by Leigh Jones
Esperanza clung to her sister’s hand until the wave of panic ebbed. When she could take a shaky, deep breath again, she pulled Gloria’s hand to her face and kissed it.
“Te amo, para siempre,” Esperanza said.
“Me too,” Gloria whispered.
Silence lingered between them for a few minutes. Esperanza made up her mind and pushed her plate of cold eggs away.
“This man, what if he could persuade El Jefe to let you go? He said he didn’t want you to be with anyone else. What if he could make that happen?”
Gloria’s eyebrows arched over wide, surprised eyes. “You mean if he paid off my debt?”
Esperanza cringed, even as she nodded encouragingly. She was sure it would take much more than her sister’s supposed debt. The question was, would El Jefe be willing to set a price and would the man be willing to pay?
“If he did that, what would happen then?” Gloria asked quietly.
Esperanza looked down at her hands, curled into a ball in her lap. She swallowed hard before looking her sister in the eye. “If he paid for your freedom, you would not truly be free, at least not at first.”
She held Gloria’s gaze for a few minutes before the teen looked away.
“It wouldn’t be freedom, but at least it wouldn’t be this,” Gloria finally said.
“And if he truly cared for you, and thought you went with him willingly, he probably wouldn’t treat you like a prisoner. You would be like his amante, his mistress.”
Gloria grimaced and Esperanza let her think without interruption. The teen finally sighed, a sign of resignation that tore at Esperanza’s heart.
“That might not be so bad,” she said, her voice quivering just a little. “Maybe, eventually, he would let me go home to see mama.”
Esperanza nodded and swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. If Gloria could go home, what would she tell their mother, who thought her oldest girls were living the good life in America?
“What should I do?” Gloria asked.
“The next time he comes, make him feel like you’re glad to see him. Have you told him how we got here?”
Gloria shook her head no.
“Figure out a way to tell him. Make sure you mention the debt. Tell him you have to keep seeing the men El Jefe brings here until you’ve paid off your debt.”
“What do I say if he asks me how much I owe?”
“Tell him you don’t know. You don’t. But he’s a businessman. He knows how to negotiate. If he tells El Jefe he wants to pay off your debt, they can work out between them how much you still owe.”
They sat in silence for a while. Esperanza watched her sister’s face closely as she thought through the possibilities. The shadows deepened and eased as she wrestled with her decision. After about five minutes, it looked like she was ready to embrace the unexpected opportunity to escape her living hell, until her eyes suddenly snapped wide open with a look of alarm.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.” Esperanza tried to smile reassuringly. “As soon as I pay off my debt, I’ll find you.”
This would be the most difficult obstacle to overcome. She didn’t believe for one moment that El Jefe would ever let her go, but she had to persuade Gloria they might be reunited one day. It was possible, if their plan worked, that she would never see her sister again. Esperanza could only live with that possibility if her sister really had a chance at a better life. But Gloria loved her fiercely. She would only go if Esperanza could persuade her it would be best for both of them.
Esperanza leaned across the table toward Gloria and took both her hands. “If I know you’re safe, all of this will be so much easier to bear. And maybe you can persuade him, after a while, to ask El Jefe to set me free too. If he thinks you love him, there’s probably nothing he wouldn’t do for you.”
A wide smile lit up Gloria’s face and a rush of relief made Esperanza almost lightheaded. Her sister had grasped the lifeline. But could she convince this man to pull her out of El Jefe's sea of despair?
Chapter 13
The next four weeks passed uneventfully as August drew to a close. The furor over the mayor’s political bombshell had started to blow over, and Kate found herself stuck in a rut of summer season stories—hotel and motel tax revenue was rising, sunburned tourists thronged the beaches every weekend, and no dead bodies or prostitutes showed up to break the magical spell of sun, sand, and surf. Kate wasn’t sure who seemed more satisfied at public appearances, the Convention and Visitors Bureau director or the mayor.
But every headline about Galveston’s trouble-free summer grated on Kate. She felt like an unwilling conspirator in what seemed like a city-wide cover up. She knew crime was going unpunished. Murders remained unsolved. She felt like storm clouds were gathering on the horizon but she was the only one who could see them.
She still marveled at how Hanes had managed to finesse his way through the shock and anger over his new support for the police union. Kate thought for sure she’d be covering a recall election by now. But Hanes, with his trademark charm and lawyer’s knack for persuasion, managed to win over or at least mollify his most vehement critics. She’d even heard from a source who worked at the country club that Hanes had played a round of golf with Daniel Price last weekend.
Today was her turn to work the Saturday rotation. She’d already been out to East Beach to cover the annual sandcastle building competition. Now she sat in the cool, cavernous newsroom waiting for word from the copy desk that her story was okay so she could go home.
A little before 4 p.m., she heard the front door scrape open and Delilah Peters stalked into the room.
“Hey,” Delilah said when she made it to her desk and sat down with a “humph.”
“What are you doing here?” Kate asked, swiveling around in her chair to face the senior reporter. “Do you have a story you need to finish for tomorrow?”
“No, but I wanted to get some work done on this beachfront property dispute case I’m covering. I’ve got a lot of legal documents to wade through. Ben kept interrupting me at home, so I just decided to come to the office for some peace and quiet.”
Kate smiled at the thought of Ben hovering over Delilah, offering to help interpret the court filings.
“So, how’s your detective these days?” Delilah asked as she pulled her laptop and a stack of documents from her bag. “I haven’t seen his name in print in about a month.”
Kate winced. Almost from the moment she wrote her first crime story, Ben had made jokes about her relationship with police officers, especially Johnson. Delilah had picked up the habit. Normally Kate brushed off their crude references, but these days they chafed the raw feelings left by her last substantial conversation with the detective.
She’s mostly avoided him since that night at the bar. She still couldn’t believe he intended to drop the prostitution ring investigation. She kept hoping she’d hear about an unexpected bust or a quiet arrest. Anything to redeem him.
Delilah raised an eyebrow and Kate realized she still hadn’t answered her question.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about the murder investigations,” she said. The answer sounded lame even to her ears. “He’s still working them, I guess. The chief also has him running the summer citizen’s police academy, and he’s working on the new neighborhood policing plan. It’s probably about time we did a story on that.”
“Well, he’s lucky he kept his job after racking up two dead bodies and not one lead. He never struck me as incompetent, but it’s hard to believe he had absolutely nothing to go on.”
Kate bristled in Johnson’s defense and realized she hadn’t completely lost faith in him. She knew he’d given those investigations everything he had. Even the best police departments had cold cases. No matter how much he frustrated her, Kate refused to blame him for the unsolved murders. But she wasn’t interested in rehashing the investigation with Delilah, so she just shrugged.
Her phone rang just as she was about to c
hange the subject. The copy editor told her the sandcastle story was ready to go and she could take off if she wanted to.
“All right, I’ll leave you to your legal briefs,” Kate said as she stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “I’m out of here.”
“Hot date tonight?”
“Sort of. Brian needs his monthly Frank’s fix.”
“Must be nice to date a doctor,” Delilah smirked.
“It has its advantages,” Kate said as she scooped up her computer bag and headed for the door.
Francisco’s, or Frank’s as the locals called it, was one of the nicest seafood restaurants on the island. It had been around since the 1950s, run by an Italian family that washed into Galveston on the illegal gambling wave that swept a brief period of fame and fortune back to the waning beach town. In those days, mobsters came in from the Northeast to enjoy the tables and the Texas hospitality. Even Frank Sinatra had come to play the famous Balinese Room, which stretched out from the seawall for hundreds of feet on what now looked like rickety piers. The long building was designed to give the gamblers in the farthest room time to pack up their card games if police decided to raid the joint, which they regularly did.
With its grand piano and tuxedo-clad waiters, Francisco’s retained some of the old Rat Pack ambiance. Kate would only have been able to go there for very special occasions, after saving up for weeks. But Brian grew up eating there regularly, every time his family came to town for a visit. He thought nothing of blowing $100 on a nice dinner.
“If Mattingly asks me who I think he should get rid of in the layoffs, I’m nominating you,” Delilah said, laughing. “Then you can quit fooling around with work and start your cushy life as a doctor’s wife.”
Kate held out her left hand and saluted Delilah with her middle finger as she walked out the door. For a moment, the horror of becoming a housewife flooded over her, sending shots of panic through her chest. Brian had never said that’s what he wanted in a wife, but why wouldn’t he? He certainly wouldn’t want to marry someone who worked odd hours and slept with a police scanner next to the bed. Not that she wanted to get married. But Brian surely did, at least eventually. Would he figure out she wasn’t the right person to fill that role before she got tired of him and moved on?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The plaintive notes of “Summertime” floated over the smell of roasting garlic and butter-soaked shrimp when Brian and Kate stepped through the restaurant’s doors a few hours later. They’d had to wind their way through a crowd of hungry tourists clustered outside, but Kate knew they wouldn’t have to wait for a table. The maître d’ greeted them by name and ushered them to a spot near the back of the dining room.
After dropping the crisp, white napkin in her lap as nonchalantly as possible, Kate ran her fingertips along the bottoms of the silverware set in front of her. Six pieces, not counting the butter knife placed across the small plate to her left. She’d needed every bit of self-control learned through years of difficult interviews not to let her anxiety show the first time Brian had brought her here. She’d had no idea which fork to pick up first.
Across the table, Brian smiled at her. Did he know how uncomfortable she’d been that first time or how uneasy she still was in the opulent surroundings? The nicest restaurant she’d been to growing up had checkered tablecloths and stiff metal chairs. It served shrimp too, but Kate was pretty sure they came straight out of the commercial version of the grocery store’s frozen food section.
Before they had a chance to pick up their menus, a dark-haired waiter whose chipped teeth looked out of place with his starched white shirt and black jacket strode over to their table.
“Ah, my favorite couple—Lois Lane and the doctor who leave big tip!” he said, bowing toward Brian slightly. Their regular waiter’s clipped English and corny jokes always made Kate laugh.
“Slava!” Brian said with a grin. “We missed you last time. They sent us some clumsy oaf who didn’t know what kind of wine went with scampi.”
“Yes, I had cold. Very bad cold. How I get cold when it’s so hot, I don’t know. Better now.”
“You should have come to see me,” Brian said. “I would have taken care of you.”
Slava just smiled and motioned to a bartender hovering about 10 feet away.
“You like this,” he said, holding out a glistening bottle of white white. “Not too sweet. Go well with the seared scallops you like so much.”
Brian looked at Kate, who gave a slight shrug. She knew enough about wine to avoid anything pink and bottles with screw tops, unless her bank account was getting low. She always let Brian order the drinks when they were out.
“Sounds good to me,” Brian said. “Let’s have it.”
While the waiter opened the wine, they studied the specials.
“No exciting news this week,” Slava said as he poured the pale liquid into Kate’s glass. “No dead bodies. But the police, I think they taking time off.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked.
“Last month, they do big bust at bad hotel. Girls, men, you know? This month, no bust.”
“Well, maybe there aren’t any more girls to bust,” Brian said.
“No, no, no!” Slava insisted as he set the bottle down in an ice-filled bucket on a stand next to the table. “Girls in my hotel. Something funny going on. Do they investigate? No.”
“What do you mean, girls in your hotel?” Kate asked, lowering her voice just a little. “Do you think someone’s running a prostitution ring out of the place you’re staying?”
“Ya! For sure. We never see girls, but men come and go all night. Some other students from Ukraine have room nearby. They tell me, so I go see for myself. When I call police, they do nothing.”
“Hmmmm....” Kate said, her eyes narrowing as she thought about the mayor’s orders to the police chief. “Do you think they believed you?”
“I don’t know. All I know is men still come and no police. Is no good.” Slava suddenly seemed to remember he had other tables to wait on. “I come back,” he said as he strode toward the kitchen.
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Brian said. “Do you think they blew off the report because Slava’s the one who made it?”
“I don’t know,” Kate murmured, chewing on her bottom lip.
Slava was one of about 200 exchange students who came to the island each year to work in hotels and restaurants and get a taste of America. Most of them came from Eastern Europe or Asia, and they often got treated no better than illegal immigrants. Landlords charged exorbitant rents. Employers made them work much longer hours than they expected when they signed up for the program. If the police turned a blind eye to their complaints, about anything, it wouldn’t be surprising.
“Maybe you should talk to Johnson about it. I know he said they wouldn’t be doing any more stings, but maybe they could increase patrols in the area, make the pimp move on.”
“Yeah, or maybe I should check it out for myself and write a story about how the cops are ignoring reported criminal activity right in the middle of all the tourists,” Kate said, absentmindedly pulling apart a roll as she envisioned possible front page headlines.
“Poor Johnson. You’re going to hang him out to dry.”
“I am not!” Kate said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that Brian was right. “Besides, maybe a little publicity will force the mayor to change his mind. That would qualify as helping Johnson out.” And maybe that would finally push him to do something, she thought.
“Right,” Brian said with a grin, just as Slava came back to take their order.
By the time they finished dessert, Kate had enough information to start doing a little investigating on her own. Her heart started to thump as she thought about sinking her teeth into a really good story. It had been too long.
As Brian led her toward the front of the restaurant, an unmistakably smarmy voice warbled from a table just ahead. When Brian stopped to let a waiter carrying an overloaded tray pass t
hem by, Kate looked over and caught Eduardo Reyes looking at her.
“Well, well, well,” he said, wiping his fat lips with an already soiled napkin. “I didn’t know they let reporters in here. Guess I need to have a little chat with the management.”
He guffawed and slapped the table with his palm. An empty wine bottle tottered precariously near the edge. Reyes’ dining companions, two men Kate didn’t recognize, also laughed loudly. Between them, she spotted another almost empty bottle.
Brian stepped closer to the table, just a few feet from Reyes and too close for the older man to get up gracefully from his chair. As he towered over him, Brian held out his hand.
“I’m Brian Dougherty. You must be Eduardo Reyes. Kate’s told me a lot about you.”
Reyes seemed surprised at the younger man’s audacity. He tried to scoot his heavy chair back so he could stand but gave up when it got caught on the carpet. Kate tried to smother a smirk.
“Nice to meet you,” Reyes finally said, giving Brian’s hand a perfunctory shake. “I hope you kids enjoyed your meal. This is one of the best restaurants on the island. Special occasion?”
“No, we come here about once a month,” Brian said, circling Kate’s waist with one hand and drawing her closer to the table.
Reyes raised his eyebrows just slightly and turned his eyes on Kate. “Well, Miss. Bennett, you’ve had a quiet few weeks. It’s nice, no? I like it when things run smoothly on my island.”
“It’s definitely been uneventful,” Kate said. “But you never know, looks can be deceiving.”
“Do you know something I don’t?” Reyes asked, barking out another laugh. “I see no storm on the horizon. The skies are clear,” with this, he waved a hand toward the restaurant’s floor to ceiling windows that framed a perfect view of the gulf.
“They are for now,” Kate said.
“Well, we’d better leave you to your dinner,” Brian interjected before Reyes could reply. “Nice meeting you.”
With his arm still around Kate’s waist, Brian swept them out of the restaurant.