by Manuel Ramos
His deductions were logical.
“It’s a puzzle why she would have come back to you, Señor Móntez. It certainly looks like she trusted you, maybe told you something that Contreras wants to know.”
So long, logic. I tried to laugh. Didn’t happen.
“I repeat. She didn’t tell me anything about the money. She was very convincing that she didn’t know anything about it.”
An uncomfortable moment slipped by.
“Por favor, I apologize,” Batista said. “I meant nothing. I believe you. I’m only saying it looks like she confided in you.”
“You mean to Contreras, right?” Ana said. There was something in the way she asked the question.
Batista sat down at the table again. “Yes. Of course. To the criminal, Contreras.”
It was only my imagination, but it felt like everyone in the room breathed deeply at the same time. I looked at each of their faces for any sign about what they were thinking. I had to believe that Gus didn’t doubt what I said. I wasn’t sure about Batista or Ana. My imagination had taken off and I read too much in the way that Ana and Batista looked at each other across the table. At that moment, in the slightly heavy, uncomfortable air of my messy office overrun with boxes, file folders and loose papers, I would’ve sworn on my soon-to-be retired lawyer’s license that the two cops weren’t all that sure about me.
25 [Gus]
chaparra de mis penares
The meeting at Luis’ office ended without any resolution of the next step. We swam in uncharted waters, on the lookout for a shark, but that was about all we really knew. Luis simply nodded when we told him to be careful. Batista volunteered for bodyguard duty, but Luis turned him down. At the end, we went our separate ways. I assumed I was responsible for Luis and I told him I would check up on him later. He shrugged.
Ana offered to help Batista find a place to stay—he had a room at the Brown Palace in downtown Denver, but she argued that the hotel was too expensive and too touristy for a policeman’s budget.
“Something closer to Luis’ house makes most sense,” she said.
“I like the name of the hotel,” Batista said. “Feel at home in a palace that’s brown.” He faked a laugh. “Get it? ¿El palacio castaño?”
“Your joke didn’t work,” Ana said. “Nice try. Maybe it’s funnier in Spanish?”
His face folded into a puzzled frown.
“You need a ride to Corrine’s?” Ana asked.
“I’m good,” I said.
She nodded and walked out with Batista.
I called my sister about her plans. Corrine insisted that Max and I meet her for a drink. When I tried to beg off, she said she wanted to catch up.
“I’ve got a lot going on,” I said. “Ana, Luis and Batista. It’s complicated.”
“You got no time for your sisters? That you ain’t spent any quality time with for weeks?” Corrine said. “Just the police, your new friends and that girlfriend with the idiot brothers. Can’t compete with that. Even though you’re living in my house, I never see you.” She made a strange sound with her throat. “Sure, I get it.”
She knew that playing the family guilt trip card would work.
“I’ll meet you at the Dark Knight, okay?” I said. “Give me about a half hour.”
My sisters waited at a booth along one side of the bar. Móntez told me about the place, said it used to be his hangout back when he needed to hang out. He found isolation there, he said. According to Luis, it hadn’t changed in twenty years. When I walked in, I believed him.
Retro dark paneling, red vinyl bar stools and booth benches; neon or what looked like neon signs glowed over the bar and along the walls. Photographs of hot rods and customized convertibles lined the hall to the restrooms. The bartender looked as though she had come to work straight from her role as one of the Pink Ladies in Grease. We watched that flick in the joint, about a hundred times.
“Why they call this place the Dark Knight?” I asked when I sat down with Corrine and Max.
“Name doesn’t fit the décor,” Maxine said.
“Used to have a different ambience,” Corrine said. “Back in the day, swords hung on the walls and a knight’s armor stood in the corner by the jukebox, right over there.” She pointed to a trash can. “The armor was black, of course. Shiny. Place had attitude.”
“And Móntez drank here?” I asked.
Corrine nodded.
“He said it hadn’t changed since he was a regular.”
Corrine shook her head. “Nah. It’s changed. Some of the customers haven’t. Must be what he meant.”
There were a few other people in the place. A grizzled older man hunched at the bar, sipping on a beer and a glass of amber liquor. A man and two women huddled around a table near the door. The bearded man wore a black and red flannel shirt, black jeans and boots. The women wore the same outfit. They whispered.
“Sure is quiet for a bar,” Max said.
The bartender found us. “Hello. I’m Joyce. What ya drinkin’?”
Max ordered a Moscow Mule. Corrine wanted a shot of Herradura and a Fat Tire. I asked for a lite beer.
“That all?” Corrine asked. Joyce walked away.
“Yeah. My parole, remember? Can’t drink too much, especially the heavy stuff.”
“I thought that was over, that they weren’t hassling you anymore.”
“It’s lightened up, a lot. But every once in a while I have to go through the motions with someone down at the parole office. I don’t drink that much anyway.”
“You really changed, you know that?” Corrine said.
“I’ve learned the value of patience, I’ll give you that. I can wait now. Can’t be in too much of a hurry in lockup. That could be dangerous.”
They squirmed in their seats. Corrine continued. “I mean, you don’t drink, you’re working a regular honest job and you’re dating a cop. I never would have thought that the little Northside gangster, Gus Corral, would end up on the straight and narrow.”
“Prison might have had something to do with the changes,” I said.
“It’s more than that, Gus,” Max added. “You’ve grown up. You’re more focused, serious.” She looked at Corrine. “Not as much fun, though, eh?” Corrine nodded.
“Guess prison was the best thing that could have happened to me,” I said.
They both shook their heads. “No, no. That’s not what I mean,” Max insisted. “You’ve always been the smartest one in the family. We’ve told you that your whole life. Now you’re using your smarts. You work for a lawyer. You have heavy responsibilities and get a regular paycheck. It’s all good, Gus.”
“Believe it or not, Gus, we believe in you. And . . . we love you,” Corrine said.
Max nodded. “You know it,” she said.
“Whoa, that came out of nowhere,” I said. “You guys been drinking before you got here?”
Corrine punched my arm and we all laughed.
Joyce wiggled to our table with the drinks. I helped myself to a healthy slug of beer.
“This why you wanted to get together? Do a hug and kiss? Talk about my changes and new outlook on life? I can tell you, it ain’t no big thing.” I took another slug. “When you get down to it, I haven’t changed all that much.”
“I want to know more about Ana,” Max said. “You serious about her?”
“This gonna be all about me?” I said.
“Maybe,” Corrine said.
Max laughed again.
“No, it’s not,” Corrine said. “We’re just talking. I’m curious about my brother’s girlfriend. That’s all. It’s not like you’ve ever really been long term with a significant other, you know. Not in high school, not even when you married Sylvia. So I ask. How serious is this?”
I shrugged. “We have a good time. That’s where we’re at. You don’t want details about that, I’m sure. But to answer your follow-up questions, we aren’t planning or talking about anything else.”
“Do you even lik
e her?” Corrine asked.
“Of course, he does,” Max said. “It’s obvious to me.”
“Jesus. This is too much. Yes. I like her. No, there’s nothing serious in the works. Is that enough? Let’s move on with the family news, all right? Let’s talk about you guys.”
We spent the next few minutes going over Max’s plans for her wedding. She, Sandra and Jackie O had worked through the details of the ceremony, the vows and the location. Next on her agenda was finding a band and a hall for the reception dance. Then a caterer.
“I told her to ask one of the Chicano bands. Mood Express. Next In Line. Los Latineeerz. Chicano Heat. Rick Garcia,” Corrine said. “Bands like that.”
“All good,” I said.
“I’m gonna follow through,” Max said. “But . . .”
“That’s not your type of music, is that it?” I said.
“I like all those bands. They’re tight. I just don’t . . .”
“I thought your band, the Rakers, were gonna play?”
“That was the original plan. But Sandra and I didn’t want to be stuck performing at our own wedding. We want to dance!”
“Then I think that settles it,” I said. “Hire a band and get the party started.”
Corrine caught Joyce’s attention and signaled for another round.
“What I actually wanted to talk to you about is all this business going on with Móntez’s case,” Corrine said. “The woman who died in his office, and now this federal cop from Mexico. How risky is this? You don’t need another shoot-out with Mexican gangsters. I think one per lifetime should be enough.”
“I’m worried, too, Gus,” Max said. “What’s it all about? Why are you involved?”
I’d said it before. I loved my sisters. But they could be a pain.
I calculated that I wasn’t getting out of the bar until I satisfied their curiosity and their concern. So I walked them through the history of the Contreras case, beginning with the woman who said she wanted help keeping her dead husband’s business partner at bay and who denied knowing anything about any missing money. I went through the late night get-together at the house that burned down, the woman’s disappearance, strange reappearance and stranger death. I described the nationwide hunt for a man we thought died years ago and who turned out to be somebody completely different. I described Batista and his heroics at the rodeo parade. I told them about the drug smuggling and human trafficking. I ended with the idea that Móntez was at risk and that we all had to be careful and watch for Sam Contreras.
Corrine and Max went through another drink as I worked my way through the story. They didn’t say much.
At one point, Corrine said, “Damn, Gus. You know better.”
At another, Max said, “This is unreal.”
“It’s too real for me,” I said. “Luis knew Contreras when he ran the bar. Contreras apparently thinks Luis may know something about the money. I think that means that anyone close to Luis may be in danger.”
“Móntez doesn’t know anything about the cash?” Corrine asked. She looked over the rim of her drink as though she were talking out of turn in church.
I thought about how I should answer. I thought hard and I took my time.
“You know if he did, he’d have told us, or the cops, at least. The woman died before she could tell him anything. I’m sure of that. No doubt in my mind. Luis is not the type to play fast and loose with information that could put a target on others. Right?”
Corrine and Max both nodded. “Yeah, yeah, no doubt,” Corrine said. “I had to ask, that’s all.”
“What’s the next step?” Max could absorb just about anything and not let it ruffle her. She was into planning, anticipating and avoiding surprises. It was only natural for her to think that Luis and I had thought about all the options and consequences, and that we were ready for whatever came at us.
Corrine and Max were as different as night and day, but they had one thing in common. They were more together and had more on the ball than their wayward brother would ever manage.
“We wait, for the most part. I want to get together with Batista again and review what we know and maybe go on the offensive, if we can figure it out. But first Luis and me will clear up about how we should deal with this, and what our actions should be if Contreras does show up.”
“That’s a certainty, isn’t it?” Max said. “It’s too much money for him to walk away from. It’s too much money for this to just go away.”
I couldn’t disagree. “Well, that’s probably true, but there might be a few other possibilities. None good. We don’t know who Sam was hooked up with, other than Valdez. Anyone out there could be after the money, could be after Luis. We just don’t know at this point.”
Corrine and Max frowned.
“I don’t like it, Gus,” Corrine said. “You’re getting in deep again. Remember the last time. This could go all wrong for you.”
I tried to smile at her. “I guess. But this time, I’m working with the cops, if you can believe that. I’m doing the right thing.”
The lumberjack-looking man and his companions had left. Joyce helped the older man who sat at the bar find his jacket, which had fallen to the floor. It looked like he was getting ready to leave.
The front door opened and a man in a long overcoat walked in, looked around, stopped when he saw us sitting in our booth and then he backed out of the door. That spooked the shit out of me.
We hugged goodnight all around. Corrine had come with Max, and I continued to borrow Corrine’s car. My sisters drove away laughing about something. For some reason they often laughed when they told me goodbye.
I sat in the Kia and tried to connect with Ana. I called her but only got her voicemail. I left a message, which she usually answered within minutes. After fifteen, I called again and left another message.
I thought I should pay her a visit. On the way, I called Luis.
“You okay?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” he said.
“Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to Rosa’s. She invited me for a late dinner.”
“Good. Don’t be alone if possible. Okay?”
“I think I’ll be all right.”
“Don’t go all macho, okay? This is what we agreed on when we talked. We have to watch out for each other until we know what this guy Sam is going to do.”
“Got it. I’ll be with Rosa, then at my house. And you?”
“Ana’s. Don’t know how long. If it’s early, I’ll swing by.”
I drove in silence. The quiet helped my mood.
I parked and was about to climb out when I saw a cab idling in the street in front of Ana’s apartment complex. At the same time that I put my hand on the car door handle, the apartment building door opened. Ana walked out, followed by Fulgencio Batista. I didn’t call to them. I watched as they strolled to the taxi. He leaned down and kissed her, fast but hard. She stood on the curb while the cab pulled away. I thought about opening the door and confronting her, but again I waited. I sped away when she entered the building.
I drove aimlessly for several minutes. I crossed streets and intersections I’d known all my life but none of it registered. Eventually I found myself on Seventeenth Avenue, near the corner where Batista rescued Ana from the angry cattle. With practically no traffic, the city looked vacant, almost deserted to my jaded eyes.
I shrugged mentally. It’s not like we were committed. That’s what I’d said to my sisters. There was always something lacking. She was too serious for me. Never made me laugh. I pushed thoughts of Ana out of my head and decided to go home.
Luis would still be at Rosa’s dinner. I planned to get to him early in the morning. I believed we could put an end to the situation we found ourselves in. At least, I concluded, we could learn what was really going on.
26 [Luis]
nobody loves me but my mother and she could be jivin’ too
Rosa invited me to dinner at her place. I passed. She made dynamit
e pozole, perfect comfort food for the winter cold, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. I asked her to bring me a bowl in the morning. When she hesitated, I told her not to worry. I was okay, I said. Or as okay as I could get, given the circumstances. Everything I told her was the truth.
I was alone in my office. The only light came from the hall. Everyone had cleared out an hour earlier, but I hadn’t moved. I stared at file folders, notepads and a constantly changing computer screen saver.
Maybe it was the unknown threat from Contreras, or the banal toughness of the scarred Batista, or Gus’ bad boy act, or the wild scene at the parade. Maybe it was the weather. I could come up with a thousand different reasons for feeling the way I did and each reason would have a logical base and it would be untrue. I’d never really understood my motivation for many of the things I’d done in my life. If I was honest, I had no excuse for making the mistakes I’d made most of my life. But I was too old to begin any deep self-analysis.
I sat at my desk in the semi-darkness, going over insignificant episodes in my personal and professional realities, tossing each one aside as something else popped into my worried brain. Finally, I confessed to the plastic glow-in-the-dark skull sitting on the corner of my desk that Batista spooked me with his story about the fake Sam Contreras and the piles of money driving men and women to violence. The calavera ignored me.
The ghost of María Contreras hovered in the corners of my office. The material woman who started this was not around to see how it played out. Ghosts don’t have to deal with consequences. “Not really fair, is it?” I heard myself say.
My cell phone vibrated on my desk, then lit up.
Rosa’s number flashed on the screen.
“You’re still at the office, aren’t you?”
“No, no. I’m on my way home.”
“You’re lying, Luis. You’re not a good liar. Why haven’t you left? It’s been almost two hours.”
“Really, I’m on my way out. Locking the door now. What’s the problem?”