“But can he pull it off?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Arden unplugs the laptop and carries it over to the bed, motioning for me to scoot over. He nestles beside me, placing the laptop between us for optimal viewing displeasure. From Julio’s point of view (the elephant pendant’s point of view), we watch the cab driver make turn after turn, just like he did on our first visit to see El Libertador, though we know from the address that the meeting point is an entirely different place.
Julio fidgets with the nylon handle of the black cash bag beside him. I would too, if I were transporting twenty thousand dollars. Cletus assured Julio it’s mere chump change to him, but I can’t imagine carrying around that kind of cash—someone else’s cash—wouldn’t at least cause a little anxiety.
Finally the cab driver pulls into a parking lot. I suck in a breath. “Here we go.”
Julio extracts himself from the car, hauling the bag with him. Once again, he gives the cab driver a wad of cash and asks him to stay. The driver shrugs. This doesn’t appear to interest him in the least. I wonder how often he does El Libertador’s bidding. We were told to use the same cab company as before. By now they’re probably familiar with the odd, abandoned addresses.
Julio’s steps on the sidewalk seem to coincide with my heartbeat as he lets himself into a lone brick office building, offset by woods behind it. He walks down a long hallway, passing door after closed door. The building is in major disrepair; large hunks of drywall are missing in places, exposing the wood-frame skeleton of the structure. Wires dangle from squares where I imagine light switches used to be.
Julio approaches suite 154—our final destination—shifting the cash bag between his hands. For a second, he clutches at the elephant on the necklace, blocking our view of his world. It feels suffocating, this darkness. This not being able to see what my brother is doing.
Then he uncovers it again, and we can see.
El Libertador sits in the corner of the room in a metal folding chair, wearing his ugly mask. There is no desk. No other chair.
Julio doesn’t appear to know what to do. I don’t think I would either, except to stand there mutely, just as he’s doing now.
El Libertador doesn’t keep him waiting long. “I told you to drop the cash off.” His Spanish is impeccable. I hate him for that.
Julio clears his throat. “I … I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it. It left a bad feeling with me last time.”
“I don’t care about your feelings.”
“I just wanted to make sure you got all your money.”
El Libertador cocks his head. “My people ensure that I get all my money. I don’t like changes to the arrangement.”
Julio’s camera moves down, as if he’s squatting. For a clipped second, I can see that he placed the bag on the floor beside him. The angle moves back to face El Libertador. Julio waits for further instruction.
“Where’s your sister?”
“I couldn’t bring her. She and I are at odds. She’s chosen a path that isn’t wise. I had to kick her out of our house. She has to grow up before she can be involved in anything like this again.” It stings, because this part comes so naturally to Julio; he actually did kick me out and we actually are at odds.
“You’re an interesting man, aren’t you, Julio. I wonder why you would go to the trouble of paying me to bring your girlfriend here when I clearly could not deliver on your parents.”
We prepared for this line of questioning. The thing that bothers me is that the sheriff brought it up so easily. Like he’s baiting Julio. I remember the desperation in Julio’s voice when he called me to tell me about our parents. Can Julio be baited?
I try to push the thought aside though, because he did just supply some vital information for our bust. He basically admitted to the attempted transfer of our parents. That is a good thing. Is this enough?
But I know it’s not. El Libertador tried to smuggle our parents. That’s all we can prove. We can’t prove that El Libertador and the sheriff are one and the same. Not yet.
“I know that sometimes things happen that are beyond your control,” Julio says calmly. But it’s not a peaceful calm. It’s a kind of calm that makes me clench the comforter on Arden’s bed. I hear deep resentment in the inflection of his tone. “It was a risk I was willing to take. So is this. I know your reputation. I know you’ll find a way.”
“How is it that you have a Mexican girlfriend, Julio? My understanding is that you’ve lived here all your life.”
Uh-oh. We did not prepare for this. “I … She’s the daughter of a close friend of the family,” Julio says, recovering so gracefully I give Arden a triumphant nod. I even let go of the comforter. “We e-mail each other, and talk on the phone.” Wow. Even I believe him. And I wish that Julio actually did have a girlfriend. A gold chain, and a girlfriend.
But El Libertador is not satisfied. “Where was she born? How old is she?”
Julio is quiet. I feel my heart hammer against my rib cage. His hesitation is audible. “I don’t mind telling you these things. It’s just that … I’m nervous being here. I’d like to get on with it. Please.”
“That’s a nice necklace you’re wearing. Must have been pretty expensive.”
I don’t like where the questions are going, what they imply. I feel the room getting smaller and smaller around Julio. I wonder what he’s feeling right now. “It’s fake.”