“What business? This is no way to do business.”
“Ah, you will be interested in what we do. And if you’re not, well, we have means to convince you.”
“Are you threatening me?” Emilio didn’t raise his voice, but he was sick of the game, and he had nothing left to lose. If they were going to kill him, they’d have done it. He meant to force the situation. Yes, he was impatient, and he was getting angry again. He folded his arms and sat up straight.
“Oh, no, no. I do not threaten my employees. Especially ones who have valuable prospects.” He studied Emilio. The compliment hung in the air, seemingly to soften the harsh edges in the tone of his voice.
Emilio didn’t budge. He eyed his captor with a stony look.
“Let me tell you what I have in mind, and maybe you’ll come around,” said El Patrón. “I have a business. One might say it’s a dangerous business. People get hurt. They need medical attention. We can’t go to the medical authorities with our problems.” He pushed off the stool slowly and paced the length of the shed. “And so, I need my own medical staff, if you will.” He waved the gun carelessly, at times pointing it at Emilio who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. On the discomfort meter, he was already about to explode.
They want me to be the gangster doc.
The idea of it hit him hard. They were serious. He’d been afraid, for an instant, that something like this was coming, and now he couldn’t believe it when it was dumped in his lap. He wanted no part of their business. Emilio had not gone to medical school for this type of work. Let them go to the emergency room like everyone else—and get arrested. He needed to extricate himself from El Patrón’s design.
But first, he needed to find out more. It was a fine line he walked, but he meant to make the information useful. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Your recruitment methods are very bad.”
“I do what is necessary.”
“And if I decide to take you up on the offer?”
“Things will be very good for you. Nice apartment in DF, maybe a casita in Puerto Vallarta. Many benefits. We provide a full insurance policy too… the comforts.”
Emilio felt a cool breeze, a window of opportunity opening. He had no interest in an apartment or beach house. But he did want to know about the business, and he didn’t care how shaky was the ground he walked. “I understand you have a doctor. One Doctor Oleantha Flórez?” He stopped and waited to see what would come of that revelation.
“How would you know that?”
It was an impossible guess, a rumor, but Emilio took it. Knowledge was power. Maybe. “There is talk, at the medical school, about a woman doctor who helps the, er, cartel.”
“Pfffft! Cartel! Scum. As I said, we are a business, and we need medical assistance.” El Patrón’s eye, even in the dim light, had an evil gleam. “Yes, the esteemed Doctor Flórez. We have used her… Employed her services.” He took a step toward Emilio with the gun. “What more do you know of her?”
“Her name is around. She uses old lab facilities near the Palacio, and I hear she is involved in the arts.” He almost choked on the last word.
“Sí.” His face became a mask of displeasure. “But she is a woman who talks too much. Like many women. She is demanding, and, I’d say, costly in many ways. I have called upon her many times, but I find she is difficult to work with.”
“What type of work?”
“You have just touched on it. The lab, arts.” He cleared his throat, clearly brushing over the subject. “And she has assisted with wounds and other medical procedures, but the men are not happy. A beautiful woman poking around in their vitals. They like it to a point and then not so much. Even when dying of infection…” He shook his head with disgust. “Even if it means saving their lives. It does seem strange that someone bleeding on the ground would care if a woman doctor or a male doctor comes to help, but such is the case.”
El Patrón resumed his pacing. Emilio couldn’t move yet; he still had to take this one step at a time. He could practically see the balancing act going on inside El Patrón’s head, wondering if he should reveal details of this business plan. Or not. “We have much work,” he said. “You will see. We have a large project now. But aside from that, we need someone to attend to these, ahem, occasional knife wounds, broken limbs, gunshots…”
“A project?”
“Sí. An art project, if you will. But that is not your concern. Oleantha…” He stopped then. “We’re moving forward. I believe you are suited for much of the work.”
“Señor, I am from the country, a medical student. I don’t have experience with the procedures you are talking about. These require emergency room equipment and staff, many different supplies and medications, access to long-term care…”
He cut him off. “We have all that. You will see, and you will learn. One reason I’ve selected you is that you are young, intelligent, and trainable. And you have few close relations and connections. We’ve checked on you. You can take it or leave it. I suggest you take it.”
He hasn’t mentioned Blanche…and Haasi. Thank God for that.
“But surely you can find a doctor who is eager to do your work. There are many…”
“I do not care to spend more time on this. I have influence, and I have found you. This is no accident. You should consider taking the offer. No, you will take the offer.”
Emilio didn’t look up. It was as if cold water had been thrown on him. But he was drained. He sat on the cot slumped over his knees, hands clenched. He had to ask: “How did you find me in that lab?”
“Ah, yes. The lab. We had been watching you, and when you took the young students on the tour, it was a perfect opportunity. Apparently, I am told they ran away. So be it. But we have you.”
The young students! He thinks I was on a college tour! Emilio felt better already. Blanche and Haasi seemed to be in the clear. He almost smiled.
El Patrón took this as agreement. He stood next to the door and folded his hands, his expression relaxed. “Vamos a la casa,” he said. “A nice meal, a shower? You don’t look like a doctor now.”
Emilio didn’t look up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
STAND-OFF
Emilio braced himself against the tile wall and let the hot water beat down. He didn’t care how long he stood in that shower. Until his brain was fried, his skin was boiled. He couldn’t think right now, and he didn’t want to. Except he worried that Blanche was on the way, and he was afraid of what she might run into when she arrived. He prayed she’d called the police instead. Let that be the end of it. He didn’t want her hurt, or involved any more. He had to handle this, and he had to get away from El Patrón.
For now, he had to play the game. He and Blanche were on the same track there.
He put on the white terry cloth robe and went into the bedroom. His host had not spared any expense on the decorating. Emilio’s toes sank into a fur rug—whatever poor animal wore this, it had been well dressed. The four-poster was covered in a navy-blue damask silk bedspread with a dozen pillows in white, cream, and navy. The draperies opened to reveal a splash of purple bougainvillea climbing a white stucco wall behind a fountain. A jet of water shot from a shell in the hands of a naked goddess.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Señor. Buenas.” A small round woman leaned over a side table in the hallway and picked up a silver tray of fruit, coffee, and rolls and bread. She carried it in to the bedside table. “Por favor, con permiso.” She turned. “The clothing, señor. I will wash it.”
“Gracias.” He looked down at the robe, then to her hand on the door, and she was gone. The bread was warm, the yeasty fragrance rushing to his head along with the scent of orange and papaya. The breeze lifted the sheer curtains under the heavy draperies and floated them into the room. He was only half awake. He fell back on the pillows and slept.
u
“Detective Cardenal!” Blanche’s fists pounded his front door. She was furious.
She stepped back her arms taut at her sides. Footsteps stomped across the front hall inside the house, and the door burst open.
Cardenal stood there dressed in a red velvet robe, his normally sleek hair looked like he’d taken an eggbeater to it. “What in the name of God! What is happening?”
“We found him, all right. You’ve got to get out there, to El Patrón’s. They’re holding Emilio in a shed on the property. I found him during a fiesta. Today!”
“Slow down, Blanche. You what? What fiesta? You were out at El Patrón’s? I thought we were going to discuss…”
Haasi sat in the car at the curb, her head craned toward the window, watching Blanche, and scanning the street. They’d made it out of the hacienda grounds and driven straight to the detective’s house. It was near eleven o’clock at night.
“We wanted to spring him. But there are men walking around with guns. And there’s a padlock on the shed. It’s right outside the kitchen door,” said Blanche. “Oh, thank you to that lovely Bella.”
Cardenal scratched his head and gave it a good pat or two. “Dios y todos los santos, Blanche. Do not think of going back there. I will sort this out,” he said. “And who is this Bella? Blanche, tranquila, por favor!”
“The dog. She led me back there. To the shed.”
“You actually saw Emilio in a shed?”
“Yes, and an awful man and the plate of diseased beans, and Emilio was on a cot all filthy and bleary. He could hardly stand. Oh, I wish I hadn’t left him there.”
“I’ll get the locals on it now. We can’t wait on this one. You two get back to the hotel and stay there.”
u
Emilio awoke to a ruckus of banging and shouting. “Policía, policía!”
He sat up on the bed, alarmed to find himself in this room. It was beautiful, luxurious, quite a change from the hog shed. He had no idea how he got here, then he remembered. Blanche! Fright shocked him awake, and thoughts of the awful threats of his host, the guy with the goatee. Now he could hear that voice, like old rubber twisting, faraway, talking in a steady hum.
It was late, the longest day he’d ever lived through, but he was still alive, and he wondered at that. He got off the bed, stiff and sluggish, and went to the door. El Patrón was droning on in a low, somewhat agitated, voice. “…of course, but I don’t understand. We were having a fiesta and there were many people about the grounds.”
“The report is from DF. About the detainment on these premises.”
“But I have not detained anyone. I am sure everyone has left the property.”
“The only details we have involve a man. Under lock and key. Here on this property.” The voice was staccato, demanding and piercing.
“That is absurd. No such man is here.”
The cold tile under Emilio’s feet revived him. He slipped down the hallway and stood at the top of a gleaming oak stairway. A blazing chandelier in the entry shed broken bits of light on the exchange between the two policemen and El Patrón.
Emilio decided right then what card to play.
“Buenas, señores. ¿Qué pasa?” Emilio took a few steps down and stopped.
The three turned and looked up the stairwell at him. Emilio had shaved and combed back his hair. A tall man with the look of an Aztec prince—in a terry cloth robe. He smiled at them. No one moved.
He took another step down, a hand casually resting on the polished banister. “Is there a problem?”
El Patrón crossed his arms, his mouth clamped in a grim smile.
“We have this report.” The tall policeman held a clipboard with papers. He and his partner wore shorts to just above the knee and snug caps.
“I heard,” said Emilio. “There may be some misunderstanding. You see, the fiesta. It was a good time. Probably too good, for me. I had a lot to drink and fell asleep outside.” He shrugged “In a shed, I’m embarrassed to say. It happens.”
His host was stone-faced. Not a hair, not a facial muscle moved. The arms stayed crossed, the feet planted far apart. He stared at his guest.
The policemen looked Emilio up and down. The short one said, “A locked shed?”
“Are you certain of that? I am standing here, after all.”
“We are going to look around. Just the same. ¿Con permiso?” He tipped his head slightly at El Patrón.
“Of course.” El Patrón nonchalantly waved an arm and stepped back.
The policemen ascended the stairs to begin the search, from top to bottom, and Emilio moved aside. He and El Patrón locked eyes, both of them wary in the game.
u
It was well after midnight. Emilio and El Patrón sat in the drawing room, each of them nursing a brandy. Ana set a tray of cheese, meat, chiles, and a basket of fresh bread on the coffee table in front of Emilio. He was ravenous. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. But he only picked at the bread. He meant to practice calm, and discipline. I need it.
El Patrón had hardly said a word since the police left—empty-handed and blustering about “false alarms.” They’d found the shed and the blanket, and a lock on the door. No trace of any kidnapping or other accusations.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Emilio, a rueful smile on his lips. “I will be leaving in the morning.”
“It is morning. A new day.” He studied Emilio. “Toma, toma.” He shoved the tray closer to Emilio and sat back, took a sip of the brandy.
“Yes, a new day. And like I say, I will be leaving in the morning. Pronto.”
El Patrón tapped his fingertips. “Of course. I know where to find you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
PILLOW TALK
Blanche and Haasi sat on the patio at the hotel, waiting for Cardenal to call about Emilio. They hadn’t heard anything. The detective had said the local police would go immediately to El Patrón’s hacienda. Blanche felt confident, but she could not sit for one more second.
No news is good news? Or is it the other way around? She wrung her hands and paced.
Haasi was reading Carmen Amato’s Hat Dance. “Bang, you need to relax.”
“I can’t. Oh, I wish I’d sprung him when I had the chance.”
“Well, you’d be chained up on that cot right along with him. Or worse.”
Blanche threw herself on the chair next to Haasi. “They’ll find him, don’t you think?”
“Of course.” But her voice was heavy with caution. “The way these people do business is frightening. We need to wrap it up and get out of here.”
“But I love it here, except for the occasional glitch…”
“The occasional glitch? This place is Glitch City. Yes, most of it has been great and I love it, but I love you more. You keep going deeper into this mummy-art-theft-abduction hole, and I’m no help. Enough, already.” Haasi tented the book on the table. “You’ve been down that road of terror, and you were lucky to get out. That was only last year when those thugs picked you up and dumped you in the desert. Jeez, that could have ended very badly. Bang, relax. Your blood pressure, your stress levels.”
Blanche stared at Haasi. “Well, that was quite a… summation?”
Haasi went back to her reading. She loved a good detective story, but she didn’t want to be in one. “This is real enough, Blanche.” She waved the book at her.
“Well, this stuff we’re dealing with is fur-ril.” She pulled at the topknot. Curls tumbled down over her eyes.
“That’s a good look. See no evil.”
Blanche resumed pacing.
And then the door swung open from the lobby and there he was. Standing in front of her.
“Emilio!” She took a tentative step toward him and fell into his arms. He smelled of soap, and his cheek was smooth. She ran her fingers down the side of his face. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He grinned. “I’m back. From hell. Where is the blonde Blanche? I liked that.”
“Don’t tease. Just take the old Blanche. OK?” Her head fell against his chest. They stood the
re and didn’t move. A bird chittered, Haasi was chuckling.
He looked over at Haasi and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. Welcome back.”
“It’s good to be.” He took Blanche by her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I have to go back to Tepequito today, but I needed to see you.”
“Here I am. Waiting and worrying.”
Haasi stood up. “I’ll say. Enough with the crazies. You all right? Really?” She tilted her head one way, and then the other. Satisfied, she smiled. “Uh-huh. You look just fine. More than fine, I’d say.” With that, she picked up her book and her camera. “See ya, I’m headed to the Zocalo.”
“What happened,” Blanche took his hands, “since I found you there?” They collapsed on a loveseat under the ficus. The sun streaked across the patio, a few tiny brown birds flitted on the lower branches.
“When the police arrived, I was asleep in the main house, all cleaned up, and wearing a terry cloth robe. Breakfast on a silver tray.”
“Well, now. I was worried, and you end up like you’re at the Four Seasons.”
Emilio shook his head. “Not exactly. El Patrón. He’s, how you say, slick.”
“Well, that’s an understatement.” She still held his hands.
“Señor Detective Cardenal will not be happy when he gets complaints from his compadres in the Huehuetoca police detail. They didn’t find anything.”
“I’m just glad you’re out of there, and they didn’t hurt you.” Her voice rose, she looked him up and down. “They didn’t, did they?”
“I’m all right.” He kissed her on the eyebrow.
“Emilio, what did they want? Why did they keep you locked up?”
“You were right. They want something, and I don’t want any of that business.”
“What?”
“Gangster doc?” The look on his face was so un-gangster that Blanche laughed.
“Oh, right. You’re just the type.”
“No, I’m serious, and El Patrón doesn’t take no for an answer. He said he will find me. He knows where I am.”
“Oh, great.” She sat back her gaze still fastened on him. “What are you going to do?”
Trouble Down Mexico Way Page 17