Shady Lady

After a couple more turns, we arrived at the same crumbling green stucco building, same Corona sign in the window as the last time I’d visited; a line of restored classic cars ran from the front door around the block. A few men stood outside, smoking, the haze curling up toward the sky. Distant city lights dimmed the stars, making it seem as though a gray veil lay over the world.

I recognized Ricardo Arjona playing inside, “Sin Ti . . . Sin Mi.” I loved his voice, mellow, soulful, and full of longing. As I stepped inside, I remembered how Chance had shown me a side of him I didn’t know existed. Yearning and melancholy twisted up inside me; a small part of me wished he hadn’t run from the idea of making a real effort instead of offering empty words, but I’d made up my mind to move on. No more of that. Jesse Saldana defended me with his life; that meant everything.

My gaze touched the familiar features of the cantina: scarred wood floor, mismatched tables and chairs, amber paper lanterns, and neon cerveza signs. Only the oil panting of the lady with the black rose distinguished this dive from any other. Like last time, hard-eyed men studied us with watchful suspicion, and I didn’t see Esteban anywhere.

“You sure about this?” Shannon whispered.

In fact, I wasn’t, but it was the only idea I had. Kel had said, Muster your allies and prepare for war. Not friends. He hadn’t meant Chuch and Eva or even Jesse; I just hadn’t glimpsed enough of the future yet to realize it. In retrospect, I realized he’d told me as much as he could—without risking spoilers. I had to make the decisions on my own, not through his direct intervention.

Knowing I couldn’t show fear or hesitation, I strode to the center of the bar. “Apague la música.”

“¿Por qué?” one of the dancers demanded, even as the bartender complied.

I pulled my pendant outside my shirt and held it up, then spoke in English. “This is why. Who recognizes this?”

As I’d hoped, a little gasp went through the room as I spun, giving them a better look. I’d gambled everything on Escobar’s being too much the egoist not to use his own personal mark on a protective amulet. The mood shifted, and the danger passed.

A tall, dark-haired man with gray at his temples stood up and invited us to join him. From his expression, he was high man present, so I’d do business with him. His skin held the weathered bronze of one who had worked a great deal outdoors, making it hard to judge his age.

“I am Francisco Zaragoza.” He extended a hand to both Shannon and me. No spark, which meant he was a normal human.

“Mucho gusto,” I murmured. “I’m Corine Solomon and this is my friend Shannon Cheney.”

Zaragoza inclined his head. “What does Señor Escobar wish of us?”

I knew only what I wanted. “I’m waging a war against Montoya. I need four of your best men.”

“Best in what sense? The men in this room possess a wide variety of skills.”

My gaze met his. “Destruction of property and, if it comes down to it, killing. Montoya hit a couple of sites today, quite against my interests.”

“I understand.” He surveyed the room with assessing eyes. “Then I will give you García, Petrel, Santos, and Morales. You understand, however, that I must verify your authority?”

“Of course,” I said quietly. “I could’ve stolen the amulet.”

Zaragoza’s eyes flickered. “That would be most . . . unwise.”

“Go ahead. Call it in.”

Beside me, Shannon practically vibrated with tension. It went without saying what would happen to us if Escobar denied me. As Zaragoza went outside with his cell phone, the waitress stopped at the table.

“Something to drink?” she asked.

Given my current endeavor, only one drink would do. “Shady Lady.”

In a place like this, she wouldn’t be carded, but Shannon still ordered a Coke. “Gotta keep my head clear. I’ll be your designated driver.”

She had a point. I handed the server a bill to cover our drinks and murmured, “Keep it.”

The waitress brightened and went to give our order to the bartender. It didn’t take long for her to serve us. Mine was pretty, made with melon liqueur, tequila, and grapefruit juice, garnished with cherry and lime, and it tasted better than it looked. I’d be the first to admit that I needed a drink, after the turn my life had taken.

Shortly, Zaragoza returned, phone in hand. “He wants to speak with you.”

I took the cell and said, “Hello?”

“So you make your first move.” Escobar sounded amused. “I wondered how long it would take.”

“You said I should stay alive. You never said how or using what resources.”

“I know,” he answered. “Which is why I am giving you the soldiers you ask for. This should prove quite entertaining.”

“I’m so glad.” I gave the phone back to Zaragoza, who spoke a few more words in Spanish and then terminated the call.

“It seems you speak the truth,” he said, sitting down once more. “It took four phone calls to reach Señor Escobar, but he knew who you were at once.”

“Excellent. In addition to the men, I need a safe house in the area, something you don’t think Montoya would know about. A recent purchase would be best.”

Zaragoza thought for a moment. “We have a place down in the industrial area. It’s not a good neighborhood, but people are unlikely to notice any strange occurrences there and even less likely to answer the police, if they ask.”

I paused. “You’re not even going to ask how I know him?”

“I have learned the hard way to restrain my curiosity,” he said with a faint trace of irony. “But if I had to guess, I would say you’re his latest brujas.”

Shannon smirked at me. With her black clothing, dyed hair, and heavily outlined eyes, she fit the profile. I neither confirmed nor denied his supposition, but merely smiled. If fear laced their obedience, even better—they’d be less likely to cross us.

“Give me the address.”

He scrawled it on a napkin. God, I could get used to this kind of power. No wonder people worked for Escobar. His name carried serious weight.

“Anything else, patrona?”

“Find me a property owned by Montoya, something it will hurt him to lose. Something . . . expensive.”

Zaragoza grinned, showing a slight gap between his two front teeth. “This mission, I could get to like it a whole lot.”

“Can you get me the info?” I remembered it took a day or two for Esteban to get his hands on a list of properties, but I suspected Zaragoza could get faster results with Escobar’s name lending weight.

“Let me make a few calls.”

Shannon leaned over and whispered, “You can be scary, you know that?”

I allowed a sharp smile. “Good. We’ll need that.”

For a few moments, I watched the couples dancing. Now Paulina sang “Causa y Efecto”—a more up-tempo song than one would expect to hear in here. It hurt a little watching them twirl and spin. Despite Shannon’s presence beside me, I felt lonely and unsure, but at the same time, a core of pride grew—that I was handling this myself, just like the fall into the river. I’d make Montoya wish he’d never been born for killing two innocent men, hurting Jesse, burning Chuch and Eva’s house, and rendering me homeless.

By the time Shan finished her second Coke, Zaragoza returned. “He’s got a place in Sonterra, far north side of San Antonio.”

“Perfect. I have a sketch here. . . .” I dug it out of my bag; it was very battered, but at least it hadn’t gone into the jungle with us. “Do you recognize this man?”

Zaragoza froze and then crossed himself. “Madre de