The Sacrifice

by Peg Brantley

  He lowered the privacy shield between the front and back seats. “Do you have that card the woman gave me last night at the bar in Aspen?”

  Carlos’s expression did not change. He reached into his jacket pocket and passed VV the card.

  He thumbed the card and

  remembered the suggestive looks the woman had thrown him. The redhead had written her cell phone number on the back. VV punched it into his phone. Five minutes later, he sat back with a smile. Looked like he had drummed up a bit of his own action in the Colorado

  mountains.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mex sat in his kitchen, the empty coffee cup in front of him long-cooled. Sedona cleaned up their breakfast dishes while he gazed out on the scene that filled the space. The view both calmed and troubled him.

  His kitchen was more then the perfect place to cook and eat. His kitchen was the view. The windows were floor to ceiling, wall to wall, on three sides. What appeared to be a seamless piece of glass actually had some kind of mitered corner that was almost as clear and transparent as the glass it supported. Cobalt Mountain was the most prominent focal point but at the right angle, Mex could see part of Burnt Mountain near Snowmass. And below those timeless mountains of stone, almost breathing with life, Mex could see the valley with a river flowing not far away.

  Calmed and troubled.

  Two deer ambled into view. Peaceful but wary. He watched as they munched on their favorite greenery he made sure to have in abundance, then move to the stream that cut through his land. And here he sat, thinking about a missing girl. Her family. The

  possibilities.

  Calmed and troubled.

  He remembered the reason he’d built this house in the first place. He’d been lost. His family murdered.

  Executed. He’d been rendered

  ineffective at finding…screw that…he’d failed at finding their killers. And then he’d stumbled upon the plans for the home he and Maria had drawn up together with an architect right after his investments hit pay dirt. They hadn’t known where they’d build it, but they planned every inch of their home.

  After two years of searching all over the world for the men directly responsible for the deaths of the people he loved, the trail stopped dead. The men he sought had been killed by their own cartel members in Honduras. Mex booked a flight back to Mexico, but found he could no longer stand to live there. Ghosts haunted him at every turn.

  Depressed and disillusioned, he threw a few things in a backpack, grabbed his passport and cash, and literally walked across the U.S. border. While he sat in a rundown bar in some dusty Arizona town he couldn’t

  remember the name of, a couple of tourists walked in. Lost, he thought. They looked too happy to be in this hole on purpose.

  The couple asked to use the phone, and offered money to the

  bartender. Their cell had died and they needed to call home.

  “Where’s home? If it’s India or Germany or someplace like that, you don’t have enough cash on you.”

  “Our home is in Colorado. Aspen Falls.”

  Mex spoke up. “Let ‘em use the phone. I’m betting you have free longdistance so just let ‘em use the phone. Hell, I’ll match what they’ve already given you.”

  That’s how Mex heard about Aspen Falls, a vibrant-sounding

  Colorado college town between Aspen and Snowmass. The next day he bought a used SUV and hit the road.

  When he first drove into the town, he knew he was in a place that could heal him, and felt guilty. He pushed those feelings down and arranged to have his belongings shipped.

  While he waited, he discovered Juan’s Place. Juan offered to let him stay in a back room for as long as he wanted. Mex rented a storage unit and as his things were delivered, he hauled them into the space.

  That’s when he found the house plans. Getting involved in the creation of the dream he’d shared with Maria allowed him to focus on something other than his loss. Building this house had saved him.

  He watched the deer.

  Calmed and troubled.

  Sedona called out to him. “Will you be okay if I go home for a while?”

  He turned to her. “What have I done to deserve you?” He watched his sister blush. “Go. I’m fine. I’ve taken my meds. The darkness is lifting. You go home and don’t worry about me.”

  Sedona looked at him. “I would say I’m only a phone call away, but we both know you won’t call.”

  She came and sat down next to him. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about Vega?”

  “His daughter is about the same age Antonio would be if he’d lived.” He would give anything to have his son at his side. Maybe saving this little girl would somehow help him miss Antonio less.

  “She is the daughter of a

  murderer, mi hermano.”

  “And what kind of a brother would I be to you if I didn’t care about other people? Should this little girl be made to pay for her father’s distorted heart? Maybe she ran away to a better place and I’ll be able to tell Vega that he lost.”

  “What if the cartel is involved?”

  Mex closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked directly into eyes that mirrored his own. He’d made up his mind. “Maybe I can stop yet another sacrifice in the name of the drug cartel— if it’s involved. I can make a

  difference.”

  “There’s more isn’t there?” She folded her hands in her lap.

  “He promised me additional information on the murders.”

  Sedona blanched. “The murders?”

  “My family, Sedona. Your

  family.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to—”

  “I’ve made up my mind. Perhaps I can live to have a little retribution—an element of justice.”

  Sedona shook her head. “This feels wrong.”

  Mex reached for his sister's hands, still folded in her lap. “I’ve decided. And with the information I get from Vega I’ll be able to stop worrying about losing you too.”

  “Me?”

  “We both know why they left you alive. They spared your life so I’d always be aware I had something else to lose.”

  * * After Sedona left, Mex put on a jacket and went for a walk. He saw a herd of deer on a neighboring property, a few of their heads held high for threats.

  Brilliant mountain wildflowers were in high bloom and he marveled at God’s creations. How he would have loved to share these sights with Maria.

  Mex thought he remembered the sound of his children’s laughter, but he wasn’t sure. That bothered him. He could hear the sound of Maria’s low voice when they lay in bed at night. He could feel her snuggle close to him when she was cold. He could smell her. But his children’s laughter was beginning to sound like any children’s laughter.

  When he got home, he put on another pot of coffee and went to his study. Sedona had laid a fire but left it unlit. It would be warm today, but even in June the nights in the high country could be chilly. He sat at his desk and pulled the notepad in front of him, picked up the phone and called Vicente Vega on his private line.

  It was picked up almost

  immediately. “Vega.”

  “It’s me.”

  An extra moment of silence underscored the man’s anxiety. “Yeah?”

  “My conditions are simple.” He heard a sigh and deep breath from the other end of the line.

  “What are they?”

  “First, a million dollars will be deposited into my account upfront, not on completion of the job. You either trust me or you don’t.”

  A small hesitation. “Fine.”

  “And the information relative to the murders of my family is to be placed in a lockbox at my local bank, the key and access information for which are to be held by a friend of mine in the event of my death.”

  “Wait a minute, Anderson. You want me to give you everything upfront. How do I—”

  “Take it or leave it, Vega. You won’t hear from me a
gain unless you do as I ask.”

  Mex waited until he heard the dial tone, then slowly lowered his phone to the desk.

  He could hear children laughing.

  Mex shook out a couple of pills, swallowed them, and decided a short nap might help. He stretched out on the sofa in his family room. When he woke up four hours later the room was in darkness and the image of Dia haunted his thoughts.

  He walked to his liquor cabinet and considered his choices. People. I need to be around people. He grabbed a jacket and his car keys. He needed to get his mind off the girl who would not be spending the night with her family. The girl who might never go to a prom or walk down the aisle or hold her own baby in her arms.

  Get his mind off a boy who would be nine, his sweet girl, and the baby his wife carried who he would never hold. Try to smell something other than memories.

  * * The dark bar welcomed Mex. Funny how the darkness helped him forget. Usually.

  “ Hola, Mex. You look better tonight.”

  “And aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine?” Mex sauntered back toward his booth. “Mexican coffee sounds good, Juan.”

  “Coming up.”

  Two minutes later, the mingled aromas of chocolate, cinnamon, and vanilla filled his head, further pushing away the sense of loss. Juan splashed just enough kahlua in the coffee to make it even warmer as it went down.

  He sat down across from Mex. “Thanks for your help last night. It could’ve gone pretty bad.”

  “I doubt those kids would have hurt anyone. This was probably the first time they’d tried anything like that. Hopefully, it’ll be their last.”

  “Of course they would need to pick my place.” Juan heaved a sigh and gave a resigned tug to his earlobe. “I’m just glad you were here.”

  “Me too.”

  A deep voice broke through the darkness. “Is this a private party or is anybody welcome?”

  Mex smiled and winked at the newcomer. “What do you think, Juan? Should we let this gentleman of the press join us, or should we call him a hack and bar the doors?”

  Juan shoved out of the booth. “As long as he keeps Juan’s Place out of his stories, he’s welcome here.” He wiped his hands on the ever-present dishtowel slung over his shoulder and stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again. It’s been awhile.”

  “Good to see you too. The road ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Especially when I’ve got a pregnant wife at home alone with two young kids to keep track of. Not a minute of peace even when I wasn’t talking to her.”

  Juan nodded and moved back to his place at the bar. “You want the same as Mex or your usual?” He called over his shoulder.

  The newcomer took a look at what Mex was drinking. “Usual.”

  The barman nodded. “Ask Mex about what happened here last night.”

  Darius Johnson, tall, muscular, and with skin the color of rich burnished oak, slid into the seat vacated by Juan. Mex saw him take a quick glance at his watch but didn’t think much of the gesture. Darius was always glancing at his watch.

  Darius's eyebrows formed a question mark. “Last night?”

  Mex shrugged. “A couple of young kids decided Juan’s would be an easy hit.”

  “Armed?”

  “They may have been young and stupid, but they weren’t that stupid. They had guns but no ammo. No one was hurt. Chase Waters took them into custody. End of story.”

  “Wish it was more of a story. I could use one.”

  “I thought you were chasing the next great true crime novel. What happened?”

  “I was set up. There was nothing there. Four leads aiming in the same direction and every one of them a dead end. Can I tell you how much I hate social networks?”

  “Sorry, man. You should know better by now.”

  Darius flipped him the middle finger.

  “Well, I know Pamela is glad to have you home. So that begs the question… why are you here?”

  Mex watched as Darius reached into his pocket and pulled out an object. He fingered it for a moment then tossed it on the table. “What the hell is this about?”

  Mex looked at the safe deposit key Darius had thrown on the table.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mex pulled out his cell phone and entered a number. Then he punched in a few more numbers, and waited.

  Darius, who had been sitting quietly watching Mex’s response, leaned forward. He tapped a long, elegant finger on the key. “What is going on, Mex? What the hell is this key for?”

  Mex looked up from his phone. “How did you get it? How was the key delivered?”

  Darius reached back into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “It was under my windshield wiper. My car, man. My car. At Sardy. How the hell did someone find my car at the Aspen-Pitkin County airport?”

  Mex took the envelope. A regular letter-sized envelope with hand-written block letters on the front.

  MEX ANDERSON Juan brought Darius his beer and left. Darius took a healthy swallow.

  “Nothing else?” Mex asked Darius. He slid the envelope back across the table.

  “Nope. Probably figured he didn’t need to give any more detail.”

  Mex’s phone gave a beep and he took a look at the screen. Damn. The money was in his account. All of it. He pressed the off button and shook his head.

  Darius leaned forward. “I hope that means you’re about to tell me what this is all about.”

  Mex took a sip of his coffee. “We’re gonna need another round.”

  He signaled Juan and considered his words. “You and I have been friends now for a few years.”

  Darius nodded. “I met you the day you came to town, what? About four years ago. We got drunk.”

  “You asked about my family and I told you they were killed in Mexico, but I didn’t want to talk about it. Right?”

  “That’s right. And I never asked you again.”

  It was Mex’s turn to nod, the thanks for honoring his request

  unspoken.

  “I was in law enforcement.” Mex looked at his friend for a reaction.

  “Sorry. I’m a journalist. I’ve known almost from the beginning. You have all the signs.”

  “What signs?”

  “Well, there’s the fact that you hate injustice and —”

  “Never mind, you can describe my tells to me another time. And you can pay me back whatever I’ve lost to you playing poker over the years.”

  Juan arrived with their drinks. “Want something to eat?”

  Darius started to order something, but Mex interrupted him. “Give us a few minutes.”

  Mex folded his hands and bounced them on the table. “We lived in a little town south of Agua Prieta, on the Arizona-Mexico border.”

  “A dangerous place.”

  Mex ignored the comment. “The cartel was active. A lot of the once-good men were being bought or scared into acquiescence. But not me.” Mex looked into Darius’s eyes. “Not me.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I thought we were safe. We lived in the middle of nowhere on a small farm. We had protection. We were all careful.” Mex was surprised at the tears forming in his eyes.

  Darius listened.

  “A few other lawmen were beginning to stand their ground as well. I’d received some emails of support. The cartel wanted to send a message to them.” Mex wiped his eyes. “There were two of them. They probably assassinated my brother first, probably because he was the biggest threat. Then my father, my sister, who was sevenmonths pregnant….” He caught his breath. “It was her first baby. She was so happy. Then they went after my wife. Maria was also pregnant, but it was new and fresh and she wasn’t showing yet. Still, they slashed her belly as if they knew what she carried.”

  “Mex…” Darius moaned.

  “They murdered my three-year old son, Antonio. He was looking forward to being a big brother all over again. He was my little man.” Mex realized his face was wet, the tears pooling on his chin and falling
on the table and into his lap.

  He grabbed the napkin Juan had left with his drink and wiped his eyes. His hand shook. “And my baby girl. My sweet, sweet baby girl.”

  “They were all at the house?”

  Mex nodded.

  “Where was Sedona?”

  “She hid in the barn.”

  “And you?”

  “I was working a B&E on the far side of town. A breaking and entering that looked staged to me. A diversion.”

  “They made sure you weren’t around.”

  Mex closed his eyes and said nothing. When he opened them he didn’t focus on anything. “After the funerals I went after the men who killed my family. The men who cut my wife. For two years I tracked them all around the world. The Senora-Ciento cartel may not have been happy with me before, but they grew to hate me. Everywhere those men went, I followed. And where I followed I caused them problems. I disrupted shipments, got local law enforcement personnel involved… whatever I could do to shake those men loose from their protectors. Finally, in Honduras, the trail stopped.”

  “They disappeared?”

  “A tape was delivered to me while I was there. It took me two days to find a way to see it. It was a video of the two men I’d been tracking. They’d been gagged and trussed in a field. A man came up, smiled into the camera, then turned and shot both men in the head. Two other men came and began

  chopping parts off the bodies, the blood still flowing.

  “As they worked, buzzards descended. Hundreds and hundreds of buzzards. Within a few hours, the bones of the murderers of my family had been picked clean. But that wasn’t enough. The same two men who had chopped off some of the body parts to excite the buzzards, donned rain gear and grabbed huge mallets. They pulverized the bones and the heavy skulls, creating some weird kind of buzzard dessert. The bone fragments and blood splattered their plastic protection.”

  The men who were directly responsible were beyond his retribution. It would be impossible for an outsider to learn more. The cartel had taken care of the loose strings.