Page 15 of Sold Blood
The roads grow darker the closer I get to the duplexes and the rain slows down as I pull into one of the driveways of the vacant homes. Other than my keys, phone and wallet, I don't bring much with me–only the burner phone. I don't want to use my phone to call Isaiah. We didn't need to have any more traceable phone calls between us.
The duplex is dark and warm when I get inside. I can tell it's been a while since anyone's been here. I pull the new phone from my pocket, dialing the number of the one I gave Isaiah. The phone rings three times before a raspy voice comes on the other end. "Hola?"
"Justo donde te dejé," I whisper into the phone, the same way I used to back then when he would wake up beside me or be waiting for me against the brick wall.
"Carlos?"
"Si. How are you holding up?"
“What do you think? You couldn’t have timed things more perfectly. I was just about to contact you. When you get a minute, I want you to check the garage of the duplex you’re staying in. One of your brothers left you a little present. You won't need your car anymore or the clothes you are wearing.”
My eyes widen. “I guess this wouldn’t be the first time you tried to get me out of my clothes. I have to admit, old age has made you more creative.”
He laughs. “Listen. In the trunk you will have everything you need. Money, clothes, fake IDs, and passports in case you end up needing them, and a map to one of my father's jet locations. There’s also a list of a few of the clubs and secret brothels the Mendez brothers run down there. There will be a pilot waiting for you when you get there, and you will be departing the minute you get securely on board. Leave the keys in the car and someone will be there to collect it.”
“Someone’s been busy. Are you sure you need my help?” I ask, grinning.
“Finding out information is the easy part. What you’re about to do is where it will get tricky and listen to me when I tell you there’s no better man for the job. Oh and Carlos, do try and hurry. After all, the early bird gets the worm.”
“Even after all these years, you’re still trying to boss me around. Don’t worry, I’m already getting in the car. Anything else before I go?”
“Yes, the man with the scar on his face works for Santana and goes by the name El Portero. He makes sure the drugs and product get to their final destination safely. Things are about to go very wrong for him when the next delivery doesn’t make it there safely and he gets a load of produce instead. Hopefully it helps give you a bit of a head start.”
I smile wide. “You always liked to stay ahead of me. Some things never change.”
“Some things never should. It’s why we worked so well together. I started and you finished.”
I grab the map from the trunk of the car and slide into the driver side, slamming the door shut.
“Looks like it’s my turn to complete the cycle then. I’ll talk to you soon and hopefully next time we speak, I’ll have your boy.” The other end goes dead silent and the car hums when I start the engine drowning out the quiet. I slide the phone in my pocket, driving out of the garage. I park on the side of the street, keeping the engine running while I drive my car into the borrowed vehicle’s place. The garage door rattles as it comes down behind me. I slide back into the driver’s seat, not wanting to waste any more time. The engine roars when I put my foot on the gas and I speed down the dark, narrowing road.
There’s a guy standing by the jet when I arrive at the location circled on the map. I grab everything I need from the trunk.The suitcase filled with clothes and the bag full of money weighs heavy in my hand as I enter the plane. The pilot smiles at me from the front of the plane. “We shall arrive in Florida in a few hours. I was told to make sure you eat something before we get there. You don’t want to arrive there hungry. Also there will be a car waiting for you.”
I stare at the name engraved on the seats and read the name out loud. “Juventino.”
Who else would have their own jet? Not only had Isaiah made contact with my brother, he went home and was welcomed with open arms by his family. Things really have changed.
Nine
Joey
Pieces of stale tortilla are being placed in a metal bowl in front of me. "Eat or I will shove it down your throat." The man kicks the bowl closer.
I lift the dish, sniffing the food. It smells like it's been sitting out for days and is no longer soft. It crunches between my teeth as I bite down on it, trying to keep the emotion running through me from pouring out of my eyes. I didn't need to go to the dark pit again. It’s basically a dark hole in the ground they threw you in when you misbehaved. I lost myself a little each time I went in there. I’d managed to already get thrown in there three times in a matter of only two days. Only my memories of Isaiah have kept me going, strengthening my mind.
I take another bite of the molded food. Not sure if being sick to my stomach is worse than enduring aches from starvation. Iglance over at Jackson beside me, observing him as he sits there quietly, staring at his bowl.
“You should eat. You don’t want to wither away in a place like this. Want to know what helps me?”
He nods, not taking his eyes off the food.
“It helps to imagine it’s something else.”
“How?”
“What’s your favorite food?”
Jackson shakes his head, pushing away the bowl. “You know what, it’s okay. I’m not even all that hungry anyway.”
