by Amey Zeigler
“Drug cartels bust in, shoot the place up. These shots are close, accurate. In fact, they questioned him for information.”
“How can you tell?”
“Shots in the back of the head, execution style.”
“Did they get what they wanted?”
“That remains a mystery.”
Stomach reeling, she clutched her head. She leaned against the stained wall, unable to stand. Chasing two-bit hoods, scamming con artists taking advantage of little old ladies was one thing, but this—
It comforted her to have Christiaan there, someone who spoke the language, understood guns, who wasn’t afraid to inspect a rat-infested body. She couldn’t think of it.
Christiaan washed his hands in the filthy bathroom, wiping them on his pant leg. They hurried out of the apartment and closed the door on the horror.
“We should call someone and have them bury the body,” she said, once she was out in the hall. He wiped his face with his hand. She guessed what he was thinking.
“Dead end.”
“Literally.”
Just then, an older man exited his apartment, but when he spied the two gringos, his eyes widened with fright. He quickly retreated and closed the door.
Andy and Christiaan faced to each other. “He knows something,” she said.
Christiaan pounded on the door. No answer. He continued to pound, likely to bust the door in. He shouted something in Spanish.
“What did you just say?” Andy asked when he stopped pounding.
“I just said, we know you’re in there. We want to ask a few questions.”
Andy snorted. “Yeah, that’s a friendly way to get someone to open the door.”
She noticed two shadows of feet under the door. She got an idea.
“Got paper?” she asked, eying him. Then realized how stupid her question was. “What am I thinking? Asking you for paper.” She rummaged around in her bag, finding paper and a pen, uncapped it with her teeth and held the paper up against the door.
“What are you doing?”
Andy passed two years of high school Spanish. “How do you write, ‘We are friends of Juan’? ‘Amigos des Juan,’ right?”
Christiaan snatched the paper from her. “Give it to me. What do you want me to say?”
“ ‘Juan called us and wanted to talk with us. We think he is dead.’ ” The image of the heel flashed in her mind; she didn’t want to write he was dead so she said, “No. ‘In danger.’ ”
Christiaan eyed her. “What? Maybe he witnessed Tyrone’s men come out. You remember the expression on his face? He knows something. He was afraid. Not afraid of the unknown, afraid because he knows something.”
“I know people, okay. I understand them. If he saw something, he doesn’t know who to tell. Don’t tell him Juan is already dead. Local law enforcement is powerless in a case like this.”
Christiaan arched an eyebrow. “All right, anything else?”
“ ‘We’d love to talk with you at the Cafe Rubio at one o’clock.’ Maybe meeting someplace public will get him to come.”
Christiaan continued to write. Andy envied his skills. To be fluent in Spanish. She should really branch out.
“Okay, done,” he said.
“Fold it and tuck it under the door.”
Christiaan stared at her intently, folding the paper, then crouched, sliding it under the door. The two shadows promptly left.
“Did he take the note?” Andy asked, hoping her scheme worked.
Christiaan knelt on the floor. “It’s no longer on the floor.” Andy was elated. Christiaan hopped up and dusted himself off. “But it doesn’t mean he’s going to come.”
“We’ll find out at one.”
****
Christiaan tapped his finger on the table at Cafe Rubio.
“What time is it again?” Andy asked, leaning across the cafe table, moving into the shadow of the rundown building. Condensation fell from his glass onto the wrought iron table. The heat and humidity suffocated them. There was no air conditioning in the place, only fans, so they opted for the shade outside where at least the breeze could cool them.
Christiaan tapped his finger after glancing at the time. “One-fifteen. He’s not going to come.”
“He could be late.”
No one spoke, the heat strangling the conversation.
“I like Mexico,” Andy said at last, glancing at her surroundings. “A weird mix of old and new. Though it’s scary there are bars on every window. And the roads need some upkeep. But it’s pretty.”
“I hate Mexico.”
“Have you been before?”
“A few times.”
Christiaan drank long from his cup. He’d had a rough afternoon explaining to the local authorities why they should investigate Juan’s body, how they stumbled upon it. He had a bad headache. He often did when he didn’t know what was next. They were on their own. If he returned empty handed, he would have a lot of explaining to do. He hoped something would happen.
Despite the heat and the headache, he smiled at his companion. He sat across from her at the table, admiring her youthful ponytail, the humidity making the fine hair at the base of her neck and around her hairline curl into ringlets, framing her face. An impatient expression, almost like a child, crossed her face as she scanned the road. There was something about her. He wanted to protect her, keep her from knowing how terrible the real world was, hold her in her arms and keep her safe. He wanted her, everything deep within him wanted her, yet he had to refrain. If he could just tell her…
“Hola.” A man clutching a paper envelope cast a shadow across the table. Despite the heat, his shoulders were squeezed into a brown cardigan.
Andy’s face lit up. Christiaan recognized him as the man from the apartment and asked him to sit down. Fear and suspicion still held the man’s face. He didn’t sit.
“You speak English, no?” They said yes. “Americans?”
“Yes,” they both replied. Only Andy spoke the truth.
“How did you know Juan?” the man asked, his accent thick.
“He called my cell phone. I think he might have known a friend of mine, Conner Flannery.”
The man nodded. “Andy Miller?”
Andy’s eyebrows raised. “Yes.”
“I’ve been expecting you.” A grin of missing teeth finally played out on his face. “I have something for you, something I think will help you. Come, let us go somewhere more private so we can talk.”
Christiaan leaned forward in disbelief, examining the small man with a brown cardigan even in the heat.
“As an old man, I have no muscle. I get chills. Even to the smalls of my toes.”
Andy and Christiaan followed him to a field nearby. Christiaan told him about how they found Juan. The man nodded soberly.
“Do you know what happened to Juan?” Christiaan asked.
The man brushed the dry grass, his gaze and head low, speaking in English.
“I met Juan when he returned from his studies in the States. He fell ill, and always acted suspicious.”
“Acted suspiciously? How?” Andy asked.
“He was suspicious of everything. Like a mouse.”
Andy recoiled at the rodent allusion, her stomach roiling at the memory.
The man continued. “Like somebody was out to get him and wouldn’t talk to anyone for several months. No visitors, no friends. But after a while, we confided in each other as we chatted on the balcony together. He was not well, dark circles under his eyes. I wanted him to confide in me, tell me what was bothering him. Everyone has a story, everyone has some deep burden, and what are we here for except to share those burdens?
“He worked in a physics lab in Boston. He told me something terrible happened to his professor, murdered, he thought, when he went home for holiday. When Juan returned to work, all the professor’s documents, notes, and computer files were taken or destroyed. Juan had fled with this, which he’d taken with him to study on his vacation.” The man,
raised his head, with a tear in his eye, uncovered something he hid in his cardigan. “He gave it to me. I don’t know what this is all about. But I know at least two men have died because of it. I have not opened this. He told me a man called him, an American named Conner Flannery, who had a girlfriend who would help.”
He pressed the envelope into Andy’s hand, her name and number were scrawled at the top. The man held his soft wrinkled hands in hers, pressing them against her chest, his eyes fervid with emotion. “Juan was my friend. He had a lot of potential. Don’t let his death be in vain.”
The little old man in long pants and a sweater, bowed and shuffled through the field, leaving a trail of bent grass.
Christiaan was the first to speak. “All right, let’s open the envelope.”
Andy unclasped the brass tabs and slid out the papers Conner died for.
Andy with Christiaan over her shoulder, standing in the blaze of the sun in central Mexico couldn’t believe her eyes.
“A scientific paper?” Andy asked Christian.
Christiaan leaned close. “It’s in German.”
“Don’t you speak German?”
“Fluently, but I can’t understand all of what’s written here. They are technical words.”
Christiaan flipped through the charts.
“Why was this worth killing for?” Andy asked.
“I’ll have to read it in depth.”
Andy folded the papers, placing them carefully in the envelope, tucked them under her arm as they returned to the hotel.
Christiaan and Andy mounted the stairs to their hotel room, the wood creaking under their weight. Christiaan stopped at the top step. A slight breeze blew from their door left ajar at the end of the hall.
“Someone’s been in our room,” he said, turning toward Andy, ushering her down the stairs.
“You’re not going to check?”
“Nope.” He forced her out to the lobby and into the heat of the street, fear rising in his chest. Only someone trained could have found them. Christiaan used every caution in the book. They needed a safe house.
Christiaan scanned the road for anyone suspicious, seeing only a throng of people at the bar, bicycle rickshaw, two old men playing checkers in a store window front, a big beefy man with a mustache leaning against the crusted wall. Nothing out of the ordinary. “We have what we came for. We need to get home. I don’t trust many people here.”
“I think I know someone who can help,” Andy said.
****
Andy and Christiaan pulled up and inspected the hangout.
“I don’t like places where the bouncers are bigger than I am.” From the driver’s seat, Christiaan eyed the two men standing at the door, a velvet rope between them. Broad shoulders, deep chests, and large biceps. Big didn’t mean skilled. Andy and Christian could still take the guards if they had to. Music poured from the black hole of the front door. Above the door in neon lights said, PULSE.
“Relax,” Andy said. “José works security here. He can help us get home.”
“How do you know this guy?”
Heat rose from her shirt. “We dated briefly. He’s one of Scott’s old bodyguards.”
Christiaan eyed her with mistrust.
A valet waited to park their car, and Andy stood outside, letting the music seep into her soul. Tonight, she was a club-goer, the younger, hipper version of herself. Christiaan reluctantly agreed to come in costume as well. She faced him as he relinquished the keys to the car to the valet.
He exuded charisma in a tight shirt stretched over his pecs and a suit jacket. Dark-haired beauties in sleek miniskirts and jeweled tops smiled at him behind their boyfriends’ backs as they strode up to the entrance. He was eating this up. Andy smoothed her own skirt against the stare of the first bouncer.
After announcing who they were, and who was expecting them, Andy dipped into a curtsey when the bouncer unhooked the velvet rope. She entered the renovated warehouse, feeling the music pulse against her heart.
Christiaan’s lips brushed against her ear.
“I think those guys are checking you out.” A group of men with drinks in their hands, lounging against the bar did little to hide their interest. “I’d better protect you.” He slid his arm around Andy’s waist and kept her there, tight, throwing the boys a possessive glance to stem the gawking. Andy smiled inwardly.
Andy searched the throng for José. She hadn’t seen him in about eight months. The hulking Mexican leaned against the bar.
She easily recognized his huge build and friendly smile. He lit up when Andy approached. Andy loved his soft brown eyes.
“Andy.” The muscular Mexican gave her a bear hug, enveloping her in smells of chile and salsa verde. And expensive cologne. “More beautiful than ever.”
Andy flushed at the compliment while Christiaan soured.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Christiaan whispered in her ear, scanning the crowd.
Andy ignored him, addressing José. “You, too. I mean, you look great, too.”
José smiled. “Who’s your friend?”
“Sorry, this is Christiaan, my friend I told you about.”
José gave him a scrutinizing glance. Christiaan gave him a curt nod.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Christiaan said.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” He glanced around, biting his lip. Then continued. “I have a work thing, really quick to do, then we can talk. If you’ll excuse me.” José nodded and left.
They listened to the music for a few songs until Christiaan leaned toward her. “What is his job here?”
“Head of security.”
Christiaan fidgeted.
“Why are you so nervous?” He just gave her a doomed stare as José returned.
“Sorry about leaving. No more work, only play. Tell me, what brings you to Mexico?” he asked in heavily accented English which Andy found attractive. His arm slid around her waist as he drew her closer to the bar.
“Just touristing.” She shrugged.
His gaze caught the lie. “Not much going on in this part of the city, amiga.”
Andy held out her arms. “Well, this is fun! Thanks for inviting us.” José nodded his head, smiling again. He ordered them drinks.
“So what’s new?” Andy asked, glancing at Christiaan, who glared at José giving her such rapt attention.
“Just working my job. It’s great to meet up with you, though.” He sipped his drink, staring at her, his eyes bright and interested. “What’s going on in St. Louis?”
Before she could respond, movement next to her caught her eye. A woman, clad with fewer than forty-two square inches of fabric, asked Christiaan to dance. He followed her out to the dance floor. Andy scowled, turning back to José, but always keeping an eye on Christiaan. “I’m sure you heard Scott’s in trouble.”
“I had heard, amiga,” José said shaking his head, grabbing his drink with both hands, staring into it. “I never figured Scott could be so violent. He was always so friendly, nice. He’d never hurt no one.”
Once Christiaan was out on the dance floor, the woman with luscious hips and long, thick hair wrapped her arms around Christiaan’s neck. He caught her hand, then followed her arms down until his hands encircled her waist, holding her, with only a breath between them.
“I agree.” Andy couldn’t take her gaze off the dancing couple.
José kicked back his drink. “But he had his faults, man, like anyone else. Stressed too much. Maybe he was drinking too much.” Andy was only half listening. José noticed, following her gaze out to the dance floor. “It seems your friend has found Yolanda. Or Yolanda has found your friend.”
Christiaan’s nose was on Yolanda’s, their foreheads touching. She wrapped a leg around him, her pelvis pitched against him. Starting with her knee, he stroked her leg up to her hip. She smiled as he whispered something in her ear. Andy had a weird sensation burn in her chest.
José continued, talking faster, the drink loosening him up
. “I wasn’t just his bodyguard, I was his driver and friend. I had some pretty heavy influence on him.”
Andy wasn’t even listening. Her heart pounded in her ears as the woman hooked her finger on Christiaan’s waistband, drawing him closer.
“He always had the nicest cars. He had me put one of those converters on.” He was a little proud. “Do you have one of those yet?”
The question upended her. “I don’t have a car. What are the converters?”
The woman kissed Christiaan’s neck. Then continued down his torso. Andy couldn’t breathe. Like she’d been kicked in the stomach. What was worse, Christiaan enjoyed it.
“The CO2 converters? Everyone has one these days. Gets rid of emissions like magic, something an imbecile like me wouldn’t know nothing about. Scott knew. He’s smart like that.”
Andy attempted to focus but the woman ran her hands up Christiaan’s thighs. José continued, a wide smile across his face. “Although, I’m smart too. I installed it for him when he couldn’t. At first, they didn’t have no installers in Boston, but I figured it out.”
When the woman rolled up his shirt and ran his hands across his chest, Christiaan drew her in closer.
“Oh,” Andy absently said, taking a drink. “Where did he get it?” she asked automatically.
“I don’t know where he got the first one.” José protruded his bottom lip in a frown. “Now they’re everywhere, man, but here in Mexico, we put them on ourselves since the government picks who gets to put them on, you know. Too expensive.” Then suddenly he asked, “You wanna dance?”
Christiaan scanned the room over Yolanda’s head, his gaze absorbing every detail. His heart beating in time with the bass subwoofers. When the music slowed, they danced over to a single guy in a suit. Christiaan thanked his partner who reluctantly switched to the next man. Something wasn’t right.
After ditching Yolanda, he found Andy dancing with José, and scowled. José lifted his fingers from where he held her firmly on her back and stroked her cheek, then delicately combed them through her hair. When Andy rested her head on his shoulder, Christiaan faced away, a weird feeling pinching his chest, and continued to scan the room.