The Cartel (9 page)

"Marta, how are you?" Mr. Johnson, the owner of the home, asked, startling her. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

"Fine, sir," she replied.

"I see your night school is paying off."

"Yes, I like it very much."

"Uh huh. Say, is my wife around?"

"No, sir. She’s shopping."

"Of course, I might have known. As you can see, I'm on my way to the golf course," he replied, motioning to his golf bag sitting in the entryway. "Do you like golf?"

"I don't know," Marta answered, feeling a little nervous talking to the man of the house. After all, he never spoke to her when his wife was around.

Mr. Johnson walked closer to her. Smelling his cologne, she wondered if he’d bathed in it—strong and too sweet for a man’s cologne. Mr. Johnson was a pleasant looking man with salt and pepper hair, and very tall. His square jaw and high cheekbones reminded her a little of Antonio.

He brushed against her shoulder. "You are a very pretty young woman, Marta. I’ve noticed you often, cleaning around the house."

"Thank you, sir, but I really must get back to the cleaning."

He waved his hand through the air. "All work and no play…” He arched his eyebrows. “Visit with me. Certainly, you can spare a few minutes. Remember, I am the guy who pays your bills."

"That would be nice, but please, sir, I need to get back to work. My bus leaves in only two hours and I still have so much left to do."

"Now, Marta you wouldn't want to upset me would you?" Mr. Johnson pressed his large hand down hard on her shoulder.

"You’re hurting me," she whispered through trembling lips.

"I don't want to do anything to hurt you. In fact, you'll like what I want to do with you."

"Please. No. Your wife is coming home soon." Marta could see his demeanor changing. He looked larger than he had before and her instincts told her to run. Her mind flashed back to the night she and Elisa crossed the border, and the screams of the young girl being raped and tortured to death.

"Come on, Marta, she won't be home anytime soon." He yanked her around and held her tight, kissing her on the lips. She pursed her lips together and struggled to free herself. She smelled alcohol on his breath. Her stomach coiled tightly as she pressed her hands into fists against his chest.

"Don't fight it. You'll love it." He threw her against the wall and she yelped in pain. He came toward her again. But as he manhandled her breasts, she kicked him square in the groin, causing William Johnson to double over in pain, leaving him gasping for breath. Marta could hear him yelling obscenities at her as she ran out the door, her vision blurred by her tears.

*****

Javier stroked Isabella’s thick black curls on top of her head. The baby's hair felt like the fine tendrils of a silken web. He beamed when he held her, looking into the green eyes that were so like her mother’s. Javier made the sign of the crucifix across his chest as he prayed for Cynthia’s soul to rest in peace.

That day, as on every Sunday since her mother's death, Javier took Isabella to Cynthia’s grave, where he would place fresh flowers, lingering for a while with his daughter. Antonio had often told Javier to let the memory of Cynthia go, arguing that Javier wouldn’t be able to move forward with other women if he kept living in the past. Javier ignored Antonio’s nonsensical advice. He wanted his daughter to grow up knowing her mother, even if it was in a different sense than all of them had expected.

The baby was almost six months old now, and Sunday was their day of rest. "Come on, Isabella, it is time to go visit Mama."

The child's bright eyes focused on her father from her crib. She'd been busy studying her hands and fingers, beginning to realize that they were a part of her. As soon as she heard her father’s deep voice, her attention was diverted, and she smiled widely up at him.

"Her love for you is so obvious," Lupe said as she walked into the room. She went over to one of the white wicker drawers and pulled out a pale pink sweater, along with white tights and a beautiful pink flowered dress, intricately detailed with lace sewn along the bottom. Lupe handed the clothes to Javier.

"That's alright,” he told her. “You can bathe and change her this morning. I think I'll go out to the garden and pick some fresh flowers for Cynthia."

"Very well." Lupe's surprise was clearly audible.

"I think it is time I start to ask you for more help. I'm officially making you Isabella's nanny as of today. I am too tired to keep this up by myself. Will you help me?"

Lupe beamed at the prospect and nodded her head. "Of course, Governor. I would love to take care of the baby."

"I will still tend to her a good deal of the time. We'll go over specific duties tomorrow morning. Have her ready in half an hour."

“Of course.”

He headed to the garden thinking about what he’d heard recently about the Torres family. Rumor had it that the family from Mexico City was not happy about the deal he and Antonio had made with Levine. Rumor also had it that they were going to strike back, unless they were included. Antonio told him not to worry about it, but that was impossible.

He would feel safer now that Lupe would be with the baby at all times. He was afraid Manuel Torres might make him a target. Manuel was noted for being a vengeful man. Wars didn't frighten him. In fact, he thrived on them. However, if Manuel didn't have the backing of some of the other families, then he wouldn't get very far. His power was limited. But Javier knew that if he could convince at least one other family of his plight, he and Antonio could be in trouble. He therefore wanted to keep Isabella as far away from danger as possible.

As he finished picking a rainbow of roses from the garden for Cynthia's grave, Lupe brought Isabella out to him. He gently lifted her out of the nanny's arms, handing the roses to Lupe. Isabella cooed at the sight of her daddy. "Ah,
mi
princessa preciosa
. Papa will always keep you safe from harm's way. This I promise."

“You seem distracted lately, Antonio. What’s worng?”Lydia asked.

Antonio looked up from his desk where he was going through the numbers from his coffee fields, oil reserves, and some of his illegal businesses. It appeared their venture with Simon Levine was paying off. He glanced up at his wife. She was scantily clad in a white lace nightgown. "Why haven't you gotten dressed?" Antonio asked, lighting a cigar. He looked up at the clock. "It's already eleven o'clock."

"I know what time it is. You’ve been down here in this study all morning. I’m tired of waking up alone, and going to bed alone. I need you."

"I'm busy," Antonio replied curtly. He didn't have time now for her nonsense. He'd been occupied with his new business deals, and thoughts of his son had become something of an obsession.

"Yes, I know. But even when you come to bed, you don't touch me any longer. At least, not like you used to.”

"For God sakes, you’ve just had a baby," he replied.

"No, I did
not
just have a baby, Antonio. Felicia is nearly a year old now. Believe me, I am completely healed."

Antonio knew she was right. But ever since Felicia’s birth and his discovery that Marta had borne his son, Antonio didn't view his wife in the same light. She was the mother of his children, but the loving feelings he once had for her weren't quite the same as before. His heart was elsewhere. "I'm sorry, I figured you weren't interested." He didn't know what else to say to her. "You seem so tired from caring for the baby.”

"Not interested? My God, Antonio, are you blind? And as for being tired, that's what nannies and maids are for. Every night, I come to bed wearing almost nothing at all. Instead of wrapping your arms around me when you lay down, you fall asleep at once, on your side of the bed. Am I that horrifying to you now? Is your mistress so beautiful that she has ruined you for me?"

"There is no other woman."

"I am not ignorant, Antonio. Of course, there are other women. Just remember who is the one who has given birth to two beautiful daughters for you.” She sighed. “But that is the problem, isn't it? I have not given you a son. How can I give you a son if you no longer make love to me?"

He stood up from behind his antique desk and walked around it, grabbing her by the arm. The rage he saw in her eyes surprised him. He knew he had to put out her fire before things grew any worse. Flinging her upon the gold-colored chaise opposite his desk he tore at her negligee. “Antonio,” she breathed. He kissed her neck sliding his fingers down her body and in between her legs where he caressed her. His lips traveled to her breasts. She called out his name again. He closed his eyes willing himself to become aroused along with her.

Lydia wrapped her hands around his soft penis and she gasped. “Antonio?”

He pulled away from her and stared angrily. “I can’t.”

“Why? Why can’t you? It’s me! It’s me?”

“No. No.” He reached out to her, trying to grab her by the shoulder. “Please. I’m sorry.” She walked out of the room. “Lydia,” he called out. “Come back. Please.”

He heard the door slam to their bedroom at the other end of the house. He placed his head in his hands. He had to go to her, find a way to make love to her. She was his wife and maybe if they had a son this would all change. He could forget about Marta, forget about the boy he wanted to know and raise.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the number to the best jeweler in town and asked him to send over his finest piece, something that would impress his wife. Tonight he would make all of it up to Lydia—his affairs, his love for another woman and the son whose blood was his own.

*****

Lydia didn’t like being ignored. It angered her more than anything else. She'd always been the princess, and now here was her husband, the man she doted on and had been completely faithful to, ignoring her and unable to make love to her. It was clear that his heart belonged to another. Lydia was not Antonio’s special princess any longer, and she knew it.

She walked through the flower garden, stopping to smell a yellow rose, which had come into full bloom. She looked back toward the house and could see the silhouette of her husband at his desk—always working. When they'd first met, she’d only been sixteen. He was ten years older than she was, and very powerful. The attraction between them had been like an irresistible magnet pulling them together. Out of respect for her and her respect for the Church, they waited until their wedding night to consummate their relationship. But when they did, the passion was incredible. There weren’t any words to describe the feelings that had encompassed her. Now, however, those feelings lay dormant within her, but for Antonio they seemed to be dead. It was obvious in the way he didn’t look at her, didn't talk to her, did not hold her. She longed and burned for someone to make her feel like a woman again—someone with warm, gentle loving hands.

She stood up from smelling the rose bush and was startled by hands that abruptly encircled her waist. She turned around in fright to face the culprit. It was Antonio’s brother Emilio. "You shouldn't have done that! You scared me."

"I’m sorry. I didn't mean to. What are you doing out here, looking so sad, like a lost soul?"

"Smelling the flowers and thinking."

"Ah,
thinking
, something you women seem to have such a knack for."

"What does that mean?" Lydia giggled, playfully pushing her brother-in-law so that he nearly lost his balance.

"It means women think
too much
. And it must be true, because it brought a smile to your face."

"You're incorrigible."

"And you're beautiful."

"Emilio . . ." she protested, feeling her face blush from the compliment.

"That's another problem with you women."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"You have no idea how to take flattery."

"That so?"

"Mhhmm. Look at you. I tell you that you're beautiful and you act like a schoolgirl."

"But coming from you…"

"I'm a grown man now. Besides, it's not like you're my grandmother. I know you’re not even five years older than I am. So for you to keep treating me as if I were a little boy is ludicrous."

"But you
are
a little boy. Grown man! Twenty-one is not a grown man for you. You are a silly little boy as far as I am concerned, and that won’t ever change." She laughed and tossed a yellow rose at him, then turned to run from him. He chased her throughout the garden, until he caught up with her and forced her to the ground. While he tickled her, both burst into laughter, until she faced him and their eyes met. Lydia struggled underneath him. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach and electricity ran down her spine. Her heart pounded through her silk blouse. She was certain Emilio could hear it.

"Emilio." It was Antonio yelling for his brother from the house. A smile spread across Emilio's face as he released Lydia. They stood up immediately and brushed themselves off.