by Kiki Swinson
“Ms. Vasquez, I know your supervisor told you we wanted to speak to you to find out some things about Carlos Ortega and that is partially true. But before I ask any questions and you give any answers, let me start by saying, we know some things already. We’ve done some digging beforehand and I think we are pretty well prepared to talk to you,” Sinclair said, looking over at evil-face Boules for confirmation. Boules nodded and grunted.
“So we want you to know from the very beginning that telling the truth is the only way to go here. It saves you the heartache of lying to us and getting caught up, and it saves us the heartache of painting you as a liar and, in turn, a suspect,” Sinclair said, looking at me with a serious—yet still friendly—gaze. My insides immediately started feeling funny, kind of like I was hungry and had to take a shit at the same damn time. I folded my arms over my abdomen, trying to get the feeling to go away. It was as if my organs were grinding against one another. I stayed quiet after Sinclair’s little spiel. Listen to the questions and give them answers—that was all they wanted me to do.
“So to start with, without asking a bunch of bullshit, we think you know some things about what might’ve happened to Carlos and we would like to know just how much you know,” Sinclair said, leaning in closer to the table. I moved back a bit from the table, clearly uncomfortable.
“Let’s face it, Carlos was a little more than just your coworker . . . maybe even a little more than a casual friend,” Sinclair said, raising one of his eyebrows knowingly. What the fuck does he mean by that? What does he know about me and Carlos? Oh, my God! Does he know I was fucking that nasty pig? I was screaming in my head and praying that, as terrified as I was, my fear wasn’t playing out across my face. Now, my heart was hammering in my chest. The evil-eyed detective, who I assumed was the one Ben had introduced as Boules, stood up and forcefully slammed a case file and a video DVD on the table in front of me. I almost fell out of the chair when I saw the video DVD. I just knew they were about to tell me I was going to jail for the rest of my life for being an accessory to Carlos’s murder. I was blinking rapidly. Maybe Carlos did have more hidden cameras in his apartment. They must have me and Eduardo on tape.
“Is there anything you want to tell us?” Sinclair asked, as Boules drummed his fingers on top of the video. I kept thinking about what Eduardo had told me. I had to play it cool, even if the detectives seemed like they knew everything. I decided to stick to that plan and see where it took me. If they knew something more, they were going to have to pry that shit out of my lips.
I shook my head left to right, signaling that I didn’t have anything to share with the detectives. Boules let out a long, exasperated breath and stopped moving his fingers. There was a few minutes of mind-bending silence. It was so quiet my breath was loud in my own ears.
“You and Carlos Ortega were good friends here at the job, no? This video from the camera shows you having long conversations with him every day—even the day before he was murdered,” Sinclair said, moving in closer to the table and eyeing me closely. I swallowed hard, thanking God silently that the videotape wasn’t from Carlos’s building, apartment or some shit like that. These stupid-ass cops had just told on themselves. I was thinking, You dumb asses should’ve bluffed a little longer and you might’ve scared the truth out of me.
“We weren’t friends. He was my sorter, so I had to spend time talking to him about routes and packages . . . you know, work stuff, but that was it. Everyone thinks that we were closer than we actually were. I guess that was the way Carlos made it seem to everyone. He was a really lonely man, but I guess you already know all about that. I am just a person who is always nice to everyone. I felt sorry for Carlos, because he was always talking about wanting to have a family, a wife, or even just a girlfriend to take on dates, so I was always nicer to him than everyone else here. People can be very mean. You know because he was . . . was . . . different,” I said, widening my arms so that they got my drift. Both detectives were hanging on my every word. Evil eye twisted his lips like he wasn’t so convinced by my rousing speech.
“The other day he told me he was going to meet a girl on craigslist; you know, so he could have sex or whatever these men do when they pick up strange women from a Web site like that. I was kind of shocked. I knew Carlos was lonely, but I never expected him to really be into like, prostitution—well, digital prostitution. I told him not to do it. I warned him that not only was it illegal, it could be dangerous meeting strange women like that, because they could rob him or worse, set him up, and have their real boyfriends or pimps hurt him. I don’t know if Carlos went through with his plans to meet the strange woman and this is the result or not. I sure hope that you guys look into that; because honestly, I don’t know anyone else who would’ve wanted to hurt him,” I fabricated on the spot, lowering my voice like I was really sad and concerned. I had surprised even myself with my lying and acting skills. Shit, like Eduardo said, I deserved an Emmy or Oscar for that performance. I was clapping for myself in my head.
Sinclair and Boules looked at each other like they were considering what I’d told them. I’m sure the dumbfounded looks on their faces meant that they were probably thinking this was the first time they were hearing anything about a craigslist date. I even had two seemingly seasoned detectives second-guessing their investigative skills.
“What do you know about the packages Carlos sorted every day? Aside from the fact that he just gave them to you for delivery every day,” Sinclair asked, stressing the words every and day. “Did he ever say anything to you about any strange packages that he’d been receiving? Any packages that were coming from the same place? In another state, maybe?” Sinclair asked. I immediately felt sweat beads running a race down my back. I balled up my toes in my shoes and bit into my bottom lip. Stay calm, Gabriella. They don’t know shit. Stay calm like Eduardo said. Just answer what they ask.
“I don’t know anything, except he sorted the stuff for my routes and I delivered them. I’m just the little ol’ mail lady; I never get caught up in where packages came from or really who they were going to. Especially express-mail packages. I just dropped them wherever they needed to go. Carlos certainly never spoke to me about any one package in particular. All of our conversations were just general,” I replied, lowering my eyes. My legs involuntarily started to swing in and out under the table. I tried to control them, but they would just start back up again. Boules and Sinclair looked at each other again. This time their exchange was more like a knowing smirk rather than a dumbfounded, confused look. That seemed like a bad omen to me, but I continued to wear my poker face nonetheless.
“Humph,” Sinclair said, looking at me through squinty eyes. “So you know nothing about the packages? You just delivered them to the correct addresses as they were listed on the boxes?
“Yes, sir,” I said, all official-like. The detectives looked at each other again.
“And you’re sure this is all you know?” Sinclair asked, his tone suspicious.
“Like I said, I’m just the mail lady,” I replied. Boules stood up first. He still wore a pissed-off scowl, but that wasn’t anything new for him. I was more concerned about Sinclair’s facial expression. His eyes and face were no longer so friendly. He wore a scowl as well now. He kind of looked like I’d insulted him in some way.
“You have a nice day, Ms. Vasquez,” Sinclair said as Boules picked up the stack of stuff from the table. Sinclair stood up next. He started gathering up his pen and pad too.
“That’s it? We’re done here? Just like that? Seems so—so—abrupt,” I said nervously. Neither of the detectives responded.
“Is there any other information about who might’ve done this? Are you going to check out the craigslist lead? Is there anything else I should worry about?” I asked a bunch of dumbass questions. It was my nerves; they’d finally gotten the best of me. I was fucking bugging for that, but I needed to know why they had ended the interview so abruptly. I was nervous as shit about that. What did they know abou
t the packages? Why were they even asking about the packages?
“We have no other information, Ms. Vasquez. We are still investigating. I can tell you this much, something about Carlos Ortega’s murder smells very fishy. And for some reason, I just keep thinking it has something to do with his job. Something to do with someone close by. Something to do with those packages we asked you about. I guess you can just say this is not my first time at the ballpark, so I’m a little smarter than the average gumshoe out there,” Sinclair said snidely. I didn’t know what else to say to that.
Both detectives gave me a knowing glance before they walked out of the break room, leaving me there alone, paranoid and scared shitless. Now I had to decide just how much I was going to share with Eduardo.
CHAPTER 9
GETTING OUT OF THE GAME
“What the fuck you mean, you want out?” Eduardo screamed after I told him what the detectives said. Finally this nigga was showing some emotion through all of this.
“You think it just works like that: One minute you’re in and the next minute you’re out? This ain’t the fucking postal service, Gabriella,” he barked.
“Eduardo, I don’t like the way those cops ended the interview. I’m telling you, it’s like they knew something and they were just waiting for the setup,” I explained with urgency, underlying my words.
Eduardo waved his hand and exhaled a windstorm of breath. This nigga was not trying to hear me when I told him I wanted to quit our little arrangement. “You don’t have to be out there being all scared and shit. I really think they are snooping around, Eduardo. I have too fucking much to lose,” I said. It was the truth. Something about the way those detectives just abruptly ended the interview didn’t sit right with me. I was scared all day and all night after that.
Eduardo, however, felt like everything was fine; that we had nothing to worry about.
“I’m out, Eduardo. Tell them not to send any more packages, because I’m not going to intercept them. I’ll just let them go to whomever. I’m serious. I can’t and won’t do it anymore,” I kept insisting. Eduardo turned toward me, his face painted with an evil snarl. He rushed toward me and bulldozed into me so hard I stumbled backwards and twisted my ankle. I didn’t even have time to react before he grabbed my face roughly and got close enough to it that I could damn near taste his lunch.
“Let me tell you one fucking thing. You are in it. There is no going back now, Gabriella. Understand something, these people we work for are not to be fucked with. I can’t just call up the fucking deadly Calixte cartel and tell them to stop sending their fucking product. It doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t stop until they say it stops. I will not have Lance breathing down my neck about these packages, so you better continue working it out however you been working it out. These are very dangerous people we are dealing with. You are all in and there is no backing out now or ever—except if your ass ends up dead,” he breathed hard in my face. I could’ve sworn I could see fire flashing in his eyes. For the first time since we’d been together I felt fearful of Eduardo. The kind of fear that makes you lose your breath.
That evening when I got home from work, I decided I was not going to speak to Eduardo at all, after his little tirade that morning. I wanted to get to my safe, count my money that I had been stashing, and start mapping out an exit plan. Fuck what Eduardo was talking about—I was getting the fuck away from it all. I had saved enough money to at least get me started someplace else. I wanted out of this deal before I ended up going to jail or worse, dead from a bullet.
I turned my key in the lock to the apartment and stormed straight past the living room without looking. I knew Eduardo was home because I could hear voices from the TV. I knew my mother had my son, so there was no reason for me to stop, since I wasn’t speaking to Eduardo enough to even say hello. I was almost past the doorway to the hallway that led to our bedrooms when I heard it.
“Ahhh, so this is the famous Gabriella,” I heard a man’s voice say. I had walked right past the living room, assuming it was just Eduardo watching television alone. I hadn’t even looked to notice that someone else was in the house. The voice gave me chills although I could not identify the source. Those chills quickly turned into straight- up panic.
“Mommy! Mommy! I want my mommy!” I heard Andrew call out at the top of his little voice. I stopped dead in my tracks. Dread overcame me and my heart raced painfully against my sternum. I turned back and walked into the living room to investigate now. My eyes almost came out of my head when I saw Andrew there looking like he was terrified. He was supposed to be with my mother. I hung my head low with my feet in full view. I had suddenly became lightheaded and my body was beginning to shut down. I felt like my legs would give out at any moment.
“Come join us, Gabriella,” the man said with a sinister smile planted on his lips. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. Eduardo was sitting up erect on the opposite couch, his face pale as shit, like he had seen a ghost too. I looked at him through squinted eyes, my head tilted slightly.
“Gabby . . . this—this is Lance,” Eduardo stammered. I looked back over at the man. I swallowed the tennis ball–sized lump that had formed in my throat.
“Mommy!” my son called out for me again.
“I know, baby,” I said, on the brink of tears and hysteria.
“Eduardo, how did Andrew get here?” I asked, my voice coming out raspy and hoarse. I already knew the fucking answer. Eduardo had picked up my son from my mother so that they could use him against me. I know my mother wouldn’t have given my baby to anyone other than Eduardo because, just like me, she trusted him. I looked from Eduardo to Lance and back again.
Lance was a broad-shouldered hulk of a man. His hard facial features, beady eyes, charcoal-dark skin, and glistening, bald head made him look like a serial killer from a scary movie. The long scar that ran the length of his left cheek didn’t help much, either. He was flanked by two big, bouncer type of dudes and he had my son sitting on his lap. I could barely lift my hand to wave, much less say anything else to this monster.
“Please, this is your home, right? So come join us for a quick minute, Gabby,” Lance said, signaling me to sit down and calling me by my nickname like we were old friends.
“Mommy!” Andrew stretched his little arms toward me and tried desperately to run to me. Lance gripped my baby tightly around his waist and he started to scream and cry like he’d been hurt. Hearing his wails ripped me to shreds inside. Tears immediately sprang to my eyes. I had done this to him . . . to us. My fucking greed had done this to my son. I closed my eyes and bit down into my jaw. My fists were curled so tight my knuckles paled. I was a mother watching her child in distress . . . not a pretty picture.
“Not so fast, little man. I need to have a chat with your mommy,” Lance said, his words coming out like snake hisses in my ears. Watching him use my son to get to me made me despise Lance and I didn’t even know him.
I slowly sat down. My legs were quaking in my work boots. I looked at Lance, trying my best to keep from jumping up and gouging his eyes out.
“So I hear that one of my packages went missing,” Lance started. I didn’t let him even finish. I immediately jumped up like I had springs on my ass.
“No way! I always deliver everything! I would never take anything from you or let those packages go missing! I’ve been doing this faithfully for eleven months—almost an entire year, and I never had anything go missing!” I blurted defensively. Lance put his hand up, halting me. My little tirade hadn’t swayed him one bit.
“Gabriella, only guilty dogs bark. Now, sit the fuck down and hear me out,” he growled, yet he still had an eerie calmness to his tone. “You may speak to your chump-ass man like that, but not to me. I’m a fucking boss and you will respect me as such. Sit the fuck down,” Lance said through his teeth. Andrew was screaming, kicking, and crying harder now. Maybe Lance was pinching him or something or maybe he just wanted to be with me. Either way, I felt like my heart was being ripped o
ut and stomped on.
I slumped back down on the chair. I could see Eduardo out of the corner of my eye and for the first time since we had been together I was completely turned off by him. I had always hated weak men all of my life. My father was a weak bitch-ass who had walked out on us. I would’ve never taken Eduardo for that type, but seeing him sitting there silently, letting me be accused while my son was being kept from me was enough to make me look at him like a weak piece of shit. What a fucking punk bitch I was dealing with! Eduardo was cowering at the end of the couch, not saying a word to help me. He fucking knew I would never have stolen anything from him, much less Lance—and even worse, Luca. My mind was racing in a million directions, trying to figure out what Lance was talking about. I had never messed up the deliveries. Ever.
“Now . . . I came by personally to tell you that my package of H better show up by the end of your route tomorrow or this little precious commodity you have here will really have a reason to cry . . . or maybe you’ll have a reason to cry over him,” Lance said evilly. “There will be no negotiating. I want my shit or else, Gabriella.”
Lance went to set Andrew down on the floor. Before my son’s little feet could fully plant on the floor he was running toward me. He jumped into my arms, sobbing. I had never felt my son hold on to me so tight in his entire life.
“Mommy, that man scary,” he said. I squeezed him tightly and closed my eyes.
“It’s okay, baby. Mommy is here. Mommy is here. I’m never going to let anyone get to you again,” I spoke softly in the soft skin of my son’s little neck. His little pulse was throbbing fiercely, which made mine pick up speed as well.