by Glenn Trust
Jacinta looked up, and the smile was back on her face. She spoke softly. “I will be here for a while, staying with Claire.”
Claire breathed a sigh of relief that she had not said any more than that. Seated in her chair sipping coffee, she listened to them chatting through the open window, muddling along with Sandy’s semi-fluent Spanish and Jacinta’s broken English.
It was innocuous chatter, the sort of talk young people make when they are nervous and drawn to each other, not sure what to say or how to proceed. She began to relax. Later, when Sandy was gone, she would have another heart to heart talk with Jacinta. Somehow she would make her understand that she must be cautious, that life here can be good, happy even at times, but that she must never forget her place.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The shout came from across the yard. Claire’s heart sank. Doyle Krieg followed by his shadow, Paco, walked across the lawn toward the guesthouse.
Sandy made no reply. Jacinta reached out and put a hand on his arm, and for that instant, he felt his life was complete, no matter what trouble Doyle tried to stir up.
“I said what the fuck you doing here, Palmeras?”
“Watch your language,” Sandy warned.
“My language!” Doyle let out a harsh laugh. “Because of her? My dad’s whore? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Jacinta moved her hand away from Sandy’s arm. He turned his head, a question in his eyes. She looked down, and the shame on her face told him the truth.
Doyle saw it and laughed. “You dumb son of a bitch! You didn’t know, did you?” A wide, taunting grin spread across his face. “That’s right. She’s Tom Krieg’s whore.” He looked at Jacinta. “How many times has he fucked you now? Five … six … a dozen?”
Claire bounded from her chair and out onto the porch. “Get away from here, Doyle Krieg! Go now!”
“Told you before. Don’t forget your place around here, whore.” Doyle shot a dismissive glance in Claire’s direction and focused on the drama playing out between Sandy and Jacinta.
Sandy made up his mind about something and spoke. “It doesn’t matter.”
Jacinta looked up, tears streaming down her face. “Yes, it does.”
“No.” Sandy shook his head. “I don’t care about what has happened in the past. I only care about now and how much I want to be with you.”
“You don’t know me.” She shook her head. “He’s right. I have become a whore.”
“No. I’ll take you away from here.”
Doyle laughed. Claire shouted.
“No!” Claire reached down and pulled Jacinta up from the chair. “You must go now, Sandy. Do not come back to visit. You don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Sandy rose and looked from Doyle to Claire, then let his eyes rest on Jacinta’s face. “I will take you away from here.”
“Sandy, stop!” Claire was panicked now. Things were completely out of control. She shook her head, the truth spilling out with her words. “You cannot do this. Jacinta is here. She must stay here.”
“I don’t understand.” Sandy’s eyes narrowed, not wanting to grasp Claire’s meaning, but understanding it entirely now. “You mean she is a prisoner? I’ll go to the sheriff. Tell him what’s going on!”
“You can’t! You must not!” Claire grabbed his arm, the panic in her eyes turning to real terror. “What do you think will happen to her if he finds out?” She shook her head. “If you care about her, you can say nothing … not to anyone.”
Sandy reached out and took Jacinta’s hand. When she would not look into his eyes, he lifted her chin with his finger. “Come with me.”
“I cannot,” she shook her head, shame in her eyes. “Claire is right. You don’t understand. You must say nothing. It is dangerous for you here. I should not have encouraged you. I was selfish.”
“No, not selfish.” He waited for her to look up. “You feel it too, what there is between us. I won’t let that go. I’ll be back.” He turned and stepped from the porch, brushing by Doyle.
“You really are one dumb fuck,” Doyle said, laughing harder now. “I can’t believe how fucking …”
Sandy’s fist crashed into Doyle Krieg’s open mouth, splitting his lip against his teeth. He doubled over, holding his hand to his mouth, blood dripping between his fingers.
“I told you to watch your language.” Sandy glared at him, waiting for some retaliation from the boy who had been tormenting him his entire life. When none was forthcoming, he turned and walked to his pickup.
“You’ll pay for that you son of a bitch,” Doyle shouted when Sandy was safely out of striking range.
“You know where to find me.” Sandy climbed into his pickup, gunned the engine, and roared down the drive, gravel kicking out from under the tires.
Claire pulled Jacinta from the porch into the house. They stood in the living room, surrounded by the plush furnishings Tom Krieg provided for their prison. Claire held Jacinta close, her head against her shoulder.
“No llores niña. Todo estará bien.” Don’t cry, little one. All will be well.
She spoke the words, knowing they were a lie.
Sandy drove like a man lost in a trance, wandering the Texas back roads as if the miles would make things clearer. They didn’t.
How could he have lived here all of his life and not known what was happening under his nose? Did his mother know? The others in Creosote?
Everything was a contradiction. Nothing made sense, and the only thing that became clear was that there was now one inescapable truth left in his life. He loved Jacinta.
Nothing could change that. He wouldn’t let them change it.
53.
Good Cheer
“It is about time you showed up.”
Pepe Lopez sat at a small table at the back of the cantina. Two others were already at the table with him. A bottle of tequila sat in the middle, surrounded by four empty glasses. They had been waiting for the fourth member of their party for over an hour.
“I had business to attend to,” Sargento Miguel Garcia said, hitching his pants up over his belly as he walked to the table.
“I am your business,” Lopez scowled. “You would do well to remember that.”
“I have many men.” Garcia sat opposite Lopez. “They require my attention. The work of a senior official of the Policía Estatal is very demanding.”
“Senior official,” Lopez sneered. “A sergeant is not so senior.”
“More senior than you, coyotaje,” Garcia replied calmly. He shrugged. “At any rate, I am here now. Why the need for this meeting?” He glanced at the two others seated at the table. “And who are these cabróns?”
“These are my associates.” Lopez nodded at Father Alfonso, dressed in civilian garb, and Mario Acosta. “Their names are not important for you to know.”
“As you wish.” Garcia shrugged. “You are right, of course. Their names are of no importance. What is important is the reason for this meeting that you said was most urgent. Please get to the point. I have other business this evening.”
“I’m sure you do,” Lopez smirked. “No doubt with some puta in a back alley.”
“If you called me here for insults …” Garcia placed his chubby hands on the table, ready to push his bulk up and walk away. “I don’t have to stay and listen to them.”
“Sit down.” Lopez’s eyes narrowed. “You will listen. You live well as a sergeant because you are paid by me, not because of the pittance the State of Coahuila doles out to you. If you want to continue to live well, sit your fat ass down, and pay attention.”
“There is no need to speak to me in this manner.” Red-faced, Garcia relaxed his arms and folded his hands on the table. “I only meant for you to get to the point of meeting like this.” He nodded apologetically. The threat of losing his side income from Lopez had his attention. “You are correct. I should have been here earlier. I was delayed by my captain, who was asking questions about the hijacking near
Monclova.”
“And?” Lopez asked sharply.
“Oh, all is well.” Garcia grinned, to show his good nature had returned. “I have given them the report, as you and I discussed.”
“Good.” Lopez nodded. “Now to our business.” He looked around the table at the other faces. “Our employers across the border want us to put together a large shipment … three trucks.”
“Three?” Mario Acosta raised his eyebrows. “Won’t that attract attention?”
“Perhaps, but the gringos feel that there is greater security in larger numbers. Trucks alone on the road are more vulnerable to attack.” He shrugged. “So they say to me at least.”
“When?” Mario asked, his eyes darting to the side where Alfonso sat.
“Two days from now.” The sidelong glance at Acosta’s partner in treason was not lost on Lopez. He held back the smile that threatened to spread across his face. “I have already arranged the shipment. The trucks will leave the avocado farms and converge on Torreón. Questions?”
There were none.
“Good. It’s a very simple plan … security in numbers.” Lopez permitted himself a smile now. “And one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Acosta asked, anxious to gather all the information he could for his new partner, Benito Diaz.
“We will all be along.”
“What?”
“We will be along.” Lopez nodded at Alfonso and Acosta. “Both of you and me, we will each be in a truck as part of the security.”
“I don’t think I can.” Mario shook his head.
“You will be there. These are the orders from Krieg and Zabala. Each of us is in charge of one of the trucks. They expect us to get them safely across the border.”
Garcia had watched the exchange, a grin on his fat face. He laughed, mocking Mario. “What’s the matter, little boy? Are you afraid?”
“And you,” Lopez said, scowling at the police sergeant. “You will be along as well, you and your men.”
“Me?” Garcia shook his head. “But I can’t be involved …”
“You already are involved,” Lopez snapped. “You will be there, or your life of luxury will cease.” Lopez grinned. “Even more, you will no longer be a police sergeant. Someone will make a call to your superiors and let them know about your activities in working with a coyotaje.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Yes, I would,” Lopez said matter-of-factly. “We are in dangerous times, a war even. In war, we do things we would not do otherwise. You will drive your police vehicle ahead of the caravan of trucks, making sure the road is clear.
The others at the table were silent. Lopez looked into each of their faces. “Do this,” he said. “Let’s end this war quickly for Krieg and Zabala so we can return to doing business as usual.”
Lopez poured tequila from the bottle on the table into the glasses that had remained empty until now. “To business.”
“To business,” the others said and lifted the glasses, downing the tequila in a gulp.
“Now, I must go.” Mario Acosta rose. “I will need to make some preparations at home to explain my sudden departure.”
“If you need to go, go.” Lopez shrugged and poured more tequila for himself.
“And I too must go,” Garcia said, rising. “There are many arrangements to make if my men are to be in place to follow the trucks.”
“Make your arrangements, Sargento,” Lopez said, sipping the tequila. When they had both departed, he turned to Father Alfonso. “So, will he tell Diaz?”
“Yes.” Alfonso nodded. “He may already be on the phone with him.”
“And you?”
“I will do as you instructed and follow up with a call of my own to Diaz.”
“Will he fall into our trap?”
“It is likely,” Alfonso said, nodding and remembering the crazed look in the Yaqui’s eyes when he declared war on the gringos. “Diaz is a greedy man … more than that, though, he is proud, and thinks that he can do anything. He will take the idea of the three trucks together for security reasons as a challenge to him. His pride will force him to accept the challenge.”
“Good. You can go now. We meet in Torreón in two days.”
“I’ll be there.”
Alfonso stood and walked from the cantina. Outside, he wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his arm, wondering at the predicament his greed had brought him to.
It occurred to the priest that this was his penance, helping one gangster fight another. If he survived, perhaps he could go to confession and be forgiven for the wrongs he had committed, for taking money for the young girls he sold to the gringos. After all, over the years, had he not forgiven many sinners in the confessional? He would find another priest to forgive him.
Inside the cantina, alone now at the table, Pepe Lopez sipped the tequila then poured another. The plans were made, the pieces in place. The warm tequila glow in his belly flushed his face red with good cheer.
54.
Someplace Safe
“Did you know?” Sandy stood in the doorway of the café, glaring at his mother.
“I knew.”
Isabella looked up into her son’s eyes. They were harsh, cold, and angry. His icy stare made her shudder. There had always been warmth and tenderness between them, and now, she wondered if that was lost forever because she had not been able to bring herself to tell her son the truth.
“You knew that Krieg keeps girls as prisoners … turns them into his whores?” He regarded his mother as if seeing her for the first time. “And you said nothing? You accepted it … never reported it to the sheriff … never said a damned word about it to anyone … to me!”
Each word was a sledgehammer blow, crashing into her chest. Isabella lowered her head, avoiding the anger in his eyes.
“You don’t understand.” She fought to control the tears that threatened to cascade down her face.
“Understand! What the hell is there to understand?” Sandy pounded a fist on the counter in front of her. “He takes women, rapes them, and keeps them prisoner.”
“It’s complicated, son.”
“Don’t call me that.” He looked at her. “I don’t even know you right now. How could you turn a blind eye to what he is doing? He should be in prison!” There was a catch in his throat as he fought back his own tears. “And Jacinta … she’s just a girl, my age. I love her, and she’s …” His voice trailed off, unable to say the words.
“What are you going to do?” Isabella whispered without looking up, dreading the answer.
“I’ve been driving around in circles, asking myself that question. Jacinta is terrified that I will say something.”
“And?”
“I have to. Krieg can’t be allowed to get away with this. I’m going to Sheriff Dermott. I’ll tell him everything, at least everything I know. It should be enough to start an investigation. Krieg won’t be able to hide everything. He can’t pay off everybody.”
“He can.” Isabella raised her head, her eyes pleading with her son. “He will pay off anyone who knows anything. They’ll take the money. No one will stand against him. If they try …” She shook her head. “They won’t try.”
“Jacinta is there now! Claire Toussaint is there now. I heard what Doyle Krieg said. I’m a witness.”
“If you go to the sheriff, you’ll never see her again.”
“What does that mean? Krieg will do something to Jacinta?”
“Krieg will do whatever it takes to protect himself … to protect what he is and what he has.”
“You mean he will kill Jacinta?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that.”
“I mean he will do whatever it takes and Jacinta, Claire, you … anyone he feels is a threat … will never be seen again.”
“I won’t let him get away with it.” A disgusted snarl twisted his lips. “And I can’t believe you have let him get away with it.”
He turned and disappeared through the doo
r. Isabella sank to her knees behind the counter and let the tears come, her sobs shaking her frame.
***
Tires spinning in the gravel, Sandy roared out of Creosote, the dust billowing out behind his truck. As far as he was concerned, dust could swallow up the place, burying it and all its secrets. He was finished with it.
He couldn’t go to the sheriff. He couldn’t tell anyone. There was only one thing to do. He pressed the accelerator to the floor.
When he arrived at the Krieg ranch, he pulled up the service road that led to the cattle pens behind the barn. Stepping from the pickup, he stood for a moment looking for activity. There was none. The ranch hands were out working the cattle or handling chores. Doyle Krieg and Paco weren’t around, but that could change at any moment.
He made his way around one of the pens and started across an open lot that led to the guesthouse’s backyard. He stopped and knelt by a hydrangea bush, glancing around to make sure no one was in sight. Running across the yard now, he went to the back porch and peered through a window. There was no sign of Claire and Jacinta.
He tried the back door, found it unlocked, and pushed it open. He walked in as quietly as he could and came around a corner into a hallway. Halfway down the hall, a door opened, and he came face to face with Claire Toussaint.
“What are you doing here?” Claire’s eyes were wide with fear. She craned her head to see around Sandy, expecting to find Tom Krieg’s hulk bearing down on them.
“I’m taking her with me.”
Sandy pushed by Claire. She grabbed his arm.
“You can’t. You don’t understand what you’re saying.”
He pushed open the door Claire had come through and stopped for an instant shocked by what he saw, then ran to the bed. Jacinta lay on her back, one side of her face swollen, one eye completely closed. Blood had dried on her bruised lips.
“Jacinta!” Sandy knelt by the bed, taking her hand in his.