The Engineer

by Rachel Renee

  “You won’t find anything that pure on any store shelf.” The voice comes from behind me, booming out and echoing through the room.

  Dom motions for me to stay seated. I turn my head, shifting my shoulders so the bringer of the voice comes into view. I’m acquainted with his face through photos, but surprised by the small man approaching from the back of the room. The way his voice reverberated around the office, I imagined someone larger than even myself. As it stands, or he stands, there’s at least a foot plus some separating us.

  He catches me staring, aware he caught me off guard. His look is one of amusement but he doesn’t call me out. I break the ice, commenting on the beverage in my hand. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. The smell threw me off.”

  “Smell it again, now that you’ve had a taste.”

  I pull the drink up under my nose and take another whiff. The agave is overpowering, the sweet stench more apparent now than it was before. “It smells sweet now.”

  “You had to open up those taste buds. Taste it once more, feel how smooth each drink becomes as you sip the liquid.”

  Jose marches to his desk, grabbing his tequila and falling into his oversized leather desk chair. He throws back the liquid, pounding the glass down on the wood below when it’s empty.

  “It’s like no other I’ve tried. Dangerous. Where’d you learn to make tequila?”

  He smiles faintly before he answers. “It’s an old family tradition.” Jose’s inflection is reminiscent of someone from Spain, but if I’m not mistaken, Mexico is the birthplace of tequila, so I wonder what his particular history in the business is.

  I finish off my glass and before I know it, the old man is back with a new one. Jose tells me a little family history of the liquor but quickly turns the tables back to me. “The rest of that is a tale for another day. We’re here to talk about the engine you designed for my special project. You have something to show me. Let’s get to it.”

  “I do have a product I hope you’ll be proud of. What I don’t want to do is have my men produce something you won’t be satisfied with and won’t work for your plans. It was important for me to get your approval, in person, to speed up the process and get your product to you as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve never had someone so persistent to make an appointment with me for the approval of some pictures.”

  “They aren’t just pictures, Señor Sanchez.” I see the muscles in his jaw tighten, his left eye twitch. “They represent the creation I’ll provide for you. My company will manufacture in your name. There are no other engines in the market with these specifications. I’ve developed some ideas as to how we can assure your product is secure and won’t be under any scrutiny from the authorities during transportation.”

  “I’m ready to hear what you have to say. See what you’ve designed.”

  I pull the laptop from the satchel I carried it in, setting the bag back on the floor. The prints are opened with a click of the mouse. Standing, I walk to the desk and the man behind it, placing the open laptop directly in eye view for Sanchez.

  “The last engine my company manufactured didn’t have the ability to conceal the product you wish to transport inside at high quantities. You will see the areas that were troublesome no longer are.” I point to the screen, flip the engine design over with a finger swipe, and allow the underside to be exposed. “Also, here.” I scan the place where the base meets the upper deck. The piece that should be one, but no longer is. “Unless someone was physically trying to remove the engine or its components, they would never know it’s not welded together. This will make installing your packages easier and more efficient. Plus, if you look at this”—I flip the engine over once more—“I removed the molding in these areas to clear up the problem you were having with the packages being torn and product lost. I added the weight up here, to compensate, and hide the goods. The rest of the weight from the engine specs will be made up by your product. The policia will be none the wiser if any one engine is inspected. The thin metal sheaths I’ve designed will encapsulate the merchandise, keep it from moving, and also conceal it from possible x-ray in the process.”

  Removing my finger from the laptop, I allow the man to take over where I left off. He scans the engine, using the touchscreen to move the print around so he may see each and every area. I stand, breath held the entire time. Will he throw me off of the mission if he doesn’t like my design? Maybe he will allow me to adjust it and resubmit? Or, possibly, it’ll be my hand stabbed into the next engineer’s chair?

  Just when I think I might pass out from lack of oxygen, the man sits back in his seat, bringing his tequila along with him. Letting out the air I’d captured, I look at him before going back to the computer and shutting the lid.

  Putting the nerves aside, and with confidence exuding, I dare ask, “Are there any questions you have for me? Anything you have concerns about or want changed?”

  His glass is brought up, his mouth taking in the liquid in one quick drink. “You’ve thought of everything,” he answers once the cup is docked in place on the desk. “You seem well aware of what I’m doing, acquainted with my product, familiar with the engine and what is needed to keep it legitimate and unquestionable in the eyes of anyone wanting to inquire about the genuineness of my engine.”

  “That’s what I was going for.”

  “Why were you so adamant to show me this in person? Wanted to see the man who holds your life in his hands? I’m not very big, but my reach goes far. I will not be intimidated by anyone.”

  I’m not sure what caused his sudden change of demeanor, but I want to ease his mind. “I desired to make sure you saw each intricate detail. Had I not been here to show you, would you have noticed the seamless transition of the engine parts. Would you have noticed the details that still look the same but are nothing like the original?”

  Jose pulls his lower lip in, biting it on the corner. “I would have missed them. From the blueprints, most of the engine looks like it did previously. It would have caused me to question your integrity and ability had you sent this without explanation.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I had your best interests in mind when I designed this.”

  “Why? What do you have to gain by making sure I’m satisfied?”

  “Nothing to gain,” I answer. Just everything to lose.

  16

  I’M NOT sure why Dom is so unwavering in the fact that Jose is not the leader of the cartel. He seemed like a man who was in charge. He was well-guarded and a professional at commanding his people. If he’s not in charge and he can order others around the way he does, I can only imagine what the real leader is capable of. And, if he’s not the true head, where will I be able to find the one in charge?

  Before arriving back in Chihuahua, the documents are sent to the men in R&D back at the factory, who will carry out the orders. Now, it’s a waiting game, a fielding of questions game, as the engine is developed. I work on mundane tasks for the next few weeks, awaiting news that my engine is ready to be surveyed and processed for mass production. I’m getting antsy, not realizing it would take this long after the meeting with Jose to get the ball rolling. There have been no shipments going out during this time either, at least none I’ve been made aware of, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s been a halt in supply.

  Thiago has seemingly disappeared around work and at the apartment, which I find intriguing. Wonder where he’s gone off to. I also haven’t seen Selena in a few days. She and Miguel had been hanging out with me after work multiple nights a week. We’d play cards or go grab dinner. Selena even invited me to the bar a couple of times. We’d have a couple of drinks, she’d tell me about what had been going on at the apartment, which was really nothing interesting, and then we’d go home. The last time we went out, just the two of us, I asked her about the cameras we talked about installing.

  “I’ve got those things we talked about. We can install them whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’m
not really sure it’s the right time yet. I’ll let you know.”

  We were walking down the broken sidewalk on the not-so-good side of town and she looked over at me after she said it. She wanted to say more, I know she did, as her breath caught in her throat. I had smiled, trying to let her know it was okay to say whatever it was, but she barely turned her mouth up before looking back toward the sidewalk and silencing the conversation.

  She must be having second thoughts about what she wanted to do. I’ve been sitting on the supplies—the cameras she requested to set up in the apartment for observation—for a long time and since the first mention, that afternoon during lunch, she hasn’t said a word about them. I’ve been waiting for her go-ahead, but maybe I need to take matters into my own hands.

  After a couple of conversations last week, I realize she’s backing away from me concerning the cartel. She doesn’t want to talk about it at all. Any time I’ve brought it up, she has changed the subject. In some ways, I’m hoping her desire to free Miguel is dwindling, realizing he’s the only one who is capable of freeing himself from his work. Instead, she goes on and on about losing her internship and about all the hard work she’s put into her degree and future. The past week or so, she started mentioning going home. She’s missing her work and her patients. She said the strangest thing before she left my apartment a few days ago. The last thing she mentioned before I lost track of her.

  Miguel and she came down for dinner, bringing food from the taco place. I was surprised to learn he was still working there—he had said he was quitting nearly two weeks before—but not shocked when he said he couldn’t because Thiago told him he had to continue delivering drugs. That had been the only mention of the cartel recently. The three of us spent the evening conversing about childhood and how simple life had been. After we ate, we played a few games of Gin Rummy. Card games had been a staple in our relationship for months, often playing into the wee hours of the morning. The two of them latched on to me early on, and I didn’t know why, but they continued to come around on the regular. I considered maybe they were keeping tabs on me for Jose or the cartel. Or, maybe I’d been their semblance of security, of family, that didn’t require them to do anything they didn’t want to do. They forced the issue, and I accepted their companionship. Even if they were keeping tabs on me, it easily allowed me to do the same.

  Anyway, Thiago came knocking around 11:00. He was huffing and puffing over something. Miguel got up and left, but Selena stayed seated for a few minutes, glaring at the door.

  “Everything okay?” I’d asked her.

  She didn’t seem frightened of Thiago anymore, dismissive of his behavior and comfortable with his antics. She turned her head so she could look at me when she answered, “I’ve been kicking myself for changing career paths. I wish I’d just stayed home.”

  I wanted to ask her what she meant, but she stood from her chair and marched right out of my apartment without so much as a goodnight.

  She’s in my thoughts as I walk past the apartment door. Miguel walks out of it right after I pass by. “Where you headed?” I ask, turning back to the sound of his footsteps.

  “Out,” is his answer.

  “Where’s Selena? Is she home?”

  “She’s out too. So is Thiago, if you’re curious.”

  I shrug. “Haven’t seen any of you around recently.”

  “We’re busy. Selena got a job.”

  My eyes widen at the surprise. “At the hospital? That’s great.”

  “Not at the hospital.”

  “Not at the hospit…” My voice trails off.

  Miguel seems as unhappy at the prospect as I do. “I’ve got to go. See you around.” He pushes past me, his shoulder checking mine as he does.

  Selena got in with the cartel? My mind is reeling. She’s crazier than I thought she was. Just when I assumed she had resigned herself to the fact Miguel was a part of it and it was on him to get out if he wanted, she decides to join in herself. Something had to have happened. Forced her hand, or maybe…she saw something she wanted and went for it. It’s possible she’s been playing me for a while. I mean, how well did I truly know her? Even though I’ve spent numerous hours with her and Miguel, we rarely talked about current events, unless it was a show they’d been watching, also what they’d been up to when we weren’t around each other, and the stories we all told were usually things from the past.

  I fall onto the couch in my apartment, plotting my evening and thinking about the fact the woman down the hall has entered the fray of the cartel, deciding it was where she wanted to be after all or in hopes of relieving her cousin of his predicament. Does she realize the one she’s gotten herself into?

  Since the apartment should be empty tonight, I’m going to take advantage of that fact. Selena doesn’t even have to know I’ve installed the cameras. Actually, it will be better she doesn’t. Especially if she has joined ranks. She won’t want anyone to know what is going on within the organization.

  Collecting the supplies from the bedroom, where they’ve been held captive, I’m finally able to unwrap them from their packaging. Now, they’re stashed in a small grocery sack before I head out of my place. My lock-picking tools are at the ready. A forehead flashlight is also in the bag, in case it’s dark in the apartment. Four small cameras, unpackaged and set to install, clink together when I creep down the hallway.

  I give a knock on 301, making sure no one snuck in while I was preparing. After a few moments of silence, I pull the bobby pins from my pocket, arranging them so they will fit into the lock. Giving the knob a twist, I realize the place isn’t even secured. Someone could be home after all. Replacing the pins in my pocket, I open the door faintly and call out, “Miguel, you home? Thiago?”

  No answer. I listen for sounds of the shower running or maybe a radio on that would keep the other party from hearing my calls. The place is silent, not even the air conditioner is running. Going all the way into the apartment, I shut the door quietly behind me before stepping into their living space. This room is set up exactly like mine, the furniture is even similar, only a different color fabric. Either all the apartments are furnished or I’ve got another problem on my hands.

  Using my agency device, I open the detection app and go about checking the apartment for cameras that may already be in place. I’ve used it at my own apartment, and even when I first started working at the factory, before the bug was planted, but this is the first time I’ve used it in this apartment. After searching each room and not receiving any feedback from another device, I plan out my own placements and get to work. I could have all night, or maybe twenty minutes, so this needs to be done as speedily as possible.

  Cameras are hidden in each of the two bedrooms, the kitchen, and living room, facing the entryway. May be overkill, but I wanted to make sure every area was covered. Except the bathroom. The thought of someone tapping into my own privacy in that room bothers me so I typically won’t plant anything near there.

  In just over five minutes, I’m back in my own apartment, hooking into the feed that will allow me access to a small piece of the cartel. Once all four devices are visibly showing connection, I leave the footage running so I can hear when someone arrives home, and go about my night.

  I try Eliza’s phone, to no avail. I haven’t talked to her in two days. Since I’ve been waiting for word on the engine production, we’ve only had very short conversations. She tells me about her cases, I try to keep her apprised of my situation, at least the minute details I can share, but the conversations are cut short. Eliza states she needs to get back to work, even into the late hours of the night. Now, after days of nothing, no response to my text messages either— If this wasn’t routinely a thing recently, I’d be worried. Oh, who am I kidding, I’m feeling some unease. If I don’t hear from her by morning, I’m calling Cooper. I mean, I know he’d try to contact me if something were wrong, but what if he has tried and wasn’t able to get through? The more I think about it, the worse the feeling in
the pit of my stomach grows.

  I’ve always been secure enough with Eliza it hasn’t bothered me that her best friend was another man. I second-guessed things at times when she wouldn’t get back to me right away, but I quickly learned that was simply Eliza. Her job was important and she put it first. It’s slowly changed as our relationship progressed but she still has times where the job comes first and she’ll get back to me when her case has closed. I’m unsure why I’m fretting right now. Scenario after scenario is swimming through my thoughts. Is she hurt and she doesn’t want to worry me? Was she so caught up in the new baby and her relationship with Cooper that something happened between the two of them? My heart races with possibilities. The phone is in my hand, ready to dial Coop’s number when a voice comes from my computer.

  I pop up from the couch, almost too quickly, as blackness takes over my sight momentarily. The ringing in my ears halts and it’s Miguel’s voice I hear loud and clear. He must be on the phone as there is only one person speaking but he’s involved in a conversation.

  “You need to bring her home. No. It’s been three days. Where is she? I’ll come get her. No. Not acceptable. What do you mean Jose told her to stay? Okay. Fine. Tomorrow.”

  Miguel has finally come into view. He’s clearly distraught over Selena’s absence—punching the couch, flopping down in the chair, and sighing loudly enough to cause friction over the line. “Dammit, Thiago,” he shouts before throwing himself to the couch. His arm comes over his eyes and he’s still for quite a while. I get bored and get up from my seat, pacing the room.

  Picking up my phone, I send a text to Eliza once more, bypassing my insecurities and leaving Cooper alone. I see the little bubble pop up immediately, my heart rate increases as I wait for the anticipated response. After a minute, the bubble disappears and the word delivered emerges below my text. I type out I know you’re there but think better of it and press delete. This does nothing to calm the thoughts I was having earlier.