8. / Business Lunch
There's a restaurant near the cathedral, and it's there that his brother leads him. The fact that Manito hasn't disarmed him doesn't relieve his concern; he remembers the blur of those spring-loaded pistols appearing in his brother's hands to cut him down. Cooperation is his best option, at least for now.
The man in sunglasses sits at a strategic table. "There you are, El. What kept you?" Silver mirrors sweep him, and Lisiado feels his stomach churning again. I'm too damned old for all this intrigue, he thinks. The second man is American, according to his accent, and consuming a plate of something so spicy that Lisiado's eyes water just from being downwind. There's a glass of lime-garnished tequila, neat, beside his plate.
"Sands, meet Lisiado. He works for the Gomez cartel, and he has information you need to hear. Tell him what you told me," Manito orders him. Lately, he's been bossed around by that young snot Ernesto, old Philomena, and now his kid brother. What next?
"What, you actually had a survivor this time? You know, El, if you keep shooting up their cathedral--"
"There were no shots fired," says his brother flatly, pulling out a chair as Lisiado shifts uncertainly.
"Sit down, sit down!" Sands waves him to a seat with a feral grin as a waitress appears to take orders from the newcomers. "So, tell me, Lisiado--you did say Lisiado? Interesting. So, what brings you here?"
Lisiado risks a glance at Manito, who regards him with nothing in his expression to tell what he's thinking. Hesitantly at first, Lisiado begins to outline the cracks beginning to appear in the Gomez organization. How Nestor, bound for prison, set his two oldest sons in charge of his operations in Guadalajara and Culiacan, and how Eduardo's murder has unleashed Ernesto's bid for power.
"I thought Ernesto was behind the raid as a way to kill Eduardo and make it look like the work of our enemies," he concludes. He meets Manito's eyes for a brief moment. "Now I don't know what to think."
Sands clears his throat.
"So, which side are you on, Lisiado? You just said 'our' enemies. You count yourself as a Gomez?"
He hasn't yet determined the balance of power here. This intense man with his fancy sunglasses makes Lisiado nervous, which is rare. How much is it safe to tell him? "My wife is Nestor's step-daughter. She is half-sister to the boys through their mother."
Sands nods. "Extended family. I'll ask you again, last chance - whose side are you on?"
"I am on whatever side will let me watch my son grow up," he answers, not letting himself look away from the reflective silver lenses, which show a neutral expression on his face. He won't show fear. Who is this bastard, Sands?
An eyebrow crooks above the curve of the frames. "Is he in line for succession?"
"Distantly. But that's not what I want for him!" Ché isn't going to be some thug with a gun, or even a thug in a nice suit. A father's pride is evident as he speaks of his son's gift for mechanical things, how Nestor promised to educate the boy someday. Manito gazes at him, and Lisiado recalls that another of Marquez's victims was his brother's child. He stops, not wishing to rub more salt into a wound he doesn't even want to imagine.
"Meanwhile, there are still two brothers left, am I right? Ernesto, and your little friend Esteban." Sands ignores the tension between the two.
"That's right. Also Eduardo's daughter, Marisol. She's only thirteen." Esteban is twenty-two, technically old enough not to need a trustee, but he's not going to tell that to this ruthless American.
"Too young," Sands says, shaking his head. "Not a factor, except for future heirs. And your woman...what's her name?"
"Dolores, but she's not trained in the business, there's no chance of her succeeding."
"What about you?"
"Me?" he coughs. "No! Impossible." But is it? The thought sends a charge of electricity through his veins. To be in control again, knowing what he knows now...suddenly, it's a little easier to breathe. The idea is seductive. A part of himself that he's fought against, the arrogance that brought him down, has missed the power, the control...no! How can he think of such a thing? To go back to being what he was?
"Sands," Manito interrupts, looking up from his plate of rice, "why are you suggesting this?"
Sands grins at them. "Ever heard the saying, 'The devil you know is better than the devil you don't.'? Think about it, El. This guy takes charge of Culiacan, as advisor or guardian for this Esteban kid. We've got him in our pocket, and we can keep things from getting out of control."
"What makes you think you can control him?" demands Manito. "Are you loco?"
"Of course we'll be able to control him," says Sands, as if to a slow child. "He's going to do whatever we tell him to, because we're going to have a hostage."
"You're not making any sense," Manito dismisses him. Lisiado isn't sure this is safe; the other man may be crazy, he has a feeling. There is something...not right...about him, about this whole conversation. Lisiado feels the gun itching at the small of his back, but he doesn't dare reach to scratch it. These two are alert to his every move. This man, Sands, is he the leader of whatever organization has been acting against their Culiacan branch? Is Manito his Lieutenant? His enforcer? And what is he talking about, a hostage?
"Think about it, El," Sands repeats. "He talks this Ernesto into letting him and Esteban take over ops in Culiacan. It'll work, because it gets the kid brother out of the way, and then we'll have a mole inside. We can bring them down a piece at a time. It's simple," he continues, around a bite of pork. Sands points a fork at Manito. "He's not going to pull any shit if you're keeping his kid."
They both stare at Sands in shock. "Sands," growls Manito, sounding like there's a bone caught in his throat.
Lisiado thinks: Ché might be better off. Hasn't he often wished there was someone to take custody of him, to keep him away from the cartel environment completely? Although his younger brother's lifestyle still seems to be a little on the wild side...
"Hey, it'll keep you busy. Wouldn't it be fun to have a kid around? Look at Manolo. He's a useful little bastard." If Lisiado wasn't sure about what kind of man his brother was, Sands's malicious glee would scare the hell out of him.
"For how long?" demands Manito.
"As long as it takes," Sands samples another forkful of the spicy dish. "Might take a while to really put the screws to 'em. And in case you've got any funny ideas about your kid's babysitter being a nice guy, Lisiado, El Mariachi over there killed his own brother in cold blood."