Caught in the Act (6 page)

Ian felt a twinge of envy. He hadn’t had a blow job in ages.

Sonia avoided his gaze, but he saw the hard glint in her eye. She was the kind of woman who enjoyed the reward, not the task. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Chuy didn’t care what women liked.

Both Ian and Armando watched her go, appreciating the view. Armando didn’t bother to issue another warning; only a man with a death wish would touch Chuy’s property. Armando lifted his chin, gesturing for Ian to enter the office.

Chuy was sitting behind the desk, sweat dotting his forehead, his face languid with satisfaction. Lucky bastard. “What do you want?”

“The usual,” Ian said, tossing a wad of cash on the surface of the desk.

Chuy didn’t rush to fill the order, and the wait was nerve-racking. Ian never knew if he would end up looking down the barrel of an AK. Undercover officers got killed in the line of duty all the time. Whenever Ian made a buy, he was risking his life.

But he was also collecting useful information. Earning trust. Practicing mannerisms, playing his part. An anxious cop and a craving addict would exhibit some of the same behaviors, so he didn’t bother to hide his natural reaction to the stress. Chuy expected him to fidget, sweat, and stutter his words.

Ian had been raised by a junkie, immersed in a world of chaos and dysfunction, so he knew what dopesick looked like. For his mother, every day revolved around getting high. Ian had been surprised to discover
straight
people as a child.

Now he lived in a hovel apartment like a hard-core addict, under conditions similar to those he’d known as a kid. It would have been a nightmarish existence for anyone, and it was especially hard on Ian, but he had to stay strong.

He chose this. He liked living on the edge.

Finally Chuy handed Ian a small balloon, which he shoved into his pocket, not having to feign impatience.

“I’m getting a new shipment in soon. Some primo shit.”

Ian moistened his lips, torn between wanting to get the fuck out of there and needing to hear the scoop. “What kind?”

Chuy smiled lazily, his eyes half-lidded. Maybe he’d been chasing the dragon himself this afternoon. Either that, or Sonia did a lot better work on her knees than in the front lobby.
“Blanca nieves.”

Snow White.

White powder heroin was unusual in this area, where black tar ruled. Some addicts believed that one type was stronger than the other, but it really depended on the batch. All users were tempted by a unique mix that might take them to staggering heights.

A shipment of
nieve
could also be traced back to its source more easily. Different drugs meant new connections, new alliances … new leads.

“When?”

Chuy laughed at Ian’s eager expression. “You junkies are all the same. Freaking slaves to the high.”

Ian let his face go blank. “I prefer black myself.”

“Okay,” Chuy said, leaning back in his chair. He could bluff, too. “No problem.”

“My customers might want a sample,” Ian conceded.

Chuy shrugged, making no promises. “We’ll see.”

Muttering his thanks, Ian left the office. Armando was putting the finishing touches on a fist-sized wooden donkey. The animal was often referenced in the dealer-buyer relationship. Coyotes ran mules across the border, backpacks loaded with drugs.

Armando glanced up at him, arching a brow.

Ian’s mouth twisted at the implication. Chuy had just insulted him, and now Armando appeared to be suggesting that he was a stupid animal. If Ian didn’t feel the same way about drug slingers, he might have been offended.

“Later,” he said to Armando, walking away.

Of the two men, Ian would much rather wrangle with Chuy. He was a ruthless son of a bitch, straight up. Chuy Pena would shoot you in the face. Armando was
quieter, harder to read. He’d slide a knife between your ribs and you’d never see him coming.

Ian went “home,” his steps heavy. He didn’t want to dwell on the possible Maria sighting. Maybe he was cracking under pressure. His appetite was down due to low activity and high anxiety. He hadn’t been this lean since he was a teenager.

He felt weak, physically and mentally. Working out was his favorite stress reliever, but he couldn’t look too fit for the role. Most addicts didn’t lift weights, and the only time a junkie went running was when the cops were after him.

The apartment building Ian lived in consisted of standard, economical units. There were a few decent people here, trying to save money and get ahead, but many of the residents were addicts. On the outside, it was basic, cheap-looking, and worn down. Inside, the conditions deteriorated sharply. It wasn’t unusual to see a group of kids smoking pot or a prostitute taking a john up the stairs.

He locked the door, shutting them out, and lay down on his unmade bed. Staring at nothing. Thinking of Maria.

Kari didn’t get in touch with Sasha until late afternoon.

Her sister ignored most of her calls, and sometimes they went weeks without speaking. Kari was careful not to leave too many messages or hint at any trouble; Sasha avoided emotional drama like the plague.

When Sasha finally picked up, her voice was scratchy from sleep. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Sasha mumbled. In the background, cellophane from a cigarette pack rustled, followed by the flick of a lighter. “I have a headache.”

Kari’s spirits plummeted. Her sister complained of frequent migraines and often stayed in bed for days. So much for getting together right now. “I’d like to see you,” she said anyway. “Are you free tomorrow?”

Sasha took a drag of her cigarette, mumbling something about being tired. She was always tired—or busy. For a girl who didn’t work, go to college, or have any meaningful hobbies, she managed to stay very busy.

“I thought we might have dinner, do a little shopping.”

Sasha was quiet for a moment. “Shopping?”

“Yes,” Kari said, struck by inspiration. “I need a new dress.”

“For what?”

“A date,” she said, fingers crossed.

If there was anything Sasha was still interested in, besides shopping, it was Kari’s sex life. Or lack thereof. Whenever Kari expressed disapproval about Sasha’s relationship with Moreno or concern about her dangerous habits, Sasha was quick to criticize Kari’s solitary existence in return.

“With who?” Sasha asked, intrigued.

“A really hot guy,” she said, picturing Officer Cortez. “We just met at the store. He asked me out.”

“What does he look like?”

“Black hair, brown eyes.”

“How old?”

“Late twenties, I think.”

“Is he built?”

“Mm-hmm. Athletic, but not bulky. Kind of like a soccer player.”

“A soccer player?” Sasha exhaled with a rough laugh. “Sounds promising.”

“I don’t have anything sexy to wear.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Will you help me? You know so much more about clothes than I do. And we’re going out on Friday, so it’s kind of urgent.” Sasha used to dream about being a designer, so a fashion emergency was right up her alley.

“I don’t know.…”

“Come on, Sasha,” she said, almost there. “You cancelled our beach plans last week, and after I agreed to that awful bikini wax appointment—”

“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing again.

Kari clenched her hand into a fist and brought it closer to her body, a silent expression of victory. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anything to keep you from buying another shapeless hippie dress.”

She glanced down at her current outfit, frowning. It was a little bohemian, maybe, but not shapeless. She’d always favored comfortable, lightweight fabrics and simple styles. Her peasant blouses and gypsy skirts suited the store’s ambiance. Kari didn’t think she needed to change her work image. “Are they that bad?”

“They aren’t exactly cutting edge.”

“Next you’ll accuse me of wearing muumuus.”

“It’s a slippery slope,” Sasha warned. “This year loose frock, next year flowered housedress.”

Kari smiled at her sister’s wry tone. Sasha sounded sharp today, and upbeat despite her headache. It was a refreshing change from her typical drug haze. Sometimes
she slurred her words and nodded off in the middle of a conversation.

They decided to meet at the mall after work, and Kari hung up the phone, feeling optimistic. She hated lying to her sister, but it was the only way to get the job done. She had to speak with Sasha in person. Moreno often screened Sasha’s calls and monitored her activities. Kari prayed that her sister would show up tomorrow.

She turned the sign in the window to closed and went outside, crossing her arms over her chest. The setting sun bathed the storefront in bright gold, and the still-hot sidewalk warmed the soles of her leather sandals. Although rush hour was almost over, the neighborhood was far from quiet. Cars passed by at full speed, while women carrying groceries shuffled home.

Kari cupped a hand over her brow and glanced down the street, toward the Hotel del Oro. Maria was walking in her direction.

For some reason, the sight brought tears to Kari’s eyes. She’d had a long day boxing shipments in the storage room. Maria must have had a longer one, doing hard manual labor without the luxury of air-conditioning.

Kari waved, blinking away the tears. She realized that she’d been afraid Maria wouldn’t come back. They’d only known each other a short time, and Kari was already attached. Maybe some of her fears and concerns for Sasha had transferred to Maria. She’d been trying, and failing, to reconnect with her sister for years.

On impulse, she gave Maria a hello hug. Her body felt slender but not delicate. She was like a reed that bent but wouldn’t break.

“How did it go?” she asked, studying Maria’s tired, pretty face.

“Fine.”

Kari released her and went inside, gesturing for Maria to follow. “Did you see any of Moreno’s men?”

“No. I saw laundry, and bathrooms, and beds.”

Relieved, Kari locked the door behind her and grabbed her purse, setting the alarm before they stepped into the back alley. “I talked to my sister,” she said, walking toward her van. “We’re having dinner tomorrow.”

Maria climbed into the passenger side. “That’s good.”

“You remember the man from this morning?”

She closed her eyes with a sigh, as if pleased to be sitting down. “Who could forget him?”

“He’s the border officer I met yesterday.”

Her eyes flew open. “No!”

“Yes.”

“That is not good.”

Kari agreed that it wasn’t. “He said he was looking for a gift for his mother.”

Maria’s expression was doubtful. Then she narrowed her gaze on Kari’s décolletage. “Maybe he wanted another look at your
pechos
.”

“I don’t know,” Kari said. “He was very polite.”

“He did not act … strange?”

She pulled out of the parking lot, deliberating. If he suspected her of breaking the law, why hadn’t he questioned her officially? His behavior hadn’t been that of a man in search of an easy lay, either. She shivered, remembering the way he’d stared at her when she tried on the
rebozo
. Something weird had happened between them. For a moment it had seemed as though he’d been picturing her with a baby.
His
baby.

Kari gave herself a stern mental shake. That idea was
ridiculous. It was far more likely that he’d been imagining her naked—or in handcuffs.

“I saw someone also,” Maria said, letting her previous question drop.

“Who?”

“A guest at the hotel. I knew him.”

“You knew him?” Kari glanced from the road to Maria’s face. “How?”

She seemed pensive. “I told you that I came to the U.S. once before. I was lost in the desert. He … found me, I think.”

Kari’s mouth fell open. “You
think
he found you in the desert?”

“I was not well,” she explained, touching her throat. “I went to hospital.”

“My God,” Kari said.

“He was
la migra
, but very kind. I remember his eyes.”

“You’re sure it was him at the hotel?”

“No. He seemed different. Like a thief, or … 
una sombra
.”
A shadow
.

Kari was chilled by the description. For the first time, it occurred to her that Officer Cortez might be on Moreno’s payroll. The drug lord had deep pockets—of course he bribed members of law enforcement.

“Oh my God,” she repeated as the gravity of their predicament sank in. Would Sasha be safe in a witness protection program? Maybe she should cash out her bank account, kidnap her sister, and make a run for it.

“Don’t worry,” Maria said, rubbing her shoulder. “You talk to sister, I go back to hotel. We will be okay.”

Kari took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She
wished she could borrow half of Maria’s equanimity. “Do you think these men are working for Moreno? The one you saw at the hotel, and the border officer?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? In Mexico, some policemen are worse than criminals. We hide from them.”

“What do you do when you need help?”

Maria gave her a level stare. “We help ourselves.”

5

Karina Strauss didn’t act like a drug smuggler.