“This is a lovely place,” Catrina said.
“Thank you, you should have seen it before the remodel. It was Tijuana trash.” Hope picked a chip out of the basket. “Oh, here’s Mama,” she added before stuffing the food into her mouth.
The small, dark Mexican woman, dressed totally in black, slowly made her way through the patio. Here and there she stopped to chat and lay a hand on well-wishers seated at the tables.
“Mama, this is Catrina . . . Flattery. Is that right?” Hope said.
“Actually, it’s Flaherty.” Catrina said.
“And Jeff,” Hope continued. “This is my Mama.”
Jeff stood and pulled out a chair for Mama, she seemed extremely frail. To Catrina, she resembled a little bird with a broken wing.
“Esperanza says you are looking for Ted,” Mama said.
“Yes.” Catrina put her glass down on the table. “We used to work together in Seattle. I need to talk to him. I was hoping he could help me.”
“Teddy is not here right now. He has gone to Mexico.”
“Mexico?” Catrina looked at Jeff. “I suppose he’s gone to get his brother?”
“You haven’t heard, have you?” Hope said.
“Heard what?” Jeff asked.
“Papa . . . Papa was killed in Mexico. In Juarez. He was trying to find Guillermo. Ted went after his killers, and to bring Guillermo home.”
“Oh God.” Catrina’s hand went to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. Ted used to talk about his father all the time. It was always ‘Papa’ this and ‘Papa’ that. What was his name by the way? Ted always just called him ‘Papa.’”
“Eduardo, just like Ted,’ Hope said. “Ted is a junior.”
“So what do you need Ted’s help for?” Mama asked. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and daubed her eyes.
“We’re headed south as well,” Jeff said. “We have a client whose husband has fled to Mexico. We need to find him and bring him home.”
“So?” Mama looked at Jeff.
“We need someone who knows the landscape. We need a translator. Cat and I speak a little Spanish, but we need someone who’s fluent. We hoped that Ted could go with us.”
“I’m sorry,” Mama said. “You are too late. Ted has already gone. He can’t help you.”
“Where are you going?” Hope asked.
“Juarez for starters,” Catrina said. She sipped on her tonic water. “After that, who knows? We’ll go where the case leads us.”
Hope looked at her mother. She knew how Mama would react, but spoke anyway. “I can help you. I speak Spanish. I need to go to Juarez. That’s where Ted went. I need to go and find him.”
“NO!” Mama shouted. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look. “You won’t go! You can’t go. I have lost my husband to that city. One son is missing, another is looking for him. Even Chrees has gone there. That place is cursed. I won’t have my daughter getting lost down there too.”
“Why, because I’m a girl? I can help. Papa sent Ted to Mexico. He begged him to go, but you don’t want me to go to? Why can’t I help as well? Mama, he’s my brother too.”
“No. Mexico is a dangerous place. Juarez is too dangerous. Hundreds of young girls have disappeared down there. Don’t you read La Opinion? More than three hundred girls your age are dead, a thousand others missing. And you want to go into this godforsaken place?
“Mama, listen to me. I can help. I can take care of myself. I can find Ted, help him find Guillermo.”
“No, I won’t have it.”
Hope got up and stormed out of the patio.
****
Juarez, Mexico
Chili Pete’s was pretty much as Ted had imagined it. The big room had whitewashed bare concrete block walls. The ubiquitous pigskin topped tables and chairs with high backs filled the open space in the room.
During the day time, the place had a sleepy feel to it. A few pool tables huddled in the back with a few shady looking characters smoking and leaning on pool ques. A highly polished bar ran the length of one wall.
“Nice place,” Chris said as they looked around. “Your brother obviously has good taste.”
Ted just gave him a dirty look.
It was early in the day so the bar was all but empty. A middle aged man with a body builder’s physique and a droopy mustache polished the bar. Ted self-consciously rubbed the poor imitation clinging to his upper lip. Maybe it’s time to shave it off.
A couple of bored looking women in tight, revealing dresses sat at the bar speaking in hushed tones.
Ted approached the bar. The big bartender looked up.
“Sí?”
Ted produced a twenty dollar US bill. “We’re looking for information,” he said in Spanish. “I’m looking for my brother.”
The bartender grabbed the bill and eyed Ted suspiciously. “It is very dangerous to ask questions in this town.”
“Guillermo Higuera,” Ted said. “He’s about my height, skinny, curly hair. Eighteen years old. Good looking kid.”
The bartender continued to polish the bar.
Ted unfolded another twenty from his roll. “My brother. He was in here a few days ago.”
The bartender looked at the bill greedily, but kept polishing.
“Ask him about Ruiz,” Chris said.
Ted sat on a bar stool. “Dos cervezas,” he asked for two beers.
The bartender grabbed the bill, pocketed it and turned to the refrigerator under the back bar. He pulled two Dos Equis from the fridge and plunked them down in front of Ted.
“Jose Ruiz has disappeared,” the bartender said. “Nobody has seen him since Tuesday.”
Ted twisted off the top of his beer. “Does he have any friends? Family?”
The bartender looked down the bar at the two women. They were totally lost in their conversation.
“Humph,” the bartender said to himself. “Probably talking about some new tele-novela.” He turned back to Ted. “He has a sister. That’s all I know. Finish your beer and leave.”
“Just a minute, Pedro,” Chris pulled a C-note from his wallet. “How can we find this sister?”
The bartender looked at the women, they were still occupied. He looked at Chris’s crisp new hundred dollar bill. He searched the room with his eyes, then snatched the bill. “El Corazon. She works there. Her name is Margarita. Now go.”
He grabbed the still full beer bottles and tossed them into the trash.
Ted looked at Chris. That non-verbal communication flashed between them. Sometimes Ted was convinced they could read each other’s minds.
Chris turned towards the door. “Hasta la vista, Pedro.” We’ll be baaahck.”
Ted and Chris stood on the street, looking both ways, trying to decide what to do next.
“Don Jose, he is in hiding,” a tiny voice said from behind them.
Ted spun to see an old man sitting on the curb, twisting three pieces of rawhide into a rope.
“What did you say?”
“You are looking for Don Jose, no?” The old man spoke excellent English. “He has gone into hiding. You will never find him.”
“Who are you?” Chris asked. “How do you know?”
“I’m just an old man. No one pays any attention to us viejos.”
“Can you help us find him?” Ted asked. “There’s money in it for you.”
The old man looked up and down the street. Throughout their short conversation, he had not once looked up at Ted or Chris.
“Meet me tomorrow, in the zocalo, across from the police station. I will see what I can do.”
“When,” Ted asked.
“Late.” The old man slowly got up and limped away.
“Well, that was something out of Casa Blanca,” Chris said.
“Let’s go talk to the police comandante.” Ted turned and started up the street.
About two blocks later, Chris stepped into a leather goods store. Ted waited at the door.
“What?”
“Don’t look
behind you. Step in here.” Chris beckoned Ted into the store.
It smelled of leather, one of Ted’s favorite smells. Hats, boots and purses hung from the rafters. The shelves were full of leather goods. A lively ranchero played on the radio.
“Two guys, on the other side of the street, shady looking dudes. Straw hats and cowboy boots.”
Ted went to the window.
Sure enough, two tough looking hombres stopped in front of a flower shop. Cigarettes drooped from their mouths. One had a scar across his right cheek, the other a broken nose. These guys were definitely street toughs.
“What do we do?” Ted asked.
“We’re not far from the police station. Let’s continue our leisurely stroll.”
****
East Los Angeles
The dinner was exceptional. Catrina couldn’t remember the last time she felt so full, with the warm afterglow of Mexican food filling her stomach.
She climbed into the driver’s seat of her Explorer. Jeff rode shotgun.
As she turned the key in the ignition, she noticed Hope running up to the car. She pushed the button and lowered the window.
“I’m coming with you,” Hope said. She clung to the SUV’s door.
“But your mom . . .” Catrina said.
“She’s wrong. I have to go. I need to help Ted find our brother. I can help you too. I speak the language and I know the customs. Take me with you.”
Catrina turned to Jeff with a questioning look.
“I don’t know . . .”
“I know self-defense. I took classes in school. I’ve had handgun training. You don’t know me. I’m a lot tougher than Ted. I used to beat him up all the time when I was a kid.” What she failed to disclose was that her older brother secretly let her win.
“Well, you’re a grown woman. I guess you can make up your own mind . . .” Catrina looked back at the restaurant. “We’re leaving in the morning.”
“I’ll meet you at your hotel. Where are you staying? What time?” she asked looking over her shoulder.
Chapter 14
Juarez, Mexico
The two men tailing them kept about a block behind them. They never got close, never threatened them, but they were never out of sight either.
“Should we try to ditch them?” Ted asked.
“Naw. I think it’s best if we don’t let on that we’ve made them,” Chris replied
Ted was glad to reach the safety of the police station. The air was at least fifteen degrees cooler inside the thick-walled building with fans blowing a cool breeze down from the ceiling.
“We’re here to see Comandante Ortega,” Ted told the sergeant at the front desk.
The sergeant took their names, made a phone call, and directed them to the second floor.
“Señor Higuera, Señor Hardwick. It is good to see you again.”
Ted turned to see the police jefe walking down the hall, escorted by two officers in SWAT gear carrying M16 assault rifles and wearing headsets. Out from behind his desk, Ted got a feel for how tall Lazaro was for a Mexican. He stood eye-to-eye with Chris, who was six-two.
His movie star good looks could have landed him a starring role in any telenovela. His hard body moved with a cat-like grace.
The jefe was wearing a bulletproof vest and sported a nine millimeter Glock on his belt.
“Jefe,” Ted said. “How’s it goin’?
“We are working hard as usual. Come, walk with me. I hear you are on your way to see Comandante Ortega.”
Ted and Chris fell in with Jefe Lazaro. The two armed guards trailed behind. One spoke into his microphone.
“We have made an intelligence coup this morning,” Lazaro said. “I thought you would want to hear this information.”
“Yes,” Chris said. “What have you learned?”
“I am making progress. With Army cooperation, we broke up an arms deal. We killed four of the outlaws and captured two. They were more afraid of me than they were of El Lobo.”
“El Lobo?” Chris asked.
“Yes, the head of the Los Norteños cartel. I am proud to say, that with only a little encouragement, they told us everything they knew.”
“Which was?” Ted asked.
“As you know, we’ve had a problem with arms reaching the cartels. In many cases the police, they are out gunned. President Calderon, he brought in the Army to even things up a little. Today, we found out where the guns are coming from.”
“And?” Ted was getting impatient with the lecture.
“A single arms dealer. Your Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms people say he arms the radical Moslem terrorists; he sells guns to rebels in Africa and South America. He is here in Mexico.”
Ted’s Spidey sense started tingling.
“He sells guns first to one cartel, then another,” Lazaro said. “He sold semi-automatic pistols to Los Norteños. They were able to get an upper hand over Los Conquistadores. Then he sells rifles to Los Conquistadores. Now they have the upper hand. Los Norteños go back to him for assault rifles. In this way, he keeps upping the ante. This shipment was heavy machine guns and anti-tank weapons. He makes more sales and more money and neither cartel is aware he is doing business with the other.”
“Who is this guy?” Ted’s hair itched. Something familiar was going on here. Something was very wrong; he just couldn’t see it yet.
“We don’t know yet. He is only known as Señor Muerte, Mr. Death. But we have leads. We will find him. If we can stop the flow of guns to the cartels, we can strangle them”
“We’ve got some news too,” Chris said. “A couple of tough looking hombres have been following us all over town.”
“I told you, it is not safe for you here. I ask you again, give up your hopeless quest and go home.”
“We’re just gettin’ started,” Ted said.
“Well, here we are, Comandante Ortega’s office.” Lazaro swept his arm to one side like a matador.
****
Ortega’s office was a smaller copy of the jefe’s. Fans hung from the high ceilings forcing a breeze down onto the occupants in a hopeless effort to cool the room. Windows, covered by steel shutters, showed the stone walls to be about two feet thick. The comandante’s furniture was more modern.
“Come in, my friends, sit.” The comandante was a small, bald man. The baldness spoke of European blood. Heads that bald were unusual in Mexico. His suit looked like it just stepped off of a Seville Row rack.
“May I get you something to drink?” He waved his hands at the side table, loaded with an ice bucket, liquor and mixers.
“Water would be fine,” Chris said as he took a chair.
“Very good.” The comandante clapped his hands. “Agua, Ramirez.” He turned back to his guests. “El Jefe has told me about your visit. I must add my condolences. I am truly sorry for your loss.”
He’s too smooth, Ted thought.
“The shutters on the windows?” Chris asked. “Why do you have steel shutters?”
“Oh, that,” the comandante laughed. “My predecessor, he was killed in a rocket propelled grenade attack. We put the shutters on the windows to keep little surprises out.”
Chris and Ted exchanged glances. They don’t fool around down here.
“I want you to know,” the comandante said, “that my department is doing everything in its power to find your father’s killer.”
The orderly returned to the room with two bottles of water. He handed one each to Ted and Chris, then disappeared.
“And what is in your power?” Chris asked.
“My detectives, they are questioning all persons of interest.”
“How about the knife?” Ted said. “Did you get prints? DNA?”
“Señor Higuera, we are a small department. We have limited budget. What you ask for, DNA, we don’t have the technology.”
“That’s surprising,” Ted said. He twisted off the top of his bottle and chugged a long drink. “Juarez is a big city. Over a million people if I remember. Our
Department of Homeland Security has poured millions of dollars into rearming and retraining your police force. Your own president has made Juarez his top priority. How can you not have the resources?”
Ortega began to sweat. He produced a handkerchief and wiped his bald spot. “You don’t understand. Big City politics. Our funds are severely limited. I have over two thousand open homicide cases.”
Ted glared at him.
“I must concentrate my resources on the cases that are most likely to be solved. There were no witnesses. No signs of drug cartels. Your father was just found in an alley. We have no evidence to go on.” Ortega smiled. “Of course, if we had an influx of funds, if I was able to allocate overtime and lab time to the case, maybe something would break.”
Ted just stared, opened mouth. Was he really asking for a bribe?
“How much influx of funds?” Chris asked.
“If I could get the department to allocate, say twenty thousand of your US dollars, I’m sure we could make progress.”
“Twenty thousand?” Ted’s ears turned red.
Chris put his hand on Ted’s arm.
“And what would twenty thousand dollars produce? What could you promise us?”
“Señor Hardwick, if the department were to give me that kind of funding, I would produce the killer. Do you have anyone in mind that you think we should investigate?”
“Bull shit!” Ted couldn’t contain himself any longer. “We’ll see what the jefe thinks about this. You’re bald-assed soliciting a bribe.” Ted stood and glared down at the little man.
“No señor. I think you misunderstand me. Maybe my English, it is not so good. I only meant that if we had more resources, we could do a more thorough job. Maybe you should talk to your friend. He seems to understand me better.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Ted turned and headed for the door.
“Adios, comandante,” Chris said. “You’ll be hearing from us again.”
He followed his steaming friend out the door.
“Can you believe the balls on that guy?” Ted asked as they made their way down the hallway. “Asking for money to do his job?”
“What about asking us who we wanted arrested?” Chris said. “You have any enemies in Juarez you want put away? I think this is how you do it.”
The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3 Page 11