A Bullet for Carlos (17 page)

Tip’s heart didn’t seem to be in this case, but I had my head glued to the files. “We’ll find something,” I told him.

“That’s a good attitude, an admirable one, but it doesn’t mean much in the real world. We need evidence.” Tip waited but I said nothing. “I’m going to get coffee. Want any?”

“No thanks.”

“By the way,” Tip said, “that limp of yours is getting better. That’s a shame because it was kinda cute on you.” With that, he walked toward the coffee room.

I waited for the smart-ass remark I felt sure was coming, but it never came, and that made me shake my head again.
Crazy damn Texan.
I was working on a list of questions to ask Tip, when an older woman with tree-trunk legs and a round face walked up. I didn’t remember meeting her, and I felt sure I would have remembered such a somber face.

“Where’s Tip?” Her voice was as sturdy as her legs and it resonated with authority.

“I’m right here, Betty.” He walked up behind her, a cup of coffee in both hands.

“I don’t know what you two had planned, but the lieutenant said to tell you we got another body.”

Tip sat down and handed me a coffee. “Remind John that he put me on garbage duty with our guest from New York.”

Betty shuffled, leaned in and set a piece of paper down in front of him. “He knows. He said to tell you the body’s got no lips.”

“Goddamn.” Tip looked at the address on the paper, tossed the coffee into the trash, jumped up, grabbed me, and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Here we go, Yankee girl. Get your shit ready.”

Crazy damn Texan.

Chapter 19

Distribution

Monterrey, Mexico

T
echnically it was still spring, but the heat had already descended on Monterrey. Not noon yet, the temperature was ninety-two degrees, according to how Americans measured it. Carlos continued to educate himself in American ways, and he insisted on it with his men. If they were to establish strong bases in the States, he needed his men to be comfortable with American ways, including their odd means of measurement. A cool glass of lemon water sat next to his hand and a pack of Marlboro cigarettes lay on the table beside it. He preferred
Fortuna
, a brand of Spanish cigarettes he had smoked for years, but since he insisted on his men taking up the American ways, he did it as well.

When his advisors arrived, Carlos outlined his plan for distribution of drugs in the markets they had targeted: New York, Atlanta and Houston first, followed by Wilmington, Delaware in the East. To someone not familiar with the area, Wilmington might seem like an odd choice, but it was perfectly situated: thirty miles from Philadelphia, sixty from Baltimore, and one hundred from Washington, D.C.. Even better, the city was undermanned in terms of drug task forces. A perfect combination. As for the rest of Carlos’ plan—Dallas, St. Louis and Chicago would round out the Southwest and Midwest.

“I still don’t like it,” Tico said. “We have problems already. If we spread too thin, it all breaks apart—like a piñata.”

“Why not let the Italians handle distribution?” Tomás said. “They have the connections, a pipeline, and they pay the right people. With the Colombians and Russians giving them trouble, they need a new ally.”

“But that all comes with a price,” Carlos said. “If the Italians take the distribution they also take sixty percent of the profits. That buys a lot of tortillas in Monterrey.”

Tico shook his head. “That still leaves a lot of money, with a
lot
less risk.”

Carlos stood, lit a cigarette, his eyes riveting each of them. “Have we grown so fat we cannot wash our feet now? Or wipe our asses?” Smoke whistled from the corner of his mouth. “Risk. Danger. Next you will want Colombians to get it into the US for us, then Cubans to package the drugs. Pretty soon we’ll be paying money to have our drugs sold on the streets. After that we’ll be broke. And dead.” Carlos sucked long and hard on the cigarette, straining the ash. “This is how we stay strong. Fear keeps us on edge. If we grow soft we invite people to take it from us.” He looked at each of them. “Let me tell you something, amigos.
No one
is going to take this from me. I will kill whoever I have to, and as many as I have to. Remember
that
the next time you want to give distribution to the Italians.”

Tico threw his hands in the air. “Then we need to improve security. And we need better protection.”

Carlos nodded. “And someone to clean the money, and more people to drive the trucks, and many other things. I know this. All in good time.” Carlos took his seat and resumed sipping his drink.

A man entered and whispered in Tomás’ ear. Tomás questioned him and then the man departed.

“And a better plan at the border,” Tomás said. “Berto is dead.”

Carlos sat straight up. “And the shipment?”

“Gone,” Tomás said, his head lowered, avoiding eye contact.

“From the look on your face I can tell there is more bad news.”

Tomás gulped, and then cleared his throat. “That cop from New York. They cannot find her.”

“What do you mean, cannot find her? She is a
cop
. Call the station.”

“They said she is on special assignment.”

Carlos stood. Let the smoke curl around his head. “Call our friends in Queens,” he said, then looked at each of his men. “If anyone else has bad news they should tell me.”

Tico cleared his throat. “That councilman in Houston is putting pressure on the city to close the club, and the people are supporting it, saying it is too close to the school. Also, we need a new banker for the club.”

“There are ways to solve the first problem,” Carlos said.

“You can’t kill a councilman,” Tico said.

“I didn’t say kill him. There are many ways to get someone to do what you want, my friend.” Carlos thought for a moment. “It seems as if many of our troubles have come together in one place. Tomás, I want the surveillance report we’ve had on our friend, the councilman. And Tico, I believe we should go to Texas.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. I must say goodbye to the children, and to Marianna.” He bounced a lemon from hand to hand as he spoke. “Tomás, you must stay here and take care of things. Tico, bring Roberto, Chaparrito, and Paco with us.” A hard look came to Carlos’ face. “We must make a stop in Laredo and visit Señor Craig on the way to Houston. He needs to understand the cost of failure.”

Chapter 20

A Visit From Carlos

C
arlos read the paper while he sipped his morning coffee. Soon the children would be down to share melons and berries with him, then Carlos would have another cup of coffee with Marianna. He did not like reading the news, as it was seldom good, but for business reasons he had to. A business man must know what was going on in the world, and drugs were a
very
big business. Before setting the paper down he read the entertainment section to see which celebrities the Americans were fawning over this week, who was in favor and who was falling. American newspapers dedicated as much space to entertainment as news; in fact, as he thought about it, they weren’t newspapers at all, just entertainment papers.

As he drained his cup, a smile formed. The sound of bare feet racing across the tile lightened his heart. He moved the cup further back on the table, then turned in his chair just in time to catch Julio in his arms.

“
Buenos días, Papá.
”

Then Adalia joined them, sliding onto Carlos’ knee. “
Buenos días, Papá
.”

He squeezed them both. “
Buenos días, niños.
What a beautiful day it is.”

Marianna came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders. She leaned to kiss him. “You are leaving today?”

“For a short while, yes.” He patted her hand, resting on his shoulder. “All right, children. Time to eat.”

They shared stories and laughter during the meal and when the children finished they went outside to play. Marianna turned to him. “How long?”

“A week, maybe two. No more than three.”

She nodded. “
Ten cuidado.
”

“I am always careful, my love.”

They finished their coffee in silence, then Carlos stood. “I must be going. Tico is waiting and it is a long ride.”

Carlos talked little on
the way to the border. Mostly he thought about what he would do once he got to Houston. The councilman’s rantings were bringing too much attention to the club and Carlos needed that club. He would have to plan this carefully.

As they approached Nuevo Laredo, the traffic got heavier and the road more bumpy. Carlos suffered through the endless traffic, breathing easier once they crossed the border into Laredo and the great state of Texas. Laredo was an old town, resembling both an early western town and a Spanish settlement. For the most part, the houses were modest, the streets often dusty, and the air dry and hot.

Paco drove slowly toward Craig’s house. In this section of the city, the Lexus attracted attention, drawing stares from the children playing on the side of the road. When they pulled into Craig’s driveway Elizabeth and Grace ran to the car. The oldest of the two, Elizabeth, hugged Carlos as he got out. She had grown to like him after a few visits to Monterrey. Grace, two years younger, wrapped her arms around his legs as he set Elizabeth down.

“Hello, girls. Good to see you again.”

“Hello, Señor Cortes,” they both said at once, with a rhythm similar to the ones children used to learn songs in school. “We missed you.”

He patted their heads. “And I have missed you.” He walked to the front door, already open and with Craig waiting to greet him. The look on his face was not quite shock, but it came close. Nerves choked his voice.

“Señor Cortes, I didn’t expect a visit or I’d have prepared something.”

Carlos waved his hand as he walked into the house with the rest of his men. “It is nothing. We were on our way to Houston and thought we would stop by.” He looked around. “Besides, I needed a clean place to relieve myself.” His face twisted into a grimace. “Those bumpy roads, you know.”

Craig laughed, perhaps some tension gone, and he pointed toward the back of the house. “Last door on the right.”

As Carlos headed down the hall, a bedroom door opened and Libby walked out, her blonde hair bouncing with each step and a smile planted on her pretty face, pale and angular. “Hello, Carlos. It’s good to see you again.”

He bowed his head. “And you, señora. I hope you are well.”

She started to say something, but Carlos forestalled her. “You must excuse me, señora, I need to use the bathroom.”

She blushed and made her way quickly to the kitchen, greeting Tico, Paco and Chaparrito. His nickname, Chaparrito, meant “shorty” but he was six feet two inches. Even as Libby greeted them, the girls chattered and asked too many questions. Soon, Carlos returned.

Libby smiled at him. “Would you like something to drink?”

His brow furrowed as if he were considering a major decision. “Perhaps some lemon water. But no ice,” he quickly added, then turned to Chaparrito. “Why don’t you take the girls to get ice cream.”

Squeals of joy confirmed his suggestion hit the mark. They were out the door before Chaparrito even started to move.

Carlos took a seat at the table across from Craig and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “It does not bode well for summer when it is this hot already.” While Craig was agreeing with him, Carlos turned to Tico. “Are you almost ready?”

Libby set the glass of water in front of Carlos. “Gracias,” Carlos said, then took her hand in his and held it gently. “That is a beautiful ring. I don’t remember seeing it.”

She let her hand lay in his and blushed. “It’s an old family ring, but it’s not worth much.”

“Then perhaps you don’t need it,” Carlos said, and there was danger in his voice. He gripped her wrist tightly, and pinned her hand to the table. At the same time, Tico wrapped and then tied a gag around her mouth, and Paco came alongside her to the left. He held a short, thick-bladed knife in his hand. He spread her fingers then pressed the blade against her flesh just above where the finger meets the knuckle. Libby tried screaming. Tried pulling away. Tried everything, but nothing worked. Tico and Carlos were holding her. Paco had the knife. Craig jumped up, but a glare from Carlos stopped him.