Chapter 6 #3
A chancla is a sandal, but in this case, it’s a wooden-sole slipper Latin abuelas—grandmothers—wield to scare children into behaving. They’re deadly in the hands of an old woman. The threat is effective.
“No, but she did reach up to take her earrings out. A Mexican-American agent told them they needed to hurry and leave.”
All three men belly laugh, and it draws some looks. Colombian or Mexican—some stereotypes have their advantages. The men sober, and Pablo continues the conversation.
“They didn’t arrest her, did they? Threatening a federal agent and all.”
“Fuck no. They listened to that agent and tucked tail, then ran like little bitches. Jesus and I watched it all and couldn’t stop laughing in the van.
Jesus started coughing he was laughing so hard.
The feed in the basement showed them getting close to the stash, but they never found the mechanism on the baseboard to release the latch.
You really can’t tell there are any seams in the concrete around the hatch. You did good work on that, jefe.”
There must be a hidey-hole in the foundation.
There’s probably a sensor or button hidden behind a baseboard that, when pressed, releases the locking mechanism to the trapdoor.
It’s probably a shoestring thin wire under the concrete.
The toro makes it sound like Enrique laid the concrete and cut the hatch himself.
He’s a true silver fox and jack of all trades. Unlike most, he’s a master of all.
Patrick presses me a little closer, so his lips are beside my ear. “Drugs, guns, or cash?”
“Any. All the above. I don’t know. It could be their granny’s jewels for all I know. I was unaware they used a townhome as their stash spot. Park Slope’s one of the best neighborhoods in Brooklyn.”
“Sounds like the woman was a zorro.”
“Probably.”
A fox—a woman who spies for the cartel. Some even get embedded in rival ones and do whatever they have to blend in.
I’m certain the Diaz Cartel has several on NYPD and as feds but expect none of the women to trade sex for info.
All the syndicates have women who spy for them because women and children are supposed to be untouchable.
Of course, unless they’re like me and killers for hire.
The unwritten law makes for the best cover, though, it’s gotten a bit flimsy in the last seven years.
Not so much the children, but the women have been targets.
When the soldier leaves, Enrique and Pablo switch to a language neither Patrick nor I understand.
It’s most likely Macaguán, a Colombian indigenous language that’s practically extinct.
A few hundred people speak it, and among those are the Diaz family.
They may as well speak in code for all anyone else understands.
We watch Alejandro join them, which signals Tres J’s to join their uncle and cousins.
I know we won’t get anything else out of the men tonight now that they aren’t speaking English or Spanish.
I’m about to switch our attention to the Mancinellis again when Enrique separates from the men and reaches out his hand to his wife.
Fuck my life.
Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.
The couple heads to the dance floor. I can’t afford for Elodie to get too close. I don’t doubt she’d recognize me in a heartbeat. It’ll obliterate my cover if she does. The woman’ll have me dead before I can run.
“Patrick.”
“I know.”
He twirls me, and we slip between the two couples behind us.
He maneuvers me through the steps until we can get my back to the Cartel’s ruling couple.
There are plenty of Colombian, Mexican, Brazilian—fucking Latin America as a whole—cartels.
But there is only one that warrants a capital C.
Where saying the Cartel only means one family.
And now one of the most brilliantly deadly women in the world is being whisked around the dance floor by her husband mere feet from me.
I think I’m going to be sick.
I keep my gaze averted as the elegant pair draw people’s attention.
I’m certain they’re doing it to rile the O’Rourkes by stealing the limelight from their hosts.
But you can’t deny what a perfect couple they make.
Enrique’s in his late fifties, and Elodie’s in her late forties.
You’d never guess from their agility and grace.
They simply glide along the floor. It’s obvious how in love they are from how they anticipate each other’s next moves. It’s really quite remarkable.
Until Elodie turns in my direction.
I purposely bump into the woman next to me, allowing Patrick and me to stop dancing long enough for me to apologize. The woman’s gracious, but only because she’s not part of a syndicate. The last thing I need is any syndicate holding a grudge against me in case I need to use this disguise again.
“I’m pretty sure she saw you, Liz.”
“But did she recognize me?”
“I don’t know. She lingered over watching you, but her expression told me nothing.”
“Fanculo.” Fuck.
I mutter it under my breath not needing anyone wondering why I swear in Italian.
“Let me grab my purse and duck into the restroom for a few minutes.”
“All right.”
With my arm looped through his, Patrick and I make our way to our table.
I pick up my purse, and we walk toward the bar.
I leave Patrick there and head to the ballroom doors.
I recognize Alejandro ahead of me, pushing a door open.
I keep my pace natural, not wanting to catch up to him yet.
The last thing I need is him holding it open for me.
I leave the ballroom and look around, spotting him walking toward the restrooms. Perfect excuse for me to head in the same direction. The hallway leads away from the well-lit mezzanine and to a more shadowy corridor. I silently snap open my purse, ready to reach in to remove my stun gun.
“Hello, beautiful.”
My head jerks up as a swarthy man steps in front of me. Two more men approach. Their posture’s casual, but I know they’re all getting a read on me. When their gazes dart to my open purse, I pull out a tampon and cock an eyebrow.
“The ladies’ room is in the opposite direction.” I don’t know which of Tres J’s he is, but he’s undoubtedly one.
“Oh. Thank you. I’ve never been here before. I assumed it was near the men’s room since I can see a sign for that.”
“Nope.”
This second brother definitely doesn’t mince words. I can’t tell if I personally irritate him or he just hates people in general. I saw him with a blonde with a sunny disposition early. If ever there was a grumpy-sunshine love story, it would be them. His face would crack if he smiled.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
“You only looked in one direction when you left the ballroom, and you couldn’t have seen the sign for any restroom from that far away. What made you turn this way?”
The third brother’s quieter than the other two, but it almost makes him more menacing. Three to one in most situations isn’t odds I fear. Tonight? They’ll have knives pulled faster than I can drop my tampon back into my purse.
“Our tía Elodie said she thought she recognized you. She’d love to say hello to an old acquaintance. We didn’t want you to leave without saying hi.” The first brother flashes me a smile that would be sexy as sin if I didn’t already know Alejandro.
“I really need to use the restroom.” I hold up my hand with the tampon, which fits mostly in my palm.
“There are some notoriously unscrupulous men here tonight, and many of them have been drinking. It might be safer if we escort you.”
Brother three steps closer as he speaks. He’s not wearing a wedding ring. He must be Joaquin, the one who heads up the family’s construction company, or Jorge, the accountant. Can I trade information for my life?
“I’ve been going to the restroom on my own for decades. I’ll stay alert.”
I’m about to be more assertive, but I can’t help but see Alejandro approaching from behind the brother who just spoke.
I spin on my heels and lift my gown. I don’t linger, especially not once I hear the four men’s rapid Spanish.
I’m certain the reaper in the form of a hot Colombian is on my heels when one of them says pistola paralizante.
Stun gun.
How the fuck’d any of them see that? I never opened my purse wide enough. At least, I didn’t think I had. I don’t recall any of them looking down, but one of them must have. I can’t avoid going to the restroom if I don’t want them knowing I heard them.
As the door swings closed behind me, I consider the housekeeper’s uniform I stashed in here when Patrick and I arrived.
I hid it beneath the bag in the trashcan.
I could switch into that and take off my wig, pop out my color contacts, and scrub off my makeup.
That won’t be nearly enough after how closely they stood to me.
I also doubt they’d believe a maid came in here without cleaning supplies when there’s such a high-end event going on.
Me
Tres J’s are outside the restroom. They confronted me. Rescue me.
I pray Patrick feels his phone vibrate and looks at it. It feels like forever before there’s a knock on the door.
“Darling, are you all right in there?”
“Just a moment.”
Meno male. Thank God.
I pull open the door, and Patrick’s practically in the doorframe. He angles himself to keep me hidden from the men lurking. I don’t see Alejandro, but he’s probably nearby.
“Are you all right, senora?”
Patrick tries to answer for me. “She’ll be all right. Sometimes the mo—”
“Mimosas hit me a little hard, sweetheart.”
I speak over him and cut him off. I know the excuse he was about to use. It’s one we’ve used before. But having flashed a tampon, claiming morning sickness won’t work. There’s nothing Patrick and I need to know from the other families, and my shoes are killing me.
“Shall we go?” Patrick wraps his arm around me.
“I was just thinking that.”
Before I can turn away so we can return to the table for my wrap, I lock gazes with Alejandro.