“Why are you wearing a mask?”
I know the answer but am curious to hear Ramon’s response.
He says, “It is to protect myself and my family.”
“I noticed some other officers wearing masks too. Who do you need to protect yourselves from?”
He pauses a beat, as if giving it much thought, before answering.
“Mexico is not always safe for law enforcement.”
“Because of the cartels?”
Ramon offers up a half nod.
Now I play the part of a scared-out-of-her-mind tourist.
“Jesus Christ, I’m not wearing a mask! Do I need to be worried about anything?”
He shakes his head but says nothing.
I take a breath, let the fear slowly drain from my face.
“Then … am I free to leave?”
“Not quite yet. First, was there anything you noticed when you drove up to the building?”
“Such as what?”
“Such as anything out of the ordinary.”
I give it a couple seconds before shaking my head.
“I’m sorry, nothing comes to mind.”
“That’s okay. I am sorry we kept you so long.”
I wait a moment in case he has anything else to say, and when he doesn’t, I stand up from the rock. I don’t start walking toward the building and the Civic, though. Instead, I stare out at the ocean.
“It’s such a beautiful view.”
Ramon says nothing to this.
I take a couple steps forward.
Uneasiness enters Ramon’s voice.
“What are you doing?”
I stand on the very edge of the bluff to look out over the ocean. And down at the beach. Nothing glints in the sunlight, so hopefully the gun did hit the water when I threw it.
I turn back and force a smile.
“Like I said, it’s a beautiful view.”
Ramon leads me back to the building without a word. He collects my ID from one of the officers and returns it to me. Among the officers milling around is an older man, who looks to be in his late-fifties. He stands by a sedan and smokes but doesn’t say anything. He gives me a brief look before turning away and lighting another cigarette.
Ramon says, “Take care of yourself, Miss Lu. Be safe.”
I just nod and start toward the Civic. As I do, another older man leaning against a pickup truck closes his phone and shouts excitedly at Ramon.
“My contact at the phone company confirmed a call was placed on the pay phone three hours ago.”
Ramon says, “To where?”
“A motel.”
They speak Spanish but I’m able to understand them without any trouble. I don’t want to be too obvious that I’m eavesdropping, of course, so I slide in behind the Civic’s steering wheel and start the engine.
Ramon and the man with the cell phone climb into the pickup truck and seconds later they’re speeding back up the dirt drive, kicking up a dust cloud in their wake.
I throw the Civic in gear but don’t drive as fast as the truck ahead of me, despite the fact I don’t want to miss where it turns. There’s a chance it may be gone by the time I make it through the dust cloud, and I want to know whether it turns left or right onto the road. Because despite the fact I should know better—despite the fact I should drive straight toward Nogales to cross over the border—I need to know where these men are going. I need to know who Maria called this morning, hours before she was burned to death.
Thirteen
The Paraíso Motel was located near the outskirts of Culiacán. It was two stories tall, painted a faded lime green, and looked as if its neon sign announcing the motel’s name hadn’t been updated in thirty years.
A police car was already parked out front when Ramon and Carlos arrived. The two officers inside didn’t notice them as they walked up to the car from behind.
Carlos slammed his hand down on the car’s roof, causing both officers inside to jump.
He said, “What the hell are you doing?”
The officers quickly collected themselves, and the driver said, “Very sorry, sir. We were told to wait outside.”
“So there’s nobody around back?”
Both officers said nothing, only traded nervous glances.
Carlos gritted his teeth.
“Somebody should be covering the back.”
The two officers didn’t move, too unsure what to do next.
Carlos said, “Goddamn it, get out of the car!”
The officers scrambled out of the car. One of them hurried around to cover the back of the motel while the other lingered by the car.
Carlos told the officer, “Cover the front and don’t fuck it up.”
The officer nodded quickly.
Ramon surveyed the street. It was quiet for this time of morning, only a few cars coming and going. A skinny woman stood near the corner, leaning against a building. She was watching them, but she didn’t look like somebody they should be worried about. In fact, even from this distance, it was clear she was a prostitute.
Carlos tapped him on the arm.
“Let’s go.”
They climbed the front steps and entered a dank lobby. Two box fans ran on either end of the lobby, pushing the warm air together into a vortex of humidity. The lobby was deserted save for a kid no older than nineteen sitting on a stool behind the counter. The kid stared down at his cell phone, his thumbs rapidly punching the screen. He only paused and looked up when Carlos smacked the bell on the counter.
“Help you?”
Carlos took the lead, flashing his badge at the clerk.
“A call was made to this motel at 3:47 this morning. We need to know who took the call and where the call was sent.”
The kid stared at them, his eyes shifting from Carlos to Ramon and back to Carlos.
“Huh?”
Carlos repeated himself, talking slowly this time, but the kid still didn’t seem to get it.
He said, “Maybe you should talk to the manager.”
Ramon said, “Where is the manager?”
“He’s not here right now.”
“When will he be back?”
The kid shrugged.
“Don’t know. He doesn’t come in much.”
Carlos reached forward, grabbed the back of the kid’s neck, and slammed his face down on the counter. Blood squirted from his nose.
“Say that again?”
The kid whimpered, “What do you want from me, man? I don’t
