Dirty Angels by Karina Halle
“Oh?” my mother asked, her interest piqued by the foreign subject. “Who is he? Where did you meet him? Do you like him?”
“I met him at work,” I said, skirting the other questions and shoving a piece of stewed tomato in my mouth. I chewed slowly, planning my words. “He took an interest in me. He is very wealthy and has promised me the world.”
Her face fell slightly. “I see.” She paused, pushing her plate away from her. “I am not surprised, Luisa. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman. I am only surprised that this is the first man you have talked about to us.”
Here it came. “That is because it is serious. He has asked to marry me.”
The room stilled, choking on silence and the oppressive heat. My heart throbbed with fear from just hearing those words out loud.
It was the cold, hard truth; Salvador Reyes had asked me to marry him.
I couldn’t read my mother’s expression at all. She was in shock, that was for sure, but whether she was happy, sad, angry or suspicious, I didn’t know. Finally she said, “When did this happen?”
“A few days ago,” I told her. He had come into the bar every day, sometimes with David, that creepy crony of his who always wore his shades inside. A few times, though, it was just Salvador. I never had any doubt that there was an army of people stationed all around, so we were never really alone, but it was during those times that he would ask me to have dinner with him, even if I was in the middle of the shift. At this point, Bruno knew who he was and what was going on, and he had to allow me as many breaks as I wanted. Salvador controlled the entire bar from the moment he stepped into it until the moment he left.
And he controlled me.
The curious thing, however, was that each day I grew more comfortable with his presence. It wasn’t that I was less scared or intimidated by him. It was just that I got used to the fear. The fear of Salvador, of what he wanted from me, of what he would do next, became as soft and easy as my favorite blanket. And because he was the scariest of them all, I no longer feared anyone else but him. Bruno, he was nothing in comparison. My terrors had become consolidated into one greasy, mustached man with a beer gut and bad hair. A man who ruled such a violent part of the world and who would now rule mine.
Because, when he asked me the other day, when I had finished my shift early and he insisted I walk down to the marina with him, I knew I had to say yes.
If I was being honest with myself, there was a part of me that could have swooned at the proposal. When Salvador got down on one knee and took my hand in his, his palms sweaty, his fingers large and fat, I tricked my mind and heart into momentarily believing that Salvador knew me, cared for me, loved me. Of course, he only wanted me to look good at his side and that was it. Well, that and be in his bed. What else could there be after just a few weeks?
So I said yes and tried to believe I meant it. If I said no, I would be killed. There was no doubt about that. No woman turned down Salvador Reyes, not for a date, not for marriage.
“I will treat you like a princess,” he had said to me, a stupid, lopsided grin on his pockmarked face. “And you will have everything you ever wanted. You’ll be richer than the President.”
And that’s when I found the tiny shred of hope to cling to. By marrying the country’s most notorious drug lord, a man who had politicians and police under his thumb, a man with more money than he probably knew what to do with, I would be buying myself safety from everyone but him, and I would be buying me and my parents a life we would never get to experience otherwise. I would no longer have to work for Bruno. I could have my mother and father taken care of and their every whim catered to.
It was at that thought that I was finally able to give Salvador a genuine smile. He responded by kissing me for the first time, his mustache tickling my upper lip. I wished it could have meant something to me, but all I could do was concentrate on the two competing feelings in my chest: relief.
And dread.
“Did you say yes?” my mother asked quietly, snapping me back to reality, to the kitchen table with the one wobbly leg, to the overhead fan that did nothing to disperse the hot air, to my father’s kind but desolate eyes as he stared curiously at my mother, perhaps seeing her for the first time today.
I nodded and dabbed at my mouth with the napkin. “I did. It is for the best, Mama, you will see.”
She gave me a funny look. “You act as if marriage is a bargain you have to make.” When I didn’t say anything, she went on. “So what is the bargain here?”
“He has a lot of money, I told you. He will take care of me and I can take proper care of you.” I quickly reached across the table and put my hand on hers. “Mama, please, this is a good thing.”
“Then why can’t I hear it in your voice? You are anything but happy.”
“I am happy,” I said. “I will be happy. In time. It’s all so new and…”
“And so who is this man who you suddenly agreed to marry?”
“You don’t really know him,” I said carefully. “But he has a lot of power and a lot of influence.”
“And what does he do?” she asked, her voice taking on a strange steely quality. She knew that no wealth in our country came honestly.
There was nothing for me to do but tell the truth. The truth would hurt her, but it would also keep her safe.
“His name is Salvador,” I said. “And he is in charge of a cartel.”
My mother’s mouth dropped open while my father muttered the first words I’d heard from him all evening. “Salvador Reyes,” he said, musing over it. “He is a bad, bad man.” Of course he could forget his own wife and daughter sometimes, but a notorious drug lord lived in every memory.
“Luisa,” she said breathlessly. “You can’t be serious.”
I gave her a tight smile. “Unfortunately, I am.”
“Salvador Reyes. The Sal? The drug lord? The jackal?” She shook her head and folded her hands in her lap. “No. No, I refuse to believe this.”
“But it is the truth.”
“But why? Why here? Why you?”
“I wish I could say, Mama. I don’t know. He thinks I am beautiful and worthy of a better life.” He thinks I am worthy of his bed.
She snorted caustically. “A better life? Who does he think he is? Has he been here? We are not living in squalor, Luisa. We have everything that we need right here.”
“No, we don’t!” I yelled, surprised by the ferocity in my voice. “Every day I struggle to get by, for you, for Papa. And it’s still not enough.”
She rubbed her lips together, taken aback. I could see the wash of shame on her face and I immediately regretted losing my temper.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “You know I’ve done everything to take care of the both of you and I’ll do whatever I can to keep doing so. This is an opportunity—”
“This is a death sentence,” she muttered.
Her words sent cold waves down my spine. I swallowed hard. “No,” I said, though I didn’t believe it myself. “He can protect me. I will go and live with him in a mansion in Culiacán. I will be safe, safer than anyone in the country. And you will be safe too. I will make sure that you and Papa are taken care of, you can live with us on the compound or stay here, in some place really nice. I will do whatever it takes. I am doing this for you.”
She just shook her head, a few strands of her greying hair coming loose around her face. “This is wrong. You deserve to marry a man for love, not money.”
“Maybe I can learn to love him. Maybe he can learn to love me.”
Her mouth twisted into a sad smile. “Oh, Luisa, I know you are not that naïve! He is a drug lord. They do not know how to love a fellow human being. They only love money and they only love death. He will never love you. He will have other women on the side. You will never be able to leave. You will become a prisoner of his life.”
Is it any different than being a prisoner to this life? I thought to myself. I sighed. “You know I have no choice. Whether I?
“There are always choices, my daughter. God gave you free will to make them.”
“Then I am choosing to die later instead of dying now.”
I thought my mother would admonish me for talking so fatalistically, but she understood. There was nothing easy or right about this situation, so there was nothing left for me to do but try and make the best of it.
“You deserve so much more,” she finally said, staring at nothing.
I looked pointedly at her and my father. “As do the both of you. And now, we shall have more. Let’s just ignore the cost for now.”
She nodded and went back to her food, picking aimlessly at the chicken that had grown cold. Now that she knew of the weight on my shoulders, she didn’t have an appetite either.
The next day I had my final shift at the bar. My mother thought I was crazy, but Papa had instilled such a good work ethic in me that it was hard to shake. Despite everything Bruno had done to me over the years, he had provided me with a job and the means to take care of my parents, and I couldn’t just leave without warning. The moment Salvador had asked me to marry him and told me he would be taking care of me from now on, I gave Bruno one week’s notice.
I have to admit, it was a bit sad to say goodbye. As I stood behind the bar and looked over the people in the booths, laughing over drinks, I forgot about all the times I was treated like dirt by customers and forgot about being afraid of Bruno’s advances. I only remembered the comfort and security, as false as it had been. Faced with the infinite unknown of my new life, the job had seemed so simple and safe.
“I’m going to miss you,” Camila said after she’d hugged me for the millionth time that day. She held me by my shoulders and leaned in, her eyes inquisitive as they searched mine. “And I’m going to worry about you, you know.”
I nodded, trying to keep my posture straight, my face falsely confident. “Don’t worry about me. I am better off.”
She frowned, and her eyes flitted over to Bruno who was standing by the entrance and hitting on the hostess. “Perhaps so. But as obnoxious and disgusting as Bruno can be, he is not Salvador Reyes.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I repeated, looking her hard in the eyes.
She smiled softly and squeezed my shoulders before letting go. “Then I won’t.”
The rest of the shift went smoothly, with the staff and Bruno giving me a small slice of cake at the end. We all did shots to honor my departure, and Bruno gave me a very proper, very professional handshake, wishing me well in the future. As much as I wanted to spit in his face and take advantage of his newfound respect for me, I played polite and silently hoped that one day karma would come knocking at his door.
It was around nine o’ clock when my last day was finally over. I walked out the door and made it about halfway down the block, squeezing through throngs of slow tourists, before a black town car pulled up to the curb.
“Miss Chavez.” David stepped out of the passenger side and gestured to the back door, those sunglasses ever present on his skinny face. “Would you get in the car, please?”
My heart thumped loudly. “Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I hadn’t planned on seeing him or Salvador today.
I opened the door and got in the backseat. To my surprise it was empty. My limbs were heavy with dread.
“Where are we going?” I asked David as he quickly sped away from the curb.
“To see Salvador,” he said simply.
“I parked just around the corner from work,” I said feebly, looking behind me as it all got lost in the traffic.
“I will return you to your car after,” he said, not looking at me in the mirror. “Salvador has a few things he needs to discuss with you.”
He could have added, “Don’t be afraid,” but he didn’t. I’d probably always be afraid when Salvador wanted to talk with me whether we were married or not.
After about twenty minutes, we were coasting up the dry, cactus-strewn hills outside of the city. David pulled the car over, and in a minute the door opened and Salvador stepped in. He was wearing jeans and a grey, sweat-stained T-shirt that was covered in a layer of dust.
“Turn up the air conditioning,” he barked at David as he closed the door and the car pulled onto the road.
Salvador sat across from me and pushed his shades to the top of his head. He was sweaty and his eyes were extra puffy, perhaps from drinking too much. For a split second I wondered if I could marry this man, let alone share his bed. There was just nothing to attract me to him. If he had a good personality, it might have been different. But he didn’t have that, not even when he was faking it.
“I am sorry, princess,” he said, still overly polite with me. “I’m afraid I cannot stick around Los Cabos any longer. It is no longer safe.”
Well, you were kind of flaunting that you were here, I thought to myself but didn’t dare say.
He reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a small, cloth wallet. He took my hands in his and placed it in them. “Here. This is one thousand American dollars. It’s enough to take care of you for the next month, just as I promised. But it’s not enough to buy you a new life, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I opened my mouth to protest, fear coursing through me.
He shook his head. “I am only joking,” he said, though I could tell from the cold, wicked glint to his eyes that he wasn’t. “But in one month, I will be back for you. We will have our wedding less than a week after that. Don’t worry about the dress, I will pick that out for you as well.”
I could only stare dumbly at him. “We’ll be getting married in a month…”
“More or less,” he said. “I thought you’d be happier.”
I forced a smile on my face and leaned over, placing my hand on his clammy arm. I swallowed my revulsion. I played my part. “I am happy. Very happy. I am just surprised and sad that you are leaving me for so long.”
He smiled at that, his bushy mustache twitching up, droplets of sweat gathering in it. “You will survive. You have until now. And after we are married, you will always be at my side. You will never be alone again.”
Those words rang through my head as I later drove back home, toward my mother and father, the fat wallet on the seat beside me. I had one month to enjoy my life as it was before it would change for good.
CHAPTER FOUR
Javier
The whore was beautiful.
Then again, Este usually did have good taste in women, if not in fashion. I watched as she walked uneasily down the cobblestone driveway, heading toward the guards at the gate, heading toward freedom. She reminded me of a spindly-legged fawn, her high heels a poor match for the uneven ground, and for one brief moment I felt sorry for her. Pity, even. Such a pretty thing selling her body for riches that never came. She only got money, but that was never what the whore really wanted. What she really wanted, she would never, ever get.
She was better off dead.
And at that thought, the twinge of pity was gone.
I watched as she approached the gate. Though the two guards were facing forward, their eyes hidden by sunglasses, I could tell they were exchanging a look, wondering who was going to kill her first. Orders were orders.
They didn’t need to debate for long. A shot rang out, a bullet to the back of her head, and the whore fell to the ground slowly, as if she had just grown too tired to stand. Blood began to flow from her head.
I craned my neck, mildly curious to see who had done it. I couldn’t see anyone but the guards, which meant it had to have been Franco. It had turned into a hobby for him lately, as if he discovered he had a taste for being a sniper, but it was better the whores than anyone else at the compound.
Somewhere I knew my gardener, Carlos, was cursing himself. Franco never disposed of the bodies, and it would be Carlos’s job once again to do something with her, wash away the red mess from the hot stones. Natu
There was a knock at the door behind me. I kept my hands behind my back, my eyes glued to the blood that was pouring out of her head, a hypnotic, moving painting.
“Come in,” I said. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Este. “What was the whore’s name?” I asked, still staring at the growing crimson pond.
The door clicked softly and I felt him step into the room. “Laura,” he said. “She could fuck like no one’s business, hey. You should have tried her. You know I don’t mind sharing.”
I ignored him. “Don’t you think it’s a bit, oh, I don’t know … crude, to have the whores leave this way?” I asked him. “Wouldn’t it be better to kill them in bed?”
I heard him snort. “No, that would be crude. We might as well let them have that bit of hope that they’ll make it out alive, don’t you think? Besides, this is more sporting. It’s hunting. Hunting is elegant.”
I nodded. I supposed he was right. It wasn’t very sporting otherwise. I watched as Carlos came scurrying toward the body and started to drag Laura away. I never asked what he did with the bodies, but as long as I never saw them again, it didn’t really matter. Out of sight, out of mind.
I turned around and eyed Este. “I suppose in a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to kill them at all.”
He smirked and leaned on my desk. “Well, look at you getting all soft.”
I raised my brow. “It’s just a shame that you can’t buy silence anymore.”
He shrugged. “One whore talks and then you get fuckers at your door. We all need to get laid, well at least I do.” A wry look came across his face at that. “There really is no other solution.”
“I suppose not,” I said, and sat down at my desk. I adjusted my watch and stared up at him expectantly. “So, why are you here? Showing off your terrible taste in shoes? Are those made of cardboard?”
He peered down at his feet. As usual the man looked like he’d rolled out of the California surf with his T-shirt, board shorts, and terrible Birkenstocks. Not the image the cartel had at all, but there was no talking style into him. Believe me, I had tried.