Tequila Sunset (35 page)

Graciela spoke through the door. “Are you okay in there?”

“I’m fine. Just a minute.”

The recorder and the wire went into his pocket. The skin where the tape had been was pink, but it could have been anything. Graciela would not suspect. He put his clothes back on and flushed the toilet and noisily washed his hands in the sink.

She waited for him in the hall outside the door, her expression displeased. “What was that all about?” she demanded.

“Sorry. I got some bad food with José. It’s okay now.”

He tried to hold her again, but the spell was broken. Flip felt like a stranger in this apartment that was supposed to be his. Graciela was already gathering up her things. “I can drop you somewhere,” she said.

The pool was empty when they left the apartment and the manager’s office was closed. The sun lay heavily in the west, though it would be a long time setting. At least now there was a breath of wind, even though it was hot.

At first Graciela did not want to talk and Flip waited until he felt the time was right before he asked, “When do you want to move in?”

“I got two months left on my lease,” Graciela says. “It’ll cost me if I break it.”

“So I just stay there on my own?” Flip asked.

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

“It won’t be the same without you.”

“You’ll survive.”

She brought him back to his mother’s house and stopped in front. Flip reached across to touch Graciela’s hand, but she did not take his. She stared out the windshield, her jaw set. The Hyundai idled unevenly.

“Graciela…” Flip said.

“What?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

The hard line of her profile softened and Graciela turned toward him. This time she reached for him and he was glad to take her hand. He wanted to bring her inside with him, put her on his bed and make love to her, but that was impossible. Maybe she would take him to her place if he asked. He did not ask.

“I don’t know how to figure you out sometimes, Flip,” Graciela said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just don’t be weird.”

“I won’t next time. I promise.”

“Do you want to go out tomorrow night?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t been dancing in a while. Maybe the club?”

“You can’t drink. The baby.”

“I won’t,” Graciela said. She leaned across to kiss him and Flip tasted her. Her arms twined up around his neck. His hand touched her breast. Slowly they came apart.

“Hey,” Flip said.

“Next time,” she said.

“Okay.”

Flip got out of the car and waved good-bye to Graciela from the curb. She left him in a slowly swirling cloud of exhaust and vanished down the street into the lowering sun.

He went up to the house and let himself in. His mother was watching television in the living room. “Was that Graciela?” she asked.

“Yes, Mamá.”

“You should have asked her to come in! I have some carrot cake I made and there’s plenty to share.”

“She’s busy tonight, Mamá. Maybe next time.”

“You want to watch
Wheel of Fortune
with me?” Flip’s mother asked.

“In a little while, Mamá.”

He went to his room and closed the door. The recorder and the wire went back into their hiding place. Flip slipped his father’s knife from his pocket and flicked open the blade. His face was reflected in the steel. It felt sharp enough to draw blood when he tested the edge. “What would you do, Papá?” he asked out loud.

Flip put the knife away. It had no answers for him.

FOURTEEN

W
HEN
C
RISTINA CAME DOWN HER STREET
she spotted the FBI detail immediately. Their car was new and shiny and did not fit in on a dusty street in Segundo Barrio. Two agents were inside and Cristina caught a glimpse of them as she drove past: a pair of nondescript men in jackets and sunglasses.

She parked and looked back to where they were. She raised a hand. A second later one of them waved back.

If they were obvious to her, they would be obvious for anyone coming down the street with intent to do her harm. Cristina felt awkward about the arrangement; she hoped that El Paso police officers would handle the duty of watching out for a fellow officer. In the end it was probably better this way, because with the feds doing the mundane jobs, the local cops could concentrate on handling the situation on the ground. Still, she would have liked to know the names of the people watching her.

Ashlee was in the kitchen when Cristina came through the front door, cleaning up plates from dinner. She came into the living room wiping wet hands on a simple apron. “Hi,” she said. “You’re early, aren’t you?”

“A little bit,” Cristina said.

Freddie was at his place at the computer, fully engrossed in his game. When Cristina spoke, he didn’t react at all. He kept his eyes on the screen when Cristina came for a kiss, and she was forced to leave one on his cheek. Only then did he speak: “Mom, you’re home.”

“I am. How are you?”

“I’m kind of busy right now. I’m playing my game.”

“You play your game. I’m going to talk to Ashlee.”

Ashlee put the apron on a peg in the kitchen. Cristina went to join her. “What’s up?” Ashlee asked.

“Anything unusual happen today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Anybody try to talk to you or Freddie?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m just checking,” Cristina said. She hadn’t shared with Ashlee the news about the FBI and if the girl hadn’t picked them out in their car that was okay. Telling Ashlee would open up a whole area of questioning Cristina wasn’t ready to deal with. Would Ashlee be safe going home or coming to the house? Did she need protection, too? And on and on.

“I guess since you’re here, I can go,” Ashlee said.

“Sure. I can take it from here.”

Ashlee gathered her things and gave Freddie a hug good-bye. “See you tomorrow, buddy,” she told him, but he had nothing to say.

“Be careful on the road,” Cristina told Ashlee, and when the girl had gone Cristina locked the door behind her. In their car the FBI agents would make note of Ashlee’s departure and the time, maybe even logging it into a book. Everything about Cristina’s house was subject to observation and report now. Again she felt discomfited.

“Hey, peanut,” Cristina said to Freddie, “how about you watch a video with me tonight? Okay?”

“Okay. Let me play first.”

“I’ll give you another thirty minutes.”

Ashlee had left no plate for Cristina tonight. The freezer was full of microwaveable meals and Cristina cooked one of those. She ate by the sink and tossed the flimsy tray in the trash when she was done. While Freddie played, she picked out a DVD of cartoons that
were not too long. Anything past a few minutes tested Freddie’s ability to concentrate. In the words of the people at his school, watching a video with his mother was “not a preferred activity.”

They watched the cartoons and afterward it was time for bed. She came into his room after he had undressed, and she sat on the edge of his bed. The ceiling fan turned slowly above them, stirring the air. With the air conditioning on, the fan could make it uncomfortably cool in the room, but Freddie liked to bundle himself in blankets and did not mind.

“Hey,” Cristina said to him. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“What?”

“I want to talk to you. Can you show me your eyes, please? Over here. Look at my eyes.”

It was hard for him to focus on her for more than a second or two. Conversations were conducted at odd angles, as if Freddie and Cristina were displaced and no straight line could be drawn between them. When she asked to see his eyes he could barely maintain the contact, but she did it anyway because it was her way of telling him to pay close attention.

“Freddie, you know Mom does dangerous work sometimes, right?”

“Very
dangerous
,” Freddie said.

“That’s right. Mom deals with a lot of bad people and they do not nice things. But you know I’m very careful so I can always come home to you.”

“Are you careful?” Freddie asked. He looked at a hand-drawn picture on the wall of an elevator. The brand name of the elevator, Otis, was scrawled in his uneven hand.

“I am. And Uncle Bob is careful and all the people Mom works with are careful.”

Cristina wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, what she could say that would make sense to Freddie and stay in his mind. Many times
she would speak and he would forget. It took long repetition for most things to sink in. Tonight she wanted him to remember.

“Are we going to have a story?”

“Yes. Listen, Freddie: sometimes the bad people try to hurt Mom because she puts their friends in jail. But they’re not going to get Mom and they’re not going to get you. We have people watching over us to make sure that doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Freddie said.

Now she didn’t know if she was saying these things for Freddie or for herself. “I don’t want you to worry about Mom, okay? Mom is going to be all right and she’ll always come home to you. I promise.”

“I promise,” Freddie echoed, and then he made an oinking sound and giggled. “I’m a pig!”

A tear struggled in the corner of her eye and Cristina quashed it with a fingertip. “Okay,” she said. “Story time.”

FIFTEEN

M
ATÍAS OVERSLEPT AND DRAGGED HIMSELF
to the bathroom to regard an unshaven face that had begun to look too ragged to be presentable. He showered and took a razor to it until he was happy with what he saw. Paco called while he was in the bathroom, but left no message. Matías called back.

“Paco,
¿qué necesitas?
”

“A call came in from Víctor Barrios. He got to speak with Renato Durán.”

“And?”

“The deal is still on. José’s people are sending over the payment for the drugs tonight: a dozen assault weapons, plus ammunition. I have the time and place for delivery.”

Matías held the phone in the crook of his shoulder as he tied his tie in the mirror. The bed was unmade, the room generally messier than it had been when Elvira was around. The whole apartment was starting to slip. “Does he know what to do?” Matías asked.

“Yes. He tracks the distribution of the weapons and reports back to us. He says they’ll probably hold the guns in one of their stash houses first and then parcel them out when they can be sure no one’s paying attention anymore.”

“Those poor dumb bastards,” Matías said. “I almost feel sorry for them.”

“When are you coming in?”

“Soon. I got a late start today.”

“The FBI woman also called. McPeek? She wants to meet with us, with
you
. I told her we could do it in the afternoon. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. She probably heard about Guerra from someone and now she’s going to be in a panic. We have to keep control of this thing, Paco, for all our sakes. Those drugs have to ship. Víctor didn’t say anything about when they would go?”

“Nothing.”

Matías jerked his head in frustration. “I want you to call Felix Rivera and make sure he’s ready to move when we tell him. Everyone to the front lines. We hit all of Guerra’s old stash houses, the ones Víctor pointed out to us, just as soon as the shipment’s en route. We’ll cripple Los Aztecas, Paco. I know it.”

“And what we don’t do the Mexicles will handle?” Paco asked.

“Something like that.”

“Listen, Matías, there’s been some talking going on that maybe you ought to know about.”

In the kitchen Matías boiled water for coffee. He was already late, so there was no reason not to take the time. He grunted into the phone. “What kind of talking?”

“Los Aztecas have already targeted you once…”

“If they want to take another stab at it, they know where to find me,” Matías said. “But I think they have bigger problems to worry about. The Mexicles just killed one of their leading capos and they aren’t likely to stop there. I’m not going to let them scare me out of doing what needs to be done.”

“I didn’t say you were a coward, Matías.”

“When it comes to this, don’t worry about me,” Matías said. “Soon we’ll come down on Los Aztecas like the hand of God. Then we’ll all be on their list. You, too.”

“I don’t much like the idea of that.”

“This is Juárez, Paco. Everyone’s a target. Let me drink my coffee and then I’ll be in. We can talk then.”

“See you, Matías.”

Matías ended the call and put the phone in his pocket. Now he had time to reflect on what Paco had told him and what it all meant. He hadn’t lied when he said he was not afraid. In Juárez there could be no fear because the moment a policeman started to worry about such things he was useless. People died in the city for no reason other than being in the wrong neighborhood when a firefight broke out. Bombs were going off. Citizens vanished off the streets and turned up on the side of the road missing limbs or heads. Matías could not afford fear in a place like this.

Once the water boiled he poured it into a French press over fresh-ground coffee to brew. He found himself eager for the taste of it, that first indicator that the day was begun, even though he was already falling behind. If Elvira was here, he wouldn’t be so sloppy; she kept him on schedule and focused. Waiting for his coffee, he realized again how much he missed her.

He wondered what she was doing right at that moment. The idle days had to be driving her mad, but despite calls and coaxing she had not relented in her decision. The last time they spoke, she offered Matías the name of a private security firm operating out of Monterrey. According to her, the firm was founded by an agent of the old AFI and there were people he might know working there. He hadn’t recognized any of the names she gave him.

Matías did not say yes to Elvira because he felt compelled to say no. Like a policeman did not show fear on the streets of Ciudad Juárez, Matías did not see himself stepping back from this, and it would be stepping back. She didn’t press further that time. Maybe she knew without Matías having to say anything, or maybe she was just waiting until the next time. He wished it could be next time right now, but he couldn’t be distracted by calling now. Maybe tonight. Maybe then.