by Jack Davis
“Just the numbers. Like I told you, I can earn more with credit cards than any two of our territories do with prostitution or protection.” Alvaro shrugged before admitting, “I can’t keep pace with the drug money though.”
Diamond’s smile widened, revealing horribly discolored teeth. He walked over to Alvaro and holding the wads of cash in each hand said, “Varo, I don’t know how you make those numbers sing like this, but I could kiss you for it.”
“Jefe, I’d like to start working over those little bastards as soon as possible. You don’t need me for the meeting, do you?”
Those two sentences had accomplished three things: forestalled a nauseating kiss from Diamond, allowed him to skip one of his boss’s interminable meetings, and postponed him killing Philippe Vasquez at least one more day.
The basement of the cantina Lupe used as an office was dark, musty, damp, and smelled of urine. All in all, a step up from Diamond’s office, thought Alvaro.
Against the far wall were three boys; Alvaro guessed nine or ten years old. They were chained to the wall by their wrists and had filthy rags jammed in their mouths. They’d been beaten severely. Faces swollen, bruises visible on their skinny torsos and legs. Two looked up as Alvaro came down the stairs; the third’s head just hung limp. All three showed signs that they’d become familiar with some of the smaller residents of the basement—bugs. There were no signs of rat bites, yet.
“Hello, boys. Are you ready for another round of fun,” asked Alvaro in a playful voice. He removed a knife from his belt and began to peel an apple as he walked.
The boy on Alvaro’s right started to shake and sob. Tears rolled down the middle boy’s face. A urine stain began to spread across the front of his blood-splattered underwear. The third boy’s body remained lifeless.
Alvaro walked over to the boy farthest to his right and sat on a stool. The boy desperately tried to say something through the gag, it was unintelligible.
“We’re going to play a little game. You like games, don’t you? But I don’t want to be here all day, so you’ll have to do your part, and not make me ask questions twice.”
8 | The Wrong Key
Mexico City, Mexico 09/24/09, 1104 hours
Alvaro’s interrogations, and the follow-up, had led him far from the dingy rat-infested basement. The inquiry had borne fruit, but it had also taken much longer than he’d expected. It was after three a.m. when he arrived home.
Eight hours later he shuffled from his bedroom hoping to accomplish everything that yesterday’s unpleasantness had postponed. He had his own work to do.
The condominium was hot. In the three months he’d lived in the new condo, Alvaro had learned that the morning sun came through the living room windows early, and by now, no amount of air-conditioning would affect the temperature until late afternoon.
Walking through the living room Alvaro knew he had hours of direct sun ahead of him, and that meant heat, uncomfortable heat.
The thermostat read eighty-four, but it seemed hotter as the rays came through the tinted windows of the large sliding glass door to the balcony. If the heavy maroon curtains had been drawn, they would have lowered the temperature another ten degrees and made it bearable.
“Maria,” said Alvaro to himself. He shook his head. “You forgot again, my love.”
More concerning than the curtains was the lack of a note. Alvaro had told his wife dozens of times she needed to let him know where she was going and when she would be back. Inevitably after a week or two, she’d forget and have to be reminded. For everything he adored about Maria, she was sometimes forgetful. So now, Alvaro had two strikes against him; he didn’t know where his family was, and he was hot, disturbingly hot.
Alvaro brought his laptop into the living room and plugged the cord into the wall. He turned on the surround-sound music as the computer booted up. Seconds later he saw that the sunlight washed out the screen. He couldn’t see a thing.
Damn. One more thing to deal with when working with computers. With a mix of exasperation and weariness he pushed himself up and went to the window to draw the curtains.
Pausing to look at the Mexico City skyline from his midtown condo he should have had a tremendous view. A layer of grey-brown smog robbed him of that. As it was, the buildings in the distance became hazy, until they were eventually consumed by the airborne particles. Still farther, but higher, Alvaro could see the edge of the mountains that enclosed Mexico City like a bowl. A bowl that seemed three-quarters filled with pollution, and that was just the part that was visible. Alvaro knew what was under the soot was far worse. He thought about the three boys for a second. Then he pushed them out of his mind.
Alvaro looked intently for some of the landmarks he knew lurked out in the mist. Even without the pollution, the skyline wasn’t as dramatic or recognizable as that of New York, Paris, or London. The haze only added to the un-remarkableness of his country’s capital city.
For a long time, Alvaro had felt Mexico City needed an Eiffel Tower or a Big Ben, something that would make his city instantly recognizable. It didn’t have to be a building; it could be something like the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco or the statue of Jesus overlooking Sao Paulo, Brazil. Something you saw on TV or in the movies and instantly recognized. Mexico City had no signature landmark.
Alvaro drew the curtains and went to the kitchen for a glass of water…cool, not cold. He shook his head as he shuffled back into the living room. He was tired of the constant oppressive heat. A long time ago, without knowing it, Alvaro had resigned himself to spend the rest of his life hot and uncomfortable. He had grown up in Mexico City, and never thought about leaving. It was the place he lived; it was always hot. It stood to reason that he would endure a good portion of the rest of his life hot and sticky. He would also inevitably die there, in the heat. Not the most appealing of prospects, but for someone of Alvaro’s background and avocation, he really couldn’t see any other options.
Then again, Alvaro could never have conceived he would live in a twenty-first-floor condominium, use a computer for work, or love someone as much as he loved Maria. He had been wrong about alternatives in the past, very wrong.
Sitting on the couch he mused. Maybe someday we’ll live where it isn’t always hot and steamy. We could live farther north. Someplace with a cool breeze in the evening. That would be nice. He smiled, shook his head, and looked at the laptop.
“What now?”
The pop-up notice read: Security Patches Have Been Downloaded You Must Restart Your Computer, with options of clicking to Re-Boot Your Computer or Remind Me Later. Alvaro knew that Remind Me Later only led to continued pop-ups later, usually when he was right in the middle of something important.
Between the temperature, no note from Maria, and now the re-boot, Alvaro found himself frustrated and drained. The little annoyances had overwhelmed him, like a colony of army ants swarming over a large snake…and eating it while it was still alive.
Alvaro was tired of always having to Re-Boot Now, Re-Install this, or Update that. He was tired of having to close the blinds so that there was not too much light on the screen or find an outlet because the battery was low. He was tired of having to change internet service providers every month…well, he had stopped being tired of that after he had stopped changing the ISP every month. That was one waste of time he’d shed. He was tired of having to download one program, then update all the patches for that program, only to run another program and find that the computer didn’t have the required or compatible hardware to allow it to work. He was tired of all the petty nuisances that people had to deal with when they worked with computers. But Alvaro did not see himself as working with computers. He was a criminal, a criminal who used computers; there was a difference.
Now, as he stared blankly at the pop-up message, he thought he would much rather deal with a knife-wielding MS-13 gang member than another Indian from the Dell Help Desk. His head slumped.
Alvaro looked back at the screen. He knew he
had to choose between one of two unpleasant alternatives. Sometimes in life there were no good alternatives, only ones that were less bad. There certainly weren’t good alternatives for the boys in the cantina. Alvaro knew that all too well.
Uncomfortably hot, head in his hands, Alvaro refocused on which key to choose. The music masked the sound of a much more important key—the key to his front door. He turned but not in time; the door had burst open. Two figures rushed in, straight for him, followed by a third moving more slowly, carrying something, something heavy. In an instant Alvaro knew this was a consequence of the life he’d chosen. Before he could brace himself, he received the full weight of the first two figures.
9 | Parallel Parking
Savannah, Georgia, 09/24/09, 1300 hours
Dr. Peter Kranston pulled into the strip mall and carefully selected a parking spot up the aisle from the Piggly Wiggly grocery store. With a good deal of satisfaction, he watched the yellow Volvo station wagon he’d been following pull into a slot up the aisle.
Excellent, there was an open parking spot on the driver’s side.
“Okay you little slut, now go buy the fixins for your last meal,” Kranston mumbled to himself, pleased with what he believed was the appropriate slang for the region.
He stared expectantly at the car. There was no movement for a minute, then two. Kranston, never a patient man in the best of times, was losing the minimal reserve of the virtue he had. “What the fuck are you doing,” he hissed. “Go shopping for your pig’s feet and chitlins,” he growled as he strangled the steering wheel with both hands.
He watched nervously as another car pulled down the aisle, not breathing until it had passed the spot he needed; the one to the left of the yellow car.
Then, relief; Tabitha Blair was out of the car, cell phone to her ear. On the phone, figures. Kranston relaxed his grip and color returned to his fingers as his target walked toward the store.
Kranston didn’t waste a second. He had pulled in the parking spot, uncomfortably close to the Volvo, before Tabitha had gotten her cart.
Once parked, Kranston relaxed and started to breathe more steadily. Back in control, he took out a newly minted business card and started to write on the back.
I am so sorry for scraping your car. I’m a doctor and have to get back to the hospital. I will pay for any repairs…
10 | In the Land of the Blind
Mexico City, Mexico 09/24/09, 1300 hours
Alvaro was driven into the couch by the force of his two giggling children.
“You promised you’d take them to the park,” said Maria as she walked to the kitchen, weighed down with three bags of groceries. “They’ve been waiting patiently all day for Papa.”
“The park. The park.” The chant started with Rosalinda, then was taken up in unison by her younger brother.
Alvaro hugged them close. Alvaro was certainly trapped, physically and more significantly, emotionally. “Okay, okay. We’ll go to the park,” he said with a loving smile.
“Yeah!” Simultaneous squeals erupted.
Alvaro watched little Guillermo unsuccessfully try to kick the soccer ball for what seemed to be the one-hundredth time that afternoon. Little Guilli, try as he might, could not strike the ball solidly. He invariably would hit one side or the other, high or low, causing the ball to skitter this way or that. Alvaro could only watch and laugh as his four-year-old, concentration etched deeply on his cherubic face, moved into position once again.
Just prior to the attempt, Alvaro’s phone rang. Diamond, damn. He looked at Maria, mouthed sorry, and moved away from his family before answering the call. He was glad he did. Diamond’s screamed curses burst from the phone.
“Who the fuck said you could release those little bastards? What the fuck were you thinking? How fucking dare you do something like that without checking with me or Lupe or Carlo first? Lupe wants your head.”
“Jefe, I can explain. Once I do, I think you’ll agree that you would have done the same.”
Diamond’s anger was overcome by curiosity. “What?”
“The kids told me some interesting things. I can explain them to you when we meet.”
“You should have called me first, before letting them go,” said Diamond. The hostility in his voice was gone, but he seemed to be trying to assert authority. Alvaro assumed Lupe and Carlo were there, and his boss needed to show dominance.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t finish with the kids until after two a.m.”
“Oh…” There was a pause. “I was still up, you should have called.”
“Jefe, when can I come in and give you the whole story? I think you’ll find it interesting,” said Alvaro in a mollifying tone.
Before his boss could answer, Alvaro hemmed him in. “I have a few things I have to take care of so I can give you the full story. Would this evening after dinner be okay?”
“What time?” Diamond grunted.
Alvaro watched Guilli once again attempt to kick the ball, this time missing it altogether and falling in the process. He suppressed a laugh with a fake cough before he could continue. “I don’t want to make you wait. Is seven okay?”
“Seven. Not a minute after.” Diamond’s voice had a twinge of fake sternness to it.
“I’ll be there early,” said Alvaro. He ended the call and walked back to his family. Guilli was setting up for another kick.
Shortly after six-forty-five, Alvaro stepped from the dark of the cantina into the brightly lit office. He had mentally braced himself for the smells, the florescent lights, and the radio.
As his eyes adjusted, what struck him was the sameness of the scene. Everyone was in the exact same position—Diamond and Carlo possibly wearing the exact same clothes as they had been the previous morning. That certainly explains the smell.
“Well there’s our little parole officer,” joked Diamond as he rose and extended his hand.
Alvaro gave a genuine smile as he shook hands. “Boss, thanks for meeting me.” In mock deference he looked at Diamond’s two chief lieutenants on the couch. It was then that he noticed an odd, almost hostile look on Lupe’s face. He was taken aback, and there was a pause before he continued. “I think you’ll find what I have to say interesting.”
Alvaro took a chair from against the wall and brought it in front of Diamond’s desk. As he did, he glanced at Lupe again; no change. Something was wrong.
“Jefe, it was a great idea to have me talk to those little bastards,” said Alvaro as a preamble. Diamond nodded as if it had been his idea and then looked to the couch for approval. He got it before Alvaro continued.
“As you suspected, they’re not part of MS-13.”
Diamond nodded, followed in unison by Carlo…but not Lupe.
“When I asked them why they did it, they said that they were forced to.”
“What?” screamed Diamond.
“That’s what I said. Then each of the boys told me a similar story. They said they were approached by two men when they were playing at a park. One of the men grabbed their friend and pulled out a knife. The other man then told them they had to do something, or he’d kill their friend.”
“What?” This time the question came from the couch. Lupe was almost on his feet, before Diamond barked at him, “Sit down.”
Alvaro had never seen Lupe this animated.
Alvaro continued, “The man said they were to go to stores, find an item costing about a hundred pesos, grab it, and run like hell. The man said they could keep whatever they stole. The man said he would show them the stores. Now comes the interesting part.”
Diamond leaned forward, his thick forearms lifting him off the desk.
Alvaro was pleased that his audience was so engaged. Now he would drop the bomb. “The man who did all the talking—the man who seemed to be behind this whole thing—was missing his two bottom teeth and an inch of his lower lip.”
Diamond’s eyes first showed confusion, then when the description registered
as one of his Kings, realization, and finally rage. “Severino?”
Alvaro nodded and interlaced his hands behind his head. “That’s who I thought of too.”
“Severino?” Diamond said again, enraged and now standing. He looked at the couch, as if looking for the answer of why someone who worked for him would do this.
“Bullshit. Those little sewer rats are lying trying to save their skins,” said Lupe. “They talked to each other, came up with this story to try and protect their friends in MS-13.”
Diamond was thrown on his intellectual heels by the competing theory.
Alvaro looked at the middle-aged man, there was sweat on his forehead.
“Well?” Diamond’s question cut Alvaro’s thought process short.
“Jefe, Lupe had the boys gagged the whole time. They couldn’t have talked to each other. I let ’em take me to the boy who had been held hostage. He told me the exact same story. They hadn’t talked to him. They’re telling the truth. Now we have to figure out why Severino would do this.”
Lupe was up and headed toward the door. “Jefe, Severino works for Philippe. He and I will get to the bottom of this.”
That’s it. Alvaro had put the last two pieces in place with that sentence. Then, a saying from his late friend Jose Tejada came to mind, In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. “Let’s wait a minute. Let’s think this through.”
Diamond gave Lupe a look that told him to stop.
“We don’t want Severino to get away. We have to act fast,” said Lupe.
“No one outside this room knows we know. Severino’s not going anywhere,” said Alvaro.
“Alvaro’s gotten this far,” said Diamond looking at Lupe, then looking back at Alvaro. “Now what?”
Lupe remained standing, hand on the doorknob, indecision on his flushed face.
“Lupe, you should sit,” said Alvaro, more authority in his voice than usual. He saw hate in the older man’s eyes.