by Rachel Renee
By the time I’ve gotten through the file, I’m ready for bed. I’m also hungry, but tired eyes and the nagging headache in them allows sleep to win out. I don’t even remember falling asleep but the sound of my phone ringing wakes me up. Eliza’s number appears on the lit screen, even brighter in the pitch-black room, with weary eyes at half-mast.
“Hello,” I answer groggily.
“I’m sorry to wake you. I was just getting home and wanted to hear your voice.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Missing you is all.”
“I miss you too.”
The conversation goes on like this for a few minutes before the line goes silent and I think she may have hung up. Suddenly, I hear her start to say something else, but the words sputter before there’s a hitch in her voice like she’s thought better of it.
“You want to talk about something?”
“No, no. It’s just… It was a hard day. A, uh, a child was involved.”
“Tell me about it. It’ll help you feel better.”
“No, I can’t. It’s too fresh. I’m too raw.”
Being a homicide detective is never easy, but it’s especially difficult for Eliza when she comes across cases like this. “You know who did it?”
“Not yet.” She gives me some very basic details, but nothing that would make her relive the scene she encountered today. She sniffles over the line, her emotions apparent even from this far away.
“I’m sorry you had to be involved in that.”
“It’s my job, you know. Just unpleasant and especially hard right now.”
“Right now?” I question.
“With you gone.”
With me gone. I have a fleeting thought it’s something more. “Was Coop involved with the scene?”
“I sent him home immediately. First one back since Willow was born. I couldn’t believe it. And, he couldn’t do it.”
The two of us converse a little longer and she’s ready to get off the phone. I can tell the case is hitting her hard. Maybe it’s because it involved a child, or possibly it’s the fact her best friend recently had a baby. Deep down, I worry it’s her desire to have a child of our own and her fear of what that means for her, for us, to bring a baby into this world.
By the time we’ve hung up, I’m still mercifully tired, enough to try to go back to sleep—lying here, thinking of Eliza and what a child would mean. I’d never let it out of my sight. I’d have to take a desk job, or only take small assignments that kept me away for very short periods of time. Would Eliza keep working? Yeah, I don’t think having a kid would keep her from doing the thing she pledged to do. She may want to slow down though. Hand over the reins of her lead detective position.
Morning comes and the sun is shining brightly through the crack in the curtain. I’m thankful for the alarm I set because my thoughts kept me up for a lot longer than I imagined they would.
Today, I plot to get to work on the blueprint for the engine design the cartel is asking for. The more I implant myself in their world, the closer I am to getting my intel and getting out of here, back home to Savannah, Georgia.
I stop down at Dom’s door on my way out of the building. He doesn’t answer. I didn’t actually expect he would. His truck is still missing from the lot, so I try his phone. There’s an inkling of worry and frustration lingering in my mind when he doesn’t answer. So many lies to untangle and he’s the one who can help unravel it all. But, this isn’t the first time he’s disappeared, so I’m hopeful he’ll turn up. I should add the word alive…I’m hopeful he will turn up alive.
I notice Thiago standing by the front door, a cigarette hanging between two fingers. It’s almost as though he’s waiting for me. Upon approaching, he drops the half-smoked cigarette and snuffs it out with his overpriced work boots. “I need you to work quickly on the project we told you about. I expect to have the design by the end of the week and the start of manufacturing soon after.”
“You got it, boss.”
Mustache snarls his nose up at me. “That’s right. You better remember who you’re working for.”
I know exactly who I’m working for, do you? Leaving it alone, I wave to the man before entering the building. I was so distracted by Thiago I forgot to scan the parking area for Dom’s truck. He could be in the plant working already, so I head in that direction.
“Puedo dirigirte a alguna parte?” A man asks at my advance to the double doors leading to the factory.
“I need to look at the engines,” I answer in Spanish. “Can you direct me to that area?”
“Do you have permission?”
“I’m the one in charge of designing a new line. I need to see what I’m working with.” Fingers crossed my Spanish is coming off like I know what I’m talking about.
The slender man pulls his clipboard from behind his back and starts scanning the pages. “May I see your identification?”
I pull my wallet from my interior jacket pocket and produce my ID. He looks it over, scans the paper one more time, his finger leading the way, and then hands me back the photo card of myself. “You need a hard hat and goggles.” He directs me in English now. Must have picked up my nationality from my license. Or, my Spanish was so bad he decided English was preferable.
The man’s skinny frame moves in front of me, opening the door and pointing to the items he commanded I have. “Gracias,” I tell him, trying the language once more. He replies with, “You’re welcome,” instead of “De nada,” so that has to say something of my accent.
After placing the items on my face and head, I walk the rest of the way down the hall toward the loud noises of machines clanging and men yelling coming from a second set of doors. No one says anything as I walk by. They don’t stop what they’re doing or try to kick me out of the large concrete room.
There are so many machines moving, men driving lifts, and boxes stacked a hundred feet in the air on metal shelving, that I’m not even sure where to begin. I keep an eye out for Dom, for Thiago, or the crates I saw on my stakeout. I go down aisles, dodge machines driven by men, sideswipe machines that have conveyers dropping items into containers or delivering them to yet another machine and conveyer system. It feels like it takes me an hour to get to something useful.
The same stamp I saw on the boxes during my stakeout is placed among a row of similar crates. Some lying open, empty. Others, sealed shut and needing a crowbar to pry the lid. Luckily for me, a lever device is hanging from a hook on the metal shelf behind some of the containers. My height and reach allow me to obtain it easily. There must be something in the crates or they wouldn’t be sealed.
I look around to see if I’m being watched before shoving one end under the wooden lid and pressing with my weight on the other to get the crate to pop open. After placing them both on the floor, I notice some packaging material that also needs to be removed before I can examine the contents. I remove it piece by piece so as not to accidentally pull something out I might need. It’s nearly uncovered when I feel something jab into my spine. “What are you up to?”
Even over the noise, I know who it is. “Trying to see what I’m working with. The built engine is better than the drawing. If I can use what we already have, it will make both of our jobs easier.”
The pointy metal object sticking me in the back is removed and Thiago walks around so he’s nose to nose with me. “You should have said so.”
“I just did.” It comes out before I can hold my tongue.
“Don’t get smart with me.” He gives me a slight push, turning toward the product.
It’s starting to bother me that this punk thinks he’s superior in some way. With the cartel, maybe, in real life, no. I can take a lot, but at some point, I’ll reach the brink of frustration and I can guess it’s going to be with this man. “I apologize. I had the thought as I was walking to my office. It hadn’t crossed my mind when we spoke a bit ago.”
He glowers in my direction, and he’s grinding his teeth behind his
closed mouth. “These aren’t the ones you want to look at. Yeah, they’re the original engine, but the ones that are already partially doctored are back this way.” He points to a dark corner fifty yards from where we stand. “Follow me.”
I’m relieved to see more crates when we arrive, thankful this wasn’t a ploy to lure me in further and dispose of my body. Every box is sealed, another smaller mark denoting their difference from the others.
“Take a look.” He points to the first crate that appears to be a tad ajar already. “They aren’t filled yet. You can get a good picture of what the complication with this particular engine is.”
After popping the lid, I’m still not able to see all the way inside. The edge of the pallet is sticking out from underneath the package so I use it as a stool to get myself closer to the product. There’s a little bit of filler to keep the engine covered, but it’s easily removed and the top of the engine is completely visible.
Everything looks normal. The engine block is tucked securely in the crate with the V8 engine’s crankcase and the two sets of cylinder heads mounted to it. Eight pistons seem to be in place and the rods look to be right there too. I spot the intake manifold and…
“Come back here.” Thiago pulls my shirt to direct me behind the stacks of engine crates before I’m able to finish my perusal. One of the exact pieces I had been looking at is hanging from an engine hoist. I can get a much better look at what I’m dealing with.
From the blueprints, I recognize all the parts right away. Thiago uses a handle to shift the engine upside down, exposing the oil pan.
“That looks like steel but touch it, lift it,” Thiago tells me, his finger pointing to the oil pan he recently revealed.
I reach out for it, expecting it to be heavier than the paperweight it feels and it lifts with ease despite the fact it should be bolted down. The connection with the block is seamless, the faux bolts barely keeping it together. “How do you keep it from falling off?”
“Did you feel the slight tug?” Mustache grabs the pan from me, turning it over to expose the hollow inside. His finger flicks the two clips, small, but one on either side. “These do just fine.” He smiles faintly before turning away and replacing the piece.
“So, what’s the problem?” I ask dumbly. After lifting the pan off, I realize there’s plenty of room to easily store the drugs there as well as in the block itself.
“We want more space. See this…” He points to a few tight areas, places where the interior parts intrude into the bay. “We can’t fit the product in there without damage to the packaging. We want this area removed.” His hand flails around any spot that is not fully accessible.
“I’m not sure it’s possible if you want the engine to look consistent with the real deal.”
“Oh, it is possible if you know what you’re doing. Plus, you will make it work or there will be consequences.”
Consequences? Like death. Only, he shouldn’t count on me going down very easy.
13
SURPRISINGLY, I’m inspired by the challenge set forth and I immediately get to work revamping the design of the engine. The sooner I complete it, the faster I get in the cartel’s good graces. Assuming what I design gives them the capacity they need.
I’m thankful for the computer program, as my drawing skills aren’t up to par and my straight lines wouldn’t pass a sobriety test. The Research and Development department made sure I was set up on my laptop, assisting me with some of the ins and outs of the program and have answered a few questions here and there. I tried to keep them out of it because I should know what I’m doing, but they never examined me when I came to them with something, just happy to be of use.
The original design was supplied, which made switching back and forth, copying and pasting the areas that worked. Reconfiguring those that didn’t was as easy as the click of the mouse.
After some long days at the office last week, I arrived home to Selena and Miguel waiting for me with pizza on Monday and tacos on Tuesday. Once dinner was finished, we sat around the dining room table, talking and teasing each other like friends.
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a cool guy.”
“What do you mean? I am a cool guy,” I answered Miguel.
“Why do you only hang out with us? And, why don’t you ever go anywhere other than work?”
“Why don’t you?” This was Tuesday and the second night he ended up at my apartment.
He shrugged. “We should play a game or something. Spice up the evening.”
“Yeah,” Selena concurred. “What about Gin Rummy? Do you guys know that one? I’m tired of playing poker.”
Miguel and I answered simultaneously with a “yes.” I still didn’t have a deck of cards so Miguel went back to the apartment to get some. As soon as he shut the door, Selena looked at me, her lips drawn into her mouth and her eyes open wide.
“I still can’t believe I threw myself at you the first time we met. I’m sorry about that. I think it must have been the tequila. I…I’m not like… I just had to say sorry again. I keep thinking about it. How juvenile you must have found me. Maybe you still do.”
I shook my head no. She shrugged and resumed, “I can’t believe you’ve continued to hang out with me.”
I’d forgotten all about it. Now, I was surprised she’d even bring it up after all the times we’ve hung out since. I knew it was a mistake and she hadn’t said or done anything to lead me to believe anything other than she understood my position. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t beat yourself up over it. We all make mistakes. Besides, it’s way in the past. I don’t hold grudges that long.”
She smiled and so did I. Miguel walked back through the door before anything else could be said on the subject. The mood lightened up again as we dealt the cards. It was early in the morning before the two of them stumbled out of the apartment, not from drink but from lack of sleep. It was nice to have a couple of people to truly enjoy. Spending time with them has been a welcome reprieve.
It’s Wednesday before Dom resurfaces. I’m sitting in my office, continually trying to find ways to remove a piece and replace it with something thinner, and slightly lighter so the weight added by the drugs offsets the missing weight of the metal. There are areas I’m completely redesigning so a rectangular, plastic package can easily fit inside the grooves. When I think I’ve got the design that will work, I add in the dimensions of the cocaine packaging and weight to see if everything adds up to the original. I’ve not gotten it exact yet, but I’m so close.
When the knock comes at my door, it’s not an entire surprise who is on the other side. “Where the fuck have you been?” I don’t bother to look up when Dom enters as Rosamaria has phoned to alert me to who was coming to pay a visit.
“A visit to Natalia’s family. It was sudden. Obviously,” he adds.
I look up, staring into the dark-brown eyes of Dom, whose large body is hovering above the desk. “I know all about Natalia’s family.”
My brows rise, his head tilts forward, and his hand raises, skimming two fingers across his lips. He’s silencing me. I’m not shocked someone else may be listening. “How are they?”
Dom doesn’t skip a beat. “There was a problem with Papa. He needed a procedure, and no one else was available to take him.”
“Anything serious?” We keep the roundabout conversation up.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his neck. He mouths, I’ll come by the apartment tonight. “I wanted to let you know I was back and make sure you didn’t need anything.”
What would I need from Dom? “I’m good here, thanks.”
“Is your project coming along?”
“It is. Should be able to present it to the board very soon.”
“That’s very promising. I’m sure they will be pleased to hear it could be done early.”
“Maybe keep that to yourself in case something comes up?” Although, if someone is listening in, I just gave my
self away, but Dom nods in affirmation.
“I’ll be in touch.” It’s my turn to give him a gesture with my head.
I wonder how long the office has been bugged. It was secure in the beginning when I checked, but now…It would make sense with everyone seemingly having access to it, but I would’ve thought Dom might have mentioned it earlier than today if that were the case. Or, maybe Dom was wired? With any luck, I’ll find out later. I won’t hold my breath though, in case the man decides to disappear once more.
My computer screen fades from nonuse. My hand reaches out to bring it back to life when a reflection from something blinking behind me catches my eye. I don’t turn around right away but continue with my work on the computer. Why would Dom silence me with such an obvious gesture if he knew someone was watching? This whole place is so messed up. No wonder I was warned overtly to not trust anyone. Thankfully, I haven’t worked on anything pertaining to the mission here at the office. I had a feeling I was being watched, either through the computer or from somewhere within the office itself.
After a couple more hours, I’m positive I have what I need to show the cartel. I want an audience with whomever makes the decision on whether or not my design will work. That means I’m not going to turn it over today. If Dom shows up tonight, I know he’ll be able to make my request happen. He knows who I need to talk to, who is running this operation, and I’m disgusted with myself for not seeing that before. If it’s Natalia’s family, or someone else, he’s got an in I don’t have.
I get up from my desk and pace the office, putting my head in my hands a couple of times for good measure. I move things around the bookshelf and filing cabinet, trying to get a closer look at the red light I hadn’t noticed before today. It had to have been installed this morning, or overnight. I’d have spotted it sooner, I know I would’ve. Which now has me pondering the reason for the sudden surveillance.