Sean awoke promptly at 7:06 AM to the sound of the blaring motel alarm clock he had already snoozed a half dozen times. Once fully conscious, he lay there a few moments, gazing at the sliver of dancing sunlight on the ceiling as it broke through the curtains. Chasing that white speck yesterday reminded him a lot of himself. The more darkness enveloped his life in Mexico, the further it seemed he strayed from all the things that had grounded him in America. Something Stephen once said began to haunt him. Do you think your father would have wanted this for his kids? He had responded in a way most teens who had lost a parent would, of course. You don't know him! Sean sat up in bed and reached over to the nightstand for his father's lighter and the pack of Marlboro Reds.
"What would you do, papito?" he sighed, grabbing a cigarette and lighting up. He still had no clue where Cantina de María was located, and part of him didn't care. But he knew that if he didn't go, there would be consequences. There seemed to be two parts to his life now. One was Puerto Lobos, a dream that existed somewhere between the real world and his imagination. He hardly got any time to himself there. The other was comprised of all the criminal things he had to do to survive. Was this what growing up felt like? An eternal march to futility? If so, he hated it, as well as the way he'd been forced over the months into sacrificing parts of who he was. Life felt like wearing a mask anymore. Even if going on the run with Daniel had been a mistake, he missed the shameless honesty of it all. He checked the time again. 7:12 AM. Better get going.
Sean hopped out of bed and pulled on his patched jeans, along with a white xSquad shirt he'd found at a thrift shop some months back. His trademark hoodie was a bit warm for the spring months now that he was closer to the equator, but that thing went with him everywhere—even if it was full of holes, blood stains, oil stains, cum stains, and whatever other mysterious grime had amassed on it over the previous year. Something about his choice of clothes just made him feel at home while on the road. Once fully dressed, he headed for the bathroom.
The laptop was still in the tub. He drained the water and shook it off as best he could, wrapping it in a towel. Next, he grabbed the backpack of Daniel's items and stuffed his remaining cash inside, along with a few bottles of shampoo and an extra washcloth. Maybe it was all that time spent out in the elements that had him still thinking like a survivalist, but you could never go wrong with some extra toiletries. He checked over the rest of the room to be sure he hadn't forgotten anything. All clear, he nodded, exiting the room.
The morning air was humid after the night rain, and the sun was breaking over the horizon through wispy golden clouds. His clothing quickly stuck itself to his skin. Whenever he made it out of all this, another good shower was in order. For now, it was time to abandon the laptop. A large addition holding convenience machines was positioned alongside the end of the row of rooms at the back of the building. Behind it lay a sprawling vacant lot with piles of gravel surrounding it. Sean made his way across near one of the mounds and took out the laptop, breaking off the screen and removing the hard drive from its slot. Since there was nothing to smash it with, he resorted to digging a foot or so into one of the gravel piles, stuffing it in the rubble and covering it. He chucked the rest of the device aside and went on his way. Hope that's good enough. Now to find this 'Cantina de María'.
Sean made his way back to the motel office to return his room key and see if they had any decent maps of the area. Of course, being the classic roach motel, he wasn't optimistic. If anything, a taxi driver might know best. There was an old pay phone in the office on which he'd seen someone calling a cab the previous night. He discreetly checked through his bills to see if he could ask for change. Damn. All hundreds. He took one out anyway and sighed, approaching the counter.
"Gracias," he said, returning the key as the clerk nodded. "Um, necesito usar teléfono. Puedes dividir esto?"
"Parezco un banco?" the man laughed. "Aquí, us este." He passed the office phone's receiver beneath the glass enclosure for him to use. "Taxi?"
"Si, gracias." The clerk dialed the number. As Sean spoke on the phone with the dispatcher, he kept a close eye on the clock. It was already 7:25. Shit, they better get me a ride fast. He'd have to pay a hundred for the fare, but with what cash remained, it was nothing. Still, he worried about whatever he might have to do to pay back the 'advance'. As he waited on a small couch that was positioned aside an aquarium facing the front desk, he thought back to the previous day. What exactly did I do right?
From the delivery gone awry, it seemed as if the cartel should be hot on his trail, screaming for blood. All he had done was go after his stolen car to take back Daniel's things. The money hardly mattered to him. In the end, he was responsible for the deaths of two men. Men who, most likely, started off in the same position he did. Running drugs, doing their best to support their families by whatever means necessary. No, stop it Sean. If it hadn't been them, it would've been me, and that thief would definitely have blown my head off. He looked at the clock again, biting his lip. 7:29. If he didn't get out of there soon, the clerk might get too curious. Five minutes passed, and finally the taxi arrived. Sean grabbed his bag and ducked out the door as fast as he could.
"Buenos dias," the driver said as he slid into the back.
"Hola. Sabes dónde esta la Cantina de María?"
"Oh, si. Pero está al otro lado de la ciudad."
"Ah...cuánto tiempo?"
"Veinte minutos."
"Debería estar bien. Conduce rápido."
"Si senor! Más rápido en el negocio aquí, jaja!"
Sean smiled as the driver sped away from the roach motel. As he kept an eye on the clock, he checked through his bag to be sure he still had all of Daniel's things. The Power Bear toy was still there, along with a creepy old doll he'd drawn on, a disposable camera from Karen (that actually worked), a couple pine cones from their days at Willamette and Humboldt, and of course, Mushroom's old bandana and Chris's Captain Spirit cape. He felt so bad hanging onto those last two, but he was hesitant to send them back until he could be sure Daniel would actually get them. It was a good bet Claire and Stephen were probably pissed at him. As if it's my fault, the boy thought. His brother had even told him not to turn back. But Sean knew that if he had, they'd be separated for far longer than if he stayed in Mexico. One day, Daniel might be able to visit...if he even wanted to. Yeah right. He's probably having too much fun to think about me.
As the car traveled on, Sean did his best to estimate their arrival. The driver's GPS said 7:50, which would at least give him time for a smoke break before heading inside. On the way, he continued thinking about what his little brother might be up to. Probably on spring break, living it up in that tree house with Captain Spirit, he smiled. He hoped the Reynolds were still nice, maybe even splurging on Daniel a bit. He deserves to know what it's like to be a real American kid again. Soon after a brief gridlock of traffic, a few back alley roads, and the blur of various shops and restaurants scattered throughout the city, they arrived at Cantina de María with minutes to spare. Sean thanked the driver and handed him a hundred. The man balked and wanted to refuse, but the boy nodded and sent him on his way.
The bar was a sprawling, nondescript building with gold lettering on the windows that appeared dark inside. A brawny security guard that looked vaguely like Danny Trejo was standing out near the entrance clad in a leather jacket and black jeans, smoking a cigarette. When he saw Sean, he immediately dug out his phone and made a call, holding up a hand to tell him to wait. His Spanish was too quick for the boy to understand, but he was asking something about if they were ready for visitors.
Once the guy hung up, he nodded and accompanied Sean to the back of the building, where a small lot held a white limousine and a several black outfitted SUVs. The guard led him over to a thick metal door with a sliding view cover. He knocked three times, followed by two quick knocks, and the door opened inward. Sean's heart began thudding in his chest again with every step. Relax, he thought. If they were planning to kill me, they'd have done it already. The faux Danny Trejo led him past several pool tables and broken slot machines, up a flight of red carpeted stairs to the left, then right into a large office on the second floor that overlooked the darkened bar below. The man remained just outside as Sean entered into a sudden stench of cigar smoke. A desk was positioned at the far end of the room, where a slightly overweight older man sat behind it in a leather riveted chair.
"Hola, Mr. Diaz," he said, putting out his cigar.
"Hola," Sean replied. He took a seat in the empty chair across from the man. A palpable nervousness was stewing deep in his gut. This wasn't going to go well.
"I trust you know who I am?"
"Hmm...El Chapo?"
"Not quite. But we certainly can dream," the boss smirked. "Gilberto Hernando Garcia," he said, holding out his hand. Sean hesitated, but stepped forward to shake it. Don't make any stupid moves.
"Sean Diaz. Pleasure to meet you."
"On the contrary, the pleasure is all mine. I bet you're wondering why I chose to have this meeting in English, no?"
"Sort of. But I'm guessing you know me."
"Oh, I've learned quite a great deal about you, Sean. Can I get you anything by the way? A drink to calm your nerves. Whiskey on the rocks?"
"Whatever you got, I'm cool with." He paid close attention as the man stood and dug out a bottle to pour their choice of poison. Stop, dude. He's not gonna drug you.
"I've heard that you prefer English. I take it you're having a hard time adjusting?"
"Not really. Just some words, I still have trouble with yet," the boy said, taking the whiskey. Fire seeped down his throat and reached to the pit of his stomach on the first sip. Don't let him catch you being a pussy. He shook his head a bit to get his bearings anyway.
"Not much of a drinker either?"
"Usually used to a beer or two."
"Ah, all these things will come to you. So how about we cut to the chase. I know you're wondering why the hell I called you here. After all, your performance yesterday was a bit...lackluster, as far as your delivery. But I was not keeping an eye on you because I wanted you to be a drug runner in the first place. You and I, we both know your skill set is suited to far better than that. And after seeing what you did on that rooftop," the man extended his arms, "I'm sold."
"Sold on what?!" Sean demanded. "I was late and I lost most of the cash, plus a few pounds worth of product you need ba-"
"No, you misunderstand," the man chuckled. "Sean...all of what you've been doing for me these past several months was merely a test."
His heart sunk. That whiskey wasn't feeling too great now.
"A...test?" he choked.
"I was not interested in seeing how good you are at delivering drugs. Yes, you did a fairly decent job, although you were late much of the time. But yesterday, I wanted to try something different. I had to see what you were like under pressure, and I must say, you performed your job with exquisite precision. You see," Gilberto said, resuming his cigar, "I read of your journey back in the States. I watched it on the news. All of it, and rather obsessively. Here was a young Mexican-American boy who could blend in anywhere, even as he fled from the law, and what impressed me most was this devotion to your brother. You admitted to nothing. You protected what mattered to you most, and you were willing to die for it."
"But...all that cash, all the drugs...are you saying this was all fake?"
"The drugs, yes. Do you really think we would start you off with that much responsibility? The cash, no, that is real. But," the man waved his hand, "it is of no consequence. I instructed my gang members to behave as they did. And you, wow," he whistled. "You really brought down the house, eh?"
"I killed those men!" Sean shouted, banging his fist on the desk.
"Yes. But that is the cost of doing business here. Look, Sean...I want you to have a good life in Mexico after all you've been through. I believe you deserve it more than most. Certainly more than any average Rodrigo, Jesus, or Roberto. These men, to me, they are expendable. But not you. You are an investment, which is why I allowed you to keep the cash. And I know what I said about it being an advance and whatnot, but really. Take it back to Puerto Lobos, get yourself a head start on repairing your father's auto business. Get back on your feet, eh?"
Sean hesitated. He bowed his head, rubbed his face with his hands. Looked anxiously around the room, with its dusty decor of mahogany, old books, playing cards, a dartboard. Then back, at his only exit. There was only one way out of this room, and that seemed to be making a deal with a devil he barely knew. That was the worst part. His chest was hurting. He felt like dry heaving at the thought of what he'd done on the garage rooftop to those men, as well as leaving Roberto behind to chase what—some inconsequential items that belonged to his brother? It all made him sick to his stomach.
"I killed those men..." he repeated, gasping for air.
"Breathe, Sean," the man insisted. "You're welcome to think it over."
But he couldn't breathe. How could he? How can this fucker be so heartless? Sean was hunching over now, elbows at his knees, hands grasping his shaggy hair. The walls felt like they were closing in, the sound of his heartbeat the only thing keeping him sane.
"I know from your position, it is difficult," Gilberto continued. "And there is so much more I wish I could tell you that I simply cannot at this juncture. But if you work for me, I promise you, you will see your brother again. You can build the life the two of you both deserve together. And as full Mexican citizens. The law will never touch you again."
"Fine," Sean said, powering through the nausea and weakness as he considered the outcome. I could see Daniel again. That was all he cared about. All he'd bled and suffered for over the past year. He tried to think about what else he might have left, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a single thing mattered more, and whatever he did have felt meaningless without his brother. He felt empty otherwise, like a ghost walking through the world unnoticed, untouched, and unloved. For now anyway, this was beginning to look like his best and only option. "Fuck it...what do you need me to do?"
Gilberto smiled.
Song: Overcoats – Leave The Light On
Club Saturno was one of the few upscale properties that existed in Santa Ana, offering a lively weekend atmosphere for tourists, musicians, promoters, college kids passing through, and most importantly, a haven for Gilberto Garcia's human trafficking business. Dance music blared from the DJ booth across from the balcony above as Sean kept watch, dressed in a black suit with green pointed accents on the collar. The crowd roared with drinks raised high to a set list of tracks by Jack Ü, Skrillex, Marshmello, KSHMR, and various other electronic artists. The young teen beheld the scene, somewhat mesmerized, swirling his drink. He almost felt right at home. If I was ever a college kid, this is the kind of party I'd want to be at. Too bad this was all about business. He needed as many free martinis as he could get for what he was about to do.
"You can blend in anywhere," Gilberto had said. The assignment, Sean had been told, was simple: Chat up a few drunk college girls, be friendly, gain their trust, offer them a modeling gig, spike their drinks if possible. Then lead them out the back exit behind the stage, where a couple unmarked vans were waiting to take them to god-knows-where. His left eye socket was starting to itch again, followed by a slight throbbing pain. Probably from the drink. Or his nerves. Or both. This is why I stick to beer, he thought.
"Estas casi listo?" his new partner Jorgé asked.
"Todavía no," Sean answered. No way in hell he would ever be ready for this. Aside from the fact Daniel probably hated his guts, he began to wonder if it was all even worth it to see his brother again. Memories of Cassidy's voice echoed from somewhere deep in his mind as he hunched over the balustrade, uncertain. We've already met twice, why not more? Even if we don't, we'll be fucking cool memories in each other's minds.
"Hora de irse," the man insisted. "No más bebidas." He didn't like how pushy this new guy was. Even if the job didn't entail kidnapping fresh young girls for the proverbial slaughter, he hated the idea of going out there and acting a damn fool on the dance floor in front of them. Sean wondered how long this job would go on. He hadn't even spoken to the first victim yet, and it was already ripping what remained of his heart to shreds. Not enough drinks in the world for this. Okay, Sean. Just...look for someone cute. Play it cool.
"Estás bien?" Jorgé tore him from his thoughts.
"Si," the boy nodded, adjusting his eye patch.
"You look fine."
"I don't feel fine," he answered loudly over the music and crowds.
"Takes some getting used to, I know. Look man, you're a good-looking guy, yes? Just turn on the charm and be yourself. The rest comes naturally. Plus these girls are too drunk to care. Makes them easy."
Sean tried to ignore the feeling of his stomach turning at that last sentence and gulped down the rest of his drink. It wasn't strong enough. He wasn't strong enough. Throughout the better part of the night, he had tried dwelling on what exactly had possessed him to murder those gang members in cold blood, but came up with nothing. Flashbacks from all the terrible things he'd taught his brother about survival were coming in clear as the crystal glass he'd since set aside on a nearby table. Try to remember what I taught you. Only the good shit. He prayed at least Daniel had taken that message to heart. Along with that bit about not feeding the beast. God, I'm such a hypocrite. The late-twenties Mexican next to him gave him a pat on the back of encouragement and led him over to the stairs.
"We do this together, yes?"
"Sure...whatever," Sean muttered.
"Hey, look at me. I know this is weird at first, okay?"
"That's got to be the worst understatement I've ever heard," Sean sighed. His stomach was rippling, as if Daniel were still skipping stones across the lake in Humboldt.
"Gilberto, he knows things."
"I'm sure he does."
The young man stopped him as they reached the top of the stairwell, overlooking the throngs of people coming up from the party down on the first floor. Sean steadied himself on the balustrade.
"You don't get it. When I first started out, it was hard for me, too. My family, we fell on hard times. The economy in Mexico isn't the best. And the cartel, they help people like you and me. As long as we help them."
"Yeah," Sean rolled his eyes. "That's where they get you."
"Escucha...look, there's something else you should know that I don't think you're ready for," the man said, looking behind him nervously. "And I will tell you this. But first, we must do business. Comprendé?"
"Sure," the teen sighed, feeling a sudden warm rush flood over him. Alcohol, do your thing. "Hey...you know what I just realized?"
"What?"
"I'm not even old enough to be here!" he chuckled. "And it kind of is my first legit party."
"Oh, órale! In that case, allow me the honor of finding you your first girl!"
"O-Okay," Sean stammered, waking himself up with a deep breath and a few slaps on his face. He adjusted his tie. Business casual. "Whew. Let's get this over with."
"Jaja, la noche es joven!"
As the pair made their way out onto the dance floor with 'Calabria 2007' blasting out of the sound system over a roaring crowd, Sean did his best to recall the finer details of what Gilberto was looking for. Tourist-type between 18 and 23. Blondes are a plus. American girls are your best bet, as Europeans are more woke to these things. Make sure she's alone, or get her alone. Women in established groups or pairs are difficult, but there's always that one friend who is left behind watching drinks at the bar as the others use the restroom. Take advantage of the situation and target her. I'm sure you are good at misdirection. Talk her up in English. Jorgé will take care of the rest. At the end of the night, no one will suspect a cute boy with a missing eye was behind it all.
Sean maneuvered his way through the tightly packed throng, following his partner's lead over to the blue neon-lit bar at the back of the room. He felt up his inner jacket pocket to be sure the modeling photos were still there before proceeding over to a vacant spot on the far right end of the slab. So far, it seemed there were no openings across the various groups of people in which to insert themselves. For that, the young teen breathed a sigh of relief. Safe for now. But that didn't stop Jorgé from doing a quick analysis of the room. Reading it, he had been told, was an acquired skill of both art and discretion.
"Okay, so we've got three college girls over at the other end. Looks like they're with male company, so they're off limits. You got a businessman here, a few frat party boys next to him...middle-aged cunt drowning her sorrows...party girls, let's see...ah, fuck. Mother with them, she looks protective. You gotta watch out for those types, they'll look after the girls who are alone, even if they're not their daughters. Eyes like a hawk, trust me. I don't know, man. We got our work cut out for us tonight."
"What about...that one?" Sean asked, pointing out a girl at the middle section. "Her friends just left to go talk to the party boys. And she's blonde."
"Hmm, not bad. Still too risky. Probably giving her number to them. She got them pouty-ass dick-sucking lips though, whoo!"
Sean had to laugh. Talking like this, he felt like a high school sophomore again. He regrettably remembered being one of those douchey guys in the past. The kind that Lyla hated, and would always make fun of. 'Ooh, look at her with her big ass and titties! Boing! You boys are adorable, always getting excited over the dumbest shit with your bros. Aren't you smarter than that? Don't know about you, but I like someone who's not gonna back out of a good challenge without the squad of homies backing him up.' God, Lyla. I miss your insightful quips.
"Looks like the mama bear is headed back for the dance floor," he observed.
"You're right," Jorgé nodded. "But the frat boys are headed her way, which definitely means no shot for us. Damn, this is hard."
"So...how often do you do this?"
"I'd say once or twice a month, with a few practice rounds in between."
"Practice rounds?"
"Yeah, just people watching. Gotta keep my observational skills tight."
"Doesn't it ever...bother you, what we're doing?"
"It used to. But then I found out something that none of us lower level associates are supposed to know."
"And what's that?"
"I told you, man. Gilberto knows certain things. Like I said, I'll explain it after we take care of business here."
Sean felt a slight twinge of nervousness breaking through the alcohol Zen.
"I get it. We've got eyes on us."
"Cameras. But yeah. And don't even think of taking a bathroom break. They see the two of us leaving together, we're toast. Those security guards here are well paid. Sure, they might look the other way to help us out, but they can pack a beating."
"Fucking Big Joes."
"What?"
"Just...some asshole I knew in a former life."
"You still haven't told me nothing about you. We didn't get much news down here in Mexíco. Just some guy who tried to cross the border with his lil' hermano, but I guess you took down loads of pigs with you, eh?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Sean said firmly. He held up his hand to call over the bartender, but Jorgé stopped him.
"The hell you think you're doing?! We've got to keep a low profile down here!"
"Exactly. Drinks will help us fit in, otherwise we look suspicious. Trust me, I know how to play this game."
"Aye," the man sighed. "You get wasted, I'm not looking after you. Don't fuck this up like you did with your deliveries, man."
"Dude, I got this," Sean assured him. "And hey, look," he smiled as the bartender set him out a martini. "Space just opened up for me. Frat bros are gone."
"Buena suerte!"
Jorgé sent him off with a pat on the back and his martini in hand. As he maneuvered around the corner and over to the waiting girl checking her phone, his heart began to pound. Remember to chill, dude. Just be yourself. But then she flipped her hair back. Shades of blue and purple reflected over it in the overhead lights from the bar. Sean stopped dead in his tracks. Everything that had led him up to this moment all started with a similar situation. What had been her name again? Oh yeah. Jen something. Hey Jen, nice to see you. Maybe you'd wanna...go out sometime? Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. The light passed over him, blinding his good eye, even as the opening drone of Mind by Jack Ü took hold of the dance floor beyond. Sean continued on, the lyrics hammering through his brain. You love how you push me to the point of crazy, and I love when you're on your knees and begging for me, you got me good with all these mind games...
After what seemed an eternity, he reached the seat at the bar nearest her and set down the glass, making sure to stay turned in Jorgé's direction until he could figure out what to say. The butterflies were rising now, caught up in his throat. When the drop of the song was about to hit, he took another quick sip for luck and sat down. Screw it.
"Hey Jen!" he blurted out as he faced her. Shit dude, really?
"Excuse me?" He looked her over a moment. Her hair was perfectly curled in a short bob with bangs, accentuating a pair of beautiful sea-blue eyes. A bold shade of lipstick covered her pouty lips, probably something named 'Ravishing Red' or some other such corny thing. She wore a figure-hugging white cocktail dress with frilled accents at the shoulder and down the V-shaped chest opening, breasts pushed up for the maximum reveal of cleavage, yet somehow still tasty...tasteful. Back in the real world, Sean knew that neither he nor his band of misfit friends that rode the gap between skaters and preps would ever have stood a chance with someone like her. She seemed every kind of rich, extra, and barely approachable. Then again, this was the adult world. Not high school. Get a grip, Sean.
"Oh, s-sorry. I just saw you across the bar, you looked like a friend of mine. My bad."
"It's fine," the girl said, setting down her phone. The case was a glittery green. "Kinda bored, anyway. My little entourage left me for the dance floor. Feel like I'm the one they probably talk shit about, ya know?"
"Yeah, I get it. That sucks."
"Yeah. So if you don't mind me asking, what's up with the uh, eye patch? You going to a costume party, or?"
"Hell yeah, I'm the Governor from Walking Dead!"
"Oh...well that's cool, I guess." She sounded unimpressed.
"Nah, just fuckin' with you. Actually, I legit lost my eye awhile back."
"Oh! Oh shit, I'm so sorry, that was so insensitive of-"
"Chill, it's cool, I'm used to people asking," Sean chuckled. "Usually say I'm a pirate, but that one sounds lame."
"I guess I'm just not used to seeing a younger guy with one. Do you mind if I, uh..."
"Take a look," the boy grinned, lifting the patch and leaning under the light for her to check out the scar tissue.
"Aw, sick, that is gnarly!" she exclaimed. She put her fingertips on his cheek. They felt warm. "It's actually pretty badass!"
"Thanks," he said, replacing the patch.
"So how did you get that?"
"Oh, uh..." Back in Cali, I worked on a pot farm. We tried to steal money from the owner but got caught, and my little brother trashed the place with his X-Men powers. "Retinoblastoma," he answered. It was the easiest explanation he'd mastered. But he knew he'd hesitated the answer. Time to save face. Ha. "Sorry. Little drunk, it's hard to think."
"Heard that," the girl giggled. "Bartender! Can I get another Sea Breeze please? And something for my friend here, what are you having?"
"Oh no no," Sean smiled, ruffling through his bills. "Keep your money. This one's on me. I insist."
"Oh...kay," the girl said, watching the female bartender pour her drink. "Mind if I ask you something else? But first, we need to do names."
"I'm Sean," he said, shaking her hand.
"Mindi. So, Sean...what exactly brings you here?"
"Club promotion, mainly," the boy answered, sipping his drink. "My boss wants to expand. I do some modeling photography here and there, too."
"Oh, interesting. I noticed you talk like an American. You travel a lot?"
"I guess you could say that." His smile came off as more sheepish than he intended. Shit, is this chick onto me or what?
"I used to travel for modeling back in the day. Still get quite a few offers, but. Some of those creeps can be downright exploitative, ya know? Plus the whole anorexia thing...not really my scene anymore."
Sean was starting to sweat now. With all the fun of their conversation, he'd almost forgotten what he was here to do. All that 'stick with the mission' bullshit Jorgé had plied him with seemed useless. He started to think about what might happen with this innocent girl once Gilberto got his hands on her. Would she be drugged? Sold into sex slavery? He was paranoid, too, about possibly being recognized by her on the national news back in the States. How many months had that gone on?
"Yeah," he sighed, again trying a save. "I get it."
"Sorry, I'm coming off like a total bitch. I don't mean to say you're like that, it's just I've gotten too many offers from shady guys. You seem nice though. Doesn't hurt that you're handsome, either! What kind of shots do you do?"
"Head ones, mostly," the boy smirked, digging out the proper photographs. "And I'm definitely not handsome," he laughed. "Well...I guess not anymore."
"Are you kidding? You have an adorable face. Plus I know tons of girls who would go for the whole scarred, one-eyed badass look," she smiled. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Twenty-one," he lied.
"No shit, me too! You go to university?"
"Nah. This is more of a hobby."
He laid down a set of four portraits. One was of a smiling child, the others were a male and female teen, and an older male. All Mexican cinema or soap stars. Gilberto claimed it was unlikely she'd recognize any, and the variety of gender tended to make people more comfortable.
"Oh wow, those are gorgeous! But you got anything more, um...artistic?"
"I came prepared," he said, taking out the last two black and whites. The first was of a teen girl posing rebelliously on a stoop with her knees together and feet spread wide, clad in leather boots, bare legs, and some drape of a large white shirt as she smoked a cigarette. The other was an overhead shot of a shirtless young boy on a beach with long, charcoal hair obscuring most of his smiling face. The focus was mainly on his bare torso with a baby turtle crawling across it, and a bent leg with a red bandana tied at the knee. His jeans were heavily patched and rolled up. Daniel. Almost forgot I had this. Sean had taken the shot himself with Jacob's camera-the only genuine photograph of their journey. That was the day we finally met up with the Humboldt crew being a bunch of beach bums. God, I miss him. He felt like complete and utter trash for using his brother's photo for this, but it seemed good motivation for why. One day, enano. I'm going to see you again no matter what.
"I'm in love with this one," the girl said, examining the punk figure. "Look at those eyes, you can definitely tell she's just been through some shit."
"Yeah," Sean cleared his throat. Just like me. "That was a tough shot too with all the traffic behind me, and maybe the tension. She'd just had a fight with her mom in the shop and came out for a cigarette. Looking out on a different world." I remember that feeling in Haven Point at the hotel with Karen. He was getting good at turning on the bullshit when he needed to. Almost too good, because Mindi seemed to be eating up every word of it.
"It's powerful," she nodded.
"So anyway, that's all I brought," he shrugged, quickly gathering up the equally bullshit photos.
"You definitely have an amazing eye. And I don't mean because you're-"
"A Cyclops?" Sean laughed. Mindi laughed, too. He could almost fall in love with it. Almost. "Hey, when you've got one eye, everything looks like a joke."
"Must be easy to cut people off of those embarrassing family photos! Maybe I'll book you for my friend's wedding. I can't wait to see the groom go accidentally missing."
Sean choked on his drink. Yeah. Missing. Just as he was about to finish his conversation with the young girl, Jorgé moved between them to interrupt.
"Yo, have you forgotten we're on a deadline, my friend? We should get back up to the balcony and collect the others, yeah?"
"Oh...right," Sean said, confused. There was no one else with them. "I kinda have to piss anyways. Meet you up there?"
Jorgé looked grim.
"Meet us outside if we're not there when you get back," he urged, flashing a quick smile at Mindi. "The rest of the guys are heading over to Cantina de María for a private after-party in ten minutes."
"Oh shit, I forgot!"
"Hey guys, it's all good if you got your bro stuff," Mindi smiled. "I should probably go see what my friends are up to anyway. But here's my number," she said, scrawling on a napkin for Sean. "Text me and let me know what your rates are. My dad owns a condo in Mexico City and has business there, so I'll be around until the end of summer."
"Cool," Sean smiled, still feeling deeply uneasy as to why Jorgé was rushing him out. He still had the pills in his pocket. "I'll be in touch. It was awesome chatting with you!"
"You too!" she said, giving him a hug. "Meet you in Mexico City?"
"It's a deal! I'm sure work will take me down there soon. Well..duty calls. Later."
"Bye!" the girl waved.
As Jorgé took out his phone and rushed off somewhere, Sean went to the bathroom and locked the door behind him once he was certain no one else was inside. The din of the crowd coupled with roaring music faded. He splashed cold water on his face a few times, looking into the mirror. What the fuck is going on? He checked the time on a nearby wall clock. 12:01 AM. Was it something about the time? No. They had at least another hour ahead of them in which to work. Had he pulled a wrong move at some point, or taken too long? He thought back over the proper protocols. Nothing seemed off about his approach, the target, or the amount of time he took. So what was it? Were they in some sort of trouble with the Polícia Federal? Okay, just chill out. Don't waste time, dude. Just do what Jorgé said.
Sean went over to the urinal, took a quick piss, washed his hands, and exited the bathroom. He looked over at the bar, paranoid. It was hard to see from this distance, but it appeared that the bartender had already cleared Mindi's drink off the counter. Why would she be doing that? The young teen sprinted over to the stairwell and bounded up the steps as fast as his buzzed body would allow, nearly tripping along the way. He checked all the tables and along the balustrade. Then up and over the offices at the far end. No sign of Jorgé. Shit, what's happening?
He ran back downstairs and scanned the dance floor in a panic. It was impossible to make out anything in the dark, so he took a deep breath and pried his way in. Endless bodies jumped and danced around him in a raging sea of faces, but none seemed to be any of Mindi's friends. That's when Sean looked back toward the bar. They were all gathered around with puzzled looks and seemed to have no idea where she went. His good eye darted toward the far left exit, where the door was closing behind a burly security guard. Sean's stomach turned. You son of a bitch, you didn't. The frantic boy took a deep breath, prying his way through the endless dark wave until he at last reached the door. He tore past the guard and out the long back exit to the alley, where a black van was waiting. Another security guard was walking away from the back of the vehicle. The passenger side door opened, and Jorgé flew out.
"What the fuck, Sean?!" he shouted.
"I don't get it, what the hell are you doing?"
"You were taking too long! Man, I KNEW you would be way too friendly with that chica to bother with the pills! So I had to do your work for you."
"I didn't see you give her anything."
"Had to get her to the dance floor for that," the man said, holding up an empty syringe. "You're welcome!"
"That's fucked! You said we had an hour!"
"Yeah. To find targets! Then you spike the drink before you even start talking, otherwise you're just wasting time! So it should take no more than fifteen minutes max to get them out the door, roofied or not, or you're dead. Oh by the way, I didn't have much time to get my measurements correct. So guess what, you get to babysit in the back and hope this bitch is still alive by the time we reach the safehouse! Now get your ass inside. Boss isn't going to be happy with you." Jorgé returned, slamming the passenger door shut.
Sean looked around on the darkened street to be sure no one was watching before opening the back of the van.
His stomach dropped at the sight.
Mindi was sprawled out on the floor, fading in and out of consciousness, her hair and dress disheveled. White foam was beginning to collect on the outer ring of her lips. Sean's heartbeat raged like a firestorm in his ears. No way. This can't be happening. But it was already done. There was nowhere else to go, and certainly nowhere else to run. Even if he tried, he'd be hunted down like the wolf he was. Out of options, Sean reluctantly hopped in and closed the door of the metal beast behind him, taking a seat on the floor with his very first trafficking victim. I did this. This is all my fault. I'm not leaving you. A loud rumble came from beneath as the vehicle skidded along a gravel path and sped away into the cold black of the night.
"God, I'm sorry Mindi, please be okay, please!" he cried, holding the limp, clammy girl in his arms. "I'm so fucking sorry!"