Dirty Angels 01 (4 page)

Salvador stared at me for a few long moments—moments that had me cursing in my head—before running his stubby fingers over his mustache, his gold rings glinting. “We are not here on business. We are here to relax. Have a little fun. Enjoy the beach.” He picked up the glass of Patron. “And we’re here to get drunk. And I don’t think you have any right to tell us where we can do that. If we want to get drunk here, if we want to wait until three in the morning for you to get off your shift, we can do that. And we will do that.”

At that, both he and the other man slammed back their shots.

I gulped and squeaked out a “sorry” and then turned to leave.

“Oh, Luisa,” Salvador called, stopping me in mid-step. “Do come back here. We aren’t finished with you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to find my inner strength, willing myself to stay calm, before I went back to him.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have a few questions for you. If you answer them truthfully, I will not wait for you until you are done with your shift. I will leave now and leave you a lovely tip for your cooperation. If you lie to me, I will not tip you. I will instead wait for you. And then hopefully you will learn to be honest with me—at three in the morning. You understand?”

“Yes,” I said, barely audible. My knees started to shake.

“Good,” he said. He rubbed again at his mustache, seemingly in thought, then asked, “Where do you live?”

“In San Jose del Cabo.”

Please, please, please don’t ask for my address
, I thought.

“Ah. And who do you live with?”

“M-my mother and father.”

“No husband.”

“No.”

“Children?”

I shook my head.

“Boyfriend?”

“No, just my mother and father. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

I knew that’s what he wanted to hear. His smile became very sly.

“Good girl. Boyfriends are useless. You need a husband—a man, not a boy.”

I didn’t say anything to that. My mouth was drying up.

He went on, looking around, “Is this your only job?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Three years.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Are you happy?”

I frowned at him, taken off-guard. “What?”

“I asked if you were happy. Are you happy?”

“Are
you
happy?” I retorted.

He raised his brows. “Yes. Of course. I have everything I could ever want
… almost.”

He wanted me to comment on the
almost
part, I could tell. But I steeled myself against curiosity.

“How nice. Well, I am poor and I work this job to take care of my parents, who are sick. I have always been poor and I have always worked hard. I am not happy.” I was slightly amazed at the honesty that was coming out of my mouth, things I didn’t even admit to myself.

“Do you ever get in trouble for talking back?” he asked, and for a moment I thought I was in big trouble. Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, you can be trained out of that. So you’re not happy. But you’re so beautiful, Luisa. Beautiful enough to bring me in here, to make me want to talk to you, to make me want to know more about you.”

“Beauty means nothing,” I said.

“Ah, but you’ve won pageants before, prizes that have given you money.”

My heart jump-started. “How did you know that?”

“I know many things,” he went on, “and I want
many
things. Final question: are you a virgin?”

My cheeks immediately grew hot. “That is none of your business.”

He grinned like a crocodile. “I’m afraid it is my business. Whether you like it or not, you are my business now. You can tell me the truth or I can wait until three in the morning and I’ll find out for myself. Oh, and don’t act like you’re going to call the police over this. You know exactly who I am and you know exactly what I can do.”

I felt like I was seconds away from fainting, the fear was so great. But somehow I managed to say, “Yes, I am a virgin.”

He nodded in sleazy satisfaction. “I thought as much. Perhaps that is why you’re so unhappy.”

He looked to the other man who brought out his wallet. He placed $500 on the table.

My mouth dropped open at the wad of money just sitting there while Salvador and the man got out of the booth. I quickly backed out of the way.

“You can eat the nachos,” Salvador said, hiking up his jeans and looking me over. “You look like you could use a bit more weight in those thighs. I wouldn’t want to hurt you
… much.”

Then Salvador and the man left the bar. One moment they were here and I was caught in the most frightening conversation of my life, the next minute they were gone. I stood there for a long time, trying to wrap my head around what had happened. Then I realized that they had gone, for real, and there was a huge amount of money on the table waiting for me.

I quickly scooped it up and stuffed it down my shirt before anyone could see. Then I tried to go back to work, but every hour I was looking over my shoulder in fear that the drug lord would come back.

He didn’t come back that night. Not even when I finished my shift.

But he did come back the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Until I learned not to fear him as much.

Until he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

“L
uisa you’ve barely touched your food,” my mother said. I looked up from my plate to her blank stare, always wondering how she could sense such things. It must have been motherly instinct.

“I’m just not very hungry,” I admitted, pushing the chicken around on my plate, my head and heart heavy as if someone had opened my mouth and poured sand inside me.

She slowly placed her fork down and sighed. “You haven’t been yourself for the last few weeks. Is there something you need to talk about? Is it work?”

I glanced at my father. He was eating away, apparently content. I knew he wasn’t really here right now—when my father was one hundred per cent himself, he was very intuitive and a straight shooter. I could rarely keep things from him either.

“It’s not work,” I said slowly, knowing that I was going to have tell them. I just didn’t know how. They wouldn’t see it the way I saw it. I wondered how much I could hide from them.

“Mama, papa,” I said. I cleared my throat and straightened up in my chair. Even though my mother couldn’t see me, I felt her looking. Only my dad remained lost in lost thoughts, and for once I was okay that he would have no reaction. “I met a man.”

“Oh?” my mother asked, her interest piqued by the foreign subject. “Who is he? Where did you meet him? Do you like him?”

“I met him at work,” I said, skirting the other questions and shoving a piece of stewed tomato in my mouth. I chewed slowly, planning my words. “He took an interest in me. He is very wealthy and has promised me the world.”

Her face fell slightly. “I see.” She paused, pushing her plate away from her. “I am not surprised, Luisa. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman. I am only surprised that this is the first man you have talked about to us.”

Here it came. “That is because it is serious. He has asked to marry me.”

The room stilled, choking on silence and the oppressive heat. My heart throbbed with fear from just hearing those words out loud.

It was the cold, hard truth; Salvador Reyes had asked me to marry him.

I couldn’t read my mother’s expression at all. She was in shock, that was for sure, but whether she was happy, sad, angry or suspicious, I didn’t know. Finally she said, “When did this happen?”

“A few days ago,” I told her. He had come into the bar every day, sometimes with David, that creepy crony of his who always wore his shades inside. A few times, though, it was just Salvador. I never had any doubt that there was an army of people stationed all around, so we were never really alone, but it was during those times that he would ask me to have dinner with him, even if I was in the middle of the shift. At this point, Bruno knew who he was and what was going on, and he had to allow me as many breaks as I wanted. Salvador controlled the entire bar from the moment he stepped into it until the moment he left.

And he controlled me.

The curious thing, however, was that each day I grew more comfortable with his presence. It wasn’t that I was less scared or intimidated by him. It was just that I got used to the fear. The fear of Salvador, of what he wanted from me, of what he would do next, became as soft and easy as my favorite blanket. And because he was the scariest of them all, I no longer feared anyone else but him. Bruno, he was nothing in comparison. My terrors had become consolidated into one greasy, mustached man with a beer gut and bad hair. A man who ruled such a violent part of the world and who would now rule mine.

Because, when he asked me the other day, when I had finished my shift early and he insisted I walk down to the marina with him, I knew I had to say yes.

If I was being honest with myself, there was a part of me that could have swooned at the proposal. When Salvador got down on one knee and took my hand in his, his palms sweaty, his fingers large and fat, I tricked my mind and heart into momentarily believing that Salvador knew me, cared for me, loved me. Of course, he only wanted me to look good at his side and that was it. Well, that and be in his bed. What else could there be after just a few weeks?

So I said yes and tried to believe I meant it. If I said no, I would be killed. There was no doubt about that. No woman turned down Salvador Reyes, not for a date, not for marriage.

“I will treat you like a princess,” he had said to me, a stupid, lopsided grin on his pockmarked face. “And you will have everything you ever wanted. You’ll be richer than the President.”

And that’s when I found the tiny shred of hope to cling to. By marrying the country’s most notorious drug lord, a man who had politicians and police under his thumb, a man with more money than he probably knew what to do with, I would be buying myself safety from everyone but him, and I would be buying me and my parents a life we would never get to experience otherwise. I would no longer have to work for Bruno. I could have my mother and father taken care of and their every whim catered to.

It was at that thought that I was finally able to give Salvador a genuine smile. He responded by kissing me for the first time, his mustache tickling my upper lip. I wished it could have meant something to me, but all I could do was concentrate on the two competing feelings in my chest: relief.

And dread.

“Did you say yes?” my mother asked quietly, snapping me back to reality, to the kitchen table with the one wobbly leg, to the overhead fan that did nothing to disperse the hot air, to my father’s kind but desolate eyes as he stared curiously at my mother, perhaps seeing her for the first time today.

I nodded and dabbed at my mouth with the napkin. “I did. It is for the best, Mama, you will see.”

She gave me a funny look. “You act as if marriage is a bargain you have to make.” When I didn’t say anything, she went on. “So what is the bargain here?”

“He has a lot of money, I told you. He will take care of me and I can take proper care of you.” I quickly reached across the table and put my hand on hers. “Mama, please, this is a good thing.”

“Then why can’t I hear it in your voice? You are anything but happy.”

“I am happy,” I said. “I will be happy. In time. It’s all so new and…”

“And so who is this man who you suddenly agreed to marry?”

“You don’t really know him,” I said carefully. “But he has a lot of power and a lot of influence.”

“And what does he do?” she asked, her voice taking on a strange steely quality. She knew that no wealth in our country came honestly.

There was nothing for me to do but tell the truth. The truth would hurt her, but it would also keep her safe.

“His name is Salvador,” I said. “And he is in charge of a cartel.”

My mother’s mouth dropped open while my father muttered the first words I’d heard from him all evening. “Salvador Reyes,” he said, musing over it. “He is a bad, bad man.” Of course he could forget his own wife and daughter sometimes, but a notorious drug lord lived in every memory.

“Luisa,” she said breathlessly. “You can’t be serious.”

I gave her a tight smile. “Unfortunately, I am.”

“Salvador Reyes. The Sal? The drug lord? The jackal?” She shook her head and folded her hands in her lap. “No. No, I refuse to believe this.”

“But it is the truth.”

“But why? Why here? Why
you
?”

“I wish I could say, Mama. I don’t know. He thinks I am beautiful and worthy of a better life.”
He thinks I am worthy of his bed.

She snorted caustically. “A better life? Who does he think he is? Has he been here? We are not living in squalor, Luisa. We have everything that we need right here.”

“No, we don’t!” I yelled, surprised by the ferocity in my voice. “Every day I struggle to get by, for you, for Papa. And it’s still not enough.”

She rubbed her lips together, taken aback. I could see the wash of shame on her face and I immediately regretted losing my temper.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “You know I’ve done everything to take care of the both of you and I’ll do whatever I can to keep doing so. This is an opportunity—”

“This is a death sentence,” she muttered.

Her words sent cold waves down my spine. I swallowed hard. “No,” I said, though I didn’t believe it myself. “He can protect me. I will go and live with him in a mansion in Culiacán. I will be safe, safer than anyone in the country. And you will be safe too. I will make sure that you and Papa are taken care of, you can live with us on the compound or stay here, in some place really nice. I will do whatever it takes. I am doing this for you.”

She just shook her head, a few strands of her greying hair coming loose around her face. “This is wrong. You deserve to marry a man for love, not money.”

“Maybe I can learn to love him. Maybe he can learn to love me.”

Her mouth twisted into a sad smile. “Oh, Luisa, I know you are not that naïve! He is a drug lord. They do not know how to love a fellow human being. They only love money and they only love death. He will never love you. He will have other women on the side. You will never be able to leave. You will become a prisoner of his life.”

Is it any different than being a prisoner to this life
? I thought to myself. I sighed. “You know I have no choice. Whether I’ll love him or not, whether he’ll love me or not, you know I can’t say no.”

“There are always choices, my daughter. God gave you free will to make them.”

“Then I am choosing to die later instead of dying now.”

I thought my mother would admonish me for talking so fatalistically, but she understood. There was nothing easy or right about this situation, so there was nothing left for me to do but try and make the best of it.

“You deserve so much more,” she finally said, staring at nothing.

I looked pointedly at her and my father. “As do the both of you. And now, we shall have more. Let’s just ignore the cost for now.”

She nodded and went back to her food, picking aimlessly at the chicken that had grown cold. Now that she knew of the weight on my shoulders, she didn’t have an appetite either.

The next day
I had my final shift at the bar. My mother thought I was crazy, but Papa had instilled such a good work ethic in me that it was hard to shake. Despite everything Bruno had done to me over the years, he had provided me with a job and the means to take care of my parents, and I couldn’t just leave without warning. The moment Salvador had asked me to marry him and told me he would be taking care of me from now on, I gave Bruno one week’s notice.

I have to admit, it was a bit sad to say goodbye. As I stood behind the bar and looked over the people in the booths, laughing over drinks, I forgot about all the times I was treated like dirt by customers and forgot about being afraid of Bruno’s advances. I only remembered the comfort and security, as false as it had been. Faced with the infinite unknown of my new life, the job had seemed so simple and safe.

“I’m going to miss you,” Camila said after she’d hugged me for the millionth time that day. She held me by my shoulders and leaned in, her eyes inquisitive as they searched mine. “And I’m going to worry about you, you know.”

I nodded, trying to keep my posture straight, my face falsely confident. “Don’t worry about me. I am better off.”

She frowned, and her eyes flitted over to Bruno who was standing by the entrance and hitting on the hostess. “Perhaps so. But as obnoxious and disgusting as Bruno can be, he is not Salvador Reyes.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I repeated, looking her hard in the eyes.

She smiled softly and squeezed my shoulders before letting go. “Then I won’t.”

The rest of the shift went smoothly, with the staff and Bruno giving me a small slice of cake at the end. We all did shots to honor my departure, and Bruno gave me a very proper, very professional handshake, wishing me well in the future. As much as I wanted to spit in his face and take advantage of his newfound respect for me, I played polite and silently hoped that one day karma would come knocking at his door.

It was around nine o’ clock when my last day was finally over. I walked out the door and made it about halfway down the block, squeezing through throngs of slow tourists, before a black town car pulled up to the curb.

“Miss Chavez.” David stepped out of the passenger side and gestured to the back door, those sunglasses ever present on his skinny face. “Would you get in the car, please?”