by C. S. 96
I staked out the property for three days, at different times and from different locations away from the viewfinders of these cameras. An older woman of about sixty came and went without any regularity, always in her three-year-old Mercedes and always in the company of a man, about forty, who looked Arabic. I assumed this woman was Sylvia, the one Raul had called the family matriarch. The man could have been her driver.
I watched the teenager who had approached Raul leave in the mornings around ten and return at four every afternoon. Could he have had a job? On very rare occasions, a beautiful woman with a dark olive complexion, high cheekbones, and straight jet-black hair would sit in the alley and watch a toddler as he played with the toys on the lawn. She was always dressed in very high-end clothing and wore tasteful, understated jewelry. This woman did not fit in this neighborhood—at all. In fact, she looked tired, as if discouraged by her circumstances.
In my training as an undercover informant, I’d come to understand that in surveillance work what you don’t see happening is often more telling than what you do. On this block chock-full of gangbangers hanging out on their porches and in cars double-parked in the street, radios blaring, I couldn’t help but notice how no one so much as said a word to this beautiful woman or even looked in her direction. Clearly, she was tied to the matriarch, and everybody knew it. And, as I’d come to learn, the matriarch was terrifying.
The next day I went to Ramona and explained the situation to Tim Dowling. I needed to get the Alliance Group onboard with the takedown and to confirm that another team wasn’t already onto this family. Tim made a number of calls and confirmed they weren’t already being watched.
Eventually, he gave me the green light to move ahead, but I could tell he was nervous about me going out on my own for the first time. If something happened to me, the finger would be pointed at him.
I, on the other hand, didn’t lack faith that I could ensnare these drug runners. Meeting families like this one had been the core of my existence for the past ten years—my ability to procure new buyers and sellers was part of what made Tony’s operation what it was: one of the biggest smuggling outfits in the United States.
Tim was also obliged to ask if I needed or wanted a “ghost” to follow me, an agent to watch my back. That was the last thing I wanted, especially in light of this family’s current predicament. They were going to be very raised up and suspect of me from the outset. If they felt at all threatened, this deal was going away, and they might leave me with a bullet in my head.
I told Tim a ghost would be more of a liability than anything. The thing about first meets is that they’re always a game, two dogs sniffing at each other. What I had going for me was my pedigree—they were looking for a reliable source to sell to. They wouldn’t kill me on our first meet. What would be the point?
I smiled. “No,” I said. “They’ll wait until I bring them a duffel bag full of hundreds… and then they’ll kill me.”
Tim suppressed a laugh. “It’s time for you to start thinking of relocating,” he said.
I nodded. “I’m bringing it up to Inez. Even though the Beltráns don’t know where I live, I realize that a good PI can find me. Believe me, I don’t like the fact that after what happened, Tony might get word to someone to get to me at my home.”
I don’t know whether it was my insistence on not having a ghost or my frankness about the fear I felt for my family, but Tim decided to finally let me in on a secret he’d been keeping from me. “We have people watching your house,” he said. I’d never see them, but they’d be there. “I would have told you, but I knew you’d worry that it would raise up Inez and frankly we don’t have a choice about this.”
It was time to earn my keep, knock down the case pending against me, and move with my family on to a new safer, quieter life.
Raul called the teenager, telling him I was interested. Our meeting was to take place at the National City home that next afternoon. I was nervous about bringing Raul—imagining what Sylvia or whoever was running this operation would think of our 130-pound crackhead connection—but what choice did I have?
Raul would have to be tossed under the bus.
Queen of Hearts, Lord of the Sky
Inez was helping me pick out my outfit and jewelry for the meet. Raul had coordinated with the teenager, and I was to discuss our potential deal with Sylvia in their home. Inez seemed at first apprehensive about the operation, but she knew I was in my element. She picked out a charcoal pinstripe Brooks Brothers suit with wide lapels and a pair of black leather Gucci shoes.
Everything in this business is predicated on first impressions, and I had to find a way to impress the hell out of these people in spite of Raul. I had to drip money because they would check everything from my belt, to my money clip, to my keychain, and the clothing had to be in concordance with my legend as the Beltráns’ American distributor.
I was prepared. Beyond my $4000 suit and accessorized clothing, I was wearing my Platinum Daytona Rolex, a platinum pinky ring that held a flawless three-carat diamond, a solid gold link bracelet, and, in a nod to these very pious Mexicans, a solid gold rosary with a garish three-inch cross bathed in diamonds. I left this last piece of jewelry partially hidden just below the third button of my shirt.
This whole meet was a charade, a game of cat and mouse. If I came on too strong, I risked belittling them; if I came on too soft, then maybe I wasn’t as solvent as they’d expect. Attention to detail and analyzing the way the beautiful woman at the bunker dressed helped me decide on my level of physical deception.
Inez looked me up and down and smiled. “You’re either an international man of intrigue,” she said, “or you’re a drug dealer.… Just don’t ever wear this outfit to meetings with the PTA.”
We hugged, and she brushed the lint from my arm. She told me I wasn’t the same person I was last month. The truth was, I did feel transformed. No longer did I live in fear of Tony’s next temper tantrum or the fallout from Hector’s lavish lifestyle. My fears were of another kind. Yet I felt more confident than ever because I knew there were now men behind me who would actually lay down their lives for me.
“I always have faith in you,” Inez said. “You will call me before and after?”
I promised I would, and we kissed one last time.
Raul and I rendezvoused at an amusement park in National City. He twirled, proud of his new look. I’d asked him to dress up, which apparently meant to him throwing a suit jacket two sizes too big over his black t-shirt and ratty jeans.
Driving to the house, I set the ground rules. Raul was there only to introduce me to this woman Sylvia, or to whoever meets us out front. Once we were in, I was to do all the talking. He was to find an excuse to step out and leave us to negotiate.
He looked crestfallen. “But, Rome, man, I’m the dude who set this up. Won’t it look funny if I just walk away?”
“No, in fact it’ll look exactly how it should look. Listen, Raul, these people know who I am. They also know Tony and your brother, but they don’t really know you. And they’re already raised up about this meeting.” It was no secret that Raul got high, and even though it broke my heart to tell him, I said that if they thought my partner had a drug problem, they might call the whole thing off.
He dropped his head, and I wondered if the realization at how his life turned out—the realization that he had already squandered so many of the opportunities he’d ever be given—was hitting home.
“I get it,” he said.
He pulled down the vanity mirror and looked at himself long and hard. He rubbed his balled-up fists into his cheeks to try and add some color to his normal gray pallor. When that didn’t work, he began slapping his face—hard—and he continued to do so until I grabbed his arm to stop him.
“You look fine, Raul. Please don’t overthink this. We’re two friends, you and I, acquaintances of your brother, who is my partner. If they ask anything about Tony, you tell them you haven’t seen him, that you’re just my dr
iver. And tell them I keep you in the dark about these things to keep you safe.”
He nodded. “I’m gonna let you do your thing, Roma.”
I didn’t want to tell him this, but I felt I had to: “Call me ‘Roman,’ always the full name.” Roma suggested a deeper relationship.
I pulled in front of the sliding electric gates, which rolled open before us. I parked behind two Mercedes, older but in decent enough shape to suggest some money. Before we got out of the car I grabbed Raul’s leg and looked at him one last time. I covered my mouth with my hand as I assumed that those cameras were working overtime zooming into my face at that exact moment and said, “We cool, brother?”
He smiled at me as if nothing had transpired. “I’m going to let you do your thing, Roman.” He enunciated perfectly. No street slang, no Ebonics or whatever dialect it was that he sometimes spoke. It was as if a ventriloquist had hopped into the backseat.
The front door to the house opened and the teenager who introduced himself as Estefan stepped out. We both reached him at the same time and he quickly shook Raul’s hand then mine vigorously. “It’s a real honor to meet you, Mister Roman,” he said in a thick Mexican accent. “Thank you for seeing my family today.”
I chuckled. “Listen, Estefan, the only people that call me Mister Roman are my wife and kids. You can call me Roman.”
He didn’t seem to get the joke and nodded quickly, then led us into the house. For the first time on a mission I could feel sweat run down my back. I wondered if I’d made a mistake not to bring a gun, though I knew deep down how disrespectful—and potentially dangerous—that would have been. When I pitched the operation to Tim, I was certain this family would never lay a hand on me in this first meeting. Now I wondered what I could do if I was wrong, and the horrifying truth was nothing: I’d be trapped.
The inside of the house was no different than the outside, other than the horrendous color schemes on every wall: lime green, yellow, lavender, and blue. The parlor area I entered was cluttered with furniture that looked like it fell off a truck from the 1960s, plastic slipcovers included. Colored glass lamps hung from the ceiling strung by thick brown chains. There were plastic flowers and crucifixes everywhere.
The woman I recognized as Sylvia stepped into the room wearing a colorful Fendi dress that wouldn’t have been sexy no matter who was wearing it. On Sylvia, the dress was especially far from the mark, if that was in fact her aim. We locked eyes, and I felt the oddest chill run through me, as if she was trying to reach into my soul, devour my secrets, learn all of my tells.
I gave her the warmest smile I could manage and told her how nice it was to meet her.
Her face was so tightly nipped and tucked that it appeared ready to split up the sides had her smile widened any further.
In an accent like her son’s, Sylvia told me the pleasure was hers. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,” she said. Only when she let go of my hand did she finally notice my sidekick. “And you are?”
Thankfully Estefan jumped in; I guess he was as worried about Raul as I was. In Spanish he said, “He’s Roman’s partner, Raul.” He explained the connection to Hector and lowered his voice. “He won’t be involved with you and Roman—just here for the introduction.”
Sylvia shot her son an evil look, then quickly regrouped, turned back to Raul, and gave him her hand. The moment Raul touched it, she quickly pulled it back. She looked at me without saying a word, and her glare said everything.
Raul picked up his cue and cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m going to let you do your thing, Roman.” Raul then did something that shocked me. He pointed to the couch and in a perfect Mexican dialect asked Sylvia, “Ma’am, would it be okay if I sat on one of the couches or if you’d like I can sit in the car outside?”
Sylvia thought about this for more than a moment. Then, in a half-hearted gesture, she pointed to the couch and then whispered something to Estefan, who took a seat on one end.
I followed Sylvia through a large foyer. As we were walking she said, “A man like you, why are you involved with… with the vermin you just walked in here with?”
It was the question I dreaded more than any other, because even though I was prepared for it, even though I’d wake at night thinking about it, I couldn’t come up with a convincing answer. My nerves ran cold. Before I could second-guess myself, I gave her the answer I’d prepared. I needed to keep him on because he was my partner’s brother. He was misguided, but harmless and above all else loyal. And we, like everybody else, needed to get around. He was our driver.
I let out a resigned sigh, and scanned the room Sylvia had led us to. She caught me staring at a Jesus statuette hanging precipitously over the fireplace. “Listen,” I said, “I’d be as skeptical as you had you brought him to me during a first meet of what hopefully will turn out to be many meetings, because I’ve heard some good things about you and our mutual cousins down south.”
She stopped walking and looked me directly in the eyes. She nodded her head and then wrapped her arm around my waist.
That’s when I knew she was mine.
“There are some interesting people I think you’ll be happy to meet,” she said. When she smiled, there was heat attached to it, like she was coming on to me with her big cappuccino-colored eyes. Though I was terrified at the way she was sizing me up, I did my best to smile right back. Let her fantasize all she wanted if that was going to get me to the next level of business. I had a case to work off.
We entered a rather large dining room, and its centerpiece was a massive mahogany table covered with the most extravagant plate settings, soup bowls, wine goblets, and fine antique silverware I’d ever seen. It was as if they were expecting the Queen of England.
The vaulted ceiling and candelabras of all shapes and sizes crowding the room gave it a gothic feel. I was impressed at how well it pulled off the look Sylvia had attempted. That’s when I realized that the room was lit entirely by candlelight and the abundance of candles had raised its temperature by at least ten degrees. At exactly the moment in which I needed to meet her partners and project composure, I found myself pulling out my handkerchief to swab the sweat from my neck and face.
Yes, I was hot, but for the first time that day I was also truly terrified. Everyone in the drug trade knew the stories of the Fuentes family’s cannibalism, about the powers they told their workers it granted them, about the time they’d cut a man’s bleeding heart from his chest and passed it around the table. And sweating through my pants in this isolated room in the middle of Sylvia’s house—under what looked like a coat of arms depicting hooded men carrying long sickles covered in blood—I wondered if I’d been wrong to think I had Sylvia in my palm. If she chose to have me killed here, no sign would emerge from the house that anything was amiss, nothing to tip off my colleagues stationed outside—not until it was too late.
A large-screen television was playing a Mexican soccer game. At the end of the enormous table three men sat mesmerized by the game, barely acknowledging Sylvia and me. She waited for a moment and when they did not turn to us she began banging fork to plate. The men jumped, then turned. They seemed to startle when they saw me sitting next to her at the head of the table.
Sylvia introduced me to the men. Her husband, Miguel, was a quiet man in in his late sixties, with a squat build and eyes that bulged slightly as if the result of a thyroid condition. The others were Robbie (who was wearing a flashy purple suit), Miguel’s nephew, and Joaquin, whose relation I didn’t gather. I asked Robbie who he was wearing, and we talked fashion. Outwardly, he seemed obliging. Did he notice, I wondered, how whenever I tried to laugh, my voice caught?
They didn’t bring up the purpose of this meeting, and at first I followed their lead. Aside from not getting killed, my objective for the day was to assess all of these men—and Sylvia—to confirm whether she indeed or one of them was the head of this bizarre, powerful clan. Once I knew my target, I was confident I could finish the job.
B
ut as the soccer game rolled into the final quarter and the five of us continued to make small talk, I could tell I needed to make the first push.
“Again, it’s nice to meet you gentlemen,” I said. “You know I work with Tony and Hector.” I noticed Miguel and Robbie lock eyes. There was the slightest unspoken communication. “We’ve been together,” I continued, “since 1985, and—”
That’s when Robbie cut me off. “All due respect, Roman,” he said, “but let’s wait until we’re all seated at the table before we talk business.”
I nodded in agreement.
Sylvia walked in carrying plates of food, followed by the stunning woman I’d seen sitting in the front yard, who was also carrying plates.
Soon, we were all tearing into the food.
It was too quiet. All I could think about was how slowly this meeting was progressing. I wondered what my ghosts outside were thinking. Tim had convinced me I needed to let them follow me, but what could they see—or do—from outside? Would they call this off and bust into the house if I didn’t emerge?
I tried to loosen the family up. “I have to ask,” I said. “Do you light all these candles and candelabras every night before your dinner or just for special occasions like this evening?”
At first there was silence. Then Robbie started to laugh. Eventually, Sylvia and Joaquin followed suit. Miguel, I’d decided, was a hopeless case.
“No, it’s for special guests,” Sylvia said, composing herself.
The man beside her suggested they enter the twentieth century and turn on some lights.
“Has anyone ever been wounded at one of these dinner parties?” I asked. “Any clothing catch on fire, maybe a bouffant shoot up in flames?”
Sylvia continued laughing. “Roman, I promise you the next time we have dinner here, no more candles. How’s that sound?”
I flashed her the most radiant smile I could. Inside, it felt like a grimace. “So now that we’re all here,” I said, “I was wondering if we could talk about the potential of us doing business together.”