The Cartel (4 page)

The driver motioned them out of the truck and led the group down an embankment, crossing a stream. Through the trees lights reflected on the water. Marta tried to get a better look at what lay ahead of them. It looked like a factory of some sort.

Baffled, Marta eventually set aside her fear as curiosity took over. What was this place? And why in the world had Josefina brought her here? They walked into the small concrete building and once Marta’s eyes adjusted to the lights inside, she carefully looked around her. There was an assembly line of about thirty people putting a liquid substance into vials, and then stuffing the vials into chili peppers. At another row of tables there were about a dozen more people placing the peppers into wooden crates. She looked at Josefina, who shook her head and handed her a crate.

“Start working.”

“But, I…”

Josefina held up her hand. “Trust me.”

After a couple of hours of working at the task, Marta began to tire. No one said anything. They worked tirelessly. Josefina had to be crazy. How in the world was stuffing these peppers going to get her to America? And, what were they stuffing the peppers with?

As she was about to ask Josefina what was going on and insist on some answers, Josefina tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Marta followed her outside with some of the others. They balanced crates on top of their heads or carried them in their arms. Marta held hers in front of her, staggering under the weight of the heavy crate. All she wanted to do was lie down, to not take another step. The day, the emotions, the grueling trip into the jungle was catching up with her.

They reached the road where five trucks were parked. The workers set their crates in the back of the trucks. Josefina took Marta’s out of her arms and put it in the back of one of the trucks, then took Marta by the hand and walked up to the passenger side and opened the door.

“Fernando, this is my friend Marta. She has a problem and needs to get to the States. Can you help us?”

The driver leaned forward over the wheel. He had a craggy face and a long black beard, but his eyes looked friendly. “Sure, I’ll see that your friend gets to where she needs to go.”

Josefina smiled and turned to Marta. “Fernando is a good man. He will take care of you. They take this stuff into the United States all the time. He’ll make sure that you get there safely. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t lead you astray,” Josefina assured her.

Marta hugged her friend for the last time and climbed up into the truck with her small bag of belongings. Moments later the convoy pulled away. Marta, unsure of what she’d experienced, closed her eyes, attempting to sort out everything she’d been through in the past twelve hours. It was strange how things could change in such a short amount of time. How could one go from the happiest moment in life, to the most miserable? Those twelve hours felt more like twelve years.

Fernando spoke, startling her. She opened her eyes. “You might as well settle in, we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.” He smiled at her. He was missing several teeth, and the ones he wasn’t missing looked pretty rotten.

She tried to muster a return smile
.
What in God’s name had she gotten herself into?

****

Late that same night, Antonio lay awake staring at the blades of the ceiling fan raking the air above his bed. Thankfully, its swishing sound had lulled his wife to sleep. But
nothing
would put
him
to sleep tonight.

Marta’s eyes captured his thoughts, and he knew he would never forget the way they’d looked when she’d discovered the truth. God, how he wanted to go to her, comfort her, tell her that he did truly love her, unlike any love he’d ever felt. He knew as he stared into those pain-filled eyes, that the moment would be seared upon his heart and mind forever. What he’d done to her was irreparable. As much as he yearned to go to her, he knew he couldn’t. He had already hurt one woman he held dear that evening. He certainly wanted to spare Lydia the proof of his infidelities, which would devastate her. He truly loved her as well, but with a different kind of love. The passion wasn’t what it had once been. Marta filled that void.

Would his weakness for beautiful women be his downfall? Marta hadn’t been his only affair, but she was the only one, other than his wife, that he’d fallen in love with. He’d had it all for a while, the best of both worlds. There’d been no real need before to tell Marta that he was married. She never asked. He thought that she should have figured it out, a man of his stature and imminence, but he knew damn good and well, deep in his heart, that his Marta did not have any idea that he had a wife. She was naïve and he’d reveled in the fact that she trusted him so deeply. It was that type of innocence that attracted him to her in the first place.

Why had Lydia nagged him so badly to come to the party? She’d left him no choice. He’d tried and tried to convince her that it wasn’t in the best interest for her and the baby. But it was to no avail. When Lydia wanted something bad enough, the damn woman knew how to grind on him until she got her way.

Lydia had begged, nagged, pleaded, wanting to see Cynthia and hating being left alone, complaining of his brooding brother Emilio. Lydia had to have been the one to put Cynthia up to the phone call that she’d placed to Antonio, insisting he bring her friend with him so the two could spend time together before they both were occupied with new babies.

Antonio hoped to see Marta before she discovered the truth on her own. He wanted to break it to her gently. He had searched for her during the party, knowing that he had to tell her the truth and convince her that they could still be together when he visited Javier’s. But he did not find her in time and by the look in her eyes he knew that any thought of further intimacy between them could not occur. She hated him now. He was certain of that.

If only he could have explained. Lydia hadn’t let him out of her sight the entire time they’d been at Javier’s. He wondered if her woman’s intuition had warned her. Sadly enough, Marta discovered this painful revelation in the worst way. Maybe that was the best way. It would be over, and Antonio could concentrate more on the future of his and Javier’s ever-growing empire. Marta took up a lot of space in his mind even when they weren’t together.

Lydia rolled over, letting out a groan, her discomfort obvious. He stroked her forehead and silky hair. Lydia loved him, but something drew him to Marta. The girl who was barely a woman had captured his heart. She possessed a power over him that frustrated him beyond words, because he didn’t want to desire her. He should not desire her. But he did. Even at that very moment, he craved her.

Logic told him that it was as well that things were over between them, but the spiritual side of him knew that he would never be the same again. Marta had touched him in a way that no other woman had, and he would miss her deeply.

The trip from Costa Careyes to Tijuana were the longest days of Marta’s life. Even longer than when she’d left her home, broken hearted after finding out the truth about her parents. She was cursed, she was certain of that now. The trip had been hot, dirty and miserable. Marta was sick a good share of the journey. Fernando had been the Godsend Josefina indicated he would be, trying his best to keep her nourished and hydrated, but the infant growing inside her sucked everything from her. Constant pangs gnawed at her stomach. Even when she did eat, she wanted to vomit. There were a few times when she did exactly that, and Fernando had to stop and help her clean herself. The men in the convoy grumbled at her, complaining that she was holding them up.

Fernando growled at them to leave her alone. “She’s my sister, and she’s with child. Back off, all of you!”

They left her alone after that and she looked at him in consternation, surprised that he knew of her condition.

“I have six sisters, and at this point I’ve lost count of how many nieces and nephews I have. But I figured with all that puking you’re doing, you must be carrying a baby,” he replied.

Marta nodded, knowing that her face was turning red. She wondered briefly what he thought about her not having a husband, but she felt too sick to really care anymore.

When they arrived in Tijuana, Marta was horrified to see such filth. The stench in the air was one of rot---coppery and foul. It looked nothing like Costa Careyes. Certainly there were poor people there, too, but nothing compared to the poverty she witnessed here. Even the poor where she came from lived reasonably well. They survived on fish, living in small villages where people understood the meaning of family and neighbor. Crime remained low in these villages because it was dealt with in swift, harsh fashion.

Tijuana was far removed from that type of rural poor. As they drove through the main street, Marta noticed how many people, including children, sat on the street corners and begged--encased in dirt. They obviously had no shame. Her feelings went back and forth from sympathy to indignity that anyone would allow their child to beg. It was an indecent thing to do. How could such conditions exist? She had basically lived a luxurious lifestyle in comparison.

Fernando pulled away from the convoy and over to the side of the road. He glanced at Marta, but didn’t look directly at her. “This is as far as I can take you.” His eyes were filled with empathy.

She must’ve misunderstood him. “But we aren’t in America yet,” she said.

“You’re right, but I can take you no further. You must understand we take a big risk crossing the border with what we’re carrying. You’re an illegal. I can go to jail just transporting you. If I get caught with you, they’re certainly going to pull us over and discover what we’re transporting. I become a risk to everyone then.”

“But I can hide,” Marta pleaded, patting down her disheveled hair.

“If I could, I’d take you all the way, but the others insisted that I let you out here.”

“But you promised me, and Josefina.”

“I know, and I’ll make good on my promise,” he replied.

“How? Certainly not by letting me out here.” Marta grew angry with this man she’d grown to trust in such a short amount of time. He was simply more proof that men were not to be trusted. She was so foolish.

“There is a friend of mine named Tito Velasquez. He takes people across the border for a few hundred dollars. I’ll take you up the road he lives on. Then you’ll have to walk the rest of the way, because the truck won’t make it to the top.”

Marta fumed. How could Josefina have entrusted her to this man? Why was Fernando letting her down? To hell with Antonio. This was all his fault. Marta cursed him under her breath, while she nodded her head, defeated again. She had no other choice but to go. She’d come this far, and she was certainly not going to remain in this hellhole a minute longer than necessary.

When Fernando stopped and let her out, he apologized again and described the house that she would be looking for just over the hill. He handed her fifty dollars. “Take this.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Please. Take it. You may need it. Don’t be foolish.”

She grabbed the money from him. He told her to tell Tito Valesquez that Fernando had sent her, and then he would cut her a deal on how much she would have to pay to cross over to the States. Marta reluctantly thanked Fernando and slammed the door to his truck.

She climbed the hill ahead of her, and by the time she reached the top and found the shack of a house she was looking for, she was exhausted and longed to be back home.
Home. Home?
She had no home. She swallowed the lump in her throat and summoned up all her courage, lifting her shoulders back and holding her head high.

Shacks dotted the hillside; many of them made of cardboard and scrap material. After coming from one of the finest haciendas in all of Mexico, this was overwhelming. She bit her lower lip and sucked back the emotion choking her.

The house she was looking for turned out to be one of the better ones. It was small, but made of wood and had wrought iron around the windows. There a handful of children playing in front of the house, ranging from toddlers to teenagers. A man stepped out of the doorway. The first thing Marta noticed was all his facial hair and baldhead. He reminded her a pirate she’d seen in a book that Señora Rodriguez had read to her and Josefina. There was a large scar across his chest, which she could see through his open shirt. His eyes were dark and close together. He squinted them, watching her as she approached the house.

“Hello. My name is Marta. Fernando sent me here.” The man nodded. “He said that you could get me to America.” He nodded again. “I am at the right house, aren’t I?”

“Yes. I’m Tito Velasquez. Please come in. We can discuss business. You look tired.”

“I am. It was a long ride here and not a very comfortable one,” Marta replied.

“You came from the Governor’s?”

“How did you know?”

“I know Fernando works for him. I have helped others who have come along with him, wanting to cross the border. To be honest with you, I don’t have any idea why you would want to leave the beauty you came from for the world you’re headed for.” He waved his thick arms in exaggerated fashion as if she were a fool.