The Cartel (33 page)

“My goodness, Papa, she is not so fragile that she’s going to fall apart.”

Javier held up his hand. “Do not call me Papa. I am not your father. Understand?”

“Yes,” Miguel whispered. He stared at the only man who’d actually treated him well as a child, who seemed proud of him for his accomplishments. The only father he had ever known.

“Good, because you are nothing more than the bastard son I took on after being fool enough to fall in love with your whore of a mother.”

Disbelieving, hurt beyond measure, Miguel stood up, shaking his fist at Javier. “You will regret saying that one day. I promise you. ”

“Is God going to strike me dead?”

*****

The drizzle chilled Lydia as she wrapped the cheap sweater around herself. She caught a glimpse of her newly blonde hair in the hotel room’s small mirror, and rather liked the change. It hadn’t been too difficult to find out the name of the hospital in which Isabella was being treated. All she had to do was scavenge through the papers from a few days ago.

She stationed herself in a café across the street from the private hospital, as she knew she could spot her family undetected from there. Just that morning she’d seen Antonio enter the hospital, and the rage she’d felt alarmed and surprised her. She thought her anger at him had dissipated after living so many years with the nuns. He hadn’t changed much over the years—a little heavier, a little less hair. Otherwise, there was no mistaking him. She had yet to see Emilio, and wondered why she hadn’t. She was curious about how he’d responded to her disappearance. Was Antonio so stupid that he thought she’d never come back for her revenge? Perhaps he assumed that she died in the fire at the brothel. Or maybe he’d intended to have her killed initially but his henchmen didn’t have the heart to carry through with his plan. Then it hit her. The reason she hadn’t seen Emilio was because Antonio had done away with him, too.

As she stared at the front doors of the hospital, she saw a pretty young woman walk out. Her head was down, her shoulder-length dark hair falling across her face. Lydia gasped. She knew that this was her daughter.

Rosa looked up as the drizzle turned into rain, pulling an umbrella from her tote bag. Tears ran down Lydia’s face as she realized what she’d lost. Was destiny so cruel as to keep her from her own children? Even during those years when she could have returned to them, her fear of Antonio had kept her away. She watched Rosa walk down the street, and Lydia swore that fear would no longer conquer her need. To be with her children once again was more important than the fears for her own safety. Soon, Antonio would know she was alive, and her children would understand what an evil man their father was.

It was nearly a month before Bella could leave the hospital. Severely depressed, she left Europe, leaving her dreams behind. Her father and the doctors had finally owned up to her fate, but what was worse was when she’d learned from Jean Luc the fate of Delilah.

He’d taken her hand in his. “I am so, so sorry,
chérie
.” A tear slid down his face.

Bella couldn’t cry or speak. She didn’t want to believe the words Jean Luc spoke. She shook her head vehemently.

Jean Luc squeezed her hands. “She was a beautiful creature. One of God’s finest, and God blessed you and me with her. I know it is painful, Bella, but I promise she didn’t suffer.”

Bella knew this couldn’t be true. Her horse would’ve suffered greatly from the broken leg she’d suffered. The irony of it. They were both rendered paralyzed in a moment, in a second, and Bella would give anything at that moment to be put in the ground with her horse—her sweet, sweet big girl. Life held no meaning for her if she couldn’t have Delilah and if she couldn’t ride. Bella finally spoke. “Where is she?”

“I had her flown home to France and buried on my property. When you feel better, you can come and say goodbye to her.”

Bella nodded. Still no tears. Jean Luc stood and kissed her on the cheek as the doctor came in to see her. “I will be in touch,
ma chérie.
I love you. You will be happy again. I promise you.”

Bella kissed him back, knowing his promise was said with only good intent, but she knew she would never be happy again.

Since that day a couple of weeks ago, when Jean Luc told her of Delilah’s fate, Bella had become even more despondent, saddened that she could not ever again ride her beautiful mare, never again hear her whinny as approached her stall. And when she’d received a letter from Miguel explaining that he needed to return to his parishioners, she became even more withdrawn.

She knew that there was more to Miguel’s story than he had told her. But what was it? When she asked her father why Miguel had left so abruptly, he said nothing, but the sourness of his face told her everything. Once again, her father had exerted his power—this time, over the one person in the world she trusted.

He’d sent away her best friend—her brother—and
expected
her to understand. The last place she wanted to be now was in her father’s home. France was her real home. Being in Mexico with her father and Pedro would be lonely. She prayed to a God she no longer believed in for someone to put an end to her misery.

“I only told you to check on him, to make sure that he was doing all right. For God's sakes, his mother just died, and you go giving him money, setting him up as our main West Coast distributor? My God, Emilio, have you gone out of your mind? I don’t want him involved in our business. The boy has a chance to go straight, and you mess around with his life." Antonio rubbed his temples and paced back and forth in his office, the pounding of a migraine headache beginning to seize his mind.

"I did what you told me. I checked him out, discovered he was already hooked up to dealing and in the business whether you want him to be or not. He's a smart kid. He knows how to handle himself. If
we
hadn’t brought him in, sooner or later, somebody
else
would've. If he was going to be in our business anyway, wouldn’t you rather he dealt with us than with some other operation? At least now, we can look after him, make sure he's doing all right. He’s under our control."

"Jesus Christ, he's my
son
, Emilio." Antonio grabbed his brother by his shirtfront and pulled him close. "The last thing I wanted for my son was to bring him into this filthy business. I wanted something better for the boy." He shoved Emilio away in anger and disgust.

"I told you, he's already
in
this business. Besides, has it really been all that bad? Look around you. You couldn't ask for anything better than this, could you?" Emilio motioned to the Waterford crystal and the elegant sculptures in the office.

Maybe Emilio did make some sense, but Antonio still wanted a legitimate life for his only son. The drug business was too dangerous. Antonio felt partially responsible for Marta’s death. If anything were to happen to Alejandro because of his involvement in this business, he would never forgive himself.

Even though Antonio was in an ideal position, he had to have an armed guard with him at all times, and always had to check to make sure that he wasn’t being followed. But at least he wasn’t on the streets—much less the streets of Los Angeles, basically alone. Yes, the money was good, but what a life. Antonio didn’t want his son living like this. Still, perhaps it was the only way he could get to know the boy.

"You have made some valid points. I'm pleased my son is all right, but I don't want him knowing I'm his father. Understand? As far as he's concerned, this is about business. I would also like to set up a meeting with him and this other kid. What's his name?"

"Hector?"

"Yes, that one."

"Are you sure you’ll be up to this? Won't it be hard to handle?"

"Don't worry about me. Do it. I don't want the meeting here, though. Make it at Javier's place. Work out the details and let me know."

"I'll take care of it." Emilio straightened his Armani suit jacket and left the room.

“And another thing,” Antonio shouted after him, “I’m warning you, if you say anything to anyone about my being this boy’s father, I will personally see to it you never speak to anyone else again.”

“I’m your brother, for God’s sake. I would never do anything to harm you,” Emilio shouted back.

Antonio sat back down. His brother needed to be kept in check. Emilio was becoming what appeared to be a loose cannon. Not good. He lit a cigar and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. He looked forward to the day when he would come face to face with his son, now a young man. He could cope with that. Antonio only hoped that he could hide the love he felt for Alejandro. He did not want the boy to know the truth. The fear of being hated by this child horrified him; And the truth was his only son had every reason to despise him.

*****

Alex took part of the money Emilio had given him and enrolled in business classes at Santa Monica Community College. He wanted to make his mother proud of him, even though he knew he could not escape the drug business. He would at least become good at it. He would not be some street corner drug pusher ever again. He added English literature and humanities to his course load.

He settled down to long hours of studying. He'd never been that great as a student before, but things were different now. He had a goal to work for. With his mother gone, he also needed something to dominate his thoughts.

Emilio had flown up a few times to talk business with Alex and Hector. He’d gone back to Colombia two days earlier, after making a run with Hector, teaching him where to find and how to handle illegal immigrants.

They had a few coyotes working for them who would bring the illegals into the States to their door. In return, Hector would set them up in cheap accommodations and get them started selling for them. Hector liked being in charge, managing a group of what he called the
little people
. This term irritated Alex, who reminded Hector that it hadn’t been so long ago since they, too, were
little people
. Alex tried to stay clear of that part of the business. He didn’t like treating people as if they were cattle. He felt as if he was betraying his own kind.

Emilio told him he didn't want Alex selling the drugs, which suited him. He wanted him to learn how the business worked, and he
was
learning. School consumed him, not to mention lectures from Emilio on how money laundering was carried out. To Alex, this was safer and far less emotionally draining than selling drugs on the street: out of sight, out of mind. The ruthless bug hadn’t bitten him as it had his counterpart, Hector. He also found money laundering rather intriguing.

The apartment Emilio had set them up in was posh. It was in the Hollywood Hills, overlooking a good portion of the city. Hector’s mother didn't question where all the money was coming from. Unlike Marta, Elisa didn't care, as long as her son took care of her. And Hector made sure that happened. He'd moved her and her husband into a small but pleasant home in the Fairfax district, and provided her monthly with a substantial amount of money, courtesy of Emilio.

Alex put his head down on his financial reports, his eyes tired of numbers and words. Hector came stumbling in. Between running the show and partying, Hector was rarely home. When he
was
available, Alex was too busy studying to hang out with him. On the few occasions when Alex was up to going out, Emilio seemed to be in town. Alex noticed how friendly Emilio and Hector had become in a matter of months. In a way, Alex felt as if he was losing his best friend to Emilio. It was difficult to understand, because Emilio was probably fifteen years older than they were. But Hector was rapidly getting used to money, and Emilio always had a lot on him, ever willing to pass it around.

"Hey, how's it going, Alejandro? Studying hard?" Hector patted Alex on the shoulder and smiled. His eyes were blood-shot and he smelled of tequila.

Alex closed his book. "I'm working on it. Looks like you had a successful day."

"Yeah. I’m getting the hang of this boss-man stuff. You should see those little
peons
. They shake in their shoes when they see me coming.”

“Uh-huh.” Alex was unimpressed by Hector’s brazen harshness.

“You want a drink?" Hector stumbled over to the bar to pour himself another shot of tequila.

"No." Alex picked up his books and started to walk into the small den off the living room.

"Hey, sit down, man. I got something to tell you. Besides, you should take a break." Hector motioned for Alex to sit.

"What?"

"We’re gonna be taking a trip."

"Where? Why?"

"To meet the
man
, that's why. Emilio phoned this morning and clued me in. He said the
Patrón
wants to meet us personally. We'll be flying down to Puerto Vallarta in the morning where we gonna take a boat down to some palace type place these guys own in Costa Careyes. They want to make sure we get all of this, you know. We are moving up in the world." Hector headed for his room.

Alex sat on the sofa in disbelief. Things like this didn’t happen to a couple of low-life kids from the
barrio
. It sounded way too good to be true.