2016 - Betty Sue's Pancake House - Off Highway 10
Rosalie entered the bustling diner, a little jingle on the door announced her presence. A waitress nodded kindly, and told her to take a seat wherever she liked. She scanned the diner for her former boss and caught his quick jab in the air. As she walked over, she realised Rosen wasn't alone.
"Hi," she said, and the stranger rose from his seat politely, and offered his hand. The man looked to be in his late thirties, his dark hair was slicked back, and stray white hairs peppered his goatee. He looked tired physically, but his demeanor was ready and engaged.
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs Teller," he declared, and introduced himself as DEA Agent Kevin Jimenez.
"Yeah, likewise. Rosalie, please," she insisted and took a seat beside David Rosen. He shuffled back into the corner, sinking his body into the booth wall. One side-glance at his pursed lips told her enough: he was squirrelly; he didn't want to be here. Rosalie turned her attention to Jimenez, and asked him, bluntly, "what is it you want?"
"Okay. Yeah. I'll get right to the reason I'm gate-crashing your little catch-up," Jimenez suggested. He wasn't expecting her directness, but he spoke clearly and calmly.
"Hmm. I haven't seen him for two years, and this place was never really our scene, so yeah, please do, considering you're the entire reason for this 'catch-up'. What can I do for you, Agent Jimenez?"
A curt smile peaked in the corner of his mouth. He sat back a little and conceded, "your walls fired up the second I said DEA, and I get why...was an interesting read, for sure. But it's not about what you can do for me, it's about what you can do for Ezekiel Reyes."
"That's Mr Rosen's client," Rosalie asserted, with a sharp look his way, wavering for a second, horrified at the thought Rosen had left him hanging.
"Yep," Rosen nodded once, and slipped back into the wall.
"Yeah, he is. And, EZ doesn't need another lawyer, Rosalie, he needs a point of contact," Jimenez clarified, and handed over a packet of documents from his backpack, "hence our fortuitous meeting at this awful backwoods diner."
"He made a deal..." she uttered.
"Gets him out in a week, if you're on board, and I'm sure he would've mentioned it at your next weekly pow-wow, so don't look so offended," Jimenez said, smartly, and alluded to the packet she'd just stuffed in her bag, "you read that over, and I'll call you on this in two days' time, work out all the kinks." He slid a cell phone across the diner table, and then his voice quietened, but retained it's depth, "you speak to anyone other than me, from here on out, the deal goes away, and he stays exactly where he is for another six years."
"I worked my ass off to get him those 12 years. Must be one hell of a deal."
"I need you to assure me that you will not breathe a word of this to either his brother, or his father," Jimenez said, "I don't want to patronize you, counselor, but if need be I will remind you of the penalty of impeding on-"
"Why me?" Rosalie asked, flatly.
"It's you or nothing, and playing dumb ain't a good look on you. Our records show that you worked for Miguel Galindo in 2012, and rented a sizable property from him. You frequently interact with his current wife, your former protege, Emily Thomas, in both a personal and professional capacity-"
"You've been following me."
"Yes. I had to vet you," he said, without missing a beat, "and it turns out you also have good established access to the entire Reyes family. Your comings and goings won't raise any eyebrows: your relationship with Angel-"
Rosalie scoffed and said, "I'm not in a relationship with-"
"Sorry. My bad; figures you don't sneak around like that if it's a public thing. We'll go with your nice platonic friendship with Angel, yeah? Gets you in their house, time to time. Your kids meet the nanny halfway home from school, at Felipe's shop, and she gets them settled before heading on to her cleaning job in the evenings. You call Ezekiel once a week, but you're not his lawyer anymore, so you just call to shoot the shit, and that suggests he's your friend, hopefully not as platonic a friend as his brother, but all that says to me is...you care about him, so you'll do this for him."
"If that packet contains what I think it does...if you're going after what I think you're going after...then why even involve Ezekiel in this? Why not approach me directly?"
"It's all in the packet. He's my family, okay, and I think somewhere along the way he became yours. His involvement is your incentive, keeps you firmly on our side, keeps your allegiances from drifting back over, and blowing the whistle on this whole thing."
"That's...a risky play. You really think I care about a former client that much?"
"Yes. I do. Based the entire case around it."
Rosalie Teller's House - Bedroom - 3 months later
Rosalie groaned at the light trickling through the blinds on to her face and she fumbled around for her phone. She squinted at the time and grumbled, "shit. It's morning."
"Tends to happen," Angel grumbled back, and pulled the covers up over his head.
She scoffed and pushed herself up out of bed, and started tossing Angel's clothes at him. He made no signs of movement so she disappeared through to the en-suite and turned on the shower.
Angel took a groggy moment to himself, and then ambled after her. He slumped against the bathroom door-frame, and asked, "am I gonna see you tonight?"
"No. Kids are coming back tomorrow morning," she said and slipped her shirt off over her head.
Her children, Abel and Grace, would spend time with Abel's birth mother, Wendy, and their half-brother Thomas, on certain weekends. If she thought about it too much, or if anyone asked about the oddly cordial arrangement, it would completely weird her out, or send her spiraling through everything that had lead them up to this point. She absentmindedly caressed the scars on her torso, and stuffed it all back down; the kids loved going to Nero's farm, and she figured the more people that loved her children, the better, and left it at that.
"That's fine. I'll sneak out by then!" Angel grinned, captivated by the show before him.
She turned, covered herself coyly, and told him, "no, you won't."
"You're right, I won't," Angel said with a quick shrug, "better make the most of right now, then."
He pulled her into his arms, kissed her passionately, and helped her out of the remainder of her clothes. She squealed as he guided her backwards into the shower.
Department Store - Santo Padre
Rosalie absentmindedly picked up one of the knick-knacks on display and furrowed her brow, wondering what on earth one would ever need such a tiny bowl for. Emily watched her drift through the experience, clearly lost in her own mind, again. After watching another of her futile attempts to stifle a yawn, she commented, "you seem tired. You okay?"
"Hmm. Long day."
Emily laughed, and said, "it's lunch time. Did someone keep you up all night?"
"I was in bed at a reasonable hour."
"Were you in bed with someone at a reasonable hour?"
Rosalie rolled her eyes, and landed on an earnest face, and she nodded a little.
"Oh. Come on. Like a moth to a flame!" Emily giggled, "don't get me wrong, I get it. We all love a bad boy."
"Let's just focus, please. I have to get back soon," she requested, "right. What do you get the man that has absolutely everything? The man that wants for nothing."
"Rosalie, what a pleasant surprise," Miguel said, and turned to his trainer, "take five, Vince?"
"And here I thought I was the trainer," Vince laughed and sauntered away from them.
"What brings you here?" Miguel asked, grabbing the towel draped on the ropes.
"Devante said I would find you here," Rosalie said, and gestured to the envelope in her hand.
Miguel wiped his brow, came out of the boxing ring, and asked, "-and what's that?"
"The rent cheque you returned," Rosalie noted.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need your money, Rosalie," Miguel said, with a smirk.
"I need you to take my money, Miguel," Rosalie insisted, holding her ground.
He wavered and he spoke quieter, "if this is about what happened between us-"
She shook her head and took a step back, insisting, "this is about me...trying to do things the right way...and I'm asking you to be my friend and help me do that. Please?"
"I'd do anything for you...but I don't want to be your friend, Rosalie," Miguel said and took the cheque from her hands.
Emily's chuckling voice shattered the memory and dragged Rosalie back into the moment. She conceded, "okay. Yes. Miguel has everything he could ever want. I appreciate the futility of my task, thank you very much. Ugh, just help me pick out a watch, and we can call time of death on this thing."
The Corner Grille - Santo Padre
Rosalie's phone jingled as she waited for her takeout food. She read the text from Ezekiel: something came up. Sorry. Next one's on me. She sighed audibly, and glanced up at the window to the kitchen, they were all busily beavering away, preparing her sizable order, an order that was disproportionately Ezekiel's. She typed out an entire rant over the mountain of food that was going to waste without the resident hoover on board. But she settled on simply texting back: literally. He replied with a laughing face.
"Oh, you think I'm joking," she muttered under her breath, and smirked at the thought of it.
"Rosie? Twice in one day," Emily sang. She was headed out of the restaurant with her husband on her arm, hanging on to his every word; all heads turned their way, watching the Galindos with various degrees of discretion; it wasn't just any handsome couple passing by, everyone knew exactly who they were.
Rosalie scrunched up her shoulders, considered her options; she had none. She looked over with a polite grimace, and threw up a little wave, and then cursed internally: oh fucking fuck, they're not moving on with their evening, they actually want to talk to me. Goddammit. Why are you here? This isn't exactly a five-star establishment. The man in the kitchen hollered out, "order for Rosalie." Ah. Saved by the burritos. She made a polite 'excuse me' gesture to the Galindos and skulked up to the kitchen window and thanked Hector profusely for the food.
"Extra guacamole," he whispered and winked.
"They're gonna catch you one day, Hector. It's not too late to turn your life around," Rosalie said, sarcastically.
"Hey, here's hoping they do fire me," he scoffed back, "otherwise I'm dying here."
"Take me with you, Hector," she muttered, absentmindedly, "no? Where are you going?"
"Give my love to Alba, crazy lady," Hector sang and returned to his work.
Rosalie turned and faced the music. She saw Miguel had slipped out of the restaurant already, and was getting into a black sedan with Devante, talking pointedly with his hands. Emily was still waiting cheerfully for Rosalie to grab her food.
"Miguel apologizes for dashing away. Urgent business. Even on his birthday," Emily explained, as the car disappeared from sight.
Rosalie hummed in response, quietly grateful for one of the many, many downsides to Cartel leadership; you never get a day off, you're always whisked away to deal with the next crisis; crime doesn't tend to observe public holidays or family celebrations.
"No offence to Hector's fine food, but this isn't exactly where I pictured Miguel Galindo celebrating his birthday," Rosalie joked.
"It's his favourite place. It's where he met me for the first time, you remember? That pot-luck, fundraiser thing for the department."
"I love the way your eyes light up every time you see me," Miguel whispered back, "can't get enough of that."
"You mean, behind the frown, and the scowl?" Rosalie asked, sarcastically.
"And the rolling of your eyes, yes, right there, that's the look I crave. I just can't get enough," Miguel replied and told her, very closely, "you look stunning this evening, by the way, truly."
"Will I ever walk into a function and not find you there, Miguel?" Rosalie asked him.
"I'm on the board of tonight's biggest donor," Miguel said, nonchalantly.
"Of course you are," Rosalie whispered.
"You're welcome. You know, Helena made good on her promise, but you decided to blow her off, which is a little odd to me, considering you'd be making three or four times your current salary at her firm. How are you fitting in with the ne'er do wells?"
Rosalie took exception to that, and assured him, passionately, "I'm doing fulfilling work. And I can sleep at night. So, it's a perfect fit."
He reveled in the response, in her animation, in how easy it was to get her there. He pushed his luck and whispered back, "we were a perfect fit."
"They were out of red," Emily said after slipping her way back through the crowd, and passed Rosalie a glass of white wine. Her eyes widened taking in the tall, handsome man chatting to her boss.
"Criminal. I don't believe we've met. Miguel Galindo," he said, and extended his hand.
"This is Emily Thomas," Rosalie said, noting that Emily was a little flustered by him, "my intern at the Legal Aid department."
"An absolute pleasure," Miguel said, holding onto Emily's hand a beat too long before conceding, "forgive me, ladies. I'm needed elsewhere. Have a pleasant evening."
He kissed Rosalie goodnight on the cheek, his hand brushing slowly down her neck as they parted.
"Is-is that your boyfriend?" Emily asked, as she watched him walk away.
"No. Nope. Nope. Acquaintance."
"Are you feeding a small army?" Emily joked, and referenced the two stuffed take-out bags.
"Um...nope. Not really, you uh, you'd be surprised at what those kids can go through. And I got Alba a little something, too."
"Let me give you a ride home," Emily offered and asked her driver, "Gabriel, you don't mind if we take a quick detour do you-"
"Oh. That's not necessary," Rosalie said, "I can get a cab-"
"Nonsense. I won't have it." Emily smiled, and whispered, coyly, "or are you wanting dropped off at someone else's? That's totally fine, too."
Rosalie's eyes widened, and she laughed, "no. Nope. My house will do. Thank you."