The Call
There’s a DEA field office on the north side of Laredo, visible whenever you drive on Highway 35.
With a dark-red brick on the first floor and a warm creamy yellow on the four floors above, the building has always looked odd to me, like it’s trying to be both friendly and imposing at the same time.
Typical government building, I suppose. A closed-mouth smile to hide sharpened teeth.
Head north from there and eventually you’ll hit San Antonio, Austin, Dallas. Head south and you’ll hit the border in ten minutes. Swing east and you’ll reach the international airport in fifteen.
Hard to beat as far as locations. Centrally located in the middle of nowhere, so you can easily get just about anywhere. Especially convenient if anywhere is where you are hoping to go.
Daniel joined the DEA the year I turned ten, trading in his La Orilla police badge for one with a little more weight to it.
It was the same year his mamá passed.
After he returned from training at Quantico, Daniel didn’t come around as much as he once had. Also trading crowded family dinners for cold cups of coffee at his desk even when he wasn’t out on assignment.
Funny how my mother always “just happened to be nearby” to check in on him on the days when Tadeo called in the morning. A conversation she always took in the kitchen, the long spiral cord stretching out and then twisting tight as she walked back and forth.
She would do the same after Daniel left, only then she made her trips to church afterward instead of to the office. Lighting a candle as she closed her eyes and prayed with a red ribbon in her hand.
That was her vigil. In time, I’d find my own.