Milo
SIX HOURS, FOUR hundred miles, and no sign of Mercy.
I stopped at every town and asked if anyone had seen an albino girl. Going against everything I’ve been practicing since we got here, I had no choice but to show her picture.
That gorgeous smiling face looking up at the sun, arms outstretched as if absorbing its rays gave her energy. Her skin and hair lit up like she was plugged into an electrical socket.
She’s not the type people see walking around Baja on any given day. The good news is that if anyone has seen her, they’ll remember. The bad news is no one has.
I pull into the garage and hope Maria has better news, although it’s probably unlikely. I’ve been checking in every few hours and she has nothing new to report.
I slam the car door and pocket the keys as a wash of grief has me sagging against the El Camino. I brace my hands on the edge of the truck bed and push back the emotion that threatens to burst free.
“Stop it.” I can’t think clearly if I’m a fucking mess.
I spent the majority of the day hating myself for not searching for her once I noticed she wasn’t in bed this morning. Maybe if I had gone looking then, I would’ve found her before she took off.
I prop my elbows on the side of the car and bury my face in my hands. “Where are you?”
I rub my eyes then blink to focus when something catches my eye. I squint into the truck bed at a screw head sticking out where the bed liner is attached.
And hanging off that screw is a cluster of pure white hair.
I pull the tender strands off and bring them to my nose. The scent is faint, but it’s there. “Orange blossoms.”
What was Mercy doing in the back of the car?
I look around and see the different ways of getting in and out of the underground garage. There’s the main ramp where cars come and go, the entrance that leads directly to the kitchen, and one more on the other side of the large space. A single door, a service entrance that leads to ground level at the back of the structure. As far as I know, it’s always locked. Only servants and security have access to the keys.
I jog to the door, and I’m surprised to find it cracked open. Not only unlocked, but ajar. I push through it and climb the steps. When I reach the door at ground level, I expect the knob to be locked—it opens.
I step out into the cool evening air and do a slow spin, my gaze going to the ground for any sign that Mercy was here less than twenty-four hours ago. I cross the lawn to the house, searching for footprints, but there’s nothing. I stop just below the balcony to our bedroom and think back to all the times I looked up there to see Mercy gazing helplessly at the ocean.
My chest tightens when I think I may never see her face again, and my knees threaten to give. Rather than fight it, I allow myself to fall into a crouch then drop back to my butt on the grass.
“Emilio! Any luck?” Maria emerges from the front door, her eyes urgently searching.
I shake my head.
She slows her pace and tucks her hands into her apron pockets as she makes her way closer. “No?”
“No.”
She mumbles a long string of prayer, but I’m hardly paying attention as my mind splinters with what to do next. Is it possible she was in my car last night? I would’ve seen her, right? Surely I looked back there if for no other reason than my every day paranoia.
“What happened to the flowers?”
I blink at Maria because what a weird fucking thing to say when I’ve lost my soul to God knows what. “Who fucking cares?”
She steps in front of me to the row of purple and yellow flowers that pepper the soil. “Crushed. Those stupid dogs.”
I want to tell Maria the dogs don’t give a shit about the flowers but notice the trampled bushes are just below our balcony. I allow my eye to make a path from the flowers up to our bedroom, realizing then that the only thing between them is a gigantic vine.
“Oh shit.” I step on the already ruined flowers and reach inside the vines and fuck me . . .”Fuck. ME!” I whirl around on Maria. “She snuck out of our room and hitched a ride with me last night!”
“That’s crazy—”
“I found her hair in the back of the El Camino. I drove the El Camino last night!”
“Okay, that’s good! So where did you go? She’s probably still . . .”
Her words dissolve in an onslaught of static between my ears.
“Son of a bitch!”
Zona Norte.
I HIT THE Mirabonita parking lot in a cloud of dust and throw the El Camino into park. At close to six o’clock at night, the place isn’t as crowded but it’s busy enough that I have to weave through cars to get to the club entrance.
I don’t give my eyes time to adjust to the dim lighting and run into a couple people on my race to Arturo’s office. Almost there, I slam into a solid wall of his security team.
“I need to see Arturo.” Shit. I repeat the words in Spanish and try to shove past them, but they hold me back.
“He doesn’t get in until nine,” the big one answers in Spanish and shoves me back.
Dammit. I weave my fingers together on top of my head, trying desperately to get a full breath as I pace the small hallway. I need to talk to Arturo. Nothing happens at Zona Norte without him knowing about it.
If anyone here saw Mercy last night, they’d remember. I step back out into the club and scan my surroundings, my heart longing for a glimpse of pale hair. Working girls hang on men as they sway on the dance floor, and a few are coupled off in corners. The bar is mostly empty except for two men drinking alone and a few working girls who’re hanging at the end of the bar and looking bored.
The bartender is changing out old bottles for new ones, probably getting ready for the rush that comes after dark. He doesn’t look as though he’s been working all day, his shirt clean and wrinkle-free, his eyes alert. Maybe he just got here for the night shift. Maybe he was here last night.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I make a beeline to the bar. I get Mercy’s photo ready and call the bartender over to me.
“What can I get you—”
“Have you seen this woman?” I shove the screen into his face so quickly it makes him flinch. “I’m sorry, I need to find her. She may have been here last night.”
He cautiously steps forward and leans in to inspect the photo. His eyes snap to mine. “Yeah. She was here last night.”
“You saw her. Did you talk to her? Did she say where she was going?”
He’s already shaking his head. “She didn’t. She was only asking for the exit.”
I look around the mostly empty space and see several neon signs that read Salida.“Do you know which door she left from? Did you see her walk out?”
He points at the exit door just behind my left shoulder. “I showed her that one, but no, I didn’t see her leave.”
I whirl around toward the door and jog to it, bursting out into a long alley.
The pavement is lined with paraditas, prostitutes standing in doorways to small, dingy rooms with nothing inside but a bed. I imagine Mercy stumbling into one of those rooms. I picture her seeing the dirty streets, smelling the acrid air, and wondering what the men and women here were doing. Would she have stopped and asked for help?
I cross the street to a girl who looks as though she can’t be a day over eighteen and I hold up the image of Mercy on my phone. “Have you seen her?”
The girl’s eyes are caked with black and blue makeup, and she stares at the image then shakes her head. “No, but if you want to pretend I am her . . .” she purrs in Spanish and slides a hand up my ribs.
I stop her movement at my chest. “No. Thank you.”
I move on to the next girl and the next, showing them all the image of Mercy and getting the same response.
No one has seen her.
At the end of the alleyway, I drop my hands to my hips and stare blindly at the brick wall in front of me. A dead end. Just like my search.
Where the fuck could she have gone?
I turn back to the door she must’ve left from.
Maybe she took a different exit. I need to go back inside and ask the bartender if any regulars were in last night. If he saw her, surely others did too. I’ll wait for Arturo. He’ll have security footage.
I jog back toward the club when I hear a woman yell, “Oye, señor!”
I stop and turn to see a woman waving me down from the doorway of her room. She’s with the young girl I spoke to first. “No gracias!”
“Wait!” She sends the young girl away and runs to me in bare feet and a short, tight dress. She’s older than the first girl I spoke to. If I had to guess, judging by the soft lines around her eyes, I’d say she’s in her forties. She could be younger, it’s hard to tell, because the lines on her left eye are accentuated by a nasty pink and purple bruise. “I heard you were looking for a girl. A güera.”
My heart pinches so painfully that I grip my chest.
She motions toward my phone that I didn’t realize I have gripped as firmly as if it’s Mercy herself and I’m trying to keep hold of her.
“Right! Yes.” I show the woman the picture. I didn’t talk to her before. She must’ve been . . . busy. “Have you seen her? I believe she was here last night.”
“Si.” She nods then looks around as if she has eyes on her from every direction. “Come.” She hurries back to her room and invites me inside.
I stick to the doorway, unsure if this is a ploy to get business or if she genuinely has information about Mercy.
She must understand because she motions around the room. “No cameras in here.”
I do a quick check of the mostly empty room and find no sign of cameras. “There are cameras out there?”
She nods and slips on an oversized T-shirt, which makes me feel more comfortable about being alone with her.
I step inside and close the door but lean back against it. “Did you see her last night?”
“Yes.” She sits at the foot of the bed, her hands gripping the front of her shirt. “She was lost.”
I push up from the door and cross to her. “Yes. Yes, she was. I need to find her. She could be hurt or . . . are you okay?”
The woman wipes tears from her eyes and winces when she touches her bruised face. “I should’ve stopped them—”
“Stopped who?” Rivers of tears mixed with black makeup stream down her face, and my pulse is throbbing so hard, it’s making me dizzy. “Tell me who!”
“I don’t know their names.” She sniffs. “They were here, with me.” Her cheeks flush pink, and she points at her eye. “They were rough and . . .” More sniffing. “They left. When they did, I went to tell security and I saw them with her.”
“What do you mean you saw them with her? How?” God, I’m going to be sick. I’m going to lose my stomach all over this poor prostitute’s floor.
“They were . . . harassing her, I think. I should’ve said something, but I was scared. I ran to get security, but when I came back, they were gone.”
“They were gone.”
“Both of them.” Her bloodshot, tear-streaked eyes meet mine. “And the girl.”
“Fuck.” I pace the room and search for something to throw or punch or fucking kick, but rein in my temper when I consider what this woman has been through. “You mentioned cameras. Who controls them?”
She blinks at me. “El Tiburón.”
“Thank you.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of pesos. “Here.”
She stares at the money, eyes wide, “No, señor, I can’t.”
“Please, take it.” I leave her in the room and head back to Mirabonita.
I’m gonna need to check that video feed. Arturo hasn’t exactly been forthcoming, but there’s no fucking way I’m leaving until I see that footage.
“GUNS. DRUGS. WHATEVER you want. You name it and it’s yours, but you will show me that fucking video feed.”
Security guy punches a quick text into his phone and looks at me. “Arturo is on his way.”
“Don’t you fucking get it? Every second counts! I need that video feed from one until three o’clock in the morning.”
The guy stares at me as though I’ve said nothing at all, and as much as I’d like to beat the shit out of him, I need him on my side if I’m going to get to that video.
“Arturo is the only one who has access to security footage.”
I groan and drop my head back, then cross my arms, locking them under the other to keep from having one of them fly without permission.
Thirty minutes pass. With each one, I feel sicker and sicker, imagining what happened to Mercy last night. Was she able to get away from those men and hide? Or are the assholes who were harassing her also responsible for her disappearance? I want a drink to calm my nerves but won’t risk altering my decisions in any way, so I forgo the drink offer by the passing waitress.
My foot taps a furious beat on the concrete floor, and just when I feel as if I’m going to peel out of my own skin, Arturo walks into the club. He greets a few guests as he passes them, and I meet him halfway across the bar floor.
“I need to see those videos.”
“I heard.” He continues to walk toward his office. “But what makes you think after the way you acted in my office this morning that I will show you anything?”
My skin practically vibrates with worry and fear that even my voice shakes when I say, “You will show me those videos or I’ll kill you.”
That stops him in his tracks, and he whirls on me. “You threaten me?”
“I know you know more than you’re telling me and I am sick of playing your fucking games.”
“I’ll tell you nothing—”
“You’ll show me the video or . . .” I lean in. “Esteban’s cartel will destroy everything you’ve built here. There will be nothing left standing. Are we clear?”
I lean back in time to see a flicker of fear cross his expression.
“We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way, but know that the hard way will end with you in a pine box. Ask yourself if a couple hours of video footage is worth the war you’d be starting with Esteban.”
He gapes for a moment before his cheeks turn bright red and quiver.
I motion toward his office. “After you.”
I follow him the rest of the way to his office, and he barks at his security to leave us alone. I think that could be a good thing, but if he wants to plant a bullet in my head, there will be no witnesses.
For a little extra insurance, I put my phone to my ear. “Si, Esteban.”
Arturo’s eyes snap to mine at the name of the most respected and powerful man in the Tijuana drug business.
“He is. Yes, he’s pulling up the footage now. I will. Gracias.” I pretend to hang up the phone and shove it back into my pocket. “I’ll need to see everything from one o’clock this morning on.”
He pounds out a few numbers and letters on the keyboard, then he clicks around a bit before turning the computer screen toward me. “Here. This is the alley out back an hour after midnight.”
I lean in to get a closer look at the grainy black-and-white image. The night plays out before my eyes, men disappearing behind doors with a prostitute and coming out smiling. “Is there a fast forward?”
He hits a button and the image on the screen races until I yell, “Stop!” Thankfully when I do, Arturo hits Pause and I stare at the image before me.
Mercy. She’s wearing her sweatshirt but with the hood off! Why would she do that? She’s walking the alley like a woman who’s in Paris for the first time and wants to take in all the sights. Nothing abnormal, until . . .
Two men stumble out of a room, the same room I was in today.
They’re clearly drunk. One of them stops and talks to Mercy. I squint harder but can’t make out his features in the grainy black and white. Mercy looks as if she’s trying to ignore them but also doesn’t want to appear unfriendly—one of them grabs her. I watch from what feels like a thousand miles away as they sandwich her and drag her down the alley until disappearing around a corner. I watch the small black space in the video, waiting for her to reappear, but she never does. Instead, an automobile goes by. I can’t tell the make and model, only that it’s a compact silver sedan of some kind.
“Rewind it!” I spin the monitor around to Arturo and get up to join him behind his desk. “There. Stop.”
The video plays out again, and I point at the men stumbling out of the room. “Those two. Do you know them?”
“No.”
I grip him behind his neck and shove his face closer to the monitor. “Look! Do you know them?”
A couple seconds go by, and Arturo nods. “Yes.”
I release my hold on his neck. “Who are they?”
He sighs. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“If you give me this information, you’ll have Esteban’s protection.” Lie. “If you do not, he’ll become your worst fucking nightmare.” All lies.
He groans. “Jose and Julio.”
“And who are they? Who do they work for?”
Arturo shrugs. “I don’t know. As far as I know, they work alone. But they run people. Mainly girls.”
“I need to find them. You’ll be compensated. I need every ounce of information you have on those two dead men.”
“I don’t want any involvement in this.”
“Don’t want any involvement? A woman was kidnapped off your property by two men who beat one of your girls! Whether you like it or not, you’re involved! Now tell me where I can find these two and you can go on living like nothing has happened. You don’t tell me, then we’re gonna have a major fucking problem.”
“They come here frequently. I’ll call next time they’re here—”
“It could be weeks before they show up again. She could be dead by then!”
“That’s the best I can do! I know nothing else.”
All I have is two first names and there’s jack dick I can do about it.