I quivered.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I said calmly, forcing myself to look back across the street with one remaining thought. Would I ever be okay with taking the next step with Brad? Not just sex, but coming out of our closet. Because I had a feeling if I did the first, I’d want to shout it to the world. I wasn’t a college senior. I had to plan these things out…for the kids and for my sanity.
A quick image came to me—Brad in a bathing suit, soaking wet, strutting out of the ocean toward me. Damn, I just got hot. “Is the AC still working?” I turned the air duct to ensure I could feel it against my face.
“We’ve got a visitor,” Archie said with binoculars to his face.
I looked over to the café and saw a man sliding into the seat opposite Bolivar. The man wore a black San Antonio Spurs cap backward, old flip-flips, shorts with strings hanging down his legs—which did have decent muscle tone—and a basic T-shirt. He had a day’s worth of stubble on a face that was darker than Bolivar’s pasty white.
“You got an angle to take any pictures of this guy?” Archie asked.
The man carried a cell phone, almost like a prop. The two spoke, and then Bolivar turned the magazine around and pointed at something on an inside page.
“Think he’s got a special code for Spur Man?”
“He could. Or maybe they’re debating who will win district in high school football.”
“Surely can’t be the Fighting Tampons.”
“What?”
“Port Isabel. Your old school.”
He tried not to smile, but I’d heard that phrase a thousand times, about a thousand years ago. Any rival school always tried to poke us with that phrase. Revenge was always the best response. I’d go out and kick their asses in tennis. But in Texas, football ruled. And if someone called you a tampon and you got your ass kicked in football, then the whole school felt the ridicule for an entire year.
“It’s Tarpons, asswipe.”
“Touchy, touchy.” He brought the binoculars back up to his face. “Spur Man just crossed his legs and put his arm on the chair. Very casual of him. You might have a better angle now.”
I raised my phone and zoomed in closer.
“What the hell?”
“What now, Alex?”
“I think I—”
“Spit it out, will you? We finally have a fish on the hook and you’re afraid to pick up my rod.”
I slowly turned my head in his direction with a single eyebrow arched.
“What can I say, I tried to slip it in.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You know me, I have fun in the most warped way possible.”
“If you still worked for the CIA, I’d turn you in for sexual harassment.”
“I was more worried that you were going to kick my ass.” He brushed a hand across his forehead.
“Tempting, but it’s hot enough outside.”
I flipped my head back to the two men at the table, wondering if my eyes had deceived me earlier.
“You’re supposed to be taking pictures, right? That’s why we’ve been sitting here for hours and hours.”
“I don’t think I need to take a picture. I know this guy.” I pointed at the man with the Spurs hat.
“You know a drug dealer? What have you been doing while you’re on vacation, Alex?”
“Funny, Archie. I’m almost certain I knew this guy when I was back in high school.”
His face scrunched into a prune. “That’s been over twenty years, Alex. You sure you’re not being overly nostalgic since you’re back in your hometown?”
The man shifted again, now facing Bolivar. A waitress came outside and talked to both of them. He spoke, and she walked away. My point of view was worse now. Doubts were creeping back into my head.
“You just lost your chance to get a picture. What’s going on with you, Alex?”
About fifty feet south of the two men, I spotted a man behind a rolling cart with a sign on it that read “Tommy’s Tortillas – a buck each.”
I opened my hand toward Archie. “You got any cash on you?”
He patted his pants while saying, “Why do I have to pay?
“Don’t whine.”
“You pick now to be hungry,” he said, peering into the middle console.
“Just hurry up. I don’t want to miss the opportunity.”
“But why don’t you just pay?”
“I don’t carry cash usually. I go for points on my credit card.” I snapped my fingers.
“All right, all right,” he said. “Wait…” He leaned down and peeled back the floor carpet, grabbing a few bills. “Here we go. I’d forgotten that I hid it, just in case we got carjacked.”
“What? Why would you think that?”
“Hello, we’re two miles from the border, stupid.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Every Hispanic is also a gun-toting thief.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’m kind of stupid, aren’t I?”
I snatched a ten out of his hands and jumped out of the car, letting him think about that one while I padded across the street. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a few people strolling up and down the sidewalk. Through the cover, the two men were still in conversation, not looking my way. I paused for a second and let two cars go by, then continued my trek.
“Buenos dias,” said the man wearing a sombrero and a fake mustache.
Obviously, he was targeting tourists.
“What can I get for you?”
“I’ll take a corn tortilla.”
“Coming right up.” He opened a canister, and steam curled into the humid air.
I rested my elbows on the counter and slowly turned my head toward the café. Three ladies had stopped just outside an antique shop. They were blocking my view.
“One hot tortilla. Here you go.”
He handed me the tortilla rolled up in aluminum foil, and I stuck out my hand with the cash.
“Oh, sorry, I can’t break a bill that large.”
“A ten, really?” I thought about giving him the tortilla back. I pretended to scratch my shoulder blade and glanced toward the café. I had a clear sight path. My pulse doubled. It had to be him.
“Do you want more tortillas?”
I asked for nine more, gave him the ten, and scooted back over to the Camaro. Once I shut the door, I dumped them in Archie’s lap.
“Shit, they’re hot!” He shoved all but one on the floor. He put the last one on the center console, peeled off the cover, and picked up the piping hot tortilla with two fingertips.
He blew on it and then took a bite. “Damn, this is amazing,” he said while chewing.
I took one more look across the way. I couldn’t believe it was him. He had the same strong chin, his skin like polished clay. He’d never had a blemish all throughout high school. I used to call him Hollywood, because of his good looks. And he had those syrupy, honey eyes. I knew he’d grow up to be something special, whether he was an actor or maybe a famous director, or even a writer. He had written me a number of poems.
But now look at him. He never made it out of the Valley. He was forty and working as some kind of drug dealer, or maybe worse.
“Did you get his picture?” Archie asked with another mouthful of tortilla.
“Not needed. It’s Mario Alvarez. My high school boyfriend.”
11
After texting the name of my old beau to Gretchen so she could do her research drill, I relieved Corey and picked up the kids.
“Anything you want to do, I’m game,” I said to them, looking to temporarily rid my mind of Mario and what had gone wrong to lead him to where he was today.
Then I smelled something that made me want to hurl. “Who needs to use the restroom?” I asked, punching my window down.
“Luke stepped in it back at the barn,” Erin said. “Didn’t you hear us when we got in the car? Corey’s friend works at the stables, and we got to ride horses down the beach. It was an absolute blast.”
I could
somehow identify with Luke, feeling like my nose had been stuck in it, with all the disturbing reminders from my past and how imperfect it had been…and apparently still was.
We decided on putt-putt and go-carts. I asked to borrow a hose when we arrived at the facility, which had been considered old even when I was a teen, and washed off the bottom of Luke’s Teva. We each grabbed a different color golf ball, and then we hit the golf course. Unfortunately, the miniature golf course—and all the associated obstacles—hit back. On the fourth hole, Erin attempted to knock her ball in between the rotating blades of a tiny windmill. She caught it just right…or wrong, depending on the perspective. The bouncing, dimpled ball caromed off the spinning blade, then ricocheted off a concrete wall on the next hole and smacked Erin just under her eye.
Her scream could have been heard ten miles out at sea. When I finally peeled her hand away from her face, I saw purple, black, blue, and one puffy eye. The owners were nice enough to comp our round of golf and give Erin a bag of ice. After sitting in the boiling sun for a few minutes—during which I tried calling and texting my dad to see when I could pop over for an uncomfortable but necessary discussion about Carly and her possible connection to the drive-by shooters—Erin agreed to ride go-carts on the little kid track so that Luke could putter around in his own car. Five other kids joined them on the track, all moving at no more than about ten miles per hour. They traversed the oval for four laps. Just as I pulled out my phone to see if the Boston team had any news to share, I heard an engine whirring. I looked up and found Luke’s yellow car jackknifed on top of a boulder that lined the inside part of the track. He was yelling at the top of his lungs as his sister circled him, laughing hysterically.
I couldn’t hear a word he said, but I had a feeling he was using plenty of four-letter words. The teenage employee was cracking up as he ran over and picked up the car and set it back down on the track. I tried to cover my smirking mouth.
A few minutes later, Luke was attempting to show me a bruise on his elbow as we got in the car. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see anything.”
“He’s just faking it, Mother. Anything to get attention after he drove his go-cart right up that boulder.” Erin practically spit on herself from laughing.
I could see steam coming out of his nostrils.
“We’ll put some ice on it when we get back to Teresa’s house. And Erin, your eye could use another bag of ice as well.”
As we pulled into the driveway, I received a group text from Gretchen.
Got the goods on Carly - at least first wave - in attached file. Still waiting on other feedback. More later…
I sat in the car and read through the information as the kids went inside to dig around for a snack before dinner and hopefully put some ice on their respective bruises.
I thumbed through Gretchen’s report. My first thought was that Carly had a lengthy rap sheet, although nothing violent. It started when she was just nineteen. Two convictions for forgery, marijuana drug possession twice, and then a period of four years with a clean sheet. Then she was convicted of cocaine drug possession twice over the next three years. I counted three more forgery convictions, the last one landing her in state prison for nine months in Huntsville. Another five years passed before she was again nabbed: two more cocaine convictions and…prostitution. She must have hit rock bottom as an addict.
I flipped to the next page and saw she had been given probation on her prostitution charge if she agreed to drug rehab. That was just six years ago. She had lived a hard life. Resting my hands in my lap, I glanced through the windshield at Teresa’s white stucco house, her St. Augustine grass lush and green, and everything so meticulously cared for. She had worked her tail off to accomplish what she had, this oasis she shared with Corey when he was home from school. I’d bet she wouldn’t have envisioned all this for herself twenty years ago, when she’d been knocked up by Suave Dave fresh out of high school.
The palm tree to my left swayed from the strong breeze as white clouds rippled against the blue sky. I could see a couple of brown leaves in the middle of the tree, and one dropped to the grass carpet. Like the rest of us, Teresa had dealt with her share of sadness. Well, it was more like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. Her daughter—Jess was what Corey had said her name was—died only a few years ago. I was so into my own world, I didn’t even know she had another child. Jess had been Erin’s age. Erin was a typical smartass, and sometimes lovable, teenage daughter. As irritating as she could be sometimes, I also saw her as perfect in some ways. I couldn’t imagine loving her any more than I already did. Teresa hadn’t seen her daughter grow up and experience these wonderful, albeit emotional transitions in life. I was reminded again of just how lucky I was. Later on tonight, once the kids were down and the wine was flowing, I’d approach the topic with Teresa. Undoubtedly, tears would be shed, but I hoped I could bond a bit with her and promise to be there for her in the future.
I pulled myself out of the car and lifted my arms. I just felt gross from all the sweating at the putt-putt/go-cart place. I touched my nose and felt a decent sunburn. I’d pay for that later, but I sure had enjoyed watching my kids have fun—and experience a little tribulation along the way with the golf ball to Erin’s face and the go-cart roll by Luke. Thankfully, they weren’t seriously injured.
The second I put my hand on the brass handle of the front door, my phone buzzed. I was hoping for more data from Gretchen, or even Brad. Instead it was my dad returning my message from earlier.
You want to talk to us w/o the kids? You can come over in the next thirty minutes. We should be here.
He left his address, but didn’t write “Love, Dad” or offer any other closing comment. Perhaps he knew that I would eventually uncover Carly’s past. I could already feel a knot pinging my gut in anticipation of our conversation. But it couldn’t be avoided. This wasn’t about exposing Carly. It was getting to the truth, hoping he could provide some insight as to why she might be targeted by a drug cartel or the thugs who represent them. Would she be part of the discussion, or would Dad protect her from his FBI daughter?
I responded to Dad with a quick “OK,” shoved my phone back in my purse, and headed into the house. Just as I shut the front door behind me, I saw Corey standing there in nothing more than a white towel around his waist. Oh, and he was brushing his teeth too. His hair was a wet mop, and that provocative grin had returned.
“Do you mind wearing clothes when the kids are here?”
“Sure,” he mumbled.
Corey had as much chest hair as any adult male—and he was just a kid! I couldn’t fool my body. He was attractive…no, he was the kind of young stud you’d see in one of those fireman calendars where all they wear is a well-positioned hard hat. But he was still a kid to me.
I walked toward the entrance to the back hall; Corey ducked into the half-bath. I could hear him rinsing, then he called out, “By the way, I had no idea it was you. I thought I heard the doorbell. Must have been my music.”
I tried not to turn my head to take another look at the eye candy, but I couldn’t help it. My lady parts all worked perfectly fine, and it had been a long time since I’d been sent to the moon and back, so to speak. A look never hurt anyone.
“Shirt,” I reminded him.
He pulled at his chest hair, and I rolled my eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll put on a shirt.” He took one step down the hall that led to his bedroom, then pulled back and said, “I hope you don’t have plans tonight…since I do. I thought Mom might be home to help out—I do need some razor blades, and we’re out of Wheaties.”
Still relies on Mommy to do all his shopping. Maybe she did his laundry too? Knowing Teresa, she probably had a maid who cleaned this place and did fun chores like Corey’s laundry.
I replayed the first part of what he said to me. “Well, I do have to go out for a few minutes.”
“No worries, the kids should be good here for a while.”
I stopped moving and checked the sta
rfish clock above the gargantuan flat screen. Archie was supposed to hook up with Cynthia, and I probably didn’t have time to clean up.
“You sure you can’t stick around for an hour or so?”
He looked up at the clock. “Shit no, I just realized I’m late picking up my date.”
“Date?”
“Met a tourist on the dock today. Real nice, loves the ocean and all the creatures in it. I think we have a few things in common.”
I gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, how old is she?”
“She didn’t say, but she talked about her six-year-old daughter. I’m guessing she’s about thirty, maybe thirty-one.”
“And the daughter doesn’t scare you away?”
I wondered if I had asked that question on behalf of Brad, even though he had never shown any hesitation about my kids.
“We’re just going on a date, not walking down the aisle. Eventually, I wouldn’t mind kids…once I grow up some more, experience more about life. I want to travel, learn about other cultures. You know what they say, YOLO.”
“YOLO,” I repeated, my mind temporarily unable to break it down.
“You only live once, Alexandra.” He flashed his smile and ripped the towel off his lower body just as he turned down the hall.
For a split second, my breath caught in my throat. I’d seen a streak of his right cheek. It was white and well defined. That damn kid.
***
I’d forgotten how many cars could be crammed on Highway 100 during evening drive time. I became quickly frustrated with the lack of urgency and organization on the highway. Ahead of me, a truck had steam pouring out of its hood, its owner standing there waving a handkerchief. I turned up the AC, then flipped on the radio, trying to calm my nerves. Lots of commercials for used cars.
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2) Page 13