The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3 Page 4

  Guillermo grabbed his bottle and took a long slug. The cold beer killed the burning in his throat.

  “Man, that’s good.” Guillermo said as he slammed his bottle back on the bar. “Let’s have another.”

  By the fourth shot, the boys lost control their faculties. Tony slid off his bar stool while the others roared with laughter.

  The fifth round was purchased by a man with a thin mustache in an old-fashioned double-breasted suit.

  “You boys are Americans, no?” He asked as he shoved a two hundred peso note across the bar.

  “We’re Americuhns, yesh,” Chapo slurred.

  “You here for vacation?”

  “We’re here to sell-a-brate.” Guillermo’s voice was loud and shrill.

  “Maybe you would like a little action? I know a place where the girls are beautiful and very willing.”

  “Girls?” Eddie had a terrified look on his face.

  “The most beautiful in Mejico. Come, down your drinks. I have a car waiting outside.”

  Chapter 4

  Seattle

  Why was he so nervous? These things shouldn’t matter. What difference did a number make?

  Chris paced back and forth in front of the University of Washington Law School office. He and a host of other apprehensive students waited anxiously by the glass doors.

  Today, they were posting the final rankings. Chris was used to being number one at everything. All of his life he’d been the best student, the fastest runner, had the most potential. But each step of the way, the competition got stiffer.

  He made valedictorian at Edmonds-Woodway High School with one hand tied behind his back. At the U of W, it had taken a little more work. But with his genius IQ and eidetic memory, he finished at the top of his class as well.

  His friends said he had a “photographic memory,” but he was quick to correct them. He had an eidetic memory, he thought in pictures. Everybody with a photographic memory was eidetic, but not everyone who was eidetic had a photographic memory.

  In high school and as an undergrad, it had been a lark. Chris could read a book or magazine article, then call up the image in his mind during the final and peruse the article for the facts he needed. His friends all hated him for how easy it came.

  But at UW Law, the pressure was enormous. Only the best of the best made the cut. There was no friendly rivalry here, only cut throat competition. Had he done it again? Was he at the top?

  And who was his competition really? He and Candace, his stepmom, had smoked every class they took together.

  He shook his head when he thought about Candace. He hated her when Dad first started dating her. He could think of a thousand reasons why his father shouldn’t date the bright young woman. For one thing, she was his employee.

  Candace had been a paralegal at his father’s law firm. Dad had no business dating an employee. Then there was the age issue. Candace was closer to Chris’s age than she was to Harry’s.

  But none of that mattered to Dad.

  When Harry announced they were getting married, Chris went through the roof. He didn’t need a new mom. Candace could never replace his mom who died from breast cancer during Chris’s senior year of high school.

  When Harry had retreated into his sorrow, Chris and his sister, Sarah, were left to raise themselves.

  Chris should have been grateful when Candace came into Dad’s life. He suddenly became interested in living again.

  It wasn’t until Candace, along with Dad and Sarah, were almost killed in the al-Qaeda attack on their cruise ship that Chris hatred wavered. After being seriously wounded himself and losing his fiancée, Chris had been too weary to hate anyone anymore.

  He had a chink in his armor, and Candace wormed her way in. First she was nice to him and helped him in his recovery. Then, when Chris finally decided to go to law school, she enrolled with him.

  They became study buddies. They didn’t take all the same classes, but the classes they did share; they worked long and hard to master together.

  And now this; waiting for the final standings. Chris knew if he was worried about anyone, it was Candace. She was wicked smart.

  “Hey, they’re opening up,” someone shouted.

  The crowd rushed to the glass doors. Sure enough, there was movement in the office.

  One of the guys twisted his head so fast that Chris thought he might snap his neck. Then the other guys all followed suit.

  Chris turned to see what they were staring at.

  Candace opened the door and flowed through. She didn’t really walk; she seemed to float along, like a vision from a dream. Tall and thin, with a Playboy model’s figure, she had long black hair and mesmerizing emerald eyes. No man could resist gawking at her.

  Somehow Chris managed to get past her looks and see her for who she was. Smart and friendly, she had a good heart and really cared about Dad. That was all that mattered.

  “Are they posted yet?” Candace asked.

  “No,” Chris said. “We’re still waiting.”

  “Did you take the day off to come down and see the postings?” She asked.

  “No, I’m officially on a break. I’ll make up the time tonight.” Chris worked as a paralegal at Hardwick, Bernstein & Johnson all through law school. He didn’t want to be dependent on his old man.

  Candace had taken the easier route. She quit her job, lived in Harry’s posh mansion in Edmonds with a magnificent view of Puget Sound and spent her time studying.

  When she was a little girl, she’d fallen in love with Susan Dey’s character on LA Law and dreamed of being a Supreme Court Justice. She majored in pre-law at the University of Idaho, where she finished at the top of her class. Graduating law school was the next rung on that ladder.

  “Are you still planning to take the bar exams in September?” She asked Chris.

  “Yeah. I want to get them over with so I can get on with my life.”

  “You’re pretty confident.”

  “Aren’t you?” Chris asked. He couldn’t imagine either of them not passing on the first go round.

  “I guess I am,” she said. “We’re lucky. We know where we’re going to work and we know it’s a top-notch firm.”

  “I guess we’ll be the only new associates Dad takes on this year.” Chris had been standing long enough that his back was starting to get stiff. He began walking in small circles in front of the door.

  “We really need a stronger medical law presence.” Candace’s eyes followed Chris as he made his little circles. “That’s going to be a big part of the future.”

  “I can see that.” Chris stopped his pacing. “It seems like every day medical law gets more complicated. I’m glad I’ll be joining the criminal law division. Harvey Bernstein is as good as they get. I look forward to working with him.”

  “Here they are!” An excited voice shouted.

  The young woman on the other side of the window taped up several sheets of paper, facing outward.

  “Hardwick and Hardwick,” a young woman said. “I guess we expected that.”

  Chris and Candace were too far away to read the postings yet.

  The others mobbed the window, then walked away, either elated or dejected.

  Chris shoved his way through the crowd and eyed the paper. He blinked twice, then turned to Candace.

  “You’re number one.”

  He had finished second. He couldn’t ever remember finishing second in his life and to be beaten by his own stepmom was like being hanged with a new rope.

  His world spun dizzily out of control as he tried to breathe.

  ****

  Seattle

  Lisa was led to an interview room in her prison orange jumpsuit. Her hair hung loosely past her shoulders and she had long since given up any hope of applying makeup.

  “Mrs. Adams.” The short, dark man rose from the table and held out his hand. “My name is Abe Weinstein. Your husband retained me to be your attorney.”

  “Do you know anything about Kayla
?” Lisa sat in the chair that Weinstein pulled out for her. “What’s happening to my daughter?”

  “We’ll get to that.”

  Weinstein was stocky, with a full beard. It showed traces of gray, to match his graying temples. There wasn’t much hair left on the top of his head. He wore gold wire-rimmed granny glasses that kept sliding down his long nose and he constantly pushed them back up with his right index finger.

  “I’m here to represent you,” Weinstein began. “I have to explain a few things to you before we get started.”

  Lisa flipped her hair back out of her face. “Okay.”

  “Let’s start with attorney/client privilege. As your attorney, I can’t reveal anything you tell me to anyone. You can say anything to me.”

  “I don’t know anything. I don’t know why I’m here. I want my daughter back. I don’t know what this is all about. I just want to go home. I want to see Kayla again.”

  Weinstein looked relieved. He pushed a cup of Starbucks coffee across the table to Lisa. “That’s good. I mean, that’s all right. We’ll get to the bottom of this and get you out of here.”

  “Who are you?” Lisa asked. “Why are you here?”

  “Your husband sent me. . .”

  “JIMMY! Is Jimmy here? Is Kayla with him?”

  “No, Mrs. Adams, I’m afraid he’s still out of the country.” Weinstein took a sip of his coffee.

  “Out of the country?” She jumped to her feet. “Where? Where is my husband?”

  “I can’t tell you that. Sit down.” He gestured with his coffee cup. “I have to respect his confidentiality too.”

  “He’s in Mexico, isn’t he? I heard Mexican music on the phone.”

  “I’m here to help you. I do a lot of business for your husband’s parent company. He’s asked me to take your case.”

  “Parent company?” Lisa was confused. Jimmy was an independent businessman.

  “Yes,” Weinstein answered. “A group called Los Norteños. Out of Juarez, Mexico.”

  “So, he is in Mexico?”

  “Like I said, Mrs. Adams, I can’t discuss that with you. Now what are we going to do about you?”

  Lisa, at a loss for words, just stared at the stocky little man.

  After a long silence, Weinstein finally spoke. “Why don’t you tell me your story? How did you get here?”

  “I don’t know. Jimmy was away on one of his business trips. Kayla and I were watching TV when a SWAT team broke down my door. They pushed me to the floor and handcuffed me. They took my daughter away. That awful little ADA said he had a warrant to search my house.”

  Lisa had to stop and take a couple of sips of coffee to compose herself. She couldn’t think about that horrible evening without breaking down in tears.

  “Here, Mrs. Adams.” Weinstein pulled a monogrammed white silk handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Go on.” He picked up his Mont Blanc pen and continued to take notes on a yellow legal pad.

  “They said they found drugs in the basement. And guns. They must be lying. We don’t do drugs. I won’t allow guns in my house.”

  “What about the money?” Weinstein asked.

  “What money?”

  “The police confiscated a quarter million dollars in cash from your basement.”

  “That’s crazy! We don’t have that kind of money. I’ve been asking Jimmy to remodel the kitchen for a year. If we had that kind of money, I’d have a new kitchen.”

  “Good, you tell it just like that to the jury.”

  “Jury? What jury?”

  “This is going to trial, Mrs. Adams. ADA Petrocelli is trying to make a name for himself. He’s going to make campaign fodder out of you.”

  “Oh my God! What am I going to do?”

  “Finish your story, please.”

  “There’s nothing else to tell. They brought me here and this is where I’ve been for a week now. So what about my daughter? When can I see Kayla?”

  “We’ll get to that.” Weinstein pushed his glasses back up his nose. “So you know nothing about your husband’s business?”

  “No. He’s the breadwinner. I’m the homemaker. He doesn’t talk much about what he does. I just know that he owns an import/export business. At least I thought he did. He’s always been a good provider and I trusted him. I never felt the need to ask questions.”

  Weinstein’s eyes actually shined. “Good, good. You stick to that story. You tell it very believably.”

  “That’s because it’s the truth.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “Mr. Weinstein,” Lisa asked. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll talk to Petrocelli, the assistant district attorney. I can safely say it won’t do any good. He wants a conviction, not a plea bargain. Anyway, if you made a plea bargain arrangement with them, you’d have to allocute.”

  “Allocute?”

  “Yes, explain yourself to the judge before he passes sentence. You don’t have anything to say, but you might slip up. You might say something that would hurt your husband or his friends.”

  “His friends?”

  “I think it’s best if we take this to trial.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lisa wiped her tears away with the silk handkerchief. “How long will that take? And what about my daughter? What happens to her if we go to trial?”

  “I won’t lie to you, it doesn’t look good. We have the poor, innocent housewife angle that we’ll play up. But the ADA will come back saying you were a part of the business. I don’t think it will go well. The public is tired of drugs. They want convictions. They read about all this crap in Mexico and want blood.”

  “Oh God. What will happen to Kalya? Who’ll take care of her?” Lisa’s hands went to her mouth. “ But I didn’t do anything.”

  “That’s what we’ll tell the jury, but I don’t think they’ll buy it.” Weinstein twirled his expensive fountain pen in his hand. “If we lose, you could go down for ten years.”

  Lisa gasped and daubed her tears away. “Ten years? Kayla, she’d be twenty when I got out.”

  “You’ll probably only have to serve five. I’m sure you’ll get out early for good behavior. On the bright side, you’ll be out in time to watch your daughter graduate.”

  “But it’s not true. None of it is true. The police must have put the drugs there.”

  “That should play well with the jury, but don’t get your hopes up. They want to hang someone and you’re handy.”

  ****

  Juarez, Mexico

  The thin man pulled the midnight blue 1963 Cadillac Sedan de Ville up to the curb, opposite a green steel door, as the sun dipped below the horizon. The pale yellow stucco wall sat right on the edge of the sidewalk.

  “Come, my friends,” He said as he knocked on the door. “You are in for the experience of a life time. Casa Adelita, the finest brothel in all of Mexico.”

  A window in the door opened. A pair of eyes looked out.

  “Ah, Don Jose. Bienvenidos,” the voice behind the door said.

  Guillermo had never seen anything like it. The high stucco-covered wall enclosed the entire compound. As they passed through the door a two-story house was to their right, on their left, an open-air bar stood under a giant palapa.

  “Man, check this out.” Chapo pointed to the bar. “That’s the biggest thatched roof I’ve ever seen.” The palapa was an open-sided thatched roof structure probably forty feet long.

  Music blared from hidden speakers. Beyond the bar, a bandstand held a five-piece band making the most out of some seriously worn looking instruments.

  Opposite the bandstand was a bar in the center of a pool. Guillermo felt like he just stepped into the Playboy Mansion. An assortment of naked women frolicked in the water with a few nude Mexican men. Good-looking women strutted around the fringes of the pool in their lingerie.

  White wrought iron tables with Coronas beach umbrellas and matching chairs surrounded the pool. There were plants and cactus everywhere. A dozen or
so coconut palms soared into the night sky and bougainvillea splashed pinks and purples against the walls.

  Hard looking men wearing sunglasses, despite the time of night, and cowboy hats leaned against walls or straddled chairs throughout the compound. They ignored the beautiful women but kept a sharp eye on the patrons. They didn’t seem affected by the heat, but Guillermo constantly wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  The short trip from downtown had given Guillermo time to clear his head. He strolled wide-eyed to the pool bar, followed by his three buds. All were speechless.

  As he approached the bar, a well-built woman with long black hair put her arms around his shoulders. “Hola, caballeros. ¿Puede traigate una bebida?” She cooed. Then she translated, “Hello, gentlemen, can I bring you a drink?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” Guillermo managed to stammer. “Una cerveza.”

  She led him to an empty table and walked over to the bar. Guillermo looked around to see his friends were similarly occupied.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she strutted back from the bar in her red teddy and black fishnet stockings with cherry red seven-inch stilettos. She pushed her chest out to draw attention to her cleavage.

  Her dark hair was pulled over to one side with a ruby-studded barrette. Her deep, dark brown eyes were made up with jet black liner and burgundy shadow to match her luscious lips. Her long eye lashes flickered when she blinked.

  She bent way over to place Guillermo’s beer on the table showing off her assets to the best of her ability. They were nice. Not big, but round and firm looking.

  “You want I dance for you?” She asked.

  “Uh . . .” Guillermo’s tongue still wouldn’t work right. “Yeah.” He took a sip of the cold beer and almost moaned at how good it felt running down his parched throat.

  “My name Lupita,” the woman said.

  Guillermo guessed she was in her early thirties. Way too old for him in normal circumstances, but hey, what the hell? This was Mexico.

  Lupita began to gyrate to the music. Her hips swayed in almost hypnotic rhythm. Guillermo’s tongue hung out. She raised her hands above her head and twirled her pelvis in his face. He couldn’t breathe.