by Jayna King
"Why the fuck do we have to leave today," he moaned, eyes still closed. "I got like zero sleep last night, and I would pay a fortune to stay here another day."
I stood up and tied a sarong around my waist. "Ha. You think you'd feel any better tomorrow, after another night like last night?"
"Stupid fucking logic," he muttered. He sat up and reached for his t-shirt on the next chair. "Let me walk you to your room," he said as he sat up and pulled the shirt on. "Luke would cut my balls off if I let anything happen to you."
It was easy to forget that I wasn't at a resort somewhere, rather than in a fortress of sorts, occupied by a Mexican drug lord. I thought about arguing with Chuck, and I decided not to. He shuffled along behind me as I went up the steps, and he put his hand out to stop me before I went inside our bedroom. I stepped out of the way and let Chuck check out the bedroom and bathroom.
"All clear," he said. "Make sure you lock your door," he told me as he shuffled off to his own room.
He was kind of sweet. I decided that I liked him.
I got my things together to shower and get ready to get back on the road, and when I put my hand in the pocket of my jacket, I found the slip of paper with Maria's name and number. In all of last night's activity, I'd forgotten to call her. I figured that right then was as good a time as any — I had a quiet place to talk, without anyone around who could overhear me.
"Bueno," a woman's voice answered when I dialed the number.
"Maria?" I asked.
"Si," she answered. "Quien es?"
"Uh. English?" I stuttered, flustered by the rapid Spanish.
"Yes. Who is this, please?"
I recognized the deep, sultry voice. "My name is Krystal. I met you at the restaurant yesterday, and you asked me to call you."
There was silence on the other end.
"Hello?" I asked, looking at my phone display to see if we'd been disconnected.
"They don't know you are talking to me, do they?" Maria asked.
There was no need for her to explain who "they" were. "No. I'm alone, and it's safe."
"Can you meet me somewhere to talk?" she asked.
"I guess so. We're at Don Roberto's hacienda right now, but we'll be leaving and heading back to Juarez in an hour or so. We'll be there this evening. Can we meet you for dinner?"
"You don't understand. I can't be seen with you."
"Well, we don't have to go to Lupita's. There has to be somewhere else we can go in a city of that size."
"Nowhere is safe. If I give you my address, will you come to my home?"
I thought about it. I didn't know Maria well enough to know if I trusted her or not, but her reaction when I'd told her the Moses was dead had been genuine. Of that I was sure. We'd planned to ride to Juarez with the rest of the sons, and then Luke and I hadn't decided exactly where we'd go from there. We weren't sure if it was really safe for us to make our own way to the coast, and we'd talked about maybe spending a few days in Flagstaff on our way back.
"Yes," I answered, just making the decision and hoping that Luke would agree. "We'll meet you tonight."
I wrote down the address, even though I didn't know a thing about the area. I hoped that Google Maps would get us there.
"Krystal, don't tell anyone that you are coming to see me. Not Joker, Not Zeno, not anyone."
I was surprised — though I guess I really shouldn't have been — that she knew the names of other Savage Sons. "Okay," I told her.
We set the time for our meeting, and she warned me again to be careful. I assured her that we would be, and I hung up the phone. What a weird call. As I got into the shower, I realized that our meeting was likely to be even stranger. I knew Maria would want to know the details about how Moses had died, and I had a strong feeling that she had information that would help me and Luke put together the pieces of Moses' past. Something had to have happened to change him — to get him to work with the feds, and I wanted to know what it was.
***
Luke and I had parted ways with the rest of the group, and they'd headed north, planning to get over the border into El Paso before they stopped for the night. I was a little nervous as we rode through streets that seemed to empty out as the sun set. We'd pulled our clean clothes and just our essentials out of the van and managed to fit everything we needed for a couple of days into the bike's saddlebags. Our plan was to spend one night in Juarez, meet with Maria, and be on the road to Flagstaff in the morning. We'd spend a couple of nights at Luke's condo and head back to Denver by Monday night so I'd be in class Tuesday morning.
Luis had recommended that we find a hotel near the American consulate, since that area of town was a little safer. We found the consulate with no trouble and pulled up to a big, fairly modern building nearby called the Maria Bonita Consulado Americano. It looked like the best choice, so Luke parked the bike and we headed inside.
It was no Hacienda Don Roberto. Though the facade had looked beautifully maintained, and the lobby was far from shabby, the room itself was tiny and cheaply furnished. I was glad we'd only be there a single night. We grabbed a quick bite to eat at an Italian place nearby, which was surprisingly good. Neither of us drank any wine with dinner, because we knew that we were almost certainly heading into dangerous territory. We asked for directions at the front desk before we left the hotel, and the woman behind the counter had strongly recommended that we not go to that part of town.
"We can take care of ourselves," Luke had said, standing up a little taller and letting his cut fall open to reveal his gun, holstered beneath his arm.
"Señor, your gun will do you no good if you don't have the opportunity to draw it. But it's your choice, of course."
She'd given us directions that seemed easy to follow, and we'd headed out. As much as I'd enjoyed my stay in Mexico, I could hardly wait to get back in the U.S.
At long last, we turned down the street where Maria lived. The narrow alleyway would barely have accommodated a mid-size car, and as we passed open doorways, the sounds of people living in close proximity emerged to swirl around us. A single, buzzing street light was the only illumination, and the alley was pitted and cracked, making it slow going on the bike.
"Goddammit, there's not a single house number," I said, from my position behind Luke on the bike.
"We don't want to have to stop and ask if we can avoid it," he answered, speaking loudly to be heard over the rumble of the bike.
I looked up ahead, further down the alley. "There she is," I said, pointing about a hundred yards away. I could see Maria, her curves outlined by the light shining from the door behind her.
Luke pulled up in front and stopped the bike. "Is there someplace safe I can park this?" he asked, clearly unwilling to leave his expensive bike on the street in Juarez.
"Bring it in here," Maria told him, stepping out of the way to reveal a wrought iron gate, open to a tiny courtyard in front of a green painted door. "I'll lock the gate behind us," she said, as she swung the gate closed and led us to her front door.
A little bench, just barely big enough to seat two people, faced the open space in front of Maria's door, and I noticed that there were several pots filled with blooming flowers. The well-kept tiny courtyard was a surprise, given the chaos that lurked just outside the wrought iron gate. Maria wasn't dressed in traditional Mexican garb, as she had been at Lupita's, but she was still a knockout in tight, dark jeans and a scarlet shirt that hugged her curves. She wore strappy red heels, and I admired the way she managed the uneven stone as she led us inside.
Her home was small, but lovely. The soft glow of candles threw a flattering light on the brightly-colored scarves that were pinned to the wall, creating an inexpensive and cheerful atmosphere. She welcomed us, inviting us to sit, as she offered us cold drinks. I noticed a little shrine in the corner of the room — a print of the Virgin Mary, lit by a row of votives along a little shelf. Around the edges of the print were photographs — nearly twenty of them. Most were pictures of young men
, many of them tattooed and malevolent. What caught my eye first, though, was a photo — a polaroid — of Moses.
It had been taken a little over a year before, because I could see that Moses hadn't yet completed the sleeve tattooed on the entirety of his right arm. He looked relaxed and happy in the photograph, smiling at whomever had taken the picture. I touched it, careful to keep my fingers on the edges, so I wouldn't get my fingerprints on what was obviously a precious memento to Maria. Every time I thought that I was getting over Moses' death, I found another reminder of just how much I missed him. Just before I sat down on the couch next to Luke, I noticed another photograph, this one of Maria, when she looked a little younger, cradling a baby girl in her arms. The girl was laughing up at Maria, and had wound her pudgy little fingers in Maria's long, curly hair. Mother and child, I guessed, and both radiated happiness. I suspected that all of the subjects of the photographs had passed away, and I wondered what had happened to the little girl in the photo.
"Thank you," I said, as Maria handed me a glass of Diet Coke. "You have a lovely home."
She acknowledged my compliment as she sat down, more relaxed than she had been in the restaurant when I'd first met her. "It's no Hacienda Don Roberto, but I have spent some happy years here. Not all happy, but some."
I wasn't sure if I should try to make small talk, or if I should just bring up Moses. I decided that I'd let Luke take the lead.
"Thank you for meeting with us, Maria," he said.
"Oh, not at all," she said. "I have to know what happened to Moses. He and I have … a history together, and I had no idea he'd passed on." She looked like she was trying hard to keep her emotions in check.
"How long has it been since you've seen him?" I asked.
"I can tell you exactly the last time I saw him. It's a day that's forever imprinted on my heart. The day that my heart broke not once, but twice."
Chapter 22 -- Luke
Friday, September 27, 2013
Krystal and I didn't say a word to one another after we listened to Maria's story. Krystal gave Maria a hug, tears streaming down both of their faces, and I was glad I could excuse myself to use the restroom because I, too, had been unable to keep my eyes dry throughout the tale. Krystal hugged Maria one last time as I wheeled my bike onto the deserted alley, everyone finally having gone to bed, as it was nearly four o'clock in the morning. I fired up the bike and couldn't even begin to sort out everything that I was feeling. I was angry, I felt guilty (even though I hadn't done anything,) and I felt a heavy, tragic sense of loss.
We parked the bike in the gated lot and walked to the slow-as-molasses elevator and waited, stepping inside when the car finally arrived to take us up to our shitty little room. Krystal leaned her head against my shoulder, and I felt like I had a million things I wanted to say and absolutely no words would come to me. We both undressed in silence, crawled in bed, and slept, wrapped in one another's arms all night long.
I woke up and found the bed empty next to me. Krystal came out of the bathroom a few minutes later.
"Can we just get the fuck outta here?" she asked, already dressed for the ride. "I don't think I can stand this place for a second longer."
I got up, kissed her on the top of the head, and got in the shower.
We drove northwest for nearly nine hours, through Tucson, and then Phoenix, and finally arriving in Flagstaff. The change in elevation made the temperature much nicer, compared to the early fall heat that we'd baked in during the drive. We were both dirty and I was hungry. I showed Krystal to the master bathroom and used the guest bath to shower and get ready to go out to dinner. I figured we wanted anything but Mexican food.
"You look a little more like yourself, gorgeous," I said as Krystal came out of the bedroom, dressed in casual denim shorts and a sleeveless white shirt that showed off the tan she'd acquired.
We hadn't talked very much since we'd left Maria's house. It had been as though the topic was too big, too awful to know how to attack, so it was better left alone for the time being.
"Come here," I said, pulling her into my arms, craving the feel of her up against my body. Despite the fact that we'd spent the last several days together nonstop, I felt like I couldn't get enough of her. For the first time in my life, I felt like I knew what it meant to love — really love — a woman. While I held her pressed up against me, I realized that Krystal made me a stronger man, more balanced and much, much happier. I resolved not to force the conversation that evening at dinner. If it naturally came up that we talked about Maria's story, then so be it, but I wasn't going to push it. I wanted to enjoy dinner with my old lady.
"I'm starving," Krystal said, her voice muffled next to my shoulder.
"Well, let's get you fed. I'm guessing you're not craving Mexican?"
"Sexy, big cock, and you're smart, too," she said, as she ran her hand over my ass. "Let's eat and then come back here and make love all night."
"You keep talking like that and you're not getting out of here any time soon," I said, bending down to kiss her.
She pulled away immediately. "Dude, I'm gonna rip someone's head off if I don't get something to eat," she said, looking like she was pretty serious. "And you're the only one here," she warned.
I laughed and picked up my keys from the dining room table. "So what do you think of the place?" I asked, as I noticed her looking around the condo, something she hadn't bothered to do in her beeline for the shower.
"It's perfect," she answered. "It looks like you. Nice quality stuff, but not pretentious."
"Well, that's quite a compliment, I think," I said as I opened the front door for her. "You wouldn't mind spending a little time here a couple of times a year?"
"First of all, I'd go anywhere with you." She stopped and thought for a second. "Except for Juarez. I don't want to go back there. And second of all, from what I've seen, Flagstaff is gorgeous, and I love your place."
I groaned a little as I swung my leg over the bike. "Don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to riding in a car in a few days."
Krystal laughed — a genuine, full-on laugh — a sound I hadn't heard in quite a while. "I'm with you sugar. Your old lady's gonna be bowlegged if we have to ride very far tonight."
I figured we didn't need any place fancy, so I'd picked my favorite barbecue place, a doubly good choice since it was only a mile from my house. I could smell the smoke before we even got to the parking lot, and I hoped barbecue was okay with Krystal.
She took her helmet off after I parked. "Oh my god, I can't think of anything that sounds better than barbecue. You know this place?"
"I only ate here about once a week when I lived here. Spike, the owner, is a friend of mine."
"I hadn't thought about meeting your friends," she said, leaning over to look at her reflection in the car that was parked next to us. "I'd have put some makeup on, if I'd known."
"Quit it," I said, having already decided that I liked her better without makeup. "You're perfect, and I'll be proud to show you off. Spike's gonna flirt with you, but you don't have a thing to worry about. He's as queer as a three dollar bill."
"Hm," she said, pointing to the sign over the door that read "Spike's Texas BBQ." "He must have wanted to get out of Texas, huh? I can't imagine there are too many gay men who own barbecue restaurants there."
I laughed. "Some days, I don't know that Arizona's much better, but Spike's got a loyal clientele who couldn't care less if he's gay, as long as he keeps smoking brisket the way he does." I opened the door. "After you, old lady."
After hugs, kisses (for the hostess, not Spike,) and introductions to the entire staff, Krystal and I got settled at a high top table in the bar. We ordered beers — huge ones — and enough food for an army. Spike brought us a few cornmeal battered fried pickles to start us off, and I looked at Krystal, realizing that we were gonna have to talk about Maria's story and what it meant.
Krystal set her beer glass down after draining it halfway. "Holy shit, that tastes good
," she said, reaching for another pickle. "I think I'm going to live."
"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that," I said with a smile, despite all of the shit we'd learned and the mess that I knew was ahead of us. "You ready to talk?" I didn't have to explain what I meant.
Krystal shook her head. "I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to talk about Maria. I feel sick to my stomach, and I want to make those fuckers pay." She polished off her beer and signaled for another when the bartender looked our way. "Can we table the details about Maria and talk about what we're going to do? I don't think I can handle any more than that tonight."
"Of course." I thought for a second. "Thing one is to figure out what we're going to tell Tanner and Singer."
"Can you pacify them with some names and addresses? Leave out the part about the fact that you're bringing illegal weed in from Mexico?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna have to," I agreed. "Hopefully, that'll keep them busy for a while."
"And then you're gonna have to deal with the vote about running girls. How the fuck are you gonna handle that? You had a majority for it, right?"
I shook my head. "No idea. I know Zeno's against it, and now we know why, but I'm gonna have to figure out how much to tell the other guys to get them to vote against it, at least for now."
Krystal looked at me. "And that leaves Joker."
"That leaves Joker," I echoed. "Krystal, I have no idea what to do. I'm having trouble reconciling Maria's story with the man I've grown to like. The shit he and Moses were involved in, I can't even think about it without feeling sick to my stomach."
She covered my hand with her own. "I know, sugar. We don't have to get into the details. What are you going to do about him?"
"Baby, I think I'm gonna have to give him to the feds."
Once the words were out of my mouth, I felt like a weight had been lifted off me. I'd known the right thing to do, but that didn't make it the easy thing to do. Now that I'd admitted it out loud, I couldn't back away without being a pussy, being the kind of man I didn't want to see in the mirror.