Haunted

CHAPTER 17

MAX AND I LOOK AT EACH OTHER.

My sudden awareness that Culebra knew I was tracking him makes my first reaction, confusion, veer quickly to anger. “If you knew I was following you, why didn’t you stop?”

“I’m sorry, Anna.”

“You’re sorry? If you wanted us to come with you, why didn’t you simply ask Max and me? Why chase me away in Beso and then make me track you like a damned bloodhound?”

He doesn’t react to my anger with anger of his own. Instead, his body and face reflect a willingness to endure whatever taunts I choose to fling his way. He stands quietly and waits.

Which, predictably, takes the wind out of my vitriolic sails and leaves me staring back at him feeling like a kid who just threw a tantrum in a toy shop.

After a moment, he says, “I know how angry you were at Christmas. Because I hid certain things from you. The anger is justified. I also know if I told you the reason Ramon came to see me, you’d feel obligated to help regardless of your personal feelings. I wanted to give you and Max a chance to decide on your own if you want to get involved.”

He looks at me, dark eyes piercing and intent. “This is cartel business. It won’t be pretty and it won’t be easy. Once you hear the story, you can come with Ramon and me or go back home. Either way, I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken. You came after me. You’ve shown your loyalty and concern.”

“But now that we’re here, you intend to ask more of us than a show of loyalty and concern.”

He lets a cold smile touch the corners of his eyes and lips. “I do. Yes.”

At least now you’re being honest. The same bitterness that sparked my outburst moments before is back.

Again, Culebra doesn’t reply in kind. It’s frustrating. I realize I’m spoiling for a fight, looking for an excuse to pull out and leave Culebra to his “cartel business.” But Culebra knows me too well. He’s not giving me the chance.

Ramon has come outside and stands beside him. In the doorway, the silhouette of the pilot is outlined against the bright interior. He has what is clearly recognizable as a rifle in his hands. It’s cradled in his arms and not pointed at us. I suppose that’s another good sign.

Culebra motions to the door. “Let’s go inside. Please. We have much to discuss.”

I look at Max. He shrugs and holsters his gun. We follow Culebra and Ramon into the building. Once we’re inside, Culebra pulls the door closed and snaps the deadbolt.

“Is that to keep someone else out or to keep us in?” I ask.

“Both.”

It’s said with a half smile and hopeful spark of humor.

I don’t smile back.

Culebra drops his eyes and the smile and takes his place at the head of a long table. The surface is scattered with maps and charts. He beckons for us to join him.

Max does. I take a moment to look around. The inside of this place is bare wood—walls and floors. No furniture except for the table and a couple of folding chairs that look like they’ve spent a good deal of time in the elements. The paint is scoured and peeling. No windows. The light comes from a single, high-wattage bulb suspended from a ceiling joist, wires dangling down the side of one wall and plugged into the only outlet I can see.

That’s it. Not much in the way of a hideout.

I take the step to the table. The pilot doesn’t join us. He leans his thin frame against the wall opposite the door, his eyes shifting continuously from Max to me. I can’t tell how old he is, his complexion is as scoured as the furniture, but his face is gaunt and severe, his lips pressed in a hard line that emphasizes the frown lines etched around his mouth. He has the animal magnetism of a Benicio Del Toro. The same hooded dark eyes, the same heavy eyelids. He’s dressed in khaki pants and a black hoodie. I think he thinks he’s generating an air of watchful vigilance when in fact, his posture screams “bomb with a short fuse.” He hasn’t leaned the rifle against the wall, either. It’s still at the ready in his arms.

I keep him in my line of sight as I turn my attention to Culebra.

He and Ramon are talking with Max. When I look at Ramon, I remember how Max said he and Culebra met. Max found Culebra wandering in the desert. I found Ramon wandering in the desert. Somehow I doubt Ramon and I are headed for the same kind of relationship. He hasn’t said a word to me. He hasn’t even looked at me. Is it because I’m female or is it because he knows I’m vampire?

Culebra draws my attention with a wave of his hand. He points to something on the map. When I take my place beside Max, Culebra says, “We’re headed here—outside Reynosa. About twelve hundred miles as the crow flies, almost to the Gulf.”

“There’s some fierce infighting going on in the area,” Max says. “Between the old drug lords and members of Los Martillos.”

I know the name. Everyone who lives on or near the border knows the name. Los Martillos are a band of ex-military thugs used as enforcers. Probably learned their trade at the same “school” as Culebra. “I hope that isn’t what this is about,” I say.

“Indirectly, it is.”

Once again, a spark in my gut flares out as indignation. “You aren’t seriously telling us that you’re getting involved in drug shit again.”

His eyes snap to mine. “It’s not that simple.”

Max holds up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Hear him out, Anna. We’ve been after some of these guys for a long time. Particularly Pablo Santiago. He has bounties on his head in Mexico and the United States. If there’s a chance we could nail him or one of his cronies, it’s worth a shot.”

“What’s worth a shot? We haven’t heard what Culebra wants us to do.”

Ramon may not completely understand the words passing between Max, Culebra and me, but there’s certainly no misunderstanding my tone or expression. He barks something to Culebra. Culebra replies quietly and Ramon turns on his heels and stalks off to join the pilot.

I feel a flush of color creep up my neck. “Tell Ramon I know what puta means,” I snap.

“I did,” Culebra replies. “He’s sorry.”

Right. Neither Ramon’s expression nor tone was apologetic.

“You might also remind him that I saved his life.”

“I did that, too,” Culebra says. “Listen, Anna, just hear me out. I was serious when I said I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. This isn’t just about a battle between cartels. This is a family situation. Ramon’s family. His wife and kids. They’re in danger. He saved my life once. I owe it to him to try to save his.”

“So what happened? His count turn up short? He steal a bag of coke?”

Culebra skewers me with eyes like steel knives. “Worse. He killed his boss’s son.”

Max whistles under his breath. “Santiago’s son?”

“No. If he had done that, he’d already be dead,” Culebra replies, his tone sharp. “No, this is the son of one of Santiago’s lieutenants. A banking official in the government and an important link in the narco money chain. His son’s death is causing problems for Santiago.”

“So, what did the kid have to do with anything? Why’d Ramon kill him?” I ask.

Culebra casts a glance over at Ramon who responds with a nod.

“First you have to understand, growing up here is not the same as in the States. A good education is not available to all, prospects are few. One does what he must to provide for his family. Ramon’s parents were poor farmers. When Ramon saw a chance to improve his situation, he took it.”

I cut in with an impatient wave of my hand. “I don’t know where this is going, but if you’re about to tell me Ramon became a hired killer to put food on the table, I will tell you right now I don’t care. I came because I thought you were in trouble. If it’s not your life in danger, I’m out of here. I couldn’t care less what happens to your cartel buddy.”

A spark, dangerous, threatening, flashes in Culebra’s eyes. He says so softly, I almost miss it, “So you pick and choose the monsters you fight now, huh? Your vow to protect the weak applies only to those you deem worthy.”

An angry reply leaps to my lips, but I stifle it, aware that there are others here who don’t know who or what I am. I turn my bitterness inward, projecting it to Culebra through my thoughts.

Don’t do it, Culebra. Don’t play the guilt card. You of all people know what I’ve done since accepting responsibility as the Chosen One. I sent my family half a world away. I hold my few human friends at arm’s distance. I’ve given up a lot. I won’t be coerced into helping a stranger who’s in trouble because of his own stupid choices.

Max is unaware of what I’ve said to Culebra, but he interjects himself into the tense silence. “Maybe you should at least hear him out, Anna. If not for Ramon, then because this may be an opportunity to take a major player out of the game. Santiago is a big fish. Landing him would be a coup.” He looks at Culebra. “For both our governments.”

Resistance to getting involved still churns my stomach. “But he didn’t kill Santiago’s son,” I remind Max. “How do you think going after this bank official will get you close to Santiago?”

“Because it’s Santiago who is gunning for Ramon now,” Culebra says. “Just as the boss came after me thirty years ago. Ramon inconvenienced Santiago. He doesn’t care about the kid Ramon killed. The kid doesn’t matter. He’ll wipe out Ramon’s entire family to send a message. Unless we can stop it.”

Everyone in the room is looking at me. The pilot and Ramon with overt hostility, Culebra and Max with patience. As if they already know I’ll give in.

I kick one of the chairs away from the table and sit, arms crossed over my chest.

“Okay, I’ll listen. But this better be one motherfucker of a compelling story.”