Fields of Wrath (Luis Chavez Book 1) (13 page)

It wasn’t that Maria hadn’t believed her son’s story about the waiting truck; she just wanted to see for herself. She’d fixed herself coffee and breakfast. Sure enough, when she returned to the front window, the truck was gone.

“He just took off,” Miguel said. “Maybe he saw me watching.”

Maria nodded and went back about her business. There were the usual weekend chores to tackle, but she also wanted to finish going through Santiago’s files. It would be the easiest thing in the world to let them slide, as she didn’t fully understand what she was looking at, but she had to keep trying.

“Let me know if he comes back,” Maria said as she walked to the bedroom.

In the early afternoon she left the house to go to the grocery store. She’d just reached the parking lot when Miguel rang her cell.

“There’re two of them now. They’re just waiting there.”

She peeled out of the parking lot and was home in under five minutes. As she pulled up, the two men climbed out of their truck and moved to follow her.

“Mom! Come inside!” Miguel said, leaning out the kitchen door.

But the men were already at the edge of the driveway. The last thing she wanted was to appear intimidated.

“Go to your room,” she instructed Miguel.

“But
Mom
—”

“Now,” she insisted.

Miguel shot a glance to the men, then sulked away. Once the door was closed, she turned to the men.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a tone she reserved for telemarketers.

The men were a study in contrasts. One was a young white guy she thought looked like Eminem, down to the snarl in his upper lip. The other was Hispanic and wore a suit. A pair of glasses perched on his nose giving him the appearance of a schoolteacher.

“Ms. Higuera?” the suited man inquired.

“What do you want?” she scowled, arms crossed over her chest.

“No need for that tone, Ms. Higuera,” the man said. “I’m Benjamin Valencia. I work for the bank that holds the note on your late brother’s mortgage. I know this is a difficult time—”

“Look, I’m going through his finances as quickly as I can. I’ll get it done, and you’ll get your money.”

Valencia peered at her through his glasses.

“No, that’s not an issue. No, no. We’re legally bound to inform the landowner when outside parties make financial offers on the property. And we have to do so in a timely fashion. It hasn’t been easy getting ahold of you.”

“Someone wants to buy Santiago’s farm?” she surmised.

“Yes. But they want to move fast. The deal is contingent on being able to complete this year’s harvest.”

“Who is it?”

“Are you familiar with the Marshaks?”

Ah, that’s why they sent workers to help,
Maria thought.

“They own everything up there, right?” Maria said. “My brother worked for them before he got his land.”

“Correct,” Valencia replied. “Santiago bought this plot of land from them, taking out a mortgage from my company.”

“How much did he owe?”

“Forty thousand dollars of the original sixty-five-thousand-dollar purchase price.”

“And the Marshaks are offering . . . ?”

“They’ll settle the mortgage and pay you an additional fifty thousand dollars to cover improvements Santiago made over the years to enhance the property’s value.”

Every impulse in Maria’s head told her to accept the money on the spot and walk away. It would mean a more comfortable future for her and Miguel. But it was too much. If they’d tossed on an additional ten grand or so, she could’ve accepted that as a condolence.

Fifty grand told her they were relying on her greed to keep her from asking questions. Fifty grand came through middlemen, so the giver didn’t have to dirty their hands. Fifty grand was a payoff that put a number on exactly what they thought her brother’s life was worth.

“Do you have a card, Mr. Valencia?” Maria asked. “I want to think about it for a day or two. I promise it won’t be longer than that.”

From the look on Valencia’s face, it was anything but all right. He handed her a business card and a manila envelope with a thin sheaf of papers inside.

“Take all the time you need,” Valencia said. “My cell is on the back. Feel free to call anytime.”

“Thank you,” Maria replied.

She watched them leave and climb into their truck. She even managed to keep it together as they went down the block. As soon as they turned the corner, she slapped her hand against the side of the house, fighting back tears of anger.

But then, staring at the manila envelope, she got an idea.

XVI

“I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I understand what it feels like to be driven mad by love. That’s how I feel about you. When you were gone, no other thought entered my head. Every single thought was of you. Every. Single. One. Every dream, every memory. It was the most pain anyone has ever put me through. I couldn’t believe how terrible I felt. I’m not a suicidal person, but I wanted to hurl myself off the nearest bridge. That’s how bad it got.”

Jason Marshak stood in the middle of the poorly air-conditioned motel room. He wore only boxers, his skin glistening with sweat, but now from the heat rather than his recent exertions.

“Trust me, I know how fucked up this situation is,” he implored. “It’s crazy. I didn’t plan it to be like this. I’m figuring it out as I go along, too. All I know is that when I look at you, I see our lives together. I see happiness for the first time in my life, not just an endless parade of work and trying to live up to my family’s expectations. I mean, I can see us—just the two of us—on a beach somewhere far away. And I don’t mean just fucking. I mean walking down the beach, your hand in mine, the eyes of every last person we pass staring at us. They’re all thinking, ‘Wow, he’s the luckiest guy in the world.’ I mean eating dinner together. Visiting all the little shops. Me buying you anything and everything you want. Attending events, your hand in mine, my arm around your waist. Leaning over to kiss you.”

Odilia stood silently in the bathroom doorway. She was soaking wet, a towel wrapped around her torso, her hair slicked down against her neck and shoulders. She’d taken a shower the evening before when they brought her back from La Calavera, but there was no water pressure at the Blocks and the temperature was barely lukewarm. This one had been enough to make her feel almost human.

“I mean, I think about our children. How fucked up is that?” Jason laughed, incredulous. “I’ve spent my whole life trying
not
to get chicks pregnant. But with you? I can’t wait. I want to see your belly with our kid in it, whether it’s the first one, the second, or the third. Heck, maybe a fourth? Why not? You, me, and our kids opening presents around the Christmas tree. Sitting around the table at Thanksgiving. Going on road trips during the summer. Out watching fireworks on the Fourth of July. Or, hey, Cinco de Mayo.”

Cinco de Mayo,
Odilia thought.
That strangely American drinking holiday somebody—probably a liquor company—decided to pretend was Mexican Independence Day.
Maybe Jason’s company was behind it.

She stared back at the middle-aged executive as he searched her face for the hint of a smile or even tenderness somewhere behind her eyes. There was none. He pointed at the towel.

“Take that off. Let it drop to the ground.”

She did. Despite the heat, goose bumps rose on her arms and legs as Jason moved to her. He was a good foot and a half taller than she was. She looked back at him, wondering if this time he’d have any reaction to her burned and blistered skin. When he’d stripped her before, he’d done so with such veraciousness, she thought he might not have even seen the burns and blisters. But as he smiled and lowered himself to his knees, she knew he wasn’t going to say anything. They were right in front of his eyes, but he looked through them.

“Someday our baby will be in here,” he emphasized, placing his hands gently on her hips and pulling her close to kiss her just above the belly button. “I’ll kiss it just like this every single day. And there won’t be a day you or it won’t feel loved. I promise.”

Odilia knew she was meant to be placated by this. She was supposed to remember how wonderful and understanding he was for letting her back into his life after she’d committed such an unthinkable offense against him. That he loved her more than anyone else ever would or could. That to know that and still do what she’d done was so cruel, so evil.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He looked up, eyes all gratitude. But she knew him. He needed more.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” she repeated. “You were right to punish me.”

His body relaxed as if for the first time in days. He moved his hands around to her ass, where he kneaded the soft flesh he found there. She could see he was getting aroused again.

“No, it was my fault,” he sighed. “I wasn’t paying enough attention. I didn’t know who else you’d been talking to. Your acting out was a response to my failings. But I’m telling you. We are days away from all this changing for good. There’s a contract that will mean no more hiding. No more going around my family’s back. It will be worth it. I promise.”

Half an hour later she was in an SUV on her way home.

There’d been no shower afterwards this time, as Jason had to get back and didn’t want his driver to have to wait for her. He’d kissed her, told her again how much he loved her, and said he’d see her in a few days.

She wondered if he was crazy enough to believe what he said. He made such a big show out of trying to satisfy her both physically and emotionally with all his talk of their future together. Maybe going through those motions allowed him to sleep at night, knowing that after he was done with her she was being sent back to squalid conditions to perform the exact same services on dozens of other men.

Or maybe the irony was lost on him.

Given her treatment out in the desert, she’d determined he was a psychopath. One with enough pull to keep a smart woman like Annie Whittaker from authoring her salvation. She’d promised Odilia she’d be safe with her. That no one in the States was above the law. How could she have been so foolish to believe that? Anyone who’d managed to accomplish what the Marshak family had hadn’t done so without knowing all the angles, legal and otherwise. She’d witnessed the breadth of it firsthand. She should’ve known.

It was a fifteen-minute drive from the motel back to the Blocks, but it always felt like she crossed borders to get there. Her home was on the inland side of one of the wealthiest enclaves in the state. It was a spot where multimillionaires could spread out their wealth, draping their compounds over rolling hills.

But only a few miles and a turn down a gravel road away was a compound of a different kind, one much larger than even the largest of the lavish estates. Rather than housing an elite family, this one had been constructed to house over a thousand workers.

Odilia found it hard to believe that no one had ever taken a wrong turn and found themselves in front of this great wall of cinder-block apartments tucked within the neighboring hills. Had no one seen the doors with sliding locks on the outside or convoys of trucks arriving at dawn or returning at dusk to transport the workers to and from the fields like cattle?

Odilia decided they all knew. It was the theory that upset her the most but felt the most likely. She’d seen how locals stared right through them.

The SUV turned off the main road and bounced along the gravel path that bisected the fenced-in graze land. A barbed wire fence ran along either side, with “No Trespassing” signs every few dozen yards. A few head of cattle roamed free but seemed only for show. After rolling over a cattle guard, the SUV stopped at an unmanned metal gate. The driver hopped out, unlocked the chain, pulled the SUV through, then relocked it behind them. Half a mile later the road became paved again, widening into two lanes.

A hundred yards past that was the Blocks.

To Odilia, the Blocks looked like images she’d seen of Pueblo Indian villages carved out of the sides of mountains. There didn’t seem to be much of a plan, new units built on top of old when they needed room for more workers. After an entire second level had been added, a third level sprang up just as randomly. Steps ran up the sides at odd angles. In some cases there were only ladders.

The nickname came from their resemblance to uneven stacks of children’s blocks pushed together. Each unit contained a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen and housed around a dozen workers, who were locked in every night, brought out every morning, and packed into trucks to be taken to the fields.

The SUV pulled in front of the apartments, mostly empty, except for a handful of women who were tasked with cleaning.

“Let’s go,” the driver said.

Odilia followed the driver up a flight of stairs to a third-floor unit. Before she’d escaped, she’d been the only person in the Blocks who had a unit to herself. Her status as Jason’s pet granted her this privilege and earned her the enmity of every woman who shared her lot. Following her time in the desert, she was back in a unit surrounded by other women who understood they were to make sure she didn’t run away again. They hated her, but at least she wasn’t alone anymore. In a life turned upside down, that counted as a win.

Following his conversation with Whillans, Luis spent the rest of Saturday preparing for the Sunday service. The familiar ritual of these simple tasks provided the comfort that he needed after the one-two punch of Whillans’s news the night before.

Cancer?
Possibly only weeks to live? What was God thinking? Pastor Whillans was one of his most faithful servants. Or was this some sort of punishment linked to his relationship with Bridgette Gildea? The Lord as Luis knew him was not petty. No, this was bad luck, pure and simple.

“I’m telling you because I won’t be able to tell everyone,” Whillans had said. “I need you to watch out for me in case, in my deteriorating state, I should start to unintentionally disclose it.”

“But why?”

“Because there are others—yes, even in the church—who would use this to their advantage. They’d remove me before I could finish my work, put me up in some hospice, where I’d die just to avoid everyone’s pity. Will you help me?”

When night fell, this was what Luis prayed over most of all. He opened his heart, prepared to listen to God’s explanation. Nothing came. The following morning he tried again.

Silence.

He was entering his second hour of prayerful communion when there came a light knock on his door.

“Visitor,” Father Territo said through the door in a hushed voice.

Luis said his amens and exited.

Maria waited for him in the courtyard. A concrete statue of Saint Francis stood on a pedestal in a shaded area just off the main path that wound from the rectory to the chapel.

“Ms. Higuera?”

She looked up in confusion, taking a moment to recognize Luis in his Roman collar.

“You really are a priest,” she said.

“I am.”

“Isn’t deception a sin?”

“Of course. But there are instances even in the Bible where it’s done in service to a greater cause.”

“Uh-huh. Like when?”

“Exodus 1:15–17,” Luis offered. “Pharaoh ordered the Hebrew midwives to kill all newborn male babies. They didn’t and lied to Pharaoh
, for which God blessed them.”

Maria took a moment to let this sink in.

“I’ve had an offer on the farm,” she said.

“Are you going to take it?”

“That’s just it. It was way too much money, like somebody who knew what was up trying to cover their ass. Pardon my language.”

Luis shrugged.

“But I had almost talked myself into it when I decided to take a look at the account statements from Santiago’s bank. It was all normal stuff. Like clockwork, you could tell when he paid the workers, when he paid the mortgage, when he bought food and supplies. But there was one transfer between accounts, an error that showed up on a statement only to be corrected on the next one.”

“An error?”

“I thought so, too, but my son was helping me. He’s a whiz with computers and, well, he did his version of investigating”—she let this hang in the air long enough for Luis to understand she meant hacking—“and discovered that the transfer was legit. It was just for a tremendous amount of money. I know how much he was paying people. This would’ve paid thousands. No way he had that many people working there.
No. Way.
”

Luis’s mind raced. It was a complicated scheme. That much was obvious. Somehow the piece of paper Odilia had brought with her was the key.

“Do you know where your brother had to file employment forms like the one I filled out?” he asked.

“No idea,” Maria said. “But I’m pretty sure I could find out. What do you think this is?”

“Right now it could be anything,” Luis said. “But so far two people may have died and another been kidnapped to keep it a secret.”

Maria glanced to the front of the church. Parishioners were beginning to trickle in for the early service. She watched their progression from the parking lot to the church steps, then turned back to Luis.

“I’m afraid I’ll look back on this moment as when I got in over my head,” Maria said.

“We may be well past that,” Luis said quietly.