The Cartel (30 page)

“Susanna,” the deep voice resounded behind her. She felt herself blush as she rose from her knees on the rough stones.

“Oh, hello, Father,” she answered.

“I wanted to let you know that Evening Mass has been changed this evening. I’m moving it up to five o’clock instead of six. I’m expecting a phone call tonight from my sister in France. She usually calls around six thirty.”

“All right, Father. Thank you. Are you and your sister close?”

“Yes. Bella and I call each other weekly, taking turns. The calls usually don’t interfere with Mass, but last week she said that her horse trainer had changed her training to an earlier time, so now she phones before she rides.”

“She’s an equestrienne, then?”

“Yes, and a good one too. She’ll be riding in a major horse trials in a couple of weeks. She hopes to make the Olympic team for Barcelona.”

“Are you going to her event?”

“I wish I could, but I’m needed here. She knows how much I want her to win, but it will be televised, so I’ll be able to watch it in my room.”

Relieved that he wasn’t going to be leaving, Susanna replied, “I would love to watch it as well.”

“Of course, you’re more than welcome to join me.”

“Thank you, Father.”

They both turned around as the sound of Mother Superior’s voice rang out, echoing through the open corridor. “Father, it’s urgent. It’s your father. He’s on the telephone.”

“Javier?”

“Yes. You must come now.”

Susanna watched as Father Miguel followed Mother Superior up to the office of the church where he could take the phone call. The pace of her heart quickened. Had she heard Father Miguel call his father “Javier?” No. It could not be. And Father Miguel’s sister—Bella? Bella Rodriguez? Javier and Cynthia’s daughter? Impossible. The night that Father was brought to the convent rushed back to her, when she was certain she’d recognized the voice of one of the men dropping him off, but no, it could not be. Father Miguel’s last name was Diaz. She said a silent prayer that her past was not catching up with her.

Emilio opened the door to his brother’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

Antonio sighed. “Yes.”

Antonio looked haggard. His eyes drooping, bags underneath them. He was slouched over in his chair. “I did.”

“Here I am.”

“Sit down.”

There was a tone in Antonio’s voice, Emilio had never heard before—sad—not quite sad, more beaten than anything. Emilio sat. “You’re worrying me.”

“I have to go to Mexico again. Carlotta had a heart attack and is dead.”

“This is what’s upsetting you? That witch that Javier married is dead and you’re upset by it?”

Antonio shook his head and waved his hand. “I could care less about her. Out of respect for my friend, I will attend her funeral and normally I would request that you make an appearance as well. However, I have something far more important for you to do, and because of this situation with Javier and because I am still planning on leaving for Italy next week, I have to ask you to take care of this.”

“Of course. What is it?”

Antonio stood and walked over to the bar in the corner of the room and made himself a drink. He swallowed it all before pouring another one and then sitting back down where he set his drink on the desk and placed his hands folded in front of him. He seemed to choose his words carefully as he started to speak slowly. “Have you ever been in love?”

“What?”

“I would guess that you have not. However, I have loved not only once with my whole heart to Lydia, but there was also another love in my life.” He sighed. “A very powerful love.”

“You’ve had many women I’m sure.” Emilio was sourly thrown back to that painful memory of witnessing Antonio take his beloved Marianna. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I have done many horrible things, and there is still time for me to make some of them right.”

“Jesus, Antonio, you sound like a wounded woman.” Emilio knew he was pushing it by speaking to his brother this way, but he wanted to slap the man who was usually so strong. Was
El Patrón
breaking for some reason? Was he losing his mind? If so, Emilio would be able to take it all over with ease.

“No, I am a wounded man and there are things that need to be done and I’m telling you what those things are.”

Emilio waited, not knowing what to say.

“This other woman that I loved died recently.”

“Sorry.” This was so strange. Emilio shifted uneasily in his chair.

“This woman had my son.”

Emilio gasped and fell back into his chair as if he’d been punched. “What did you say?”

“I have a son. His name is Alejandro Peña and he lives in Los Angeles.” Antonio handed him a piece of paper. “His address is in there. You are to go there and check on him. Make certain he is alright and keep an eye on him for awhile until you hear back from me.”

“Excuse me? I don’t understand.”

Antonio raised his voice finally. “You don’t have to understand. What you have to do is go and check on my son, and leave it at that. He’s lost his mother and all I want to do right now is make certain that he is all right. After that, I’ll figure out what to do.”

“How old is this boy?” Emilio asked.

“Almost twenty.”

Another gasp. “I see. Fine.” Emilio took the address and walked out the door. He made it to his Maserati and slammed his hands against the wheel. Antonio had a son?
Antonio had a son
. With this news, Emilio knew he would have to find a way to use this boy—this Alejandro Peña—to help him destroy his brother, because he wouldn’t allow some bastard prodigy his brother now seemed to want to claim, disrupt his plans to become
El Patrón
.

****

Emilio liked Los Angeles: the night clubs were great, drugs were abundant, and women crawled all over him. He'd been partying for a few nights and had heard through the grapevine that his brother was trying to locate him.
Fuck Antonio
. But he knew that Antonio would track him down if he didn’t report back to him before too long.

Emilio believed strongly that he would still be the
Patrón
and run the entire operation one day, and that day would come soon. His mind was already working on how the kid might be manipulated into being of great service to his own plans.

He drove past the address his brother had given him. “Down and out in little Tijuana,” he muttered through the blasting sounds coming from the rented limousine’s loudspeakers.

He decided to ask around about the kid and see if he could dig up any information. The first couple of places where he stopped were markets, and no one wanted to give him the time of day. The people he came across were poor Mexicans, who didn't like this rich guy coming around.

He finally pulled the limousine over to a group of young men, standing on a street corner. They all glared at him as he pulled up and got out.

"Hey
ése
, what you want round here?" one kid asked him. "You want some weed, man?"

"No way man. This dude, he want some blow, don't you?" another kid asked.

"Actually, I'm looking for a guy," Emilio replied.

"Hey, man, I guess we can't help you then."

Emilio pulled out a wad of cash. At the same time, he flashed the gun he carried in his holster. The young men looked at each other.

"You ain't no cop, is you, cuz?"

"No, I'm not the police. I'm looking for an old friend."

"Who you lookin’ for?"

"A kid named Alejandro Peña." Emilio could see in their eyes that the name registered.

"What you want with Alex,
ése
?"

"I wanna talk to him."

"He ain't available to be talking to. If you wanna talk to Alex, you gotta talk to me first."

"Is that so?" Emilio was feeling out the punk kid, not too sure how far he could push him. His instincts told him not to push too hard while all his buddies were still around.

"Yeah, man, so what's it gonna be? Either you talk to me or take a hike."

"Can we go for a drive and talk?"

"Oh, sure man. Like I'm gonna get in your car. What you think, I’m crazy or sometin’? No way,
ése
."

"My business with Alejandro is private. I wouldn't want to embarrass him by talking in front of his amigos." Emilio could see the kid’s doubt. He was looking him over again, full of suspicion.

"I dunno who you think you talkin’ to, man. But me and Alex are big people ‘round here. I ain't talkin to you no more. You had your chance. I don't like your business. I think you’d be a smart guy if you got the fuck out of here ‘fore my friends and I have to mess you up or sometin’."

Emilio put his hand over the revolver inside his jacket. He wanted to shoot this little smart-ass then and there, right in front of his amigos. But he knew he needed this punk to lead him to Antonio’s son.

“No problem,
amigo
. I’m leaving,” He announced, slowly backing away and walking around to the side of his car.

*****

“Hey man, there was this guy lookin’ for you today,” Hector told Alejandro.

"Oh, yeah, who?" Alex mumbled, not looking up at his friend. He was reading through a book of poems his mother used to read to him when he was a little boy. She'd been dead nearly a month, and his pain was as sharp as the day he watched her die. Elisa had begged him to move in with them and stay for a while, but he really hadn't felt like living with anyone. Besides, he couldn't bear to part with the home in which he was raised. It still contained so many memories of his mother that at times he would pretend she wasn’t dead, but on a vacation somewhere. She always talked about taking a trip. Maybe that’s where she really was, and this was a terrible nightmare.

"Didn't you hear me, man? I said some rich guy was out looking’ for you today. You in some trouble I don't know ‘bout?"

"No, I have no idea who it would be. Probably a mistake or something."

"No way, this guy wanted you. Don't worry though, I didn't tell him nothing."

"What do you think he wanted?"

"I dunno, said it was important. Maybe he wanna make a big deal or something. You know,
ése
, we big men round here now. Word is getting out."

"I doubt it. Besides, I think I want out." Alex couldn't help the nagging guilt he still felt over his mother's death. If only she had known that he wasn't angry with her before she died. But she hadn't known, and he'd been so cruel to her the night before. God, he hoped she knew how sorry he was. He missed her so much. Money didn’t matter to him the way it did before she was killed. Buying a mansion for himself didn’t hold the same appeal without her around.

"You what? You crazy or something? We're starting’ to make some cash. You can't back out now. No way. Besides, you gotta pay the rent somehow, and you ain't gonna do it flipping burgers at McDonald's."

Hector had a point. He also wanted to continue saving enough money to go to college; in hopes of making restitution for the pain he’d caused his mother. "Yeah, maybe so. It's my mother though. She wanted more for me, you know? She’s probably tossing in her grave, knowing what we been doing this past year."

"I don't mean your mama no disrespect or anything like that, but she's gone. There's nothing you can do, and we both know she'd want you to make it. If we keep it up, we're
gonna
make it, man, both of us—like we talked ‘bout. Besides, we don't sell nothing to our own kind. We ain't poisoning our families, only the
gringos
, blacks, and whoever else wants a piece—as long as it ain't our own.”

Hector was right about that. In a way, it made sense. Poison the rest of the world, but keep their own people straight, and one day they would rule—the Hispanic nation would rule. "Maybe you’re right.”

"Yeah, I'm right and you know it, too. You'll see man. I guarantee this guy today was looking to score big. Our man Jay may have turned him onto us.”

"He hasn't said anything to me about it."

"Hey amigo, I know it's been rough lately, someone could talk shit to you and you wouldn't notice.”

"I know. You think this man will come back again looking for me?" Alex was intrigued by the prospect of a big spender out to make a deal with him. Maybe they were becoming more powerful than he’d realized.

"Yeah man, he'll be back. He'll definitely be back. This guy was looking to score big, and he had the cash to do it with.”

“Then why didn’t he just talk to you?” Alex asked closing his book and walking over to get a Coke out of the fridge.

“I dunno. You the smart one. Maybe he hear you the business man in our game—and he look all biz, you know—so maybe he figure he better talk to you.”