by Carmen Amato
“Nothing in the back,” Silvio said. “Who the fuck is Julieta?”
“El Rey Demonio,” Emilia said impatiently. “I told you. Alberto Soares Peña. He fights as El Rey Demonio, but at home he’s Julieta Rubia’s husband.”
“How does Julieta Rubia figure into this?” Silvio asked impatiently.
Emilia wanted to scream at his thick-headedness. “Think about it, Franco. Julieta and Alberto got a good thing going. She’s running girls out of Mami’s and he’s the big luchador. Then Olga makes her power play, probably backed by Castro’s pendejo brother, Diego. Suddenly Julieta’s in jail and everybody knows she isn’t getting out any time soon. Olga la Fea takes over Mami’s and Castro kicks out Alberto. Now Alberto needs money, because he’s too important to have a job. He has to find someplace to live and pay for Julieta to live in style in prison. The woman gets Botox from her doctor. Fifty thousand pesos a week.”
“So he comes up with this extortion scheme,” Silvio said, picking up the thread. “The other two on his team are in it with him. After all, Julieta set them up with some fine girls when she was running Mami’s. So they pretend to be army, print up some notes, and pick places out of a magazine. Saturday nights after the fights, they hit the places that don’t pay. El Rey drives. The other two hide in the truck bed and throw grenades.”
“Madre de Dios,” Emilia swore again. The connections now seemed so obvious. “Aguilar sold him the grenades. Or he gets a cut of whatever Alberto collects.”
“But why the Los Matas videos? And pretending to be army? Wouldn’t that pinch Aguilar?”
“I don’t know,” Emilia admitted. “But everything else makes sense.”
The arena door suddenly opened, bathing the fenced-in area with light. Emilia and Silvio shrank back against the truck to avoid being seen. A man wearing a Coliseo concession worker’s uniform kept the door propped open, threw a big bag of trash into the dumpster, leaned against the wall, and lit a cigarette.
He was obviously in no hurry to get back to work. Time actually stood still as he took long, thoughtful drags. Emilia’s legs started to cramp as she remained frozen against Silvio. The big detective was like a statue. She could barely hear him breathe.
The concession worker finally threw down his cigarette butt, kicked the brick aside, and slammed the door behind him.
Emilia stepped away from Silvio and they went to the door. It was locked. Silvio swore as they looked around.
“So now what?” Emilia asked. The fenced-in area was like a miniature impound yard. The gate was wide enough to get a car or the dumpster out, but it was chained and padlocked. “Wait for somebody to push open the door from the inside? Or hot-wire a car and bust the gate?”
“Funny, Cruz.” Silvio looked up and Emilia followed his gaze. The fence was maybe nine feet tall, but it wasn’t topped by barbed wire. “Liked to climb things when you were a kid?”
“You think you can get over that fence?” Emilia asked doubtfully. She was confident she could climb over. But Silvio was weighed down by a heavy leather jacket and weighed easily twice what she did. While she was sure it was all muscle, his physique didn’t exactly suggest that he was agile.
“Yeah, I think I can get over that fence.” Silvio pulled out his cell phone. “First we’ll get some backup. Once we know we got help coming, we can get over this fence and go around to the front. Once we’re back inside, you stick with Aguilar. See what he does. I’ll stay by the locker rooms, keep an eye on El Rey and his buddies if they try to leave.”
“I still need to talk to Puro Sangre about Lila,” Emilia reminded him.
“Right after we arrest them.” Silvio dialed dispatch on his phone.
Emilia hugged herself while Silvio talked. It wasn’t their lucky night, and the dispatch cop on duty asked half a dozen inane questions before Silvio was convinced the kid understood the situation and was sending uniformed backup. He called Macias after that, and Emilia was relieved to hear that the other two detectives would head up the backup effort. They worked out a plan that had the backup coming in quietly, connecting with Silvio and Emilia via text message so they could find each other in the arena, and only then confronting the luchadores and Aguilar.
“Okay.” Silvio pocketed his phone and grabbed hold of the fence. “Get on over and make for the front. Stick to Aguilar and text me anything funky.”
Emilia reached high, wrapped her fingers through the wire fencing, and found a toehold as well. The fence wasn’t stable and she found herself wobbling. She flattened herself against the wire mesh. The buttons of her denim jacket caught against the wires as she pulled herself up, alternating toeholds and handholds, swearing to herself under her breath. She was almost to the top when the fence sagged, the wire jangled against the support poles, and she lost her footing.
“What the fuck are you doing, Cruz!” Silvio whispered furiously.
“Come here,” Emilia gasped as she dangled by her hands in the dark, feet scrabbling against the chain link in an effort to regain a toehold. “Let me kick you in the head.”
The fence shivered as she slowly made her way to the top and gingerly got a leg over. Going down was easier than going up, and a moment later she was breathing heavily on the other side of the fence. She gestured for Silvio to start his climb.
“Go,” he said. “Keep an eye on Aguilar.”
Emilia headed through the parking lot but stopped as she heard the chain link rattle loudly against the fence’s metal support poles. She turned, and in the dark could just make out a figure clinging precariously to the fence about halfway up. The fence swung away from the support pole and the figure plummeted to the ground.
Silvio’s leather jacket still hung halfway up the fence on his side, no doubt hooked by a button. He slowly got to his feet, his white tee shirt noticeable in the dark. The shoulder holster was outlined against it.
Emilia ran back to the fence. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m okay,” he said, looking up at the jacket. “But my jacket is caught and the fence is busted.”
“I’ll unhook the jacket from this side,” Emilia said. “Drop it down. You throw it over the fence to me. It’ll be easier for you to climb over without it.”
She could tell that he didn’t like the idea, but Silvio agreed. Emilia climbed up her side of the fence. She didn’t have to go far before she was even with the heavy leather jacket. As she thought, the jacket had been caught by its top button. Clinging to the fence with one hand and with both sets of toes, she used her other hand to work the button free. Silvio caught the jacket as it dropped.
Emilia eased herself back down the fence as Silvio tied the jacket into a ball and heaved it over the tall fence. Emilia caught it and was surprised to see him smile, teeth briefly showing white in the darkness.
It took two more tries before the big detective could get over the fence, and then only because Emilia braced herself against the loose metal support that was causing the fence to wobble. The wire bit into her hands and slapped her face as the fence shuddered under Silvio’s weight. She heard him grunt as he levered himself over the top and jumped down, landing easily on his feet. Without his weight, the fence pulled away from Emilia’s hands, the wire running painfully over the still-sensitive spot where she’d burned her hand at the El Tigre fire. Emilia gave a soft gasp but held the fence to minimize the rattling noise it made as it settled back into place.
“Why didn’t you think I could make it over?” Silvio challenged as he put his jacket on.
“Now?” Emilia asked incredulously. “Now is a good time for an argument?”
The arena was larger on the outside than it seemed on the inside as they wound through the parking lot surrounding the place. They passed others as they got closer to the main entrance: a couple kissing passionately against the hood of a car, two men having an argument, a bunch of youths likely making a drug deal.
They had to present their tickets to get back inside. Emilia found her seat again and
watched Silvio make his way around the outer aisle toward the opposite end of the arena. She glanced at her watch; they’d been outside for no more than 20 minutes, and the action in the ring was still lively. The trio matches had started and the crowd was screaming for blood. Two luchadores circled each other while teammates waited on their respective sides of the ring. The loudspeaker roared and the crowd’s frenzy mounted as the team members rolled in and out of combat. Emilia was too far away to really figure out which team was winning, but she knew enough about lucha libre’s few rules to know that a trio could win by pinning either the captain or the other two members of a team.
One of the luchadores swung himself into the air, twisted his body sideways, and stomped his opponent’s bare chest. The crowd rose to its collective feet, screaming with excitement, and Emilia jumped to her feet as well, trying to keep an eye on Aguilar’s yellow plaid shirt. But when people slowly subsided into their seats again, he was gone.
Emilia half stood and scanned the crowd but didn’t see him. Maybe Aguilar had gone to the toilet or to buy something to eat, but the ease with which he’d slipped away made her stomach tighten. Emilia left her seat and headed for the entrance and the main concession stands.
She saw him at the same time he saw her. He was out in the open in front of the concession stands holding a cell phone. His face registered instant recognition. Aguilar pocketed the cell phone and walked toward her, weaving his way through the people in line for food or milling around talking and laughing. More than one held a beer bottle.
Emilia fixed a smile on her face. She was going to dance with him the way everybody else had danced with her.
“Detective Cruz, isn’t it?” Aguilar held out his hand.
Emilia shook it. “Lieutenant Aguilar?” she asked. “From the meeting with General Becerra, right?”
“That’s right.” Aguilar held her hand a little longer than was necessary. “I confess to being surprised to find you here, Detective.”
“Call me Emilia. I’m off duty.”
“You’re a lucha libre fan?”
“No,” Emilia said truthfully. “But my date is.”
“Ah.” Aguilar grinned and looked around. “Where is this date of yours?”
Emilia realized Aguilar was around her age. With his cropped hair and regular features, he wasn’t bad looking. It helped that he wasn’t talking into his chin the way he’d done with General Becerra around. “In the restroom,” she said.
“So just a night out at the Coliseo with Detective Silvio,” Aguilar said. He spoke in the same easy manner, but there was an undertone to his words. “You two work and play together, eh?”
Emilia realized he must have seen Silvio on his way to the rear entrance. “You know how it is,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you’re here tonight,” Aguilar said, glancing around. The concession area was doing a lively business. People moved to the windows with cash in hand and left with greasy paper baskets of chicken strips, hot dogs or quesadillas. An old man swiped ineffectually at the litter piling up in corners with a broom. “And I doubt a woman who looks like you is dating some old soldier like Silvio. You and Silvio are here to talk to the boys for a cut of the action.”
Emilia played along. “We must have really surprised you with that security video,” she said. “Your fake Guetta wasn’t very convincing.”
To her surprise, Aguilar snorted. “That show wasn’t for you. I knew what you were fishing for. We can come to an arrangement.”
A huge roar rose up from the main area of the arena. The announcer said something. The name Galexio was met with applause.
“Who was it for?” Emilia asked, edging closer to the wall near the concession windows. “Becerra?”
“Very good, Emilia.” Aguilar waggled a finger as he followed her. “Los Matas Ejercito. The army tax notice. The camouflage jackets. Don’t you think it’s been a masterful strategy? And the mayor jumped right in to help! It all worked perfectly.”
Strategy? People were killed and dozens more injured. He wasn’t making sense. “But you sold the grenades to the luchadores,” Emilia said. “Why create a situation that pointed back to the army?”
Aguilar shook his head. “You and Silvio want money. El Rey wants money. I want money,” he said. “Money is the great leveler, right? Becerra and Hernandez need to be taught a lesson about that.”
“This is some sort of punishment for them?” Emilia wondered if he was unhinged.
“You could call it that,” Aguilar said.
“Look,” Emilia said and moved a step closer. She bent her head and spoke in a low voice. “If we’re going to be partners here, I need to know the whole story.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Emilia ran a finger over the line of his jaw. “Because I’m a sure thing,” she said.
Aguilar looked around and dropped his head to hers. “Hernandez and Becerra need to learn a lesson about pockets,” he said with a wink. “In some, share some.”
A simple conversation with a simple man replayed in the back of Emilia’s head. Who would want them to stop making money? Whoever wasn’t getting their fair share.
“Sinaloa,” Emilia said as her heart raced. “They’re taking payoffs from Sinaloa and not sharing.”
Of course the local head of the army was in the Sinaloa cartel’s pocket. Paid to look the other way when the cartel raided places like Macario Urbina’s hacienda. Paid to keep the soldiers at campo militar as cartel sicarios partied in the Sierra San Rita hills.
Aguilar narrowed his eyes. “You knew all the time?”
“A dead man told me,” Emilia said.
“I like a woman who talks to dead men,” Aguilar said with a grin.
Emilia swallowed with difficulty and managed a ghastly grin back. “So this whole thing was set up to discredit them?” she asked. “Get them fired and out of Guerrero?”
“Easier than setting up a hit,” Aguilar said, stuffed full of pride. “Mayor Carlota was an unexpected help. She really hates Hernandez. Made him look like an even bigger fool than he actually is. They’ll pull him out of Guerrero, and where he goes, Becerra will go, too.”
Aguilar was taking revenge because his superiors hadn’t shared their payoff. Maybe he was trying to replace them in the cartel’s accounting department. Or maybe another cartel had offered him more to make sure that campo militar switched allegiances.
“When they go, who gets to play in Sinaloa’s pocket?” Emilia asked.
“That’s not your problem, Emilia.” Aguilar moved closer. To anyone walking by the concession area, they might be a couple flirting intensely, heads close together, his hand itching to caress her. “You and Silvio just get rid of that security video and any other ones that are out there. Buy yourself a new dress with what you get for it, and I’ll show you an Acapulco you’ve never seen before.”
“But the luchadores?”
“El Rey needed cash.” Aguilar licked his lips. “He’s got plenty now. He’ll know that cutting you and Silvio in will be good insurance, you know what I mean?”
“How did you meet them?”
“I took some boxing lessons at a gym in town.”
“Tinoco’s place.”
Aguilar smiled again. “You and Silvio get around.”
“Does Tinoco get a cut, too?”
“That’s between him and El Rey.”
“Sure.” Emilia held up her hands, palms out. She was nearly touching his chest. “Let me text Silvio. I think he must have fallen in the toilet or something.”
Aguilar swiped at his nose and gave a chuckle. “You two really do everything together?”
“Not everything,” Emilia said, hoping it sounded flirtatious. She grabbed her phone and furiously typed out a message to Silvio to come to the concession area. As the screen winked, telling her that the message had been sent successfully, an irritated male voice cut through both the casual conversations around them
and the muffled din of the loudspeaker from inside the main part of the arena.
“Cruz! Cruz!” Lt. Rufino, wearing a wrinkled suit, charged past the lines at the concession windows. He skidded through a puddle of beer and a candy wrapper stuck to his shoe. His police badge dangled from a lanyard around his neck, his handgun was held loosely against his right side, and his face was flushed with the same look of enraged annoyance he’d worn at the Toby Jones fire.
“Where’s Silvio?” he snapped. “Where are these luchadores? Are they planning on setting any more fires? I’m here to make an arrest, not get some cheap entertainment.”
His breath was 100 proof.
Aguilar looked from Lt. Rufino to Emilia. “You bitch,” he said.
He shoved her hard toward Lt. Rufino, but Emilia already had her foot hooked around his leg and carried him with her. All three crashed to the floor. Someone screamed. Emilia rolled as she fought to get Aguilar in a hold.
A shot reverberated off the walls and she realized that Lt. Rufino, flat on his back on the ground, had fired into the ceiling. “Stop it!” he shouted.
Aguilar slithered over Emilia and grabbed Lt. Rufino’s arm. Suddenly the two men were wrestling awkwardly for control of the gun. A man tripped over Emilia as she got to one knee, sending her sprawling again. A trash can overturned as people ran past and greasy paper baskets, wax paper liners, and soggy paper cups spilled across the combatants. People scattered in all directions amid screams of panic.
Emilia managed to stand upright. Lt. Rufino and Aguilar grappled against the wall under the concession windows in a tangle of arms, legs, and trash. She couldn’t see their faces, only the back of Aguilar’s yellow plaid shirt on top of the dark suit.
Two shots rang out. Aguilar pulled away and lurched to his feet. Emilia saw blood spread across Lt. Rufino’s chest.
Aguilar bolted out of the concession area, Lt. Rufino’s gun still in his hand.
Emilia slid to her knees next to Lt. Rufino. He was still conscious, his bloodshot eyes darting around in confusion.