Redemption (14 page)

“A wise choice, Mr. Lucklighter. Your own involvement in his arrest might prove problematic.” The grin on Nestor Sauceda’s face would frighten sharks out of the ocean. “And our dear hostess has a feast prepared for us, in honor of American Thanksgiving. Do we not have much to be thankful for this day? Come, she’s waiting for us.”

Nestor gestured toward the Mexican end of the tunnel. Bo fell into step behind Lucky, with Nestor bringing up the rear, marching them south.

Cruz and his companion followed Stephan north.

Once Lucky cleared the tunnel, he texted Walter,
One more thing to do. Will check in every two hours.
Boss could kick his ass later.

Chapter Ten

Hallelujah! Lucky and Bo stepped outside and into the open.

Nestor’s Mercedes idled a few feet away from the dilapidated warehouse that hid the tunnel entrance on the Mexican end. Two dark SUVs sat off to the side. Nestor ignored them like they were part of the landscape. His, then.

His driver jumped out of the front of the car and opened the back door. Lucky and Bo slipped in after Nestor.

An SUV took point, and the other fell in behind them.

“Graciela is planning a celebration the likes of which you’ve never seen.” Nestor leaned in toward Lucky. “Many Mexican families don’t celebrate the American day of thanks, but her family does, as do I. I became rather fond of the holiday during my time in the States. She’s prepared cabrito, my favorite.”

“Young goat,” Bo replied, when Lucky shot a glance his way. “It’s a delicacy.”

“Yes it is,” Nestor agreed.

The Lucklighters kept goats. Wouldn’t be the first time Lucky ate one.

Under the cover of darkness, he placed his leg against Bo’s to absorb whatever comfort he could. No telling what they might face. Even though he’d rather have Bo safe back home, if he had to be in enemy territory, there was no one else he’d want at his side. Still, it was way too soon after the man’s ordeal to be back in the line of fire.

They rode in silence for the most part, the road familiar to Lucky by now. “What will happen to the house? The factory?” Stephan was the last Mangiardi, save for Victor’s sister in France.

“That is something I wish to discuss with you. But it’s in bad taste to discuss business before dinner.”

Yeah, it had always been so at Victor’s house when Nestor visited. Wine, dine, send Lucky upstairs, while the big dogs discussed world domination, politics, or which politicians to buy, and where to hide bodies. Regular drug trafficker stuff.

But at the dinner table both men poured on the charm. Anyone who saw them, decked out to the nines, would think them lawyers or legitimate businessmen.

And yet, for all his money and power, Nestor ate at a small cantina, for love of a woman, and, from what he said, not the romantic type of love.

Somewhere down here Victor had a family, and his father’s former mistress whom he’d called “Mama.” Graciela was the right age and had referred to her son being happy. And yet she held no grudge against Lucky for testifying against her “son”.

A knife sliced at his heart. Had he caused that sweet lady pain? To lose her home and be cast out, along with her children? God, he hoped not.

Oh. Time to stop thinking too hard.

When they pulled up in front of the cantina Lucky released Bo’s hand he’d clutched down by his leg where Nestor couldn’t see in the dim light. No telling who started the hand holding, but he wouldn’t put it past Bo to sense his dark thoughts and offer support.

Lucky’s phone chimed, and he pulled it from his pocket.

“I imagine that’s Walter Smith checking in. You may reply if you like.” Nestor chuckled.

Walter’s message included four-letter words. Not good. But better to ask forgiveness than permission, which boss man wouldn’t have given.
We’re fine. Back soon,
Lucky texted.

Nestor opened his door before the driver got there. “Why don’t you two get comfortable before you join me?”

Oh. The vests. Yeah, eating would be a whole lot easier without them. Lucky and Bo twisted and turned in the backseat, ridding themselves of the heavy Kevlar. Another thing for Walter to kick his ass over. If Bo and Lucky lived to see him again, he’d bend over and tell Walter, “Have at it.”

Lucky stepped from the car, sniffing the air. Damn, the scents wafting from the building made his belly rumble. How he’d missed Graciela’s cooking, even her fussing over him. “Smells good all the way out here.”

He crossed the lower level of the cantina, empty now. Instead of the usual soccer game on the TV above the bar, an old black and white Christmas movie aired.

Lucky followed Nestor up the stairs, Bo on his heels.

Nestor uncorked a bottle of wine and strolled around the tables splashing festivity into each glass. Fold-out paper turkeys peered between the glasses, a cautious distance from the candles. Streamers crisscrossed the ceiling. Six place settings, far finer than the daily plates, sparkled in the dancing light at Nestor’s favorite table, though more places were set on others.

Nestor sat down, and beckoned for Bo to sit to his left, Lucky to his right. The place of honor if Lucky remembered what few manners Victor had taught him. No one could eat until he did.
Nice! I have the power!

Bo picked up his wineglass, swirled the contents, and stuck his nose to the top. He closed his eyes, inhaled, and smiled.

“A fine vintage, I can assure you. The best money can buy.” Nestor picked up his glass and repeated Bo’s ritual.

Hell, being down in the tunnel frayed Lucky’s nerves and left his throat dry as dust. Neither he nor Bo should drink, but if this turned out to be their last meal… He lifted his glass and chugged down the wine. Not bad. Beat the twist-off kind.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, along with laughter and Spanish chatter. Graciela appeared, dressed in a multi-colored dress, much nicer than she wore to cook and wait tables. She smiled, sped across the floor, and kissed Lucky on the cheek, then rounded the table and pulled Bo into a hug, rattling away at him while he smiled and nodded.

The other tables filled up with men, women, and the occasional child. And some of these were likely Victor’s kin. If they knew what Lucky had done, would they be so eager to share a meal?

Nestor stood and pulled out the chair at the other end of the table. Graciela grinned and allowed him to settle her. Two more places. Who else were they expecting?

Cruz tromped up the stairs, gave his boss a tight-lipped smile and a nod, and took the seat next to Bo. If the asshole so much as looked at Bo with intent…

“Don’t worry,” Cruz said. “This was the only spot not taken.”

Lucky eyeballed the empty place between him and Graciela, but didn’t have time to ask, for a tall man stood from one table and clanged his spoon against his glass.

“That’s my cue,” Nestor said. He bowed his head and spoke in rapid Spanish. Lucky took the time to check out the other dinner guests; he might need to describe them in his report.

“Ow!” He grabbed his leg and glared at Bo from across the table. That hurt! Bo opened one eye and glowered.

Lucky bowed his head and shut his eyes—nearly all the way.

Nestor spoke a final word and he, Graciela, Cruz, and Bo crossed themselves. A few empty places stood at other tables, and two teenaged girls and a boy came up the stairs, loaded down with bowls and platters. Twice more they ran up and down those stairs until they took a seat at other tables.

Still the place by Lucky remained open. “Who are we waiting for?”

Nestor answered, “It’s a tradition in this family to set a place for missing loved ones.”

What a creepy custom. Lucky studied the plate, but the scent of spiced meat drew his attention away. Nestor carved up what might have been roast and placed a slab on Lucky’s plate.

Lucky took a small bite. Oh, sweet lawdy in heaven. He traded the small fork he’d picked up for a bigger one.

“You’re eating goat,” Bo said. “Baah!”

Spoken like a true vegetarian. “Not the first time.” Goat ate as good as cow.

Bo filled his plate with vegetables. The usual fare was missing tonight, no tamales, no frijoles.

“What gives with the meal?” Lucky asked.

“This is traditional fare for this time of year.” Cruz took another mouthful.

Lucky shut up and ate. He was off the clock, right? He held up his wine glass for a refill when Nestor offered.

The dinner wound down, and most of the diners left, all stopping to speak with Graciela and Nestor before departing. Lucky caught about every third word, but since none of the conversation centered on drugs or Mangiardis, he tuned out. Besides, Bo was better than Lucky at Spanish, and likely took in every word.

Only Lucky’s tablemates remained. “What now?”

“Now we talk.” Nestor raised his brows and regarded Cruz, Bo, and Graciela. “Can I trust you gentlemen to see the lady home?”

Bo, Cruz, and Nestor rose. Lucky followed suit. No telling what they planned.

Nestor planted a kiss on Graciela’s check. “We’ll join you soon,” he said in Spanish, slowly enough for Lucky to decipher. Graciela smiled and wrapped one hand around Bo’s arm, the other around Cruz’s.

With worry in his eyes Bo questioned Lucky, then allowed the lady to lead him away.

“Now.” Nestor sat back down in his chair. “We have business to discuss. But first, a gift.” He placed a box on the table, the same one from the dresser in Lucky’s room at Stephan’s.

Lucky lifted the lid. Inside were the gold chains, rings, and the Rolex Victor had given him years ago.

He slammed the lid closed. “I don’t need those.” Walter wouldn’t like it and the SNB had a strict policy against accepting gifts. It didn’t matter if those items used to be Lucky’s, they came from a convicted trafficker.

“It’s your decision, but these belong to you.” Nestor set the box aside. “Now, you asked me before what became of Victor’s estate.” He placed a manila envelope on the table, opened the pack, and drew out a two stacks of papers. “These are the same documents though one copy is in English for your benefit.”

Lucky stared at a Walter Smith-sized paper pile. “What’s this?”

“Victor’s will.”

“His what?”

“His will. And I believe these papers will answer a lot of your questions.”

Lucky read. “Damn bunch of legalese. What does it say?” If he tried to sort it out himself, he’d still be sitting at the table the same time next year.

“Let me ask you something, Lucky. Did your parents enjoy their visit to Mexico City?”

“What? They’ve never been to Mexico City.” Mom and Dad never left North Carolina without good cause.

Nestor’s eyes twinkled. He dug into the papers and pulled out a single sheet. “I beg to differ. Here’s a copy of your birth certificate.”

Lucky’s limited Spanish still allowed him to make out the truth in Nestor’s words. “What the hell?”

“Remember how I told you Americans can’t own land in certain areas in Mexico?”

“Yeah, and I’m American, through and through.”

“According to these papers, you were born here and hold dual citizenship.”

Oh hell. Lucky’s heart dropped to join the goat in his stomach. Both bleated. “Victor left me his Mexican estate and made arrangements so I could inherit.”

Nestor nodded. “He’d named another heir, but he suspected his brother and nephew plotted to take his fortune, and worried how far they’d go to get their greedy hands on his money.”

Puzzle pieces clicked into place. “He left everything in Mexico to Graciela. She’s the one Vincent and Stephan kicked out of the house, isn’t she?”

Nestor smiled, adding deep creases to his heavily lined cheeks. “Oh, Lucky. I knew you were more than a pretty face.”

Lucky scowled. “Try that line on somebody drunker than I am.”

Nestor snickered and slapped Lucky on the back. “Never a dull moment with you, is there?” His smile fell. “Victor feared his brother and Stephan would eliminate his family.”

“And he didn’t worry about Stephan killing me?” Maybe Victor hadn’t liked Lucky much after all.

“If you died in the States, be it in prison or after you joined Mr. Smith’s organization, questions would have arisen. Much easier to kill a mistress and her illegitimate children.”

“Me? What am I supposed to do with a drug empire in Mexico?” What the hell? No one in their right mind would leave Lucky an estate. Why, Victor, why?

Damn. He swallowed hard, but the lump remained in his throat. Okay, so Victor had cared, which made his death, disappearance, whatever, all the harder.

He’d changed his will to include Lucky, and Lucky turned around and testified against him. That much guilt Lucky deserved.

“Aren’t you curious how much you inherited?” Nestor took another sip of wine.

Lucky put his head in his hands. “No. What I am curious about is how I inherited from Victor and am just now hearing about it.”

“Because no one wanted you to know. Imagine Vincent’s surprise when he ran down here to the last of Victor’s holdings, to discover he owned nothing. What would you do in his shoes?”

“Kill whoever did?”

“Lucky, who’s your beneficiary?”

“My sister Charlotte and her boys.”

Nestor remained silent.

“She’d have no right to claim the property because she’s not a citizen.”

“Exactly. And Vincent soon discovered that he couldn’t either. He had limited choices. Turn everything over to you, and hope you played by his rules, pretend his brother was still among the living, or kill you and let the government assume control of the land. Victor had given Vincent certain powers of attorney to handle business dealings in his absence. Vincent used his power to full advantage.”

“He pretended Victor was still alive. You mean he isn’t?” Damn, Lucky’s head spun every time the “is he or isn’t he?” question cropped up. He uncovered his face.

“Vincent went through a lot of effort convincing people his brother lived, but was serving time. Stephan played along.” The grin on Nestor’s face was pure evil. “Until he got impatient waiting to inherit and killed Vincent.”

Still not an answer to Lucky’s question. “Wait? Didn’t Stephan know he’d lose the land?”