Chapter 7 of the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade"
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Miguel remains at his safe house for days after the incident with the dead Texan, mostly to firm up his alibi, but also to do some needed retraining on his remaining staff. The nice thing about the safe house is that it's not along any roads. Even getting here by game trail requires knowing exactly when to leave one trail to switch to another, and no one outside his organization knows it even exists. The house doesn’t overlook the ranch, but if you walk to the top of the ridge above the house, the ranch can be seen. There’s no running water, but an outhouse out back offers conveniences, and a wood stove provides heat. The house initially only had one bedroom and a kitchen, but Miguel added a large bunkhouse style room that can hold all his girls. The only way in or out is through the front door, which he can lock from either side. The house had dirt floors, but he laid 2x4 stringers and over that, then strandboard covered with laminate. Beneath the couch he installed a trapdoor that provides access to a gun safe he laid on its side. He uses a gas range run on propane tanks for cooking. On most mornings, making coffee on the stove is sufficient to burn off remnants of the cold night, at least enough to give the wood stove that burned down during the night a chance to kick back in.
Miguel sent all but two of his men back to the ranch, which means one of them is always sleeping while the other two keep an eye on things. This morning however, he’s locked the girls inside, sent his men back to the ranch for supplies, and hiked up to a rock ledge that lets him see all the way past Pojoaque to the Jemez Mountains on the other side of the valley. It’s the kind of ledge that leads a person to think, and Miguel has a lot to sort through. First there’s the matter of re-establishing operations, last time this happened he had to move from the southeast side of Santa Fe to the ranch. He’d rather not relocate unless necessary. The ranch is optimal for its seclusion, proximity to the casinos, and since it's not clear which nation his property resides in, law enforcement doesn’t pay much attention. Plus, Ramon was plenty pissed last time, especially about the loss of revenue as it took time get set up and for word to get out about the new location. Those were some stressful days when Miguel never knew if the next person he met would be his assassin. Now Ramon praises Miguel for his innovation and the ranch is the most profitable entertainment venue in Ramon’s region.
Relocating close to casinos opened up a whole new avenue of clients; men whose wives like to gamble. Between eight and ten most nights, the ranch gets super busy with guys who leave their wives long ago quit caring about what they're husbands do. They get so caught up in the lights and sounds of their adult entertainment they have no regard for their husband's form of adult fun. The men can run up to the ranch, enjoy Miguel's hospitality, and be back in time to report fiscal losses far less than their wives’ with no one the wiser. It’s a win-win really; that is if you don't count Miguel's girls or the casinos, but at least the casinos make it back on tourist and trust-funders so no one’s complaining. It would really be a shame if he has to relocate, but that’s not a decision that can be made until after taking stock and talking things over with Ramon.
The other matter on Miguel’s mind is how to get back the girl that arrogant and obnoxious distiller calls Sympatico. On some level, Miguel could come to likes Jake, well maybe not like since Miguel doesn’t like anyone, but he does respect him for having cajones. It took a lot for Jake to stand up to him and his crew on Cinco de Mayo, and even more to hold firm a couple days ago at the Al Azar when he demanded Sympatico back. Miguel understands Jake’s not going to consider his cash or a trade offer, so the only other real solution is taking her. How though, is the question he just can’t get his mind wrapped around. Ramon gave him until the end of the week to quietly resolve this matter, then it’s by any means necessary. Now there’s this half-way house at that church with the salsa playing priest; if she vanishes into the Church’s relocation system, Miguel knows he’ll be looking at an assassin’s bullet, Ramon made that pretty clear. “By the end of the week,” Miguel mutters to the lone juniper tree daring to thrive in the barrenness of the rock walled mesa, “then by any means necessary.”
Sympatico’s first day at the halfway house was not at all what she expected. Rather than getting to know new residents, she's tasked with unpacking boxes of kitchen items Parishioners donated and trying to build matching, or at least close to matching, sets of dinnerware and utensils. She sorts through various pots and pans and generally figures out where things should go. The house is nowhere ready for residents as there isn’t even any furniture. Two Mexicans Padre hired spend their day plastering upstairs where Sympatico assumed the bedrooms are. The only time she speaks with them is at lunch, which Padre serves in the courtyard. Even that though is just introductions and some casual pleasantries. It takes a while before realizing there’s something familiar about them, which means they have no business working for Padre and she needs to be cautious. They don’t really seem like the type that would go to the Ranch, but where else would they have ever crossed paths? She briefly considers she knew them from before her nightmare began, but why would Mexicans be in Bolivian? Still though, something about them causes caution.
Padre intends to work with Sympatico all day but has to leave when the bishop calls. He pops in a couple times during the afternoon, mostly to drop off more donations and to talk with the Mexicans about how he wants things done. It’s clear whatever the bishop had to say upset Padre as he seems terse and distracted. Several times Sympatico starts to say something encouraging, but each time retreats to the realization girls like her don’t say encouraging things to men in such vaulted positions. The Mexicans occasionally come down for a drink of water or wash something in sink, but they never speak. In fact, it seems they're just as uncomfortable around Sympatico as she is around them. Their joint discomfort holds a silent truce requiring neither side to explain themselves or acknowledge any kind of familiarity.
The halfway house is not small, but not large either. It’s a tan two story stucco building with a pitched metal roof and pane glass windows. The main floor has five rooms: a kitchen, bathroom, living room, office being converted to a bedroom, and a gathering room that’s going to double as a dorm-style bedroom. Sympatico doesn’t venture upstairs, but Padre says there’s a bathroom and five bedrooms, each containing two beds. Padre’s vision for residents is to double up, even if space allows single occupancy. Not only does that leave space for new arrivals, but healing happens faster when you’re not alone.
The more Padre talks about his plans to run the halfway house and work with residents, the less Sympatico sees a role for herself. He keeps talking about the need for an experienced counselor to live here full time and that’s clearly not her. She hopes Padre understands she already has a home and cannot leave. She tries multiple times to tell him she has no experience or training in anything other than cooking and cleaning, but each time he says that residents will be responsible for maintaining the house. Then he’ll add that he has something special planned for her, he just never says what that is. Preston came by briefly to go over his design for a security system. He smiles warmly at Sympatico each time their eyes met but never talks to her. Padre and Preston review plans with the Mexicans as they walk through the house and around the outside explaining where certain things need to happen. Like her, Preston seems to know the Mexicans, even though Padre formally introduces them. That causes her to reassess who this Preston person might really be.
While the house is far from ready, and she has no clue what her role will be, Sympatico’s excited about the project. Padre has a way of drawing her out and by midafternoon, she can’t wait for Jake to pick her up just so she can share her excitement. What makes her even more excited is this is the first time since her ordeal began, she's looked forward to anything. Padre’s mood softens as the afternoon winds down and Sympatico finds it easier to talk. It’s somewhat alien at first, not having to worry about what she says coming out just right. What a strange feeling, to talk without careful screening, to speak without having to think about the consequence of your words, to just say something without knowing in advance what it will be. So strange and foreign is this feeling, she’s not sure she’s ever spoken so freely. But certainly, she has, back before current time began. Padre not only has a way of coaxing her to talk, but to smile, and not just smile, but to even once in a while laugh. How is any of this possible she wonders.
By afternoon’s end Sympatico’s exhausted, but in a good way, the kind that can’t wait for tomorrow to do it all over again. Jake rolls in with his beat-up old pickup at exactly five o’clock as promised. He and Padre sit on the bench under the large cottonwood tree in the parking lot halfway between the church and rectory for what seems like forever. Sympatico can’t hear what they were saying, but at one point Padre jumps up and starts yelling at Jake. Then Jake jumps up and points his finger at Padre yelling back. After that they both sit down and continue talking. Sympatico waits on the drive home for any kind of segue to ask what went on between them, but when no opportunity presents itself, she decides to just jump in.
“I don’t know who the two Mexicans are,” Sympatico says in response to Jake’s last question, “but they seem safe. It’s none of my business, but what were you and Padre arguing about? I hope it was not about me?”
“No," Jake quickly answers before taking a long pause, "nothing like that. It’s really-, well-, just the same old crap we’ve been arguing about since-,” Jake needs a moment to compose himself enough to say the words he’s hardly strong enough to muster. “Since Emelia died.”
“Oh, sorry, I should not have asked.”
“It’s okay, you’re gonna find out sooner or later. Padre and I-, we can be okay for a while, and then we’re not. He can get to pushing, which causes me to push back, and before you know it, he doesn’t know when to stop. And I guess sometimes, I don’t know when to let things go. He means well, just his way and mine are not-, simpatico.
Sympatico smiles at the double entendre. “Perhaps New Mexico is not big enough for two good honest men.”
“Maybe, I mean the part about New Mexico not being big enough. As for the other part, thanks. Padre and I both got a ways to go to earn such an honor.” The rattly old pickup lumbers up the long driveway busting onto the large parking area on top of the small mesa Jake calls home. Three vehicles are parked in front of the courtyard, two of which belong to customers. “Hector’s here,” Jake comments as the truck glides to a stop in front of the barrel room on the opposite side of the parking lot.
“Theresa’s Hector?” Sympatico asks.
“I invited him over for beers, there’s something we need to discuss.”
“Would you like for me to make something to eat?”
“No, Theresa made enchiladas so Hector’s gonna be eager to get home.” Jake escorts Sympatico into the courtyard where Hector waits. He looks through the tasting room windows where Theresa’s busy with four customers. “Hector, my friend,” Jake says shaking hands. “Have you met Sympatico.”
“I have not,” Hector answers in continually improving English. “But I sure have heard a lot about you.”
Hector has already been coached about Sympatico not liking to be touched so does not attempt to shake her hand. “A very brave thing you have done, very brave.”
“Thank you, Senor, it did not seem so at the time, even now I am not sure how I managed it.”
“We all have similar uncertainties about the things we’ve done to get where we are. You are far braver than most. More courageous than me, that's for sure.”
“Muchas gracias,” Sympatico repeats, feeling unworthy of praise. “Please excuse me, I’ve had a long day and need to rest.”
“But of course, it was nice to meet you.” Hector tips is straw cowboy hat as she leaves. “It’s amazing anyone can survive so much," he tells Jake while watching her walk through the tasting room and into the kitchen.
“Which is exactly why I want to talk to you.” Theresa’s learned from previous times Jake’s entertained in the courtyard, to stage a small cooler of cold beer beside his favorite table. Jake digs out two cans, handing one to Hector. “Have you heard about Padre’s new halfway house?”
“Si, Theresa told me. We donated what we can, but I’m afraid it's not much, and not very fancy.”
“Fancy’s overrated." Jake settles into his favorite chair. "Padre appreciates every little bit he gets. I’m not sure what motivates that man most the time, but I think this time it's Sympatico. She works there now.”
“Theresa and I are very impressed. But isn’t it dangerous, I mean now that the bad guys know where to look.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Me! Pretty certain, you got the wrong hombre.”
“When Sympatico went missing, you mobilized the Mexican Underground to find her.”
“But we didn’t.”
“Doesn’t mean the mobilization wasn’t impressive. Look, you know people with connections throughout Mexico, and even Central and South America. Padre needs that kind of network to get people home discretely.”
“This network, if it exists, is made up of poor people frightened of the people you’re trying to avoid.”
“I can’t help with the being scared part but funding's being worked out and people who help will be handsomely compensated. Padre won’t be looking to put anyone in jeopardy, what he needs is folks who can once in a while pick someone up at a train station, or bus stop. Maybe buy a ticket or put them on a plane. The important thing is to get in contact with family or loved ones and work through how best to arrange a reunion. Padre’s thinks that if the families do the actual work of returning someone home, even the cartels won’t think it odd; it's what families do.”
“Padre’s done an awful lot of thinking and planning for someone so new to this matter.” Hector swigs his beer as he processes what can only be called a most dangerous undertaking. “How many girls is Padre planning on sending.”
“All of them.”
“All of them!” Hector shouts. “That would be thousands, tens of thousands. There’s no way the few people I know in this imaginary network you seem to believe runs all over Latin America could handle that.”
“No,” Jake corrects. “I mean all of Miguel’s girls, at least in the first wave.”
“And how many would that be?”
“Not sure, no more than twenty.”
Hector takes a moment to digest what’s being asked. “Theresa and I owe so much to people like you and Padre, and we want to help. We are obligated to help, as are the men and women in this magical Mexican Underground. But each to their abilities, is that not what the bible says? We are people of poor abilities. I will ask around. You give me a list of what you need and some sort of plan on how it’s supposed to all work, and I will ask around.”
“You have to be discrete, if just one person betrays you, everyone's in danger. Keep your circle small and keep those outside your circle in dark as much as possible.”
Hector gets up to leave. “My heart is heavy Senor, very heavy. Not from fear, or from the effort that will be required. My heart is heavy from the tremendous responsibility you place upon me.”
Jake gets up and shakes Hector’s hand. "I to know the burden one shoulders when someone so lost and alone depends on you for the very breath they breathe. Since you quoted the bible, let me just say that God never gives us more than we can carry.”
Hector may be leaving with doubt, but Jake’s confident the infrastructure they’ll soon rely on, somehow materializes. Jake returns his mostly full can of beer to the cooler knowing his day’s far from over. Next up is meeting with Armando to discuss logistics. As he pulls into the Al Azar, he’s so lost to all the stuff on his mind he doesn’t register the significance of the black jeep parked in front. He ignores his phone even though it’s been vibrating since he got here. Had he taken time to register the jeep or answer his phone, he’d have avoided the shocking surprise of finding Miguel sitting at the old man’s table when he enters.
“Dude,” Armando sings, “I said I’d call, but left my phone at home.”
Finally, up to speed, Jake realizes his vibrating phone was the Tracker App warning him Miguel's within a hundred feet. The App on Armando’s phone would have warned him sooner if Armando hadn’t left his phone at home. “Senor Jake,” Miguel booms, “Come have a drink with me. Barkeep, bring my friend whatever swill he drowns his ice with.”
Jake squeezes his pocket to stop the buzzing that is clearly too intense to be ignored. He pensively looks at Armando before scanning the room for Miguel’s usual entourage. There’s at least comfort knowing he’s here alone. “So,” Jake says sliding out a chair, “big doings at the ranch huh? Especially with you allegedly out of town and all.”
Rather than take the bait, Miguel gets right to the point. “Have you considered my offer?”
“Thought I was clear that whatever issues your boss has with the way you run your business is between you and him.”
“Look old man, I’m not gonna do this dance you always do, so here’s the bottom line. I’m instructed to resolve this quietly, if possible. Otherwise, I’m authorized to close this deal by any means necessary. Right now, I’m finding other means pretty damn appealing.”
“So, you’re okay having the entire valley know you welshed on a bet?” Jake hopes he appears calm and confident but understands the collision course they’re on.
“I’ll make sure to have it look like you left me no alternative.”
“Like the jealous boyfriend story, you spun to cover killing that girl?” As soon as Jake says that he knows it was a mistake.
Miguel shoots the shot of tequila Armando just delivered before responding. “She cut a client; what choice did my men have?” Plenty pissed, he forgets to follow his drink with salt and lime. “Good luck proving it.”
“Don’t have to prove it. I dispense Internet justice and the Cyber-courts have already found you guilty, they’re not blind like the folks you bribe.”
Miguel jumps up with a rage that propels Jake against the back of his chair. A rage so powerful and boundless, violence is the only way it be can satiated. “I’ve had it,” he screams. “Had it with your smart mouth, your Internet threats, and your unwillingness to accept my very reasonable offer. There’s nothing left except kicking the crap out of you and taking back what I should have never relinquished.” Miguel grabs a fist full of Jake’s shirt and is about to catapult him from his chair, when-
“You’ll have to go through me first.” Dario calmly states as he steps through the door. He walks past Armando tossing his phone on the bar. Armando sees the Tracking App notified Dario when Jake’s phone alerted. “You came alone this time,” Dario comments looking around the room. “How convenient.” Dario double checks to make sure Miguel is in fact alone. “Ease away, Doc., so I can do what needs doing.”
Miguel lets loose of Jakes shirt, letting him fall back into his chair. “Don’t do something you’ll later regret”
“My life’s full of regrets; one more won’t make a damn bit of difference.”
“Tell your boy to stand down,” Miguel orders Jake, “or this won’t end well.” There’s no panic in Miguel’s voice, just cold calculation. There’s no reason not to throw down; it’s not even three against one, not when you consider Dario’s associates.
“I rather like the way this is shaping up,” Jake replies while straightening his shirt and backing away.
Dario turns toward Armando, “I want to say in advance, I’ll pay for all damages.” He turns back toward Miguel. “With pleasure.”
The willingness to engage would be plain to see in Miguel’s eyes if not masked over by rage. First there’s the very real risk with Ramon if this deal’s not closed. Then there’s this smart-ass old man who continually disrespects him. Finally, there’s Dario, given he was willing to throw down against four of Miguel’s best men, means there’s no telling what he’s capable of. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit!” Miguel calmly states, pulling a pistol out from his back belt. He points the pistol first at Dario and then at Jake. “I didn’t want things to come to this, but you push, and you push old man, until there’s no place left to push!”
“Except here,” Armando says pointing the sawed-off double barrel shotgun his grandfather kept under the bar straight at Miguel.
There’s something about looking into the twin barrels of a sawed-off shotgun that makes an irrational man have starkly clear thoughts. He points his pistol at Jake. “Anyone comes at me, I shoot him.”
“You shoot him, I kill you.” Armando flatly counters.
“I don’t want to get in the middle of your negotiations, being the white guy and all,” Jake tentatively steps back hoping he’s outside the shotgun’s scatter range, “but is this appears to be what you guys call a Mexican Standoff?”
“No Cabron, this is what we call the rise and fall of Miguel Martinez.” Armando grins at his prey, ready for any excuse to pounce.
Miguel points his pistol are Dario and then back at Jake as he sorts through what’s happening, uncertain how he keeps ending up losing to these guys. His rage, coupled with his fear of what awaits if he doesn’t get the girl back leaves him no viable options. “I’m gonna leave, there’s no winning strategy for either of us.” He backs to the doorway keeping his pistol pointed at Jake. “But know this old man, after Friday, I got the green light to use any means necessary.” With that dire warning, Miguel steps through the door retreating to his jeep for a speedy getaway.
The room remains ensconced in silence as thoughts get gathered. “What the hell Doc?” Dario is first to return. “If I hadn’t been at the Wind River, I’d have been too late.”
Armando sets his shotgun on the bar. “Not to brag, Cabron, but I had things under control.”
“Really?” Jake offers. “From the wrinkles on my shirt, I’d beg to differ.”
Before Armando can respond, the door bursts open and Preston jumps inside with a manic look that says he’s here to help but is completely unsure how he possibly can. He’s quickly joined by Jon, who races inside holding his phone as if he believes in a real emergency that’s the weapon of choice. “Got the warning,” he says out of breath, “rushed right over.” He looks around the room trying to understand what the panic’s all about. “If nobody’s dead, I’m gonna need a very stiff drink followed by a detailed explanation.”
