Chris, Candace and Ted sat in the upholstered chairs with varnished fir arms and legs.
It only took a moment for the tall, thin doctor to appear. In his lab coat, wearing rubber soled clogs and horn-rimmed glasses, he looked a little cliché.
“Mrs. Hardwick,” he said, “I’m Doctor Potter.”
Candace and Chris jumped to their feet.
“Good to meet you, Doctor.” Candace offered her hand. “How is my husband?”
The doctor shook her hand, then took a deep breath.
“I am so sorry; he was gone when he arrived at the hospital.”
Candace screamed, turned her back to the doctor and wrapped her arms around herself.
Chris staggered and came to rest leaning against the wall.
“NO, THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE,” Chris whirled back to the doctor. “We gave him CPR; we never missed a beat.”
The doctor put his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “I’m very sorry. The paramedics did everything they could for him. It was just too long. From the time he had the attack to the time they brought him into Emergency was over two hours. There was nothing we could do.”
“NO! YOU FUCKED UP. There’s got to be some mistake. You’re lying. He’s going to be okay.”
“I only wish that were true, Mr. Hardwick.”
The floor fell out from under Chris. He was caught up in some kind of swirling vortex. He would never get out.
From somewhere far away, from another universe, he heard the voice.
“Hey, hermano,” He felt Ted’s hand on his shoulders. “Be strong, be brave. You have to be there for Candace and Sarah. C’mon, man, buck up.”
Chris was comforted by the words, but more so by the voice. Ted was always there for him. When his almost fiancée, Meagan, was killed by terrorists, Ted was there to dig him out of his hole. When he had to handle the Fly-Away Bandit case, Ted was there.
“I don’t know what else I can say to you,” the doctor said. “Here’s my card. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.”
Chris took the card and the doctor turned and walked away.
Chris looked at Candace. She sat ramrod straight in the chair. Tears flowed freely and she sniffed and quivered.
Chris always had a nagging voice in the back of his head. Did she marry Dad for his money? This didn’t look like a woman who had just lost her meal ticket.
I guess she really did love Dad.
Watching Candace tore his heart out.
“Somebody’s gonna need to call Sarah,” Ted said.
“Oh, God. How will we break this to her?” Chris slumped into a chair. “It’ll kill her.”
Sarah, Chris’s younger sister, moved to San Francisco after graduating from the University of Washington to get away from their father’s influence. Despite the anger and the distance, Sarah still thought that the sun rose on her father.
“You want me to call her?” Ted asked.
“No. Thank you for offering, but it’s something I have to do. We’re orphans now, we have to stick together.”
Chapter 3
As owner of the largest brewing company in Mexico, Delores Olivera expected results. No babosos would get the best of her.
When her husband died of a heart attack in the bed of a whore, she took over the business. Everyone assumed that she would fail; after all, how could any woman run a business? They were fools. She built her brewery into Mexico’s largest exporter, winning baskets full of ribbons and prizes along the way. Then she diversified.
She also owned the largest chain of convenience stores in Mexico. She was such a formidable business rival that her American challengers gave up and went back across the border to lick their wounds.
After the convenience stores, she bought a failing soft drink company and turned it into Mexico’s second largest.
She knew she was a wildly-successful business woman, the most powerful woman in Mexico, but she had no ambitions for herself. It was all for her only son, Manny. She kept her husband’s seat warm for the day she could turn it over to her handsome boy.
Delores sat at the oversized oak desk in her office watching General Ricardo Lazaro.
Lazaro was a tall man, she thought, especially for a Mexican. With his movie idol good looks, he could have starred on any telenovela. Instead, his fierce war on the drug cartels elevated him to the position of head of the Federales, the Mexican federal police.
“Señora Olivera, how nice to see you. I only wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.”
She rose and shook his hand. “Please have a seat, mi general.”
Lazaro couldn’t, he paced back and forth. She admired his preparedness. He wore a bullet-proof vest wherever he went and always had a pistol strapped to his belt. He never went outside without at least two armed guards in full combat armor. They waited at attention outside Delores’s door.
“What do you have for me, mi general?” she asked.
“Nothing, Señora.” Lazaro turned to face her. “We have searched everywhere, we have talked to every informant we have. No one knows anything. It is as if they were ghosts. They left no trail.”
Delores put on a fierce scowl. “Señor, I am not playing games. You will find my son and daughter-in-law, and you will do it quickly.” She hated the slight tremor in her voice.”I make all the right donations to all the right causes. I have talked to the presidente; he says that he is confident that you and your organization are the best hope for finding them. I need for you to show that he is right. It would be very unfortunate for the PRI, for El Presidente, for the Federales and especially for you, if you fail.”
“I can assure you Señora. . .” He held up one hand. Lazaro’s statement was cut off by his cell phone.
“Lazaro,” he said into his smart phone.
He stopped to listen.
“Sí,” he said, “Bueno, I’ll tell her.”
He turned to the woman behind the desk. “Señora, we have a break in the case. A ransom note.”
“Who. . . who is it from? What do they want?”
“They are asking for one-hundred-million pesos, cash.”
“I’ll get it.” The money would be no problem. “When can we get them back?”
Lazaro finally sat in the chair opposite Delores’s desk. “I must caution you, most of these ransoms do not work out. More often than not, the family pays the ransom and the kidnappers kill the detainees.”
“Do you think that will happen? What else can we do?”
“There is no good answer. We need to play along with them, make them think they have won. We will pay the ransom then we will follow them to see where they are keeping your family. My troops will raid their hideout.” He took a deep breath. “I must warn you, there is no guarantee that your son will be unharmed. He might already be dead.”
****
Three days later, a Federale pickup with six officers attired in camouflage fatigues, Kevlar vests, helmets with face shields and carrying ugly black M-16’s in the back, pulled up to the statue of a fisherman along La Paz’s Malecon.
Most Mexican cities of any size with a water front have a Malecon. In La Paz it is a broad seven-mile-long walkway from the south end of town to the marinas in the north. Paved in rose-colored stones in fanciful wavy patterns, this Malecon has a circular plaza where each street dead-ends into it. At each intersection there are benches and statues depicting some aspect of life by the sea. There are statues of mermaids, dolphin, manta rays and even Jacques Cousteau. A statue of a fisherman is to the north of town, opposite La Brisa mini-mart.
The pickup’s passenger door opened and a man in a suit got out with a large aluminum case. He stepped over to the trash can with a fiberglass seal’s head for a top and dropped it in.
He got back in the truck and the truck drove off.
“Drop made,” the man in the suit said into the microphone.
Across town Ricardo Lazaro paced in the Federale headquarters building.
“Mi General,”
a lieutenant said, “they have made the drop.”
“What, you think I don’t have ears?” Lazaro snapped, “I can hear the radio.”
“Sí, mi General, we have all of our eyes on the package.”
“Good, who is there?”
“We have two lookouts on the rooftops across the street. We have plain-clothes detectives dressed as street sweepers working on that block and a tourista couple enjoying a drink at the café across the street. There is no way the package will be picked up and we don’t see it.”
“Make sure of it.”
****
Roberto Jimenez hated being dressed up as a peon sweeping the street.
Why didn’t they just have me clean out all the toilets? he thought to himself.
“Roberto, look.” His partner pointed up the street with the end of his broom.
A teenage boy came rumbling down the street on a skate board.
Roberto raised his sleeve to his mouth. “We have a skateboarder approaching the trash can.”
“Good, wait and see what happens,” Roberto heard the lieutenant’s voice through his earpiece.
The teenager circled the fisherman’s statue twice then jumped off of his skateboard. He looked around, trying not to look suspicious. He utterly failed.
“He’s digging though the trash now,” Roberto reported. “He’s got it. He has the case.” Roberto’s voice went up with the excitement.
“Do not alert him to who you are. Do not apprehend him,” the voice in Roberto’s ear said. “We have three units prepared to follow him.”
****
The skateboarder turned and headed back into town. An old Volkswagen bug coughed and sputtered down the street after him.
The boy crossed the street at the El Dolfin hotel and carried his skateboard under his arm. He walked a block up to the bicycle shop and went in.
“He is at the bike shop,” the driver said into his microphone.
“Very good. Do not stay there. We have other assets to watch the shop,” the voice said over the radio.
Back at Federale headquarters, Lazaro boarded an armored vehicle and rode down the street to the bicycle shop.
“All units, stand by,” Lazaro said as the truck pulled onto the street behind the shop.
A dozen Federales in combat gear exited the truck and moved swiftly to cover all of the building’s exits. Two pickups with six armed men each pulled up on either side of the bike shop.
“Ready?” Lazaro asked. “Go on my command. NOW!”
The armed men burst through all the doors. “Get down. . . Federales!” they screamed, as if anyone would doubt who they were.
The skateboard boy dropped to the floor. The middle-aged man behind the counter stood and raised his hands in the air. The American couple looking at rental bikes screamed.
Two federales grabbed the couple and shoved them to the ground. ”We say get down!” one shouted.
Lazaro walked into the shop. “What is this? Where are the kidnappers?”
“Wh. . . wh. . . what kidnappers?” the proprietor asked.
Lazaro walked to the counter and spun the case around to face him. “The ones that wanted this money.” He opened the case with a flurry.
His mouth fell open. “How. . .?”
The case was filled with shredded newspaper. On top of the newspaper was a hand written note:
“We warned you.”
“The money,” the lieutenant said. “What happened to the money?”
“They switched cases on us, menso.” Lazaro shot back at him. “But how? Where? We had our eyes on the boy all the time?”
“Sí, mi general.”
Lazaro turned to the boy on the floor. “You,” he put his alligator skin cowboy boot on the boy’s head. “Who sent you? Who told you to do this?”
“A man asked me, mi general.” Tears flowed from the boy’s eyes. “He gave me a hundred pesos and told me to pick up the case and bring it here.”
“And you,” Lazaro spun to the shopkeeper. “What are you supposed to do with a case of newspaper?”
The man behind the counter trembled. “Señor, I do not know. I have never seen this boy before. I don’t know anything about it.”
“Take him in, take them all in. I want to question them.”
The boy shrieked. Lazaro was legendary for his “questioning.” Many a narco had gone into Federale headquarters to be questioned. Not many came out.
The officers pulled the American couple to their feet and handcuffed them.
“You can’t do this,” the man shrieked. “We’re Americans. I demand . . .”
He shut up when an M-16 was shoved in his face.
Chapter 4
Ted pulled his black BMW Z-4 roadster into the driveway of Harry’s palatial estate on the cliffs overlooking Edmonds and Puget Sound. On a clear day, the Olympic Peninsula and snow-covered Olympic Mountains could be seen from the terraces and lawns.
Ted was familiar with Harry’s house. He’d been there several times while he and Chris were in school. He had even brought Mama here for Chris’s graduation party when she still lived in East L.A. This was Maria’s first visit.
Ted leapt from the car and dashed around to open Maria’s door. He was always the gentleman, but she refused to play the lady. She opened her own door and swung her long legs to the ground.
Ted watched as Maria unfolded from his low-slung car. She was his ideal of perfect beauty. She was exactly as tall as his five-foot-eight-inch frame. With a name like Maria Gonzales, he wouldn’t have expected a tall, red-headed, light-skinned beauty. Although born in Mexico, her mother was American. Her father’s mother was also an American. Her father was the grandson of a former president of Mexico.
Maria moved towards the entrance with the grace of a dancer, which she was. She put herself through school as a professional dancer. In Mexico City, she was known as Doctora Gonzales and was one of Mexico’s leading experts on pre-Columbian civilization. In her home town of La Paz, she was known only as La Guera, or the light-skinned one.
With a feeling of dread, Ted pushed the door bell. In a moment, Chris opened the door.
“C’mon in, guys.” Chris said, and turned to lead the way. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m good.” The soft lilt of Maria’s voice always sent shivers down Ted’s spine.
“Me too,” Ted said.
They walked through the entryway to the great room. One step down and they were in a giant room with one wall made entirely of sliding glass doors. The two-story doors opened to a deck overlooking the Sound.
Candace sat on a white leather sofa. As Ted and Maria entered, she got up to give each of them a hug.
“Oh, Candace, I’m so sorry,” Maria said as Candace hugged the breath out of her. “Harry was such a good man.”
Candace nodded and sniffled.
Ted pulled her to him and gave her his best consolation hug. Although she was always a star out of his reach, Ted never failed to feel his nuts tingling in her presence.
“Sit down, guys,” Chris waved to the sofas surrounding the gnarled maple coffee table. “I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee; I’m going to get a cup.”
As he spoke a timer went off in the kitchen. “It’s ready. Are you sure I can’t get you a cup?”
Ted was an admitted coffee snob. He knew that Chris only used a French Press and that the coffee would be some dark Pacific Island roast.
“Twist my arm,” Ted said. He followed Chris into the kitchen.
The dining room was open to the great room with only an island with eight stools separating the kitchen from the dining room. While Chris poured the coffee, Ted watched the women, sitting next to each other on the sofa.
“Candace, I can’t imagine how you feel,” Maria said, and took Candace’s hand. “I’ve never lost anyone close to me, but I understand it has to be unbearable pain. When I heard about Harry, I tried to think what it would be like if I lost Ted. I cried for an hour.”
Ted locked in to their conversation.
Candace wiped the tears from her eyes with a white lace handkerchief. “Thank you. It’s like the world is spinning around in an uncontrollable spiral. I can’t get my feet on the ground. I think I’m going to collapse at any second.”
Maria pulled Candace close to her in a hug.
“I know we have to go on,” Candace whispered, “but I can’t seem to get myself oriented.”
“What’s going to happen to you now?” Maria asked.
“I know Harry left me the house. Most of his other assets he left to Chris and Sarah. I’ll keep working at HB&J I suppose.” Candace and Chris were the only new associates that Hardwick, Bernstein & Johnson hired that year.
“You’ll go on with life,” Maria said. “You have friends, you have a lovely home, you have a good job. It’ll all work out, just wait and see.”
“But I don’t want to go on. I don’t want to do anything without Harry.”
Chris handed Ted his cup of coffee.
“Gracías, hermano,” Ted said. He touched the cup to his lips and took a tiny sip. “Good as ever.”
Chris just nodded.
Ted could see Chris’s eyes were red and swollen. “You know, he was like a father to me, too.” Ted set his cup on the counter. “I know what it’s like to lose a father. When Papa was killed in Mexico, I thought I’d die. I just wanted to go out and kill the bastards that did it. I’ve never had so much anger in my life.”
“So who do I kill?” Fire lit up Chris’s blue eyes. “I can’t kill heart disease. Do I kill the counter girl at McDonald’s? How about the bartender at the Met? Ted, he was so young. You’re supposed to live seventy or eighty years. Why did he have to go so young?”
“I know that you’re not religious, amigo.” Ted put his arm around this tall friend’s shoulders. “But the Church teaches that God has a plan for all of us. It was just his time. He accomplished what he needed to here on earth and God called him home.”
Chris wriggled free of Ted’s grasp. “That’s what they always say. It just doesn’t make any sense. He was young, strong. How could his heart just stop?”
The Cartel Strikes Back: The Ted Higuera Series, Book 5 Page 3