Malice in Mexico

by Gayle Wigglesworth

  “Manny Hillerman, won’t you join me?”

  “KC Ramosa, I believe you were expecting me.” She sat down, noting the flash of surprise in his eyes although his smile didn’t falter.

  He recovered quickly. “What a delightful surprise. I wasn’t expecting KC to be a woman. How unimaginative of me.” Manny was a suave, handsome man in his fifties. He wore a cream silk shirt, open at the neck, and tan slacks with a raw silk jacket, also in a cream color. He had a full head of dark hair, expensively styled, and eyes so dark they didn’t reveal any nuance of his thoughts.

  KC put her large bag on the floor by her chair and smiled flirtatiously at Manny. “I hope you’re not disappointed to find I’m a woman?”

  “Not at all, it is a pleasant surprise. I don’t often find women in this business. And certainly not women who look like you.”

  The waiter discreetly stood at his elbow and they both looked to KC for instructions.

  “I’ll have a Cosmopolitan up.” She smiled, giving her head a toss to settle her hair, causing her jacket to gape, flashing a quick view of her right breast.

  “So,” Manny relaxed into his chair preparing to enjoy this meeting, “you’re new to Houston. How did you find me?”

  “I may be new to Houston, but I assure you I know this business and I know how to find the ‘man.’ And I understand, in Houston, you are the ‘man.’ Of course I wanted to make contact with you in person. And I appreciate your willingness to meet with me.” She could see he was interested, so she leaned forward, her jacket gaping even more generously. “Times are tough. It’s becoming harder and harder to get quality product these days. I imagine you’re feeling the pinch here, just as those on the West Coast are.”

  He nodded slowly. “The increased security measures at the border since Nine-eleven have been wreaking havoc on my business. I admit it’s going directly to the bottom line. And at the same time demand continues to be strong. I’m feeling the pinch and right now I’m very interested in finding new sources. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to meet with a complete stranger, no matter how good the connections. But hard times make for hard decisions. Right?”

  The waiter arrived with their drinks and they each took a sip. Then KC started her pitch.

  “I have perfected a new process which results in an outstanding end product. I can convert an unrecognizable material into a choice finished product. I can get the stuff through the border with no problems, which means I can deliver quality product on a consistent schedule.

  “My product is more expensive than what you’re used too, true, but the quality is so superior you will find it will go twice as far.”

  Manny shrugged, feigning indifference. “Why should I trust you? I’ve got sources I trust.”

  “Well, I know you did, but are they still so reliable? I understand most of the product is being intercepted before it gets close to Houston. I hear it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” She smiled at him. “And I don’t think you’ll have much success in bringing it in from other hubs, because they’re having the same problems. They don’t have enough to spare some for you.

  “No, I suspect if you’re going to maintain control of your market you’re going to need a new source of product. Even though you’ve managed to both import and distribute product in the past, times have changed. Now it’s important to think outside the box. Now is the time to do what other big businesses are doing so successfully, outsourcing. Let someone else carry the risk and expense of supplying your product.”

  Manny sat looking at her so intently that if she had been a less confident person she might have been intimidated just by his eyes.

  “How do I know this isn’t a sting? You waltz in here promising the moon. You don’t look like you’ve got the balls to deliver.”

  “I can deliver. I’m not alone; I represent a very powerful organization. Admittedly this is the first of these operations we’ve set up, but it won’t be the last. We’ve developed a new process and we’ll have manufacturing plants throughout the country. If you don’t want to work with us,” she shrugged and this time when her jacket moved, Manny didn’t even notice as he was too involved in what she was saying to be distracted. “If you don’t want to do business with us, others will. The key to our success is our ability to bring in the product with no threat of discovery. That means we don’t have to sneak around with little loads; we can fill the trucks, which allows us to consistently deliver a reliable product. That means our client, whoever that is, will end up at the top.”

  She finished her Cosmopolitan. “And as far as this being a sting operation, there is always that risk. But you agreed to this meeting on the advice of our mutual colleague on the East Coast. You must have some trust in his endorsement.”

  She leaned down to the floor and picked up her purse. “I have a little gift for you.” She removed a small leather covered box from her bag and placed it on the table in front of Manny. “Sorry, no bow, but still, I think you’ll enjoy this. Check it out. If you want to discuss this deal further, call me.” She laid a business card on the table, got up and left the club just as the band, which had returned to the stand, started playing once more.

  She didn’t look back so she didn’t see the gesture Manny made to the man standing near the door. She paid no attention as the man followed her outside and then joined two other men in a car waiting in the lot. After the valet delivered her car she turned on to Westheimer heading east. She didn’t see the car, which had preceded her out of the lot, pull away from the curb where it had been idling and pull into the traffic several cars behind her.

  Westheimer was a main thoroughfare across town and even this late at night supported heavy traffic, at least until after it crossed Montrose and then became Elgin. There the traffic thinned dramatically, slowed by the rough streets and the roadwork being done to bury the cables, pipes and utilities to support the redevelopment effort which was upgrading the whole area. On both sides of the road massive construction of lofts and town homes was in progress, causing intermittent blockage of lanes, requiring careful navigation in order to reach the Eastex Freeway. It was not a good area to be at this time of night; while the construction promised a bright future, it was still too close to its ghetto-like past to be safe. The few who used the street were either lost or just seeking the fastest way to the freeway; most people would rather drive through town to get on the Forty-Five North and then cut over to the Eastex at Interstate Ten.

  Her phone rang. She fished it out of her bag and flipped it open. “Yeah?”

  “You were right. You have company about two cars back.”

  She felt a flash of rage. “That stupid Manny. He thinks I’m easy because I’m a girl. Well, we’ll show him. Take them out.”

  “What? Are you sure?” The voice on the phone couldn’t conceal his shock at her order. “I mean..., well, what I mean is, won’t it make him mad?”

  “You heard me. Take care of them. So what if it makes him mad? For sure it will convince him this is no sting operation. And it will make it clear to him he can’t screw around with me. Take them out!” She ground out those last three words in a harsh voice. But after she disconnected she allowed herself a cold chuckle, wishing she could be there to see Manny’s face when he heard the news.

  The dark blue Lincoln with the three men got caught at the red light and had to wait for the cross traffic. They weren’t worried. They could see their target waiting at the light in the next block. They didn’t even notice the car come up beside them in the left hand turn lane, until that is, the window came down and the muzzle started spewing destruction. Then it was too late for them to be concerned.

  The light turned green and the shooters’ car turned left quickly speeding down the street leaving the Lincoln idling with its load of gore blocking the intersection. The next car came to a halt behind it and impatiently sounded its horn until finally the driver swung into the left hand turn lane to go around, pausing briefly to make an angry finger ge
sture at the driver. To his horror he found himself staring at blood and gore sprayed throughout the interior of the stalled car.

  * * *

  Claire settled into the back corner of the van, content to watch the scenery go by as Jack carried the conversational burden for them. The driver had told them they would be the last off and directed them to the far back row of seats. She watched as the others clamored into the van, wondering how the driver would find room to load all the luggage these people had piled on the curb. She and Jack had packed very little, a large backpack for him and a medium-sized wheelie bag for her. Jack always traveled light and he encouraged her to leave most of what she had laid out behind. He said if they needed something they could buy it. She tried to follow his advice, but she still ended up using a medium-sized wheelie bag when she felt she couldn’t leave any more behind.

  The other passengers in the van included two couples, who were from Chicago. One of those men shared the last row of seats with Claire and Jack while his wife, his brother and his sister-in-law sat in the seat in front of them. The seats behind the driver held a couple from Houston and one of the pair of women from Portland, who were attending an advanced language course. The other woman sat in the shotgun seat. The two women seemed a little apprehensive about the town and especially about eating in the local restaurants. The man sitting beside Jack had been to San Miguel many times, and he and the couple from Houston talked about some of their favorite restaurants and assured the Portland women that they would be safe eating in any of the restaurants listed in the Insider’s Guide to San Miguel.

  The brother and sister-in-law of the Chicago couple had never been to San Miguel but seemed full of good spirits. They said they got tired of hearing how wonderful San Miguel was and decided they needed to come and see for themselves. And what better time to get out of Chicago, they declared, than in March? Already, just driving through the sunshine, they could tell they had made a wise decision.

  The man from Houston said he and his wife usually came down for August to get out of Houston’s heat, but this year they decided to come in March and in August. They were thinking about buying a little place here and wanted to check out the weather in the winter.

  “Houston’s a great city but August and March are good months to be somewhere else,” his wife agreed, nodding vigorously.

  “Don’t forget, if you’re here on Sunday, check out the House Tour. It’s really lovely and it gives you a chance to tour some of the homes of the people who live here.” The Houston wife announced to the van, “If we buy here we will definitely make our house available. It’s such a wonderful way to raise money for the library’s children programs.”

  Then in answer to a question from one of the Portland ladies, she launched into a description of the library, which she called Biblioteca Publica, with its charming patio, large collection of English language books, computer room and delightful café. Claire decided she and Jack would be visiting there soon. She admitted to herself, once a librarian, always a librarian.

  Their driver announced they had arrived in San Miguel de Allende when they reached a large intersection with a roundabout and a large statue in the middle. Claire watched with interest as the city was revealed street by street. As the van progressed into town the colorful procession of buildings lined both sides of the street. Shops were interspersed among the houses and she noticed with interest several that contained antiques and decorative items which she thought would be fun to browse through for a while. But the driver was on a mission. He navigated the streets turning down some tiny lanes, more like alleys, where the van could barely make the turn into the street. Here the buildings were attached to each other, marching up and down the street at different levels. The doors opened right on the sidewalk so any steps needed for access were built out over the walkway itself blocking much of the sidewalk. As the streets were barely wide enough for the traffic, pedestrians had to make their way over or around these steps as well as skirt the power poles and sections of broken pavement in order to negotiate the street. Claire saw women herding their children while carrying bulky packages moving with stoic determination up and down the street ignoring the danger of the vehicles.

  Their driver was very skillful. He drove the van through the teeming streets with aplomb, off-loading passengers and baggage in front of each destination before moving on to the next stop. The two women from Portland were staying at a residence, which they said was similar to a boarding house, while the couple from Houston got out at an attractive looking hotel near the center of town. Claire watched them enter through the beautiful courtyard with its plants, colorful scarlet bougainvillea and tables and chairs.

  The two couples from Chicago alighted in front of a large complex which they said had been converted into condos for rent. The outside of the complex looked like a fine old hotel, but Claire couldn’t see whether or not there was a nice courtyard. Finally the driver twisted and turned down a series of streets to pull up in front of a stucco wall broken only by a faded blue wooden door. By the time Claire extracted herself from her corner in the van, the driver had already deposited their luggage on the curb and was tucking Jack’s tip in his pocket.

  They stood there a moment looking after the retreating van, then gazed up and down the street. Claire couldn’t help the stab of concern in her gut. The neighborhood looked a little grim. The dark stone used for the street and sidewalks was old and damaged in several places. Some spots had been repaired with cement, some were just gaping holes partially filled with the remains of the last rain shower. There was no vegetation in sight except for a few tree tops peeking over the top of the wall. Mostly they saw walls and garage-like doors lining both sides of the street. However, it looked like there was a small market on the corner with an open door and some fruit on a stand outside.

  Jack grinned. “Perhaps a step down from the posh hotel where the Houston couple is staying, but let’s see what it looks like inside.” He pressed the button near the door.

  The door was opened by a smiling, middle-aged, Mexican woman. “Come in, come in,” she beckoned as she hurried to grab their luggage still sitting on the curb.

  They stepped into an oasis. The flagstone courtyard was filled with lush vegetation, a large fountain burbled in the center, comfortable looking chairs and tables were placed strategically to enjoy the view of the flowers. Butterflies glided amongst the blooms and a small breeze wafted a tantalizing scent past their noses.

  “I am Helen Marie; I clean and cook if you like.”

  Jack and Claire introduced themselves, shaking Helen Marie’s hand, before they followed her into the house built around the courtyard.

  Helen Marie explained in her heavily accented and very rudimentary English about the water system which purified all the water. She came every day to clean and she would cook and shop if they wanted her to do that. Suddenly the bells started to ring. It sounded like a nearby church, but soon others joined in, until the clamor began bouncing off the hills. Bells ringing and ringing in so many sounds, it was hard to separate them or make sense of the sequence of the peals. Claire glanced at her watch and saw it was past the hour. She glanced at Jack and put her hands over her ears. He turned to Helen Marie and spoke to her in her own language.

  Helen Marie responded in a torrent of words as she led them through the house, plainly pleased not to have to labor over communicating in a burdensome foreign language. Jack had an interested look pasted on his face and every now and again he nodded encouraging her. Claire hoped he was getting enough from the conversation to explain it all to her later.

  She had been pleased to learn that Spanish was one of Jack’s languages, but not really surprised. She knew he was fluent in Italian, French and a couple of Slavic languages, which he said helped him in his work. Once they started discussing a visit to San Miguel, he had immediately started watching the Spanish language channels on the TV in order, he said, to update his language and to hone his accent.

  Claire had abo
ut six years of Spanish in school but wasn’t at all confident in her ability to carry on a conversation. She could identify a few words but found it difficult to extract words she knew from the torrent of confusing sounds she had heard at the airport and now from Helen Marie.

  Eventually Helen Marie left them and their luggage in the master bedroom in the back corner of the house and headed happily to the front.

  Jack said, “She’ll cook for us if we want or she can just come in for a couple hours each day to clean, make the beds and take care of the patio. What do you prefer?”

  Claire looked at Jack, considering her choices. Her face flushed a little, still slightly uncomfortable about having Jack so intimately involved in her life.

  “I think cleaning only. I’m not crazy about having someone around all the time. We can go out to eat or do what little cooking we want ourselves, can’t we? And shopping will be fun, don’t you think?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Why don’t I tell her to come in about eleven o’clock each day for a couple of hours to clean? By that time we’ll probably be out and about anyway. I’ll tell her if we change our minds, we’ll let her know?”

  Claire nodded, grateful he was going to take care of it. Helen Marie probably wanted the work, but she felt she and Jack needed some quality time to themselves. And this secluded little house was going to be perfect for that. It would be like having a honeymoon cottage.

  That thought started a blush she couldn’t stop. Fortunately, no one was there to see her heat suffused face. It annoyed her that she wasn’t more sophisticated about her relationship with Jack. They had been sharing her bed since he had been well enough to insist. She loved being with him and loved the fact they were a couple, but somehow she felt telling people they were living together, was saying too much about their private relationship. She remembered how awkward she felt when her mother first came over to see Jack. Of course her mother had met Jack when they were in Venice the previous spring. Claire knew it was silly to be uncomfortable. After all, she was a mature woman, a business owner, and yet sometimes she felt like a school girl. And what was even sillier was that her mother was obviously not bothered at all to see Jack was living with her daughter. No, her mother accepted it very well, enthusiastically in fact. Claire sighed, she knew she’d get over it; she just needed some time.