Chapter 4 Thalia
There are nine pressure points you could aim for when a gun isn’t an option. There had been a few times I was required to hand over my guns when meeting with rival cartels. Hand on hand combat saved my life more times than I care to admit. My personal favorite pressure point is the parotid lymph node. The sensitive area behind the earlobe between the jaw and neck. It was the method I used on Hewey Contreras after our planned date.
I spend my birthday morning on a lunch date with him. He shows up high and continues to get up and leave for the bathroom every ten minutes to get his fix. While most people drink coffee to wake themselves up, Hewey Contreras snorts cocaine to do the job. He smells like a mix of mildew and alcohol. His hair is greasier than Taco Bell’s floors—an attribute he didn’t even try to hide on his online dating profile.
I grit my teeth and sit through his open-mouthed chewing and excessive drinking. I even act sympathetic when he pretends he left his wallet in his other jacket. The sad part is, this date doesn’t even rank high on the list of worst of dates I’ve been on. By the time the meal is over, I am grateful to see the van outside where Osiel and Ricky are waiting for me.
Ricky has proven himself loyal to my family, but Osiel is my family. I have known him all my life. His mom had been my third-grade teacher, and his father had helped me dispose of several bodies throughout the years. Hewey leans forward to kiss me outside the restaurant and I close my eyes, trying not to breathe in his stench. I can’t wait any longer. I push my thumb into that sensitive spot and watch as he drops to his knees.
“You fucking bitch!” he screams as Ricky jumps out of the back of the van to grab him. The sorry piece of shit thought he was going to get lucky, and now here he is, gagged and tied up in the back of the van. Happy Birthday to me.
My expectations for today were not high. I knew we had to get this done, but I was bitchy from the moment I awoke. The moment I found no bouquet of white lilies on my vanity. The annual gift had always been there the morning of my birthday. I looked forward to them. Lilies represent new beginnings. Not seeing them made me feel like I was stuck in the same nightmare of my past. The nightmares where I run down Calavera’s halls, searching for Silas.
“Damn, what did you eat? This fucker stinks!” Osiel says. Disgust makes its way over my face when the smell hits my nostrils. I gag as I remember his order of no rice and extra beans. I look back at Ricky, who holds a gun to Hewey’s head, and his shirt is pulled up, covering his nose and mouth.
Osiel had sped off, and we are now going at a steady pace on the highway, but it would be another forty-five minutes until we got to Conejo’s compound. When another smell makes its way to the front of the van, Osiel hits the steering wheel and takes his eyes off the road to turn behind him. I panic and grab the wheel as he aims his gun at Hewey.
“Keep your ass closed, motherfucker, or I’ll kill you right now.” His face is dead serious as he turns back around and drives forward.
I can’t help the laughter that erupts out of me. I had a morbid reaction to death, and something about Hewey getting his head blown off over a fart sends me over the edge. The hysterical laughter only worsens with the annoyed expression on Osiel’s face.
“This isn’t funny, Thalia. I’m about to blast this lactose intolerant fool.” He rolls down the window to air out the van. I hold down the laughter that fights its way up my throat. Osiel was usually in a playful mood, but I can tell his morning started off badly, as well.
“What’s wrong Osi?” I pinch his cheek, and he rolls his eyes.
“He’s mad because he got caught on some Facebook group for fuckboys,” Ricky says from the back.
“No,” I say, exaggerating my expression. Osiel scowls at Ricky through the rearview mirror.
“Oh my god. Osielito, Osielito.” I tsk. “Please tell me you weren’t in one of those ‘ are we dating the same guy’ groups.”
“Fuck. I didn’t even know those kinds of groups existed,” he says.
“Which one was it?” I ask, already pulling up my phone. I felt like being charitable today. I find the group: Are we dating the same guy Houston.
A girl by the name of Christy Thompson writes:
And do their thing they did. All Osiel’s hookups were dragging him, or at least they thought they were dragging him. All of them said he was hot, his bedroom performance was ten out of ten, and the only negative was that he wasn’t trying to settle down. I had found some good hookups through this group. I needed someone to match my expectations of no strings attached. If they weren’t in a relationship, then they were free game.
Osiel isn’t concerned about any of these women. He is concerned about how it will affect his father’s construction business. I send the post to my cousin Adan, the head of the cartel’s cyber security team, and ask him to remove it.
“There. I had Adan take it down,” I say.
“You did?” Osiel’s eyes widen, like a little kid on Christmas morning. Ho ho ho, motherfucker .
“Yes. Now ponte las pilas. We need to get this shit done with.”
Hewey is able to keep his stomach issues to a minimum the rest of the way. We make it to Conejo’s compound, where Los Peregrinos are waiting for us. It’s still light out as we make our way toward the back warehouse, where Conejo does all his dealings. There are a dozen men on bikes waiting for us, all of them wearing the same leather vest. The large back patch has a skeleton biker with the words Los Peregrinos del Infierno. The pilgrims from hell. They are all wearing blacked-out helmets that shield their faces.
I grab my gun from the glove compartment and shove it into a holster on my upper thigh. I’m wearing a black flowy skirt with crosses embroidered on the hemline, all black tights, and a tight black blouse. Every outfit of mine has two things in common—one, they are always black, and two, they are always paired with Louboutins. The ones I have on today I call my work shoes. They aren’t as high as my other heels, but still make me feel complete.
As we get closer, my eyes wander to one of the men with a blacked-out helmet on. He’s wearing an orange and black flannel under his vest. He is the largest out of all of them in size and height. He is solid muscle, and even though his face isn’t visible, I can feel the weight of his stare. I get out of the van, and Osiel and Ricky throw Hewey to the ground in front of me.
“Viuda,” Jasper says, his hands clasped in front of him. I nod in greeting. Jasper and Leather Face are the only ones not wearing a helmet to hide their face.
“Here is your bargaining chip.” Ricky shoves Hewey forward, and I grab him by his hair. I pull him up straight while he remains on his knees in front of Jasper. Jasper smiles down at his victim. It’s sinister, and even a bit sexy.
Hewey sweated profusely during our trip over, which was a mix of fear and his addiction.
“Well done, Viuda. I didn’t expect anything less from you.” Jasper cuts the gag muffling Hewey’s cry, and I kick him forward with my heel.
“He’s all yours.”
I go to shake Jasper’s hand when I hear Hewey’s insults fly from his mouth. He throws his curses at me. Every name in the book, but it’s one insult that catches me off guard. Bruja . My jaw tightens as I turn back to him.
“What did you say to me?” I shove my heel into his neck, pinning him to the ground.
“Kill me, bitch, but don’t think for one second I won’t be back to drag you down to hell with me.” His words are barely recognizable through the limited oxygen to his airways. I pull out Miriam, my .45, from the holster. I cock her and aim her toward his face. Osiel rushes toward me.
“Thali… put down the gun.” My hands shake, the word still triggering my rage. All this fucking rage in me. I want to let it loose. Bruja. Only Silas could call me that. Osiel inches closer, pushing the gun down.
“Thali. They wanted him alive. Don’t risk it,” he whispers in my ear, and I bring myself back to reality. I feel the tension from the looks narrowed in on me. The man in the orange flannel tilts his head. I drop the gun and release Hewey.
“My apologies,” I say to Jasper, who is watching me intently. I take a step back and straighten myself. The last thing I need is to show weakness. My uncle taught me losing yourself, even to anger, is a show of weakness. Osiel holds on to my arm to help me keep my balance. I jump into him when a shot rings out. I look down to see the blood pouring from Hewey. Then I look up to see the shooter still holding his weapon in front of him. The man with the orange and black flannel, staring right at me.