Anywhere
The Vague Places Series - Part IV
With a nickname like Batman, James expected more from Cesar Güemes, Epifanio's closest confidant. But he was just a man - as fallible and killable as the next. In fact, when he first heard mention of Cesar, he thought he was called Badman, which would have been accurate, but there was also nothing, as far as James could tell, that separated Cesar from any other bad man. Even his preferred form of torture, teeth extraction, was rather cliche if not pedestrian. But Batman? Surely, that meant something.
Was he a vigilante, cleaning up the streets of Sinaloa, before Epifanio found him? Did he possess a keen sense of hearing, picking up footsteps in the night sooner and clearer than all of the other soldados? Perhaps he looked like a bat with beady, little eyes, sharp teeth, and ears seemingly too big for his face? But it was just his coat… as far as James could determine - the long, leather duster flaring out behind Cesar like the cape crusader's. The nickname might have been a disappointment, but it told James something very important about the other man, a man who would eventually become, if not exactly an enemy, then at least certainly not an ally.
Cesar was vain. He liked his nickname; he liked that it preceded him like a dark and menacing omen. Listen to your padrino, or the Batman will come for you. He'll slip inside while you're sleeping and steal you away with just a whisper of his coat trailing behind him. There was no other explanation why a man would wear a long, leather jacket twelve months out of the year in Sinaloa, Mexico. Only pride and narcissism could make that discomfort worth it.
And, now, here he was, seemingly free to leave at any time - there were no bindings around his wrist, no guns pointed at his head - but a prisoner nonetheless as Camila held court - the queen to Batman's court jester. James had been on his way back to the club to inform Camila about yet another mule they had lost - this time, to violence rather than exploded drug balloons - when he had found Cesar Güemes watching the club's entrance from an obvious rental car. James parked, went inside, and then circled back around so he could come up behind Batman and take him by surprise. After insisting that he escort such an important and respected guest directly to Camila's office, James then took a step back, folding his hands in front of him while he stood impassive yet attentive to the conversation taking place.
Seated across from Batman, Camila practically simpered, "to what do I owe this honor?"
"Well, as you know with Don Epifanio running for Governor, he has put me," he emphasized by placing his spread hand against his chest, " in charge of the business."
She was still smiling, but Camila's voice was decidedly less pleasant. "Old news, Cesar. And it doesn't answer my question."
"But it does," the high-ranking lieutenant argued. "Your business here is a part of your husband's business, so now, it is also a part of mine. I thought I should… see for myself what exactly you were doing here."
Camila spread her arms out like, if Batman just looked around the room, he would be able to see the truth of her next words for himself. "I'm just selling a little cocaine, not reinventing the wheel."
Frowning, Cesar corrected her, "I'd say it's more than just a little cocaína."
She ignored him. "If I had known you were so interested in my Dallas ventures, I would have arranged a tour for you, Cesar."
Batman leaned forward intently, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. "Ah, but I wanted to see it - how do I say this?: transparentemente… before you had a chance to hide things away or escenificarlos."
Camila tsked under her breath, feigning disappointment and sadness. "Oh, Cesar. Is this what working for my husband does to his men? You sound so jaded. We're familia, not rivals. My success here in Texas is your success, too."
James had to hand it to his employer. Her ability to lie so convincingly while, at the same time, making it obvious that she didn't mean what she said and every word out of her mouth was dripping with double, if not triple, meaning was impressive. It could also be dizzying. Professionally, he was curious to see how Batman handled her; personally, he wanted Camila to stop with her games and drill down to the real reason why Cesar Güemes was in Dallas.
"Then why hide it?"
Camila smirked. "Would you believe me if I said I wanted it to be a sorpresa for Epifanio - say… a congratulations gift for when he wins the election?"
Batman leaned back, scowling. "I guess that would depend upon who you said the regalo was for: you or Don Epifanio."
"Why can't it be both?" Before the soldado could respond, Camila sweetly added, "and you, too, of course, Cesar."
Sighing, Batman warned her, "I'm still going to have to tell him about this."
"Must you," Camila pouted. "And here I thought that you were in charge, not my husband, that it was your business now."
Tiring of the verbal repartee, Güemes pounded his hands against the arms of his chair and demanded to know, "just what are you planning, Camila?"
"I would tell you," Camila pretended to sigh sadly, "but then I would have to kill you." Batman flinched, Camila laughed, and James rolled his eyes, though no one else in the room was paying him any attention. "Relax, Cesar. It was just a joke. Americans have such funny, little expressions, don't you think?"
"When you come from where we come from, you shouldn't joke about such things."
Camila shrugged off his censure. "It's called assimilation."
"It's suicidio," Batman challenged.
"So is coming into someone else's territory without invitation and then lying to them," Camila snapped. Confidently crossing one leg over the other, she leaned back casually in her chair - her posture the antithesis of her tone. "You speak to me about transparency yet you lie to me about why you're here!"
"I don't know what…"
"Oh, don't insult me with that," Camila interrupted Güemes. "My husband tipped his hand when he called me, asking about your missing sicario. He said nothing about my business. I'm guessing you failed to find this… Pote, so you plan to offer him details of my operation as a consolation prize."
James watched on as all of the confidence drained away from Batman. His eyes widened in desperation. He slumped in his chair. "So, you haven't seen him?"
"Who, Epifanio? Only in my nightmares," Camila snarked.
"No, Pote."
Camila rolled her eyes. "Do you know how many men have worked for my husband over the years, Cesar, and you expect me to remember one insignificant soldado?"
"He has a mustache, and sideburns," Batman gestured to his own clean shaven face, "and a... vientre gordo."
"Oh, that Pote," Camila exclaimed. James could tell that she was feigning her recognition. Cesar, on the other hand, looked hopeful. As quickly as the fake look of recollection surfaced, Camila didn't just turn it back off; she threw it on the ground and smashed it. "Quit wasting my time! I don't know who Pote is, and you just described almost every man who has ever worked for Epifanio."
While Camila retrieved one of her cigarellos and lit it, there was a lull in conversation. As soon as she had a lungful of smoke, though, she breathed out a question. "I want to know why you're so convinced this sicario is in Dallas when he could be anywhere."
"Cameras at the border caught him coming into the US in a black SUV with Texas plates."
Outwardly, James didn't react, but he felt his heart rate speed up. Maybe he hadn't caught Batman unaware after all. Maybe it was all a trap to get the three of them - James, Camila, and Cesar - in the same room when Epifanio Vargas' second in command revealed that the missing man hadn't disappeared so much as he had been disappeared. He didn't know Batman well enough to know if he could have played them both so well. James had believed the soldado's tension and anxiety, his desperation to be genuine, but he'd also believed he had all of the cameras at the border crossing identified, and evidently, he'd been wrong about that.
"Texas is a very big state, Cesar," Camila told their guest patronizingly. "And Dallas is a big city. In fact, we're not the only cartel here. I'm assuming you're spying on and planning to interrogate Eric Watson as well?"
"Why would you think Pote's with the Jimenez cartel?"
James' inhalation might have been at a normal rate and depth, but it was of relief nevertheless.
"Why would you think he was with me?" Camila waited one beat, two before slyly asking, "unless… there's something else you're not telling me?"
He didn't think it was possible, but James watched as Güemes deflated just that much more as he wondered, "do you remember Güero Dávila?"
Camila smirked, ashing out her cigarello. "Now, him I remember."
James had to swallow a snort, but Batman wasn't as reserved. For the first time that night, he felt an understanding with the Vargas lieutenant. "Why doesn't that surprise me," Cesar quipped.
"What does my husband's smuggler godson have to do with your sicario problem?"
"Epifanio caught Güero and his cousin, some low level narco named Chino, stealing and playing both sides. Pote and his partner, Gato, were sent to… clean up their mess. Guero and Chino were handled, no hay problema. But their women…?" Batman winced, seemingly embarrassed by what he was about to admit. "Chino's esposa and hijo got away - we think with the help of Güero's morra, Teresa Mendoza. Pote and Gato went after this Teresa next. We found Gato's body in Dávila's safehouse, no Teresa and no Pote."
God, James almost wished that his face had been caught on camera, too, because the last thing he needed or wanted was Teresa on Camila's radar.
"And no notebook," Camila added, shocking a grunt out of the infamous soldado.
Güemes jumped to his feet, leaning accusingly over a cool, calm, and collected Camila. "So, you do have him?!"
"No, what I have is competent people working for me… unlike you and Epifanio. There's talk, Cesar, and I'm only human. I listen, especially when that news is bad for my husband."
He must have believed her, because Batman sat back down. "What have you heard?"
"This and that," she waved off his question as insignificant. "Perhaps I could be more helpful, though, if I knew what I was looking for. What is so special about this notebook, Old Friend?"
It could only be the lieutenant's distress that made him so forthright. "Güero took extensive notes about the business - code names, locations, anything and everything he was exposed to, and Don Epifanio trusted him; he showed him a lot. He gave the notebook to the morra as proteccion, and Pote and Gato were supposed to kill her and grab it."
"Instead, she's missing right along with it." Furrowing her brow in confusion, Camila questioned, "so, why are you looking for the sicario and not the girl?"
"She was just some nadie puta. There's no way she killed Gato," Batman reasoned. "No, Pote killed Gato, took the girl, she led him to the notebook, and then he got rid of her someplace where nobody will ever find her body."
"And you think he's coming to me now?"
"You don't exactly hide your thoughts when it comes to your esposo, Camila."
James' employer stood from her chair, an indication that, whether Güemes knew it or not, his audience with her was about to come to a close. "You couldn't even begin to understand my feelings for Epifanio," Camila hissed at Cesar. "Don't even pretend that you know anything about me or my marriage. As for your sicario, I don't have him."
Batman stood, too, but he tried one last push. "Then where is he?"
"I don't know, but I suggest you start looking for him anywhere but in Dallas."
Camila waited until Batman had not only left the room but she had received a knock on the door, letting her know the soldado had been escorted off of the premises, before turning to James, arms folded over her chest, and demanding to know, "what do you think?"
"Before I can answer that, I need to know if you ever did any work with Dávila that I wasn't told about?"
She watched him closely for several moments before revealing, "I did."
"Then you're in the notebook, too," James told her, "which means Epifanio has two reasons to want it. What if the search for the sicario is a misdirection, and what they're really looking for is the hidden notebook," he suggested, speaking slowly as if he was just now working through his thoughts rather than planning them throughout his boss' conversation with her husband's second in command. "Güero made runs all up and down North and South America. He could have stashed it anywhere. Epifanio has men everywhere but the US."
Impatiently, she snapped, "what are you driving at, James?"
"What if Pote really is in Dallas, but he's not hiding out here or looking for you but watching you on Epifanio's orders, hoping you'll lead him to the notebook."
"What about the girl," Camila challenged his theory. "Maybe Batman's wrong, and she is still alive. Maybe she has the notebook."
"No, no way," James immediately denied. "Güemes was right about her. Maybe she took out that other sicario - Gato; maybe she didn't. But she's definitely dead. If Pote didn't kill her, then somebody else did. There's no way she would have been able to slip Epifanio's net without help, and who in Sinaloa would go against the cartel for some dead narco's girlfriend?"
"Hmm, you're probably right." James nodded once, accepting her acknowledgement. Mentally, though, he was quite pleased, because he had managed to not only take Teresa off of the table but make sure that both the notebook and Pote were on it while, at the same time, adding even more distrust to the open wound that was the Vargas marriage. It stung worse than salt. Sliding back around her desk, Camila leaned against it with both arms while leveling her orders. "Find me that notebook and that sicario, James. The notebook I need intact; the sicario? Not so much."
!
Technically, Pote Gálvez - shackled to an iron chain around his ankle that allowed him the freedom to move in and out of his pop-up tent, to fish, to cook over the open fire, and most importantly, see to his own needs - was not in Dallas, because the land James owned was outside of the city limits. The sicario could have been anywhere, but no one would expect him to be camping in the woods beside a random Texas lake. As for the shackle, that was the compromise he and Teresa had come to over what to do with their captive. She had wanted to trust Pote; James had needed him to piss on his own.
Even though he knew that Teresa and Pote spent a lot of time together during the day, going over the notebook, by the time James made it back to the trailer every evening, she was inside, and the older man was always staring into the fire. Pote never turned around. He never even acknowledged James. But they were both always aware of the other. Once James verified that the sicario was still restrained, he'd leave him be with his demons. The quiet and the solitude often invited introspection… even for a soldado. Maybe especially for one.
Teresa, on the other hand, was far less still. Even when the camper kept her physically confined, her mind was constantly stuck in overdrive - caught somewhere between fight and flight but unable to do either, really. On that particular night, he found her once more reading through Güero's notebook. It could have been her first or her thousandth reading for all the difference it made. The pages were filled with seemingly random bits and pieces of information - words and numbers that did not obviously mean anything. Sometimes, James wondered if she continued to stare at it, because it made her feel closer to her dead boyfriend. Yet, at the same time, he didn't imagine Güero Dávila had been the love note type, so would his handwriting mean anything to her? For reasons James absolutely refused to examine, he didn't like either thought.
"I think you've looked at this enough today," he announced while plucking the notebook from between her fingers. The trailer was so small that there was really nowhere for James to hide it, so he simply put it aside, using distraction to snag and then hold Teresa's attention again. "I caught Batman lurking around Camila's club today."
The tiniest of smiles lifted the corners of her mouth. "I've heard tennis rackets are effective against bats."
"Damn, I left all of mine at the country club."
The grin grew. "I'm sure a gun would work, too… if your aim is good enough."
"I'm a trained sniper who works for one of the wealthiest, most ruthless women in the world. My aim isn't in question." For some reason, it mattered to James that Teresa knew of his skills.
"Don't let Pote hear you say that. He'll challenge you to a shooting contest."
Smugly, James told her, "it'd be an exhibition, not a contest."
He wasn't sure what about his words made her sober, but any humor Teresa had been enjoying disappeared in an instant, and then she was asking him, "is he gone?"
James nodded solemnly once, reassuring her, "one of Camila's men followed him all the way to the border. And I don't think he'll be back anytime soon."
"Did Camila threaten him?"
"Camila threatens everyone all of the time. Sometimes, I think all she ever says are threats - so much so that I'm not sure if she's even aware of it herself. But that's not why." Standing, he shuffled over to the mini-fridge and pulled out a beer, holding it up to see if Teresa wanted one as well. She declined his offer. Cracking it open, James tossed the tab into the trash and took a long pull before continuing, "Batman overplayed his hand. He's desperate to find your notebook, and now Camila knows. So, if she wasn't curious before, she is - and more - now. But the trip wasn't a complete wash for Güemes. He figured out that Camila's operation is much bigger than she led Epifanio to believe, and you know he's going to run right back to el jefe and tell him all about his lying, deceiving wife."
Teresa absorbed this before posing her next question. "And then what?"
This was the part of the plan that was slowly taking shape in James' mind that he wasn't as sure about. He felt confident that he could predict Camila's moves, but Epifanio? James only knew him through the biased shades of his employer's moods, and even those weren't straightforward or always fully shared. What Camila had said to Batman that afternoon applied not just to the Vargas Cartel's second but to everyone: no one could truly comprehend the entirety of her feelings for her husband, of their complicated history. What James did know he had pieced together through rumor, speculation, and rare moments of vulnerability displayed by Camila… usually when she was drunk and believed herself to be alone.
Instead of admitting this, though - James didn't want to frustrate Teresa even more, make her feel like he was intentionally stymying her need for retribution, he started the next part of their conversation with a simple statement, "Camila used to be a dancer." It was something he had learned when, late one night after last call, he'd found her humming to herself and performing a barre routine in her office - heels kicked off, dress rumpled, her movements more muscle memory than actual dancing. "Epifanio saw her perform, and the story goes that he fell in love with her right then and there. Camila, however, took a little more convincing."
Teresa obviously didn't grasp what he was driving at with this story, but she was interested nonetheless. "Was he already a narco?"
"Just a poor farmer," James informed her. "In fact, that was one of the reasons why Epifanio was able to convince Camila to marry him, because he promised her he would never work for the cartels. They killed his parents."
"After they killed mine, I never thought I would love a narco, but it is far easier to become what you hate than most people realize or understand."
And now he was suggesting that she do the same. "Camila's dance studio was in the city, but of course Epifanio's life, his land, was in the country. One of them would have to sacrifice for the other if they wanted to be together. When she kept getting injured, he finally convinced her to give up on her dreams and marry him - the irony being that Epifanio never would have even noticed or fallen for her if she wasn't a dancer. So, Camila quit dance, and she married Epifanio. She loved him completely, but that love was always shadowed by her resentment, and that resentment only grew deeper and deeper when he proceeded to break nearly all of the promises he made to her. That was the first of many contradictions in their marriage."
James paused long enough to finish his beer. While he was drinking, Teresa came back to sit next to him, turning to face him while patiently waiting for him to continue, apparently realizing there was more he needed to say. "The next was Isabela. Camila loves their daughter, and she loves Epifanio for being the father of her child, but she also resents him for making her a mother - for taking away her identity of unique self and replacing it with a role that billions of other women hold. And then there's the business.
"She appreciated and enjoyed the wealth and power that came with being the wife of a padrino, but she hated Epifanio for breaking his promise to her to achieve it. She gloried in being the person he turned to for advice, for counsel, but burned bitterly when he never gave her the credit. She embraced her role as Don Epifanio's wife, and then he turned around and told her he wants to give it all up - at least as far as the public is concerned - and run for Governor, deciding for her that she'll now be a politician's wife, not a cartel boss'. There's never a discussion with Epifanio, just a decree."
"So, then you do think she'll work with me?"
James shook his head slowly but emphatically no. "There's also never been even a mention of divorce before. He cheats; she cheats. He lies; she deceives. He tries to decide their life; she rebels by moving to Dallas and taking a small slice of his territory as her own. And how did Epifanio react? He gave her the product to do it. That way, he could keep both his family and his empire intact… even if there are some cracks along the faultlines."
"They're loyal to each other."
"Not at all," James denied, making Teresa groan in frustration. She ran her hands through her wild, curly hair, and he could see her wince slightly when her fingers became entangled in the springy locks, but the discomfort almost seemed welcome - like she needed it to sharpen her focus as she tried to puzzle her way through what he was trying to tell her. And puzzle was the right term, because the Vargas' marriage was a jumbled picture, and they were working with several missing pieces on top of that. "Or, at least, they're only loyal to each other when someone from the outside threatens one or both of them."
"Explain," Teresa demanded.
The best way James could do that was to provide her with an example. "Epifanio provides Camila with regular shipments of cocaine, but that wasn't enough for her; she wasn't satisfied with having what he was willingly giving her. So, she secretly went to the Columbians and arranged for direct shipments from them, tripling the amount of product she was running without Epifanio's permission while using his relationship with Reynaldo Fieto to secure it. He'll cover for her and pay her debt to the Columbians if anything would ever go wrong, but he'll also see it as a betrayal and try to make the deal turn bad, so she is forced to return to him for help."
"That's not love," Teresa argued, a distasteful curl to her lip showing him exactly what she thought of the Vargas' relationship. "That's condependencia. But worse. Because they're not just hurting each other or their daughter; they're hurting everyone around them, and a cartel touches so many people's lives."
He nodded, agreeing with her. "They're slowly destroying each other, but it's the only kind of destruction they'll allow. No one else can take down Epifanio but Camila, and no one can knock Camila down but Epifanio. All we can do is push them towards mutual ruin and be there afterwards to pick up the pieces, running Dallas…"
"Running anywhere," Teresa corrected him.
Although he was intrigued by what she meant, he didn't pursue it at that moment, because he still had so much to relay to her. She needed to know where Camila ended up after Güemes' visit on both the topic of the notebook and Pote. She needed to know that, between James' insistence and the cartel's misogyny, everyone assumed that she was dead. And she needed the reassurance that, although her best friend and godson had initially been targets, in their need to find the notebook, hunting down Brenda and Tony had all but been forgotten.
"... your way."
Once more, she amended his statement. With a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips, Teresa said, "we'll run things our way."
Even if he didn't need the power or want it, Teresa wouldn't accept his refusal. She didn't realize it yet, but she was already in control - her grief, and pain, and loss too present for her to see anything else. But James wasn't mourning or missing anyone. In fact, it felt like, since he received that frantic call from hunted and haunted Teresa, he'd been seeing things clearly for the first time in years - his own blinders of absolute loyalty removed. Because true loyalty shouldn't come without question, because it was the questions that made it dependable and honest, gave it integrity. It was baffling, however, that some slip of a girl - a former money changer from Culiacán - was the one to open his eyes… and in just a matter of weeks at that.
Speaking of Teresa, she pulled him from his thoughts when she happily confided, "we figured something out from the notebook today. Have you ever heard the name King George?"
"The self-proclaimed pirate?"
Teresa rolled her eyes and smirked, but the amusement was at the eccentric smuggler's expense, not James'. "His last name is Megalos, and apparently, his home port of operations is on Galveston Island. I even have the slip number."
Really, there was only one possible response to this information. "Up for a road trip?"
