New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2)

by Menard, Jayne

  The next morning Steve welcomed Rick when answering the door at his knock. After inviting him in, he told him Mathew and Ivy would be making their way home that afternoon.

  “Just as well. I wanted to talk to you about Callie and her miserable husband. John Henry refused to go into rehab,” Rick said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “He claims he quit drinking on his own.”

  “Good news, I guess,” Steve said.

  Rick gazed off into the distance, looking downcast. “I’m ashamed to say a part of me hoped the bastard would stew in his alcoholic juices. The man is a pompous ass. Time for Callie to leave him and come home to live with Susannah. Even if he becomes sober, he will not be a good husband.”

  “Hard choices ahead for her, either way. She is such a delightful gal. She sure impressed Mathew.”

  “He’s the type of husband Callie should have. I have gotten to know Mathew fairly well over the last eighteen months or so. I find him to be likable, honest and straight-forward. All around good guy.”

  “Mathew is the best man I ever met,” Steve said with a tone of conviction.

  Rick held his gaze and nodded. “I’m no home-wrecker, but if Mathew lured Callie away, Sassy and I would do a jig of happiness.”

  Steve smiled a little, “Us too. I think we know that in marriage the first time isn’t always right.”

  The two men were sitting at the dining room table where Steve worked that morning. Open windows on both sides allowed a fresh breeze to flow through, scenting the room with whiffs of the fragrant roses planted at intervals by the rows of vines as well as here and there around the gardens.

  Rick said, “By the way, I ran into Lenny on the way over here. He said he does a thrice-daily security and constitutional walk. Any chance for me to hire him for checking on our place too? Won’t do any harm if he did a full circuit every day since I can’t always wander out in the vines.”

  Steve thought for only a moment. Cooperative staffing between our two vineyards made sense. “I’ll give Mathew a heads-up. Lenny changes his route each time he goes out, looping higher and lower on different knolls both on our farm and on neighboring hillocks. Mathew has him here as an extra pair of hands.”

  “Seems like a solid guy. A little quiet, which is not all bad.”

  “From what I heard,” Steve said, “Lenny came from a poor section of Chicago where a police officer in his neighborhood inspired him to pursue a career in law enforcement. His grades and the good will of his professors got him into the FBI. For the first twenty years, he served on SWAT teams. In his later years, he became what I call the muscle, assigned from one team to the next where they needed a man to either go in first or last.”

  “No family?” Rick asked.

  “Wife divorced him many years ago. FBI careers can be hard on marriages. Since he traveled so much, his two children grew up hardly knowing him. After retiring, he moved to California to see more of them, only to find them grown and married with no time for an absent father. To give Lenny a better place to live than the trailer he is in, Mathew plans to redo the old manager’s cottage on the additional acreage he’s after.”

  Steve looked at his watch and said, “Time for me to make sandwiches. Want to stay?”

  “Another time. Sassy is putting a picnic together for us. She’s trying to sweet-talk me into stepping between Callie and John Henry, convince Callie to leave the pompous prick and bring her and Susannah back up to live with us.”

  “Will you?”

  Rick lost his easy-going demeanor, his face contorted, and he glanced away. Steve waited, not saying anything. Even though he often lacked social graces in his direct manner, he understood when to let the other person unburden himself.

  “I don’t want to risk Callie getting angry with me,” Rick said, his eyes darting around as if seeking the right answer.

  “Marriages are tough. Callie must see something in John Henry that you and I don’t.”

  “She is loyal to a fault, feeling that he stood by her when he got her pregnant. Ten years with that man has more than repaid her obligation. I vowed to step in and watch over her when her parents were killed back in her early teens. Feel like I’m doing a damn poor job of it.”

  “Keep me posted.” Steve put his big hand on Rick’s sinewy shoulder. “I would be dying inside if Mathew were in a bad marriage. He is like a son to me. Situations like these, we can offer advice and help, but we can’t force the issue. Make sure Callie appreciates that she has performed way more than her duty and that she has a home with you. I am confident she knows both, but it won’t hurt to reinforce it.”

  Rick nodded, walked over and reached for the doorknob, stepping outside without another word and striding off. Steve stood in the doorway thinking. Since they had bought the land, he had focused on building the house, starting the vineyard and resolving lingering FBI issues, as well as marrying and settling in. Rick had become a good friend during that time, especially to Mathew. Even though Steve had limited experience with reaching out to people, he wanted to support Rick. He would walk over to his place in a day or two to talk with him about a drainage issue in one field and to hear what he decided to do about Callie.

  After hiking up next to Mathew’s old house, Rick reached the crest of the hill. Silhouetted against the bright cobalt sky, he turned and raised a hand to Steve. Steve nodded, waved an arm up above his head, turned and went back inside the house.

  Even though the client’s data called him, Steve needed to make lunch. He loved food with his preferences ranging from mild to spicy or plain to gourmet-fancy, as long as the dishes were fresh, good quality and well prepared. Even if his repertoire of talents came up deficient in cooking expertise, he had the skills to make a variety of tasty sandwiches. Ivy had taught him how to use their Panini maker, and she kept the refrigerator stocked. He rubbed his hands together as he strode into the kitchen, eager to make lunch and resume his work.

  While he sympathized with his neighbor Rick, Steve’s life fizzed with fulfillment. For the first time in his adulthood, the fullness of having friends and the demands of supporting them came home to him. His friends depended on him as their rock for guidance and help. Mathew struggled to find a woman to share his life. Brian and Moll’s business was experiencing faster growth than their capacity to handle it. All these concerns brought home the single-focused nature of his former FBI life. His retirement challenged him as his life redefined itself. Now he enjoyed the benefits of becoming a more complete man. Six years ago when he started on his journey to grow as a person, his life lay around him as empty as an old swimming pool, drained and deserted. As his scope broadened, he kept discovering more about himself. Even the difficult parts carried their rewards.

  From a table at an outdoor café in the ritzy Bal Harbour Mall in Miami, Julio surreptitiously peered at his cousin, Cruze, where he stood near the koi pond, appearing more like a middle-aged hipster waiting for his favorite squeeze than like a retired drug lord. He stayed the same over the years, thin and muscular with dark hair worn parted to the right with a gentle wave. His keen blue eyes missed little, although sometimes he became distracted by thoughts of paintings, glass and creative arts. A pale scar in the shape of a check mark etched his brow above his left eye. It was a reminder of one of many childhood escapades with Cristo. The most reserved of the brothers, Cruze had supported his twin with a steadfast resolve.

  Cruze always seemed faded like one of the old chambray beach shirts he often wore, which helped him to blend in and slip away unnoticed when he wanted. Today he dressed up in tan slacks with a white polo shirt under a navy flannel blazer. The requested shopping bag from Neiman Marcus hung heavily over his arm.

  Cruze squinted down at his watch, peeked at two children kneeling down to see the fish as they swam around and walked towards the restaurant called Carpaccio to meet him. Family visits and business happened these days by cell phone, by texting and by expensive lunches.

  Living alone and separate from Cruze had all
owed Julio to grieve over Cristo and Eduardo in private for nearly a year. Today he would face Cruze, whose grief was new and raw. Julio did not deal well with emotions, neither his nor the pain of another, particularly those few people he prized.

  Julio smoothed his light Armani suit over the well-toned body he kept fit through regular workouts, letting him glide around corners silent as a cat. He lifted the index finger on his right hand to Cruze, the signal he could approach him. They greeted each other with a handshake and a slight touching of the shoulders. Julio poured a second glass of the Roederer Cristal and topped his up half an inch.

  “To old friends. Too few remain. The new function with less grace.” Julio kept his voice evenly modulated in mid-range tones. Up close, Cruze’s devastation was visible, edging into his green eyes flecked with tawny brown that matched those of his twin. He appeared younger than he used to, even though the deaths of his brothers weighed heavily in his heart like a big block of ice, never melting, always chilling.

  “To old friends,” Cruze said and nodded.

  Cruze was part of his childhood. They had spent little time together in the last ten years. First they talked about mundane things, life abroad, men’s fashion, the weather and sports. With the restaurant growing busier and noisier, they moved to more personal topics, allowing the sounds around them to screen their conversation.

  “What is the truth about my brothers? Were they blasted away by the FBI?” Cruze asked in a whisper while leaning across the table.

  Julio saw him searching for certainty in his intense blue eyes, so like Cruze’s brother Eduardo’s. “As smart and slippery as Cristo and Eduardo were, they failed to be wise. You acted wisely.”

  “And all is gone?”

  “All here, all in Colombia and all in Mexico – taken and divided up. Your counterparts in Mexico organized quickly.”

  Cruze pushed back, his hand going to his chest to rub the area around his heart, which must hurt even more as the loss of his brothers was confirmed. “I keep wondering if I had stayed with them, could I have prevented their untimely deaths? Last fall when this happened, I had just bought my place in Botaya using one of my false identities. I made plans to modernize the house and then build my glass studio. Should I have stayed with Cristo and Eduardo to pull them away from the business?”

  “They were not ready to leave,” Julio replied. “I talked with them that afternoon before the attack, wanting to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving. Although they were trying to sell their way out of the drug business, their hearts remained in Fuentes Enterprises.”

  “So stupid of them. Cristo was obsessed with believing he had the power to always outsmart his rivals in the drug world and the law. Eduardo never seemed to accumulate enough money. Building his wealth was his sole focus. Even when the FBI and DEA started coming after us, they would not give up.”

  “And then the Mexicans wanted to take over all aspects of the drug trade.”

  ”Another considerable threat,” Cruze said. “The drug honchos in Mexico kept wanting more of the action. They began by transporting the street product throughout Mexico and into the United States, before starting to take over the repacking and redistribution. When the Mexicans wanted full control of moving bulk heroin out of Colombia, I left the business because my brothers refused to accept the end of what they considered Fuentes Enterprises.

  “I feel guilty, Julio. I missed my brothers after I left them but the truth is this past year was my happiest one since childhood. While I was beginning a new life, my brothers were gunned down. They never saw the dawns and the sunsets that I have watched.”

  “You did what you had to, Cruze. Do not feel guilty. Your brothers would not be swayed away from their lives. The only outcome that would be different is that you would have died with them,” Julio said.

  “I need the names of the agents who did this travesty,” Cruze said.

  “Risky. The work will cost you,” Julio replied.

  “Money I have. We split off my share when I departed. When will you leave your dangerous life?”

  “I only delayed for you to make contact. While I searched for you, even with my proficiency, you had vanished. Since you are allegedly dead, I didn’t want to use my regular sources. No sense in raising any speculation,” Julio said. He twirled his flute of champagne back and forth in a slow, meditative motion, his brilliant blue eyes dulled by sadness and anxiety.

  “After you decide what to do about this business,” Julio continued, “I will lose myself on the continent, enjoying the many cosmopolitan cities. Once in Europe, I will use my best disguise.”

  He elevated his sculpted brows that showed below a short cascade of dark curls, burnished with artfully added shades of amber. The bracelet dangling on his right arm was made of three thick strands of white, rose and yellow gold woven into a braid and studded at each twist with a sapphire. A slim gilded timepiece was adorned with matching gems encircled his left wrist. He selected his jewelry to be as lustrous as his appearance.

  “How long will you need to get the info?” Cruze asked.

  “Not so easy breaking into federal computer systems. Might be as long as two weeks. Call me.” Julio wrote a dollar figure down on a business card and handed it to Cruze. “The six million dollars will cover the fees for multiple computer hackers to find the particulars you want.”

  “And your fee?”

  “Never have I nor will I take money from you or your brothers, except as now to pay for expenses.

  Cruze leaned forward and asked in a soft voice, "Could this be another of their setups? Think they conned two actors to play in another of their charades? Is it possible that Cristo and Eduardo are yet alive but staying incognito?"

  The question did not surprise Julio. Sometimes he wondered the same thing. As the weeks turned into months, this thin hope was becoming a vague filament only entering his thoughts when he needed comfort.

  Trying not to raise Cruze’s false hopes further, Julio asked, “Leaving all the money and minted gold bars behind, as well as the larger amounts in their network of accounts?"

  "That part does surprise me. Perhaps Cristo and Eduardo were forced to make a fast exit." Cruze knew his supposition was improbable, but he needed some small thread of hope to hang onto. The shock of his brothers’ deaths sat raw and dark within him.

  Cruze said, “If Cristo and Eduardo were caught or killed, their money laundered by numerous convoluted routes externally from the United States might also be gone. To me their wealth is immaterial. My share was protected. It will more than exceed my requirements, even if I lived far more extravagantly than I do now.”

  “If your brothers escaped with only the shirts on their backs, the four of us could still live in comfort using your financial reserves and mine, which I will gladly share. Alternatively if Cristo and Eduardo are dead, a part of you will also die. I know your brothers will always carry your love and allegiance,” Julio said.

  “Forever they will be my brothers, as you are my cousin,” Cruze smiled sadly and took a drink of champagne. “Did you know that after I was finally released from juvie, Cristo and I cut our palms and shook hands, taking a blood oath to protect Eduardo? Such a kid thing to do, right? Even so, the events of that horrible summer of 1985 made our bonds of allegiance stronger.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, toying with their food and remembering their teenage years when all four of their lives went all topsy-turvy.

  "Nine months have elapsed since the FBI raid in New Mexico,” Julio said. “Cristo would have phoned me, if not you."

  "He was furious with me for getting out of the business."

  "But he was not angry with me. In answer to your question, it is possible that they had their deaths enacted though unlikely."

  "Find out where their bodies are. I want DNA tests done," Cruze said. I must know for sure about Cristo and Eduardo.

  "The DNA results will give us certainty. I miss them, Cruze. Every day I think of them. Your brothers. My co
usins." Julio lowered his head. His jaw clenched, relaxed and clenched again as he suppressed tears. "I always wished one day we would all walk away, start over and live more normal lives. And yet, I’m not sure Cristo and Eduardo could make the transition. Cristo’s style would be to go down fighting."

  "The same way Eduardo believed himself infallible at outsmarting his foes," Cruze said, shaking his head sadly. “While I hate to admit it, my brothers may have orchestrated their fates. They taunted the FBI and DEA with their phony setups. They did have the ill luck to be pursued by a relentless FBI agent, but they could have exited when I did. If only they had!”

  "We may only have each other left," Julio said, “I was so glad to get your call this week.”

  "We need to be certain about what happened to Cristo and Eduardo.”

  Julio pushed his plate away after only nibbling at his entree of delicate Pompano. "I have to go."

  “Do not forget me,” Cruze said with such wistful softness that Julio’s self-control almost shattered.

  "Never."

  Julio took a last infinitesimal sip from his flute, collected his briefcase and the bag containing a partial payment from Cruze. Cruze stood, and they gave each other their traditional farewell – a horizontal fist bump with a pound on their hearts. In their case, the gesture came from familial love and commitment. Ever since their childhoods together, Julio had chosen to be loyal only to himself and the three Fuentes men.

  Understanding Cruze’s depth of agony from the loss of his brothers, Julio gave him a subtle smile and winked to remind him of their bond. His cousin remained the only person who comprehended the real identity behind his facade. Under his man’s clothing, his body reflected his birth as a female child named Annetta, who during her late teens had fashioned herself into a man of style and information, known in the underworld simply as Julio.

  With a tall, slender and flat-chested torso and narrow hips, Julio resembled an Italian male model. Even as a child, he had dissembled, sliding away from somber conversations, avoiding arguments and learning how not to be seen. Like now, Julio found sitting with Cruze and facing the reality of the brothers’ deaths too painful to endure.