The next morning Estrella, Sands, and El left Ramirez's house before
dawn. Estrella drove, and El sat silently in the passenger's seat, his
arms folded across his chest.
Sands rode in the back, voicing an occasional bitter complaint about the earliness of the hour, the company, the car, etc. He had been woken repeatedly during the night by pain from the injuries he sustained from the fight with the police, and in the morning his body had been a patchwork quilt of spreading black and blue bruises, which did nothing to improve his mood.
El and Estrella seemed to have reached an unspoken consensus, and ignored him completely.
****
Two days and one minor scuffle between El and Sands later, they arrived in Cancun.
The Cancun area is a place of incredible contrast, where one may find, within a five mile radius, an exclusive resort community for rich foreigners, a handful of local churches, an expensive chain of luxury hotels, and perhaps a score of local families, living in such poverty and squalor that day to day survival for them is no longer a given, but a gift.
The irony of it all wasn't lost on Sands. It was a fitting place to meet a cartel lord.
*****
They checked into a cheap roadside motel on the outskirts of the city, one that had clearly seen better days at some point in the very distant past. The door to their room, which sported a rusty number three and peeling green paint, had been kicked in so many times that the lock no longer worked at all, and the doorknob rattled dangerously as it was turned, threatening to fall off completely.
The inside was, if anything, worse. There were two narrow beds, a beat up lamp on a cheap, wobbly nightstand, and a tiny bathroom, which came complete with cockroaches, no doubt compliments of the cleaning staff.
Estrella made that particular discovery.
Sands grinned when she told him, and mimed shooting.
El made no comment on their accommodations, merely getting his guitar case out of the trunk of the car and dropping it onto the bed nearer to the door.
Sands threw himself down on the other bed, stretched his legs out on the grimy blankets, and folded his arms behind his head.
"Comfy?" Estrella asked dryly.
"Oh yeah," said Sands, matching her tone perfectly. "Definitely. I must say, I've stayed in a lot of real dives in this shithole country, but I think this one takes the prize for worst yet." He ran a hand over the blankets and rubbed his fingers together, looking speculative. "I wonder if the front desk, or should I say, front card table, offers a complimentary de-lousing service?"
"I doubt it," Estrella retorted. "It would ruin the ambiance, don't you think?"
"Right," said Sands vaguely. "Anyway, we see the Guerros tomorrow?"
"Si."
"Where? In the city?"
El, sitting on his bed sharpening a knife, spoke up for the first time. "They will meet us on their territory. A resort, no?"
"El Sol de Oro," Estrella supplied. "The cartel's biggest US customers meet with them there, so they must figure their security is good enough to deal with two scruffy Mexicans and an even scruffier American, should we choose to try anything."
"Why the **** would we try anything?" Sands drawled. "We've been good little boys and girls, coming when they called to meet them on their terms on their turf. Why shouldn't they trust us?"
"Legends play by their own rules," Estrella said softly. "You, doubly so. They will take no chances"
Sands grinned and spread his hands in a what-can-I-say gesture.
"But that is tomorrow," she continued. "Tonight, I think we'll visit an old friend of mine in the city. Who knows, we may even hear something interesting while we're there."
***********************************************************************
It was dusk by the time they reached the true heart of the city, and another twenty minutes before they pulled up outside a dilapidated building sporting a flickering sign that read "La Rosa Blanca".
The door, painted black with chipping paint, was open to the warm Mexican night, and the sounds of a party in full swing drifted out; loud music and people talking, laughing, cheering, screaming. Garish light flooded out the open door, creating bright rectangles of color on the street outside.
Sands, of course, could see none of this. Instead, he listened closely, and noted that the vast majority of the voices he could hear were male, and judging by some of the things they were saying...
"Your friend is a stripper?" he asked Estrella in amused disbelief. "Why Estrella, I had no idea you went in for that sort of thing."
"Very funny," she drawled. "No, my friend owns this place. He'll be upstairs- follow me."
Sands stayed fairly close behind her as she led them up three cracked concrete steps and through the door. He could hear El walking just behind him. The mariachi hadn't seemed at all surprised by their destination, and Sands wondered about that. What did El know about this 'friend'?
The place was packed with people, mostly tourists with a scattering of locals (those with money), most of whom were involved in the tourist trade in one way or another. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the smell of alcohol, and the unique heat of a lot of people packed into a relatively small space.
"This friend of yours," he half-shouted to Estrella over the pounding music that threatened to make him deaf as well as blind, "How do you know him?"
"I used to work here," Estrella called back.
That brought him up short. "What?"
"Yeah," she continued, still pushing her way through the crowd. "You remember I mentioned lying low for a while after the fiasco with my uncle?"
If he'd had eyes, Sands would have been staring in shock. "You were a-"
"Singer," she cut in, smoothly and firmly. "And only that. Oh, and I helped clean up after hours."
"Oh," he said, regaining some of his composure. "Why here?"
"I knew I could trust Diego- my friend," she explained, stopping just short of the far wall. Sands almost ran into her before he too halted, automatically turning partially around so as not to present his back to the room. "And let's face it, who would look for me here?"
Sands nodded, surreptitiously touching the wall behind him. His fingers encountered grimy plaster, and a wooden doorframe. He made a sweeping, ascending gesture. "Shall we?"
"El and I, yes," she replied. "You, no."
"Why?" he demanded sharply. "Why not?"
"If things go sour, I'd rather you were down here, watching the entrance- and the exit," she confessed, and paused. He could almost see her wicked grin. "Well, figuratively speaking."
"You're expecting trouble? I thought this guy was your friend."
"He is," she said dismissively. "But, ah, I had to leave without saying goodbye, last time. The cartel were getting close to finding me here, and it was... time to leave."
"Right," Sands said softly, hearing the creak of hinges as the door opened and closed.
"Right."
************************************************************************
Estrella marched up the creaky wooden stairs with a lot more confidence than she was actually feeling, conscious of El trailing behind her. She had told Sands the truth when she said why she left... mostly.
The cartel had indeed been close to finding her. As in, just downstairs close. Most of the 'girls' who had worked with her had found out, sooner or later, who she was, and she strongly suspected that, friendship or no, one of them had sold her out. She had had to go out the window in the middle of the night to escape CIA Agent Thompson, who had continued following her until at last she dealt with him in a slightly more permanent fashion.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she knocked at another closed door, this one painted green.
A gruff voice answered in thickly accented English, "If you are looking for a job, I have no place open right now, so go away!"
"Ah, but what if I'm not looking for a job, but for an employer?" Estrella replied impudently.
The door creaked open, and a short, round, balding man in his mid- fifties pulled her into a tight embrace. She could smell cigarette smoke on the man's clothes.
"Hola Diego," she said conversationally, freeing herself and stepping back to survey him with a smile.
"Estrella!" he wheezed, returning her smile, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than ever. "It is so good to see you!"
"You too, Diego," Estrella replied sincerely.
"What brings you back here to Cancun?" he asked, then raised a pudgy hand when she started to speak. "No, don't tell me, for this I know. You seek the Guerros, no?"
Estrella shook her head in wonder. "Si, but how did you know?" The slightest hint of an edge crept into her voice.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "It couldn't be just to see me, considering I didn't even merit a 'goodbye' last time!"
"I'm sorry about that," she said composedly, her tone cooling a degree or two. "It wasn't my fault, as I suspect you well know."
"Of course not, of course not," he said genially, still smiling disarmingly at her. "I trust you dealt with Thompson?"
"Sure," she drawled. "I decided to have a little chat with him, in the end."
Diego's grin became rather predatory. "Matarlo?"
Estrella smirked. "Oh yeah, very matarlo."
Diego nodded, and shifted his attention to El for a moment. "And who is your friend?"
Thinking fast, Estrella slid her hand into El's possessively. He was so surprised that he didn't react for a moment, so she stood on his foot. His fingers closed around hers. "This is Tomas," she said quickly, smiling fondly at him.
Diego stared for a moment, then gave her a knowing wink, and said, "You see? I told you it would happen one day. Well, come in, both of you! Sit down; tell me what has been happening!"
************************************************************************
Sands sat in a corner at a small, round table, his back against the wall, his chair rocked back on two legs. A tequila and lime sat untouched before him, making a new ring on the battered tabletop.
He'd already turned down two offers of companionship, and rather strongly suspected that a third was coming.
Sure enough, he heard the scrape of the chair across from him being pulled out, and the creak of someone sitting down on it.
"And what do you want?" he asked without preamble, his voice a bored drawl.
"Just to talk, for now," a woman's voice answered. Though accented, her speech was perfectly understandable, and her tone was almost musical.
"Why?"
"It's unusual for someone to come to this place alone," the woman told him. "Don't you have any friends?"
Sands favored her with a bitter laugh. "Not at the moment."
"Por que?" she asked, sounding mildly curious.
************************************************************************
Diego's "office" was little more than few chairs and a very abused- looking desk, with a few papers and no few empty glasses scattered across its surface. He sat behind the desk, with El and Estrella across from him. There was also a large stack of money, weighted down by yet another glass, this one only half-empty.
"Good night, Diego?" Estrella drawled, indicating the cash with a sweep of one hand.
"Very," he answered with a smile. "Tourist season, you know?"
She laughed. "It's always tourist season in Cancun, Diego."
He shrugged.
"Anyway," she continued, leaning forward slightly, "How did you know we were here to see the Guerros?"
He smiled enigmatically. "What else could bring you back here?"
Estrella grinned lopsidedly at him. "Point. What else do you know?"
He spread his hands. "I've heard they're offering a lot of money for some American they want- a CIA agent, I've heard, but I don't know his name. They must have asked you to find him, and if you are here, that must mean that you have, am I right?"
Estrella inclined her head in the affirmative. "I have a fair idea of where he is at the moment, yeah."
Diego smiled. "That's my girl. Knowing you, you will want to bring this Sands in yourself, no?"
************************************************************************
"Porque," Sands said dryly, "Most people find me, ah, hard to get along with."
The woman laughed softly and slid her chair around so that she was closer to him. She brushed playfully against him a little, and said, "Oh, I don't think you're that bad, myself."
Sands smiled. "No?"
"No," she echoed, easing even closer. "Not at all. In fact," her tone became a little more commanding, "I think you can come with me now."
The cold barrel of a gun was suddenly digging into his ribs. The woman leaned over him, running the fingers of her free hand over his face, tracing her fingertips under the edge of his sunglasses, just brushing the edge of his empty eye sockets. He flinched.
"Yes," she whispered. "You're the one I've been looking for."
************************************************************************
Estrella froze. "I thought you said you didn't know his name."
Diego smiled again. "Did I? Well, it hardly matters now." He brought his right hand above the edge of the desk. He held a gun, trained on her heart.
"Diego, what-" she began, but he cut her off.
"Just stay here for a little while, Estrella," he said, his voice quite flat now. "They have your friend downstairs now, and soon they will come for you."
Estrella's mouth was suddenly very dry. "They?"
Diego glanced significantly at the money still on his desk. "The Barillos, of course. They paid me well to delay you here. They knew about the Guerro meeting, of course; it is their business to know. They also knew that if you were in Cancun, you would probably come back to see me, so..." He shrugged, and gave a little what-can-I-say smile.
A moment passed in stunned silence, then Diego added softly, mockingly, "Remarkable. I expect you tire of hearing it, but you do look remarkably like your cousin- Marisa."
Sands rode in the back, voicing an occasional bitter complaint about the earliness of the hour, the company, the car, etc. He had been woken repeatedly during the night by pain from the injuries he sustained from the fight with the police, and in the morning his body had been a patchwork quilt of spreading black and blue bruises, which did nothing to improve his mood.
El and Estrella seemed to have reached an unspoken consensus, and ignored him completely.
****
Two days and one minor scuffle between El and Sands later, they arrived in Cancun.
The Cancun area is a place of incredible contrast, where one may find, within a five mile radius, an exclusive resort community for rich foreigners, a handful of local churches, an expensive chain of luxury hotels, and perhaps a score of local families, living in such poverty and squalor that day to day survival for them is no longer a given, but a gift.
The irony of it all wasn't lost on Sands. It was a fitting place to meet a cartel lord.
*****
They checked into a cheap roadside motel on the outskirts of the city, one that had clearly seen better days at some point in the very distant past. The door to their room, which sported a rusty number three and peeling green paint, had been kicked in so many times that the lock no longer worked at all, and the doorknob rattled dangerously as it was turned, threatening to fall off completely.
The inside was, if anything, worse. There were two narrow beds, a beat up lamp on a cheap, wobbly nightstand, and a tiny bathroom, which came complete with cockroaches, no doubt compliments of the cleaning staff.
Estrella made that particular discovery.
Sands grinned when she told him, and mimed shooting.
El made no comment on their accommodations, merely getting his guitar case out of the trunk of the car and dropping it onto the bed nearer to the door.
Sands threw himself down on the other bed, stretched his legs out on the grimy blankets, and folded his arms behind his head.
"Comfy?" Estrella asked dryly.
"Oh yeah," said Sands, matching her tone perfectly. "Definitely. I must say, I've stayed in a lot of real dives in this shithole country, but I think this one takes the prize for worst yet." He ran a hand over the blankets and rubbed his fingers together, looking speculative. "I wonder if the front desk, or should I say, front card table, offers a complimentary de-lousing service?"
"I doubt it," Estrella retorted. "It would ruin the ambiance, don't you think?"
"Right," said Sands vaguely. "Anyway, we see the Guerros tomorrow?"
"Si."
"Where? In the city?"
El, sitting on his bed sharpening a knife, spoke up for the first time. "They will meet us on their territory. A resort, no?"
"El Sol de Oro," Estrella supplied. "The cartel's biggest US customers meet with them there, so they must figure their security is good enough to deal with two scruffy Mexicans and an even scruffier American, should we choose to try anything."
"Why the **** would we try anything?" Sands drawled. "We've been good little boys and girls, coming when they called to meet them on their terms on their turf. Why shouldn't they trust us?"
"Legends play by their own rules," Estrella said softly. "You, doubly so. They will take no chances"
Sands grinned and spread his hands in a what-can-I-say gesture.
"But that is tomorrow," she continued. "Tonight, I think we'll visit an old friend of mine in the city. Who knows, we may even hear something interesting while we're there."
***********************************************************************
It was dusk by the time they reached the true heart of the city, and another twenty minutes before they pulled up outside a dilapidated building sporting a flickering sign that read "La Rosa Blanca".
The door, painted black with chipping paint, was open to the warm Mexican night, and the sounds of a party in full swing drifted out; loud music and people talking, laughing, cheering, screaming. Garish light flooded out the open door, creating bright rectangles of color on the street outside.
Sands, of course, could see none of this. Instead, he listened closely, and noted that the vast majority of the voices he could hear were male, and judging by some of the things they were saying...
"Your friend is a stripper?" he asked Estrella in amused disbelief. "Why Estrella, I had no idea you went in for that sort of thing."
"Very funny," she drawled. "No, my friend owns this place. He'll be upstairs- follow me."
Sands stayed fairly close behind her as she led them up three cracked concrete steps and through the door. He could hear El walking just behind him. The mariachi hadn't seemed at all surprised by their destination, and Sands wondered about that. What did El know about this 'friend'?
The place was packed with people, mostly tourists with a scattering of locals (those with money), most of whom were involved in the tourist trade in one way or another. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the smell of alcohol, and the unique heat of a lot of people packed into a relatively small space.
"This friend of yours," he half-shouted to Estrella over the pounding music that threatened to make him deaf as well as blind, "How do you know him?"
"I used to work here," Estrella called back.
That brought him up short. "What?"
"Yeah," she continued, still pushing her way through the crowd. "You remember I mentioned lying low for a while after the fiasco with my uncle?"
If he'd had eyes, Sands would have been staring in shock. "You were a-"
"Singer," she cut in, smoothly and firmly. "And only that. Oh, and I helped clean up after hours."
"Oh," he said, regaining some of his composure. "Why here?"
"I knew I could trust Diego- my friend," she explained, stopping just short of the far wall. Sands almost ran into her before he too halted, automatically turning partially around so as not to present his back to the room. "And let's face it, who would look for me here?"
Sands nodded, surreptitiously touching the wall behind him. His fingers encountered grimy plaster, and a wooden doorframe. He made a sweeping, ascending gesture. "Shall we?"
"El and I, yes," she replied. "You, no."
"Why?" he demanded sharply. "Why not?"
"If things go sour, I'd rather you were down here, watching the entrance- and the exit," she confessed, and paused. He could almost see her wicked grin. "Well, figuratively speaking."
"You're expecting trouble? I thought this guy was your friend."
"He is," she said dismissively. "But, ah, I had to leave without saying goodbye, last time. The cartel were getting close to finding me here, and it was... time to leave."
"Right," Sands said softly, hearing the creak of hinges as the door opened and closed.
"Right."
************************************************************************
Estrella marched up the creaky wooden stairs with a lot more confidence than she was actually feeling, conscious of El trailing behind her. She had told Sands the truth when she said why she left... mostly.
The cartel had indeed been close to finding her. As in, just downstairs close. Most of the 'girls' who had worked with her had found out, sooner or later, who she was, and she strongly suspected that, friendship or no, one of them had sold her out. She had had to go out the window in the middle of the night to escape CIA Agent Thompson, who had continued following her until at last she dealt with him in a slightly more permanent fashion.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she knocked at another closed door, this one painted green.
A gruff voice answered in thickly accented English, "If you are looking for a job, I have no place open right now, so go away!"
"Ah, but what if I'm not looking for a job, but for an employer?" Estrella replied impudently.
The door creaked open, and a short, round, balding man in his mid- fifties pulled her into a tight embrace. She could smell cigarette smoke on the man's clothes.
"Hola Diego," she said conversationally, freeing herself and stepping back to survey him with a smile.
"Estrella!" he wheezed, returning her smile, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than ever. "It is so good to see you!"
"You too, Diego," Estrella replied sincerely.
"What brings you back here to Cancun?" he asked, then raised a pudgy hand when she started to speak. "No, don't tell me, for this I know. You seek the Guerros, no?"
Estrella shook her head in wonder. "Si, but how did you know?" The slightest hint of an edge crept into her voice.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "It couldn't be just to see me, considering I didn't even merit a 'goodbye' last time!"
"I'm sorry about that," she said composedly, her tone cooling a degree or two. "It wasn't my fault, as I suspect you well know."
"Of course not, of course not," he said genially, still smiling disarmingly at her. "I trust you dealt with Thompson?"
"Sure," she drawled. "I decided to have a little chat with him, in the end."
Diego's grin became rather predatory. "Matarlo?"
Estrella smirked. "Oh yeah, very matarlo."
Diego nodded, and shifted his attention to El for a moment. "And who is your friend?"
Thinking fast, Estrella slid her hand into El's possessively. He was so surprised that he didn't react for a moment, so she stood on his foot. His fingers closed around hers. "This is Tomas," she said quickly, smiling fondly at him.
Diego stared for a moment, then gave her a knowing wink, and said, "You see? I told you it would happen one day. Well, come in, both of you! Sit down; tell me what has been happening!"
************************************************************************
Sands sat in a corner at a small, round table, his back against the wall, his chair rocked back on two legs. A tequila and lime sat untouched before him, making a new ring on the battered tabletop.
He'd already turned down two offers of companionship, and rather strongly suspected that a third was coming.
Sure enough, he heard the scrape of the chair across from him being pulled out, and the creak of someone sitting down on it.
"And what do you want?" he asked without preamble, his voice a bored drawl.
"Just to talk, for now," a woman's voice answered. Though accented, her speech was perfectly understandable, and her tone was almost musical.
"Why?"
"It's unusual for someone to come to this place alone," the woman told him. "Don't you have any friends?"
Sands favored her with a bitter laugh. "Not at the moment."
"Por que?" she asked, sounding mildly curious.
************************************************************************
Diego's "office" was little more than few chairs and a very abused- looking desk, with a few papers and no few empty glasses scattered across its surface. He sat behind the desk, with El and Estrella across from him. There was also a large stack of money, weighted down by yet another glass, this one only half-empty.
"Good night, Diego?" Estrella drawled, indicating the cash with a sweep of one hand.
"Very," he answered with a smile. "Tourist season, you know?"
She laughed. "It's always tourist season in Cancun, Diego."
He shrugged.
"Anyway," she continued, leaning forward slightly, "How did you know we were here to see the Guerros?"
He smiled enigmatically. "What else could bring you back here?"
Estrella grinned lopsidedly at him. "Point. What else do you know?"
He spread his hands. "I've heard they're offering a lot of money for some American they want- a CIA agent, I've heard, but I don't know his name. They must have asked you to find him, and if you are here, that must mean that you have, am I right?"
Estrella inclined her head in the affirmative. "I have a fair idea of where he is at the moment, yeah."
Diego smiled. "That's my girl. Knowing you, you will want to bring this Sands in yourself, no?"
************************************************************************
"Porque," Sands said dryly, "Most people find me, ah, hard to get along with."
The woman laughed softly and slid her chair around so that she was closer to him. She brushed playfully against him a little, and said, "Oh, I don't think you're that bad, myself."
Sands smiled. "No?"
"No," she echoed, easing even closer. "Not at all. In fact," her tone became a little more commanding, "I think you can come with me now."
The cold barrel of a gun was suddenly digging into his ribs. The woman leaned over him, running the fingers of her free hand over his face, tracing her fingertips under the edge of his sunglasses, just brushing the edge of his empty eye sockets. He flinched.
"Yes," she whispered. "You're the one I've been looking for."
************************************************************************
Estrella froze. "I thought you said you didn't know his name."
Diego smiled again. "Did I? Well, it hardly matters now." He brought his right hand above the edge of the desk. He held a gun, trained on her heart.
"Diego, what-" she began, but he cut her off.
"Just stay here for a little while, Estrella," he said, his voice quite flat now. "They have your friend downstairs now, and soon they will come for you."
Estrella's mouth was suddenly very dry. "They?"
Diego glanced significantly at the money still on his desk. "The Barillos, of course. They paid me well to delay you here. They knew about the Guerro meeting, of course; it is their business to know. They also knew that if you were in Cancun, you would probably come back to see me, so..." He shrugged, and gave a little what-can-I-say smile.
A moment passed in stunned silence, then Diego added softly, mockingly, "Remarkable. I expect you tire of hearing it, but you do look remarkably like your cousin- Marisa."