The Cartel Read online

  There were twelve bedrooms in the house and one of them had now been decorated as a nursery and another a play room. The Rodriguez’s baby would have every comfort imaginable.

  Javier sipped sangria from his glass as he sunbathed near the pool located in the Saltillo tiled courtyard. While soaking in the incredible heat, he could not stop thinking about the large amount of money he and Antonio were making by shipping both heroin and marijuana up north. The distributors loved the stuff, and they couldn't supply it fast enough to keep up with the demand. The Vietnam War was in full force, and American kids were smoking a lot of the weed, and almost as many were shooting the brown poison into their veins. Javier and Antonio were living in grand style because of it. It amazed him that so many people wanted to change their state of mind, their emotions, whatever it was that made their life unbearable that they wanted to escape it through drugs. He shook his head and figured it was not about him. If people were honestly so stupid to buy the drugs he and Antonio supplied then so be it. Money was money and the money was fantastic.

  "Señor Rodriguez," Lupe screamed. "Señor—come quick. The baby. Señora is having the baby.”

  What? No that couldn’t be. It was too soon. He bolted from his lounge chair, spilling his glass of sangria all over his white shirt and shorts. He raced to Cynthia's room where several of the maidservants were gathered and pushed his way through. There his wife lie on the bed, covered in a pool of sweat and screaming out in pain.

  "The doctor! Where in the hell is the doctor?" Javier barked.

  "He's on his way, Señor. We called him. It happened so suddenly."

  "Javier," Cynthia cried out.

  He rushed to her side, and held her clammy hand—her face drained of color. "I'm so hot. The baby is coming too early.” She turned to him, tears pooling in her beautiful green eyes. Javier could see that his wife was caught in her own pain- filled world. Something wasn’t right.

  He sat with her, stroking her hair back off her forehead and telling her how much he loved her as they waited for the doctor. Soon after her water broke, the doctor rushed in, immediately commanding everyone to leave the room, adding to Javier’s deep fear. After an initial examination, the doctor sent for Javier. Taking him aside, he told him, "I'm afraid she has a very high fever. I believe it is caused by a condition known as toxemia. It’s very dangerous for her and the baby."

  "What is that? I don’t know what that is. How dangerous?” he asked unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

  The doctor didn’t look at him. "I'll do everything I can.” He pushed his bifocals up his long nose.

  "Let's take her to the hospital," Javier demanded. “Right now. We must go now.”

  "It's too late, Governor. An hour ago, yes, maybe so, but the baby will be born soon. We can only pray."

  "Pray? What do you mean, that's all we can do? There must be something, anything you can do. You have to help her."

  "I will do what I can," the doctor replied, shaking his head and walked back to Cynthia's side.

  Javier felt the walls closing in on him. Slumped against the door like a beaten dog, he prayed, tears running down his face. He could not believe his lovely wife could die. He had to be with her and comfort her. He pulled himself up and went to Cynthia, taking her by the hand again, praying his own life force would seep into her body through the warmth of his hands.

  She weakly squeezed his hand and murmured, "I know something is wrong, Javier. I can feel it. I see it in your eyes."

  Javier shook his head. "No, love, you’re fine. Everything is going to be all right. I'm a nervous father-to-be, that's all."

  "Please, Javier, please have them save the baby. Let the baby know how much I loved and wanted…"

  "You are talking nonsense now. You need to rest, love," he said.

  "Bring me the priest," she whispered.

  Javier sighed and sobbed quietly. His life passed before him. He could not lose his wife and child. He kissed her cheek, knowing it was useless to protest. He closed her door behind him, and had one of the maids call for Father Felipe. The priest came within the hour. By that time Cynthia's fever had risen and the sheets were soaked with her perspiration.

  The priest went to her and read the last rites at her bedside. As he made the sign of the cross, Cynthia went into convulsions. Javier yelled out. He was powerless and grief-stricken as he watched her die. He held her hands tight as the priest finished giving the sacraments. And as if she’d been granted permission to die, she did so with grace. Her hands went limp, her breathing shallow until she took a last breath and her eyes fluttered closed.

  The doctor placed a hand on Javier’s shoulder. I am so sorry, Governor. You must go now though. Please go and wait outside. “I have to deliver your baby. We do not have much time.”

  Javier wiped the tears away and nodded. He didn’t want to leave Cynthia there. It didn’t feel right but he knew there was no other choice. Cynthia had specifically asked that her baby be saved. He left the doctor alone with her.

  Standing outside Cynthia's room, Javier fell to pieces. She was gone. Grief and shock traveled icy cold through his body. His mind numb, his heart pained as if it were being held in a vise. How could this have happened? Tears blurring his vision, he punched a wall and yelled out, not from any physical pain.

  His misery was shattered with the sound of a baby's cry coming from the other room. He pushed open the door, and witnessed the doctor holding up a tiny, red infant. He gazed at the scene for a moment. Cynthia covered with the bloodstained sheet, not moving. He pulled the sheet off of her peaceful face and kissed her tenderly. "I love you always," he whispered. He then turned around to see his new baby daughter wrapped in woolen blankets.

  The doctor said, "She's tiny, only five pounds, but that's because she's a bit premature. I don't see anything wrong with her, however. She's breathing well and has good color. Give her to one of your maids and she should do fine. But if you’d prefer, I can take her to the hospital, where we can monitor her."

  Cynthia’s nursemaid Consuela began to walk forward to take the baby, but Javier intercepted her, gently lifting her out of the doctor's arms. He cradled his newborn daughter. "No," he said firmly holding his hand up to Consuela, who reached out to take her from him. "I will take care of my daughter."

  ****

  At the moment Javier laid claim to his baby daughter, hundreds of miles away, Marta Peña lay in a twin bed covered with a patchwork quilt she’d made over the months. She kissed the top of her small son’s head. He’d been born the night before.

  "He looks so perfect," Elisa said.

  “Mhhm. He is perfect," Marta replied.

  The dark-haired baby slept comfortably next to the warmth of his mother. His birth had been easier than she'd expected. Elisa had helped deliver him, along with a midwife. The labor had only lasted four hours in the bedroom of their apartment.

  "I’ll bet you never thought you'd make it." Elisa interrupted her thoughts. "Especially when we were stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with no idea how to get here.”

  Marta let out a sigh of sheer exhaustion, mixed with the bliss she felt over the birth of her son. “I owe it all to you. If not for you, I would’ve never been able to settle here in the United States."

  Marta remained grateful to God and to Elisa for getting her across the border, and that the rest of the trip had gone along without incident. Once in Los Angeles, Elisa convinced Marta to rent the room below hers, in the duplex where she and her boys lived. There were four families living in the small area, but it was clean, and they all treated each other well enough. Marta had taken on several jobs cleaning houses and made a decent living for a while, but now that the baby was here, she was afraid she'd lose those jobs.

  "No one will want me back to clean now that I have a baby, and I can't afford child care."

  "Don't worry about it, Marta. I have some good news for you. I am marrying Jefé, and he says that I don’t need to work outside the house any longer.
I will take care of the baby." Elisa looked so excited that she blushed like a schoolgirl. "He has a good job, and said I could stay home with the boys from now on. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I take care of the baby, too."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "He only asked me last night, and then you decided to surprise us not long after with the little one here." She bent over and kissed the baby.

  "I can’t ask you to take care of him."

  "And why not? We are like sisters, you and I. God has brought us together for a reason. We've already conquered much together. I would be honored to take care of our little baby. By the way, what are you going to name him?"

  "I don’t know."

  "What was his father's name?"

  Marta paused for a moment. "Antonio." The name sounded foreign to her. Although she and Elisa had a bond, she never spoke of Antonio and it seemed as if Elisa knew not to ask, until now.

  "That is a powerful name. So your son here must have one equal to it. Let me see. How about Jesús? Or Mañuel?"

  "No," Marta answered, thinking hard for a moment for a befitting name. Finally she said, "I think I’ll name him Alejandro after my grandmother's father. She always told me he was a strong and brave man.”

  Elisa nodded in approval. “I like that. Very strong.” She made a fist and held it up high.

  Marta smiled. “Good then, I will name him Alejandro. Alejandro Peña."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Antonio watched as his five-year-old daughter rose picking flowers in the garden, while he held his nine-month-old daughter, Felicia. The cherubic baby slept soundly in her father's arms. Lydia had gone into town for the day. Since it was Sunday, the nanny was in town with her family.

  Antonio enjoyed this time alone with his young daughters. He loved both of them dearly. He did, however, want a son and although his passion for his wife tempered with the loss of Marta, he would soon suggest to Lydia that it was time to try for a son. He desired to have someone carry on the Espinoza name. Even though there was always the possibility that his only brother Emilio would marry and have a son one day, he wasn’t going to bet on it.

  Antonio glanced down at his watch. His brother was supposed to have met him fifteen minutes ago. Apparently, Emilio had important news for him. What that news might be didn’t particularly interest Antonio, as what was important to Emilio was usually fairly trivial to Antonio. More than likely his younger brother had run out of money.

  "Antonio." He heard Emilio's voice ring out from behind him. He turned around to see his brother descending the stairs at the back of the house. It was no wonder he hadn't married. The man was so good looking, why should he settle for one beautiful wife when he could have many women, plus he was still quite young. Emilio walked toward them. He wore nothing but white, his usual attire. He told Antonio that women loved the innocence of white. Antonio laughed out loud, remembering his brother carrying on endlessly about women and what they loved.

  Emilio strode up to his brother. Antonio put his finger to his lips and glanced down at the stirring baby.

  "Hi," Emilio whispered, running his palms through the natural waves in his hair.

  Antonio nodded. Rosa followed closely behind her uncle while she tugged on her father's pant leg. "Come pick flowers with me? Please Papa, please."

  "In a moment, mija. Your uncle and I need to speak first. Why don't you see if you can find your mama the prettiest one?"

  "Okay, Papa," the reluctant child sighed.

  Antonio patted Felicia while keeping a close eye on Rosa, and then asked Emilio what was so important.

  "I received word earlier today that Simon Levine wants to meet with you and Javier."

  "Who did you hear this from?"

  "A fellow working for him down in Cuba. Levine says the Italians in New York are getting nervous with us running drugs down here. He claims he can keep everyone happy."

  "Fucking Spics," Antonio said, spitting. He knew that no matter how badly he wanted to control the industry, the big guys would always be the Italians. They had laid out a lot of money to begin partnership with the Latino Mafia, and they obviously didn't like the fact they were losing some of their profit to Antonio’s group. He’d miscalculated their interest in drugs coming from his country. Simon Levine was a man who had his hand in all things that could make him money. He’d been involved with the Cosa Nostra to an extent, but he was also his own man. He did business with the Italians but kept them at arm’s length. Was he planning to do this with Antonio and Javier? Likely he wanted a piece of the pie, too. Levine couldn’t be ignored. He had too much power, wealth and was very connected.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Meet with him," Antonio growled, causing the baby to wake up. He bounced her against his shoulder for a moment and she quieted down.

  "What about Javier?"

  "What about Javier? He'll meet with him, too."

  "Haven't you heard?" Emilio cocked his head, looking at his brother intently.

  "Heard what?”

  "Cynthia. She died in childbirth a few days ago. I thought you certainly would have known."

  "Oh, my God. No. The baby? What about the baby?"

  "I guess she's fine. Javier hasn't let anyone besides the wet nurse touch her. He says he's to take care of her, and no one else."

  "Ay, he's gone crazy. How did you find this out before I did?"

  "I have a connection who knows somebody who works for him," Emilio replied.

  "I see. Go to the house; tell the maid to have my bags packed and the helicopter ready."

  "You're going there?"

  "Of course I am. Javier is like family. It's time we help him. Besides, his wife needs to be buried, and we have to get back to business. The longer we wait, the longer Levine waits, and I don’t feel good about that."

  *****

  When Antonio arrived at Javier’s hacienda, the sun had set. He was escorted into a wing of the house he'd never seen before. Walking down the long hallway, he realized it had been designed for the children meant to occupy it. Along the corridors were painted murals of carousel horses and teddy bears. It was filled with pastel colors.

  He wasn't quite sure what he would say to Javier and he hesitated a moment before following Lupe who led him to the last door on the left.

  He tapped on the door and walked in. Sitting there in a rocking chair was his friend, with a tiny infant wrapped in a pink blanket. Javier slouched slightly over the child. To Antonio, he appeared smaller, older, weaker. He slowly looked up at Antonio. The grieving father’s eyes were lined with deep, dark circles, and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. Dried tears on his face reflected a quiet vulnerability.

  Antonio walked over and placed his hands on Javier’s shoulders. Javier shuddered beneath them. "My friend, I’m so sorry about your loss. I know that you must be in very deep pain." Javier nodded. "Please let me and my family help you. Come stay with us for a time. Lydia and the nanny...." Antonio didn't have a chance to finish his sentence, when Javier held up his hand.

  "Isabella is my daughter. No one will take care of her except me." He looked at Antonio defiantly.

  It was apparent Javier had made up his mind. Antonio respected that. Once Javier recovered a bit from the loss of Cynthia, he would come around.

  "When is the funeral?"

  "Day after tomorrow."

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  "No.”

  "I know this is a terrible time, but you need to be aware that Simon Levine is coming to see us."

  Javier sighed, obviously not wanting to discuss business. "When?"

  "Some time next week. Would it be easier for you if he came to Colombia?"

  "I'd prefer here. The baby will not be ready to go anywhere by that time."

  "I understand." Antonio leaned over and kissed the baby on her forehead. “She is beautiful, my friend. Like her mother.” He placed a hand over Javier’s for a moment. “All you have to do is ask. Anything. Anything you need for
you, your daughter…” He nodded and removed his hand from his friend’s.

  As Antonio reached the door, Javier called out to him, “Thank you, brother." Tears filled his eyes.

  ****

  After a bite of supper, Antonio returned to his room and reflected on Javier’s loss and of his own long-lost Marta, which kept him tossing and turning through most of the night. He had no idea where Marta had run off to, and didn’t feel that it was appropriate to ask Javier.

  He got up to pour himself a drink when he heard a young woman's voice outside his door. "Señor Espinoza?" His heart skipped a beat. He wondered for a moment if it were Marta. He parted the door slowly, and there stood Josefina.