the apartment. I never see Mustache, but I feel his presence. Or someone’s presence. It takes a lot of energy to constantly be on guard. Through the years, I’ve built endurance, but it doesn’t mean I don’t tire of the consistency of never being able to shut off completely.
The apartment is quiet when I enter. In fact, the entirety of the building was silent when I came through. There were only a few cars in the lot, so maybe everyone is still at work or out to dinner. Speaking of which, I’m starved. Skipping lunch wasn’t the best idea, but I was in the middle of something I didn’t want to step away from.
As I scour the cabinets for something to eat, I spot a pile of carryout menus I hadn’t noticed before. Seems like the perfect time to try out a local restaurant without having to leave the apartment again this evening. I’ve been in Mexico for a few days now and I feel like I need to eat from the Chihuahua fare to get myself acquainted. I find a menu that includes tacos and ordered five, one of each of the different meats they carried…Barbacoa, shrimp, chicken, sirloin, and beef. Adding on some guacamole and chips, and I was pleasantly surprised at the total price for the amount of food I ordered. It would be at least twice as much at home, and this even included the delivery fee.
I dial my wife as I wait for my dinner. She answers on the first ring, which never happens.
“It’s like you knew I was thinking of you.”
“Aren’t you always thinking about me?” I tease.
“Most of the time, but not when I’m in the middle of a case. You’re there, but so are lots of other thoughts.”
“I get that. You have any leads?”
“We do. A pretty solid one. I want to bring him in but Jones is telling me to wait him out. Thinks we’ll get a confession if we get the accomplice to turn on him. I say he gets away if we wait much longer. All it takes is for someone to mess up and allow the suspect we have in custody to contact our real killer and give him the heads up we’re on to him.”
“You think that’s a genuine possibility?”
We continue the conversation for twenty minutes and I have to set the phone down when I answer the door and am surprised by my delivery person.
“Hey, man. Good to see you again.”
My neighbor, Miguel, smiles and hands me the bag of food.
“You made some good choices.” He tilts his head toward my bag. “You’ll have to let me know what you think.”
“I will. Looking forward to trying some of the local food.”
“You from Mexico?” he asks, but it’s apparent he already knows the answer.
“No. Just here for work. New job at the car factory.”
“You building parts?”
“Something like that.”
He shrugs his shoulders at my non-answer. “You got any tequila?”
I’m not sure why he’s asking, but I give him an answer. “Nah, man. I wish. Would go great with dinner.”
“That’s what I was suggesting.”
“Next time. I’ve got a few more items to pick up at the store.”
He nods at me and with a quick goodbye, he’s out the door. I’m hopeful Eliza hasn’t hung up on me. I wasn’t expecting to have a conversation with the delivery guy.
“You can tell a random stranger what you’re doing but you can’t tell me?” she blurts the moment she hears my breath against the receiver. I feel like she’s teasing, but there was a sharp bite with her last word.
“I have to make myself approachable. I need to fit in.”
“So…you’re working at an automotive plant? Which one?” I hear the distinctive sounds of typing on the keyboard. I’m not worried Eliza will give me away or tell anyone my whereabouts. I only worry for her safety. If I were to get found out, she could be in jeopardy and the less she knows, the better. I don’t see any harm in her knowing the name of the facility I’m working in so I tell her.
“It’s huge.” I don’t know why the words that’s what she said come to mind, but I don’t want to possibly spoil the mood with my silly antidote, so I keep it to myself.
“It is. I’ve been trying to figure out my way around. I’m not actually in the plant though. I’ve got a cushy office spot.”
She laughs. “Makes your job seem normal.”
“It is normal.”
“To you.”
We banter back and forth for a while, enjoying each other’s company, even if it is only via voices across the line. As I begin unwrapping my tacos, there’s another rap at the door. I’m not sure who it is so I peer out the peephole. “Hold on just a second,” I speak into the phone.
“I got to go anyway,” she tells me. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” I’m pressing end, placing my personal phone in my pocket since I don’t have time to put it in its secure spot, and I open the door to Selena, Miguel’s cousin I met the other morning.
“Hola,” her sweet voice calls out. I cringe a tad, glad I turned the phone off before the woman’s voice hit Eliza’s ears. Not that she’s the jealous type, but I don’t want to give her any other reason to worry. “Miguel said you needed this.” She pulls a rather large bottle of Jose Cuervo from behind her back.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes. “I don’t think I need anything that big.”
“Well, we can have a glass and I can take the rest back to the apartment.” She pushes past me, heading straight for the kitchen. I shut the door and follow her. She’s grabbed two glasses from the cabinet before I can get to her.
“Mind if I stay for a bit?”
The woman has certainly taken me by surprise. Her confidence is a little alarming, coming in here the way she is and taking charge before I’ve even responded. She’s pouring the first glass before I answer. “Well…”
“Why haven’t you eaten yet?” She raises her brows in question.
“I was on the phone.”
“You should eat. It’s much better when it’s hot.” Selena pours herself a hefty glass of tequila and shoos me toward my carryout with her other hand.
I guess I’ve got a guest for dinner.
I settle down at the dining room table and finish unwrapping my tacos. With as hungry as I am, I practically eat the first one in a bite.
“Did you even taste it?” Selena laughs as she sits down in the seat across from me.
I laugh once more. “
No, not really.”
“Isn’t the point of food, to enjoy it?”
“I mean, the point of food is to keep us alive. Enjoying it is just a bonus.”
She stares at me with squinted lids. “I thought we could be friends, but now I’m not so sure.” She takes a swig from her glass, causing her face to contort. “I always forget how much it burns.” She coughs.
“Especially if you drink it like that.” I take a sip from my own glass to wash down the barbacoa.
“It’s been a while. Also been a long day.”
“Tell me about it.” I was trying to relate, not actually wanting her to tell me about her day, but her southern drawl goes into a tangent about how her parents dragged her to all these different places, not once stopping to ask what she wanted to do. They finally decided to drop her off at Miguel’s, but he wasn’t home so she had to try to keep herself occupied until he could get off work.
“It’s hard finding stuff to do when you aren’t familiar with a place. You know?”
Don’t I ever. I keep that to myself, though, as I’m sure it was rhetorical.
“Miguel called and said the new neighbor needed tequila, so here I am.”
“Here you are.” I lift my glass and tilt it toward her. She clinks hers against mine and we both take a swig.
“Does it ever get any easier?”
“What?”
“Drinking this stuff.”
Her face scrunches up again and I smile. “You could mix it with something. Tequila is more of a mixer or great for shots. Unless it’s something you’re used to. The way we’re drinking it, you may never get used to it.”
Her nostrils flare as she stares down into the lightly golden liquid. She rises from the chair suddenly. I’m not sure what she’s doing until she opens the refrigerator. “Got any orange juice?”
“Help yourself,” I tell her. She’s apparently going to anyway.