The Cartel (11 page)

"I can't talk any longer. I will see you soon." With that, Pedro hung up.

Javier was baffled by this call. Why would Pedro care so much about his baby? And why would he want to betray his own father? It had to be a trick.

*****

One of the guards entered Javier’s quarters and told him that Pedro Torres had arrived, and that he had the baby with him. Javier immediately rushed downstairs, where Pedro sat playing with Isabella on the floor of the lavish living room. Large bay windows in the room gleamed with reflections of large palm trees surrounding the courtyard.

Javier ran to the child and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He kissed her and cuddled her tightly.

Pedro stood up. He was a handsome young man, with classic Latin features. He was thin, with shoulder-length raven hair. Javier didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him. First, he called immediately for Lupe to take Isabella away, and not to let her out of her sight.

"
Sí Señor,
" Lupe replied tearfully as she took the baby from him.

Once Isabella was out of the room, Javier stared at the young man who extended his hand to him. "I am Pedro Torres."

Javier hesitated before shaking it. "Yes, I know. Why have you done this?"

"I told you on the phone. I thought taking the baby was wrong. I wanted to make things right."

"And your father?"

"My father, as I'm sure you know by now, has no respect for other people. He is a man who thinks only about himself."

"I hear bitterness in your voice..."

“I have never loved my father. He has never loved me."

"Is this the real reason you brought my daughter back?"

"I would be lying if I said no, but it’s only part of the reason. Taking the baby was wrong. She belongs here. And neither family wants a war."

"Then your father should've thought long and hard before he did something this stupid."

"I agree."

"What do you want out of this, Pedro?"

"A job."

"But you have a family. Go back to work for them."

"I have no family now."

Javier paced back and forth in the room, contemplating his next move with the finesse of a chess player. "All right, I will tell you this. I believe someone should pay for this crime against me and my daughter."

"Yes," Pedro replied.

"What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should kill the man responsible." Pedro tried to keep his hands from shaking.

"You do? And, you want a job? And you say you could be loyal to another family besides your own? I will give you a chance to prove it. You kill Manuel Torres. If you do this for me, in such a way that the blame will lie on someone else, then you will be welcome in my family."

Pedro nodded and left Javier's house, on his way back home to murder his own father.

Pedro entered the house silently once everyone was asleep. He knew that his family would have figured out by this time what he had done, and that if anyone had seen him at Javier’s home, he would be dead. But he also knew his way around the crevices and shadows of the old hacienda, and therefore was none too concerned about being caught. He’d worked himself up into actually wanting to kill his own father: the bastard deserved to be sent straight to hell.

He approached the old man's suite, his hands trembling.

Once inside the bedroom, Pedro could see his father sleeping alone in his large bed, covered with the best silk sheets money could buy. Pedro let out a sigh, relieved to see that his father did not have a guest for the evening.

His father's heart medicine was on the nightstand, next to the bed. Pedro took the small receptacle of pills and emptied half of them out. Once that was done, he replaced them with amphetamine capsules that looked like the medicine for his father’s heart.

Pedro knew that henceforth, each morning after his father had taken his heart medication, he had only a fifty-fifty chance of surviving into the next week. And no one would be any the wiser. They'd assume that the son of a bitch had had a heart attack. It was beautiful and it was foolproof.

Pedro stealthily exited his father’s room and left the hacienda as quietly as he'd entered it. Sweat trickled from his forehead while he walked away from the compound. It was over. His life here, with a family that had never taken the time to know him, with a father who despised his very presence, was over. Relief engulfed him. Pain, sadness, happiness, and anger swirled together in a vicious brew as he headed toward a new life and a new family.

Book II – 1976-1983

Los Angeles, CA

The highlight of the day was arriving home to see Alejandro. He made life worth living. His cheery attitude and bright smile could wipe away the hardships of the worst days. It had been a long five years since the day she and Elisa had crossed the border. Unfortunately, not much had changed.

Marta and Alex were still living in the same small house where he was born on Washington Street, in a constant struggle to achieve a meager existence. America hadn't been the land of opportunity she once thought, but she knew that because her son was born an American citizen, he would have chances in life that he never would have had living in Mexico. Every once in a while, Marta’s memories of Antonio would weave in and out of her mind, taking her back to a time when she felt full of life, her heart young and naïve. She could not help but still wonder on occasion how Antonio was doing, never forgetting the love they once shared. But her pleasant memories soon turned dark as she recalled the bitter discovery of who Antonio really was—a liar and cheat. There was no way around that. Denying it would be lying to herself. Facing realities was what helped to keep her working and motivated in a country she had not fallen in love with as she’d hoped. She missed her home, her culture, her life in Costa Careyes. She was grateful though that she had a job and a child who adored her, as well as her friendship with Elisa.

When she arrived home by bus, she checked the mail. Like clockwork every month, there was a check for five hundred dollars. The name on the check was from a company in Colombia called “
Por el gente
,” which meant,
For the People.
She knew that Antonio must be the one sending the checks. Marta was certain that he had somehow found out about Alex, because the money began arriving shortly after her son’s first birthday.

Her initial instinct was to tear them up, but after thinking it over, Marta realized that she could use the money for Alex, to buy the things that he deserved. She saved the money each month, only taking out what she needed for her child. She put away the rest for him, hoping that someday, she would be able to send him to college. However, there was a part of her that didn’t feel right about taking the money. Yes the man was Alex’s father, but Marta could not help feeling that by taking that money she was almost as much of a liar as Antonio was. She knew there would come a day when Antonio would want to see his son and the money would then become an issue.

She and Elisa worked busily in the cove of a kitchen making tamales. Marta sighed.

Elisa stopped stuffing the masa with pork and looked at her. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Why such a heavy sigh. Why are you troubled?”

"I was thinking again about Alex’s father, and I wish I didn't feel guilty about using Antonio's money.”

"Guilty. Ha. I think you're stupid. You should take all that money and move into a nice place. Get out of this dump. He owes you so much more than five-hundred dollars a month. That money though could get you into a small house, Marta. You should do it."

"And where am I supposed to tell Alex the money came from?"

"Tell him the truth. He deserves to know, Marta. He needs to know he has a father." Elisa scooped out seasoned meat into the masa and handed it to Marta who rolled it and tied a husk around it.

Marta shook her head. "I can’t do that. I've told him since he was very little that his father was a hero, who died trying to save people in a building that crumbled during an earthquake."

"That's very creative of you, Marta." Elisa smiled. “I didn’t know you had that in you.” She winked.

"Please. Leave me alone about this."

"Leave you alone about this? Then stop talking about him and thinking about him. Consider the money a gift. Treat is like it is. I've only heard this story a million times. Either use his money or quit complaining."

Marta sighed and gave her friend a dirty look. They didn’t speak for a few minutes as they went through the repetitive motions of making the tamales, which they would take down to Olivera Street and sell .

"You still love him, don't you? You wouldn’t think about him, talk about him and have these guilt feelings if you didn’t."

"Stupid I know" Marta whispered. Elisa walked around the counter and embraced her. Marta wiped away her tears, and let out a little laugh. “If something should ever happen to me, I would like you to hold the money for Alex in a savings account and give it to him when he is old enough and wise enough to handle it.”

“Why would you say something like that?” Elisa pulled away from her. “Nothing is ever going to
happen
to you.”

“I have to think about these things, even so. I have to make certain that Alejandro is provided for. I’m his mother and I, I mean we are all he has. No matter what I still may feel for his father, he has no right to my son and if something ever happens to me, I do not want Antonio near him.”

“Ridiculous. You’re talking crazy words.”

Marta stopped set her tamale down and took her purse from the kitchen counter, pulling out an envelope, handing it over to Elisa. “This is the paperwork and information you would need. Promise me that you’ll do this if needed.”

Elisa stood her jaw dropped. “I don’t understand.”

“Take it.” Marta shoved the envelope at her.

“Of course I would do anything for you. You know that. We’re not only friends, you and I. We are sisters.”

"Thank you.” Marta kissed her cheek and then looked at her watch. “It's time for me to get ready to meet Alex."

"My goodness. I didn’t realize it was so late.” Elisa wiped her hands on her apron. “Hector!" Elisa yelled to the little boy tossing a ball around in the street. He came running in, panting.

"What, Mama?"

"Do you want to go with
Tía
Marta to meet Alex?"

“Yes!” the six-year old responded, grinning from ear to ear. His love for Alex was obvious as his face lit up with the prospect of seeing him soon so they could play.

Both children were unhappy that Alex was going to a new school, but Marta, wanting the best for her son, had arranged for him to be bused to one of the better public schools in the city. She knew that by doing so, it would give him more opportunities for a better education, and she’d studied what made successful people in America. Education was a key factor. It was why she took as many night classes as she could, when she could, and why she’d become an avid reader of history, politics, culture and anything else she felt would better her for her son and for herself.

"Go change your shirt first, and wash your hands and face. You look like a filthy pig," Elisa ordered.

Obeying his mother, Hector quickly did as he was told. With her hands on her hip, Elisa turned back to Marta. "I really think you should put Alex back in school with Hector. He is sad and anxious lately. You must see it. You know that they tease him there. He isn't white and he never will be. In their eyes, he's nothing but a poor wetback."

"I don't think it's all that bad. I think he simply misses Hector during the day. It'll take him a little time, but once he gets used to it, he’ll be fine."

"You never get used to people making fun of you. You don’t, Marta. This is a harsh world and I know you want to give Alex the best opportunities possible, but putting him in a white school won’t help him. It’s going to hurt him."

Marta leaned her head to the side feeling the crack in her neck, her face burning slightly. One thing about her friend was that she always spoke her mind. They definitely didn’t always agree. "They'll stop. He's getting a good education. What more can he ask for?"

"To be happy," Elisa replied. “He deserves to be happy and you know that.” She took off her apron. “I have to get my shoes.”