The Mamacita Murders

by Debra Mares

  “Someone’s trying to send you a message, Christina. It’s important for you to tell me who that might be. If not, I can’t help you.”

  “I think they’re trying to send a message to you, Miss Gaby.”

  “What do you mean to me?”

  “They don’t like what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “You’re helping girls like me and Laura stay off the street. Laura was starting to change. She really wanted to join The Mamacita Club and made me give her all my books after I read them. Bess and my mom think the club is all BS. They want it shut down. Bess wouldn’t let Laura join because she didn’t want us hanging around,” she says.

  “Did she think you were involved in the prostitution stuff too?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what that woman thought. But she certainly doesn’t like me. I’ve never told you this, but I’m the one that called police on Javier,” she says.

  “I always wondered if it was you,” I say.

  “I think my mom told Bess it was me,” she says.

  “So why am I the target?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “The club is making a difference. You’re making it harder for the ring to do their job. They don’t want me talking to people like you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because the lady said that on the phone. I told her I was going to tell you what was going on. And she said she was going to take care of you.”

  “Did she say what she was going to do?”

  “No. She just said ‘Don’t worry about her, I’m going to take care of her.’”

  “Do you think they’re here right now?”

  “No. But I’d watch my back if I were you, Miss Gaby.”

  “Did that officer that Laura was sleeping with know how close you and Laura were?”

  “Yeah, I’ve met him. I’ve hung out with them.”

  “Tell me this, Christina. What’s the name of the officer Laura was sleeping with?”

  “I ain’t telling you his name.”

  “Christina, why are you going with your mom?” I say, changing the subject.

  “What are my other options? The guy I’m with now beat me up for no reason. He used to treat me good, but it ain’t worth him slapping me around, even though he buys me things. Sleeping with him is one thing, but abusing me is another.”

  I stay quiet. What do I tell a seventeen year-old girl who openly admits that she uses her body to get by on a day-to-day basis? It takes all of me to keep my mouth shut, but I do. Because I need Christina to help me. I need girls like her and Laura to be willing to come forward and lay down the law for these men so they stop taking advantage of young women like Christina.

  “Christina, can I ask you something?” I say.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Why would a pimp kill his source of income?”

  “What are you saying? Why would a pimp kill a hooker like Laura?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Let me tell you something,” she says. “These men prey on girls that have issues. They look for girls whose parents don’t care about them or have parents that are drug addicts, alcoholics, gamblers, gang members, or in prison. They look for girls like me. When I was eight years old, I still remember my mom taking me to the bathroom in a fast food restaurant on the way to the mountains. When I came out, she was gone. I waited for three days before social services picked me up. I didn’t see my mom again for seven years.

  “These men know who the girls are that have issues. They take advantage of us. If you’re asking me why a man would kill a girl like Laura, somebody who’s making them money? I’ve been beaten up before when I’m trying to get away from a guy. They’ll come and stalk you, beat you up, and even leave you for dead if you try and leave them. Especially these gang members. They’re all pimping out girls because prostitution is hard to uncover,” says Christina truthfully.

  Christina is right. No one involved is going to snitch to police. Plus, it’s easy to get away with. When police stop a girl with her pimp, it’s easy for her to pass him off as her boyfriend. Sex workers are a lucrative commodity for a gang and they carry less liability. They aren’t easily detectible by police, such as guns, stolen merchandise, or drugs.

  But the real problems start when the girl tries to get away from her pimp. These gang members will stick other gang members on them just to control their bitches. They even post things online about assaulting the sex workers that leave. People tell the girls you can stop doing this, but it’s not true. Aside from getting the gang on them, pimps will threaten their sex workers and even kill them; all to show other girls what will happen if they try to leave.

  “What else can you tell me about the cop that was sleeping with Laura?” I ask.

  “I can tell you this. Laura told me her mom and the cop were close,” she says.

  “Did she say in what way?” I ask.

  “She never wanted to talk about it,” she says.

  “Did Laura ever tell you if this cop threatened her?”

  Christina stays quiet, looking down towards the metallic bench connected to the picnic table we are sitting at.

  “He never threatened her, but he was aggressive sometimes. She mentioned he did things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tie her up.”

  “With what?”

  “Anything he could find. Things around the motel room or even his uniform. He would take off his shirt and tie it around her,” Christina says.

  “What do you mean motel room?” I ask.

  “Clown rented her motel rooms and sometimes Laura would be with three or four men that would come through the room. Clown would wait for her downstairs in his car and make sure she was safe. If Laura ever had a problem, she could call him and he’d be right there,” she says.

  “Did you actually see Clown waiting or did Laura tell you about it?” I ask.

  “I saw it happen. They were trying to get me involved.”

  “Did Laura say how the cop would tie her up?”

  “He’d just have her put her hands together above her head and tie her wrists together,” Christina says. “I mean, nothing that hurt or anything. Laura never had bruises. She was cool with it. It just seemed like he wanted to domino, I mean, what’s that word? Dominatrix?”

  “Dominate?”

  “Yeah, that. She would say that word.”

  I stare at Christina, who looks so young, but knows way too much about Laura and prostitution, that I’m convinced she has started hooking or is about to.

  “Christina, why are you going with your mom? She’s not a safe person to be with.”

  “I feel safer with her than with the men I’ve been living with lately. And I’m done living with my grandma at the trailer park. In fact, I’m heading over there right now to pick up the rest of my stuff.”

  “You deserve more, Christina,” I say. “I want you to believe that. Your mom is no example and not a good person for you to be with. She hasn’t proven to you that she’s changed. A few months ago, she was trying to sell you to a man. You’re better off staying with your grandma.

  “You’re a beautiful girl and you have so much potential. The poetry you write is amazing. You could do something with your life. It’s your choice. But please think hard before you decide to stay with your mom. That’s only going to land you in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “I care a lot about you and this is the only reason I’m telling you this. Your mom has a drug problem. She can’t take care of you and you don’t need to be taking care of her. You should be following your dreams, finishing school, and being the counselor you want to be. There’s other options out there for you. When you’re ready, you can call me or Angela and stay at the Airstream.”

  “I know,” Christina replies. “You’ve always said that to me.”

  “I’m going to try and stay out of your business. But what I need you to do for me is show up to court the day after tomorrow and test
ify about Laura getting pimped out by Clown and the things she told you. We’ll be in Department Nineteen at one-thirty in the afternoon. If you don’t show up, I’m sending out a search crew for you,” I say.

  “I’ll show up. Someone like Clown, he’s going to keep doing what he’s doing, pimping out young girls. That’s why I’ll show up,” Christina says.

  “I need you to tell me one more thing,” I say, reaching into my pocket and taking out the crumpled Mamacita Mason Jar note. I unfold it and study it again.

  You’Re next. You’Re choice. Bullet, blade, oR flamingo vase?

  It’s identical to the one I received at my door.

  “How’d you find that? I thought your threw those away?” says Christina.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask.

  “I was afraid,” says Christina.

  “Where’d you get this?” I ask.

  It was in my door jamb at my grandma’s,” she says.

  “Who do you think left it?” I ask.

  “The same person who did the drive-by. I found it the same day,” she says nervously.

  Christina pulls a crumpled piece of paper from her purse. “And this one was left at my grandma’s yesterday,” says Christina, whose eyes are filling up with tears.

  I open it and read the purple ink.

  You and Gaby aRe next.

  27

  UNRAVELED

  A couple hours after leaving Lacy Park, I head home in the beast. My cell phone rings.

  “Hi, Gaby, this is Officer Vince Saunter, Kiki’s friend from the property room. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there’s quite a stir going on at Leafwood RV Park. Your Airstream was just towed. Apparently some calls came in starting around five o’clock. Leafwood PD was dispatched out there and a flatbed was sent out there. I thought I’d give you a call, since I know how expensive it can be to store something like that and pay tow fees. You know?” says Vince.

  “Do you know who requested the tow?” I ask.

  “Hmmm. It should say right here. It looks like the name Bess Sanchez is showing as the initial caller in the 911 log,” says Vince.

  “I know exactly who that is,” I say disgustedly.

  I pull off the freeway ramp and head to Leafwood RV Park. The possibility that Bess could have been involved with jeopardizing The Mamacita Club appalls me. Bess is going to have to answer why she did this. The thought of her being involved in any of this, especially when I fought for her daughter and tried to get Laura help is beyond me. Bess needs to explain all of this -- why she’s upset at me and why she doesn’t want my motorhome there. And if she doesn’t explain, I will make her explain. This conversation is long overdue. She must have a problem with me personally. But I need to play this right. I want to find out what she knows about Cruz. And maybe she could give me some information about Laura’s boss lady.

  I pull into the Leafwood RV park. The space the Airstream was parked at is empty. Tire marks in the dirt are the only thing left. I drive towards Bess’s trailer and see that her television is on inside her mobile home. Before making a sharp turn towards her home, I turn my lights and engine off and roll my Celica past Bess’s space to the next home.

  I step on my brakes and let my car glide until it comes to a stop. I open my door, denting it against a clay pot holding a small cactus near some rocks. I shut my door and look at my watch. 8:50 p.m. I make my way up to Bess’s home. I usually try to avoid confrontation, but I’m not letting this one go. She’s messing with The Mamacita Club.

  I knock at Bess’s door and hear a rocking type chair squeaking before I hear footsteps creaking on a floor getting louder and louder. The front door opens.

  “Yes, may I help you?” asks Bess nonchalantly.

  “Hi, Mrs. Sanchez, may I speak with you for a minute,” I say firmly.

  “Sure, what’s going on?” says Bess calmly. “Come on in.”

  “I’m fine out here. Did you have my Airstream towed?” I ask excitedly.

  “No, of course not,” says Bess.

  Knowing Bess is lying makes me even more angry.

  “Well, why don’t you explain why your name is on the dispatch log as the person who first called the police,” I say.

  “It was the neighbors who have been complaining. They have been asking that I call ever since the drive-by, so I finally did. Plus Mr. Vanderbilt from your office told us to report any concerns we had directly with the police. It was becoming a nuisance. Children were starting to play around it and it blocks the view of traffic,” says Bess.

  A teapot starts whistling loudly inside Bess’s home.

  “Come in, Ms. Ruiz. I need to turn the tea down,” says Bess, motioning me to come inside her mobile home.

  I follow her in and stand alone in her living room, desperately waiting for her to return from the kitchen so I can examine her more.

  “Bess, do you have a problem with me?” I yell towards the kitchen, knowing her answer alone will tell me everything. “I mean, do you have a problem with me helping your daughter or the other girls here at the park?” I ask.

  “No, no, not at all. I didn’t understand what you were doing before, but I understand now,” says Bess. “I’m making myself some tea. Would you like some?” Bess yells from the kitchen.

  “I’m fine,” I say back, disbelieving Bess.

  I take a couple deep breaths and start to relax.

  Bess’s living room looks exactly the same way I remembered it. Never knowing if she realized Dylan and I had been in her house the day Clown was arrested, I decide I certainly am not going to bring up that subject again. The same books I gave to Christina for the program still sit in the bookshelf. Christina did give them to Laura. The Alchemist. I loved reading that book and remember how abstract it was to the girls who read it at The Mamacita Club, but I knew they would relate to it someday. The idea of always looking for something, some trunk of gold that wasn’t ever there, would at some point hit them. I feel like I’m still searching for that gold, but am slowly coming to terms with the fact that it’s right in front of me.

  I move closer to the bookshelf, hearing Bess pouring water. The books lay horizontally on the shelf, stacked up in one straight pile one on top of the other. Wanting to read that first line of The Alchemist, I reach for it and pull it from the shelf.

  The top of a glass jar exposes itself behind the stack of books. Oh, my gosh. My arms tense up and I freeze. There’s no way that could be what it looks like. A million thoughts run through my head. I remain entirely silent and try to hear where Bess is.

  I pretend not to have noticed what I just saw, but look one last time to make sure it is what I think it is. Trembles through my body start from my chest, move up to my face and take over my lower extremities.

  The small head of a flamingo rests to the side of the jar. The bright pink and cream colors of the ceramic are as remarkable as the matching vase inside the motel room Laura was found.

  I think back to the letter that rested near my peephole, threatening my life with a bullet, blade, or flamingo vase.

  “Have you read that book before,” says Bess in a whisper. I feel her warm breath on the side of my head.

  I turn around and open The Alchemist. “I’ve always loved this book,” I say nervously.

  “What did you like about it?” asks Bess, suspiciously.

  “Just the idea of magic, adventure, a journey, the idea of coming back to something familiar and grounded in love,” I respond quickly.

  “I believe there is no such thing,” says Bess sternly. “At least those things were taken away from me,” says Bess. “My family, my daughter, my life. All taken away,” says Bess moving closer to me.

  The look of anger in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. I begin to back away from the bookshelf and move toward the front door, fearing for the first time that Bess may really be capable of something like murder.

  Before I have a chance to decide whether to make a run for it, Bess takes out a sharp pock
et knife from her apron pocket. “My life was taken away by you,” says Bess, staring evily into my eyes. My sight blurs as I catch the shimmer from the blade. I see my mom with a stab wound through her chest.

  My vision sharpens once Bess grabs the hair on the back of my head. Bending me back over her rocking chair, I lose my balance and land on my tailbone, losing any chance to grab my Lady Smith. Dammit, I think, fearing the worst if Bess gets to it. She holds her pocket knife up to my throat.

  “Please, Bess, you don’t have to do this,” I plead, staring into her eyes, which are blankly staring through me. It’s that same blank stare my mom had in that photo.

  Mom, please help me, please save me. A violent kick at Bess’s front door startles us both. Christina stands in the doorway of Bess’s home, with her arms extended holding a gun, ordering Bess to let me go. Everything around me goes blurry and I begin to faint.

  28

  SURE SIGNS

  I take the day off to recuperate from Bess trying to kill me last night. Down at the Cove, I inhale the smell of salt water and realize more than ever how lucky I am to be alive. It brings me the peace that I need to call upon the Universe.

  I sit breathing, in and out, in a rhythm and pace that slows down everything around. Laura comes walking towards me, wearing a white flowing dress with her hair pinned up to its sides by white and yellow flower hair fasteners. Her smile calms me and she sits next to me on the rocks.

  “When I first met you, I thought there was nothing you could do for me, ever. I didn’t care if another day went by that I never saw you or spoke with you again,” Laura says.

  “But my gut told me that I needed to trust you, that I needed to put my faith in you, because I had nothing to lose. What drew me to you was your sense of hope, your belief in leaps of faith, and your fearlessness. You seemed like you could make my dreams come true, especially to help me get out of the ugliness of where I live and do well in school. That’s why I believed in you and wanted to join The Mamacita Club.