The Mexican soldier glanced from the ID in his hand to Adrian's face then asked the purpose of Adrian's visit.
"Tourist." Adrian beamed and then added, "I'm heading to Cabo to do a little snorkeling. Can you give me directions?" He pulled out the map of Mexico he'd purchased, and took his time unfolding it until it was a large unwieldy square. He didn't miss the soldier's sigh of annoyance. It was just the response he was looking for. The soldier waved him on.
Adrian flung the map onto the floor of the car. His only worry had been being identified leaving the country, but he'd felt confident his disguise and passport would let him sail through. So far, everything had gone without a hitch. Years of saving every penny and living in fleabag buildings was about to pay off.
The colorful buildings didn't hide the poverty of the area. Graffiti stained buildings squatted close together, their bright colors giving a falsely festive look to the neighborhoods. Cruising the streets, he was glad he'd memorized the route to his meeting location. Every street looked the same. He raised an eyebrow at a particularly garish purple building next to the panaderia that was his goal. His contact had insisted that a bakery would cause less suspicion than meeting at a bar although Kern felt exposed in the bright sunlight. It was only mid-morning, so his cover of buying some pastries and eating them at the third table from the door wouldn't look out of the ordinary.
Javier Mendez sauntered into the bakery, glanced at Adrian, but showed no signs of recognition as he made his way to the counter and ordered.
Adrian sipped his coffee. A few minutes later, Mendez joined him and pulled out the opposite chair. He took a bite of some large pastry and spoke around the food, "Buenos dias."
Adrian ignored the pleasantry. "Have the arrangements been made?"
Mendez set his pastry down and dusted the powdered sugar from his fingers as he said in lightly accented English, "Si, the house will be ready in a month. I think you will be happy with it. Much space and no close neighbors."
"Excellent. Is it on the ocean?" It would be much easier to come and go by boat and access had been one of Adrian's stipulations. As a foreigner, he wasn't allowed to buy oceanfront property, but there were ways around the law.
"It's set back in a small bay."
"Sounds perfect." Adrian smiled. "Now, about the other thing." As distasteful as Adrian found it, the only way to raise sizable amounts of cash quickly was in the drug trade, and his members had become adept at dealing to the rich North Shore kids who were afraid to go into the ghetto areas of Chicago.
"Shipments will begin as soon as payment is received."
"I have it right here." Adrian scanned the small bakery and made sure nobody was paying any attention as he passed an English to Spanish dictionary across the table. The center had been hollowed out and contained a small package of gemstones.
Mendez slipped the package out, and with a quizzical expression, peered into the small velvet bag. Afterward, he tugged the drawstrings tight and tossed the bag onto the table. "We agreed on cash, not a bunch of rocks."
Leaning forward, he struggled to keep his voice calm as he covered the bag with his hand. "We agreed on a price, not a method of payment. I couldn't very well cross the border with a suitcase full of cash. What would I have done if I'd been searched? Besides, these jewels are worth twice what you demanded."
Taking another bite of the pastry, Mendez shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Do I look like a jeweler to you?"
"I can go elsewhere for what I want."
"You think so?" Mendez dabbed a spot of sugar from the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. "I think that I'm the only one willing to deal with you now, after that repulsive stunt you pulled off in Chicago."
"What repulsive stunt?"
Mendez glanced sideways and his lip curled. "You crucified that man."
"It was part of a sacred ritual. We're not just some street gang like you're used to dealing with. We're a holy guild. Our foundation is based on sacred rituals and spiritual growth."
"Spiritual growth. Of course." Mendez rolled his eyes. "You've managed to accomplish what I thought was impossible. You have offended even the heads of the most violent cartels in Mexico. I had a difficult time setting up a supply line because nobody wanted to do business with you."
"You mean the same people that murder women and children? I didn't know they had standards." Adrian shook his head in disgust and continued, "Besides, Taylor didn't die, he's perfectly fine."
"They're saying he really is some kind of saint, and all the churches have been praying for him. You might want to re-think moving your headquarters down here."
"It'll blow over."
Mendez shrugged. "We are a Catholic country, senor. Surely you realize that your 'ritual' could stir up some passion in my countrymen." With that comment, he stood and casually took the bag of gems, tucking them into his pocket. "These had better be twice the worth or I'll be in contact. Otherwise, this will be our last meeting in person."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“…yeah, Lily, pretty much everything including shoes. I think my sneakers should be okay to wear.” Mark pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to remember where he had removed his shoes last. Probably right inside the door, but with everything that went on that night the sneakers could be anywhere in the loft by now.
He supposed he could wear slippers home if he had to. "I’ll see ya later. Bye.”
Walking was easier today than the day before and Mark quickly showered, blocking out all thought and just letting the water pour over him. Afterwards, he even managed to shave and only nicked himself a couple of times. As he blotted the tiny cuts with tissue, he grimaced at the hideous purple and yellow bruises on his throat. Maybe he should have asked Lily to bring him a turtleneck. Other than his throat, he looked okay, which surprised him somewhat. He felt so different inside and was sure it would reflect in his outward appearance.
He wished the doctor would discharge him today. When breakfast had come, Mark had eaten as much of it as he could and even managed to choke down a few bites of the oatmeal. Physically, he felt pretty good. His knife wound bothered him the most along with the ever-present headache. He was almost used to it by now, only really noticing it when it would flare up in response to sudden movement.
Mark sat in the chair and turned the television off. The last thing he wanted to see was more coverage of what had happened to him. When he had woken up this morning, the local news had been filming from right outside the hospital, and Mark had been amazed at all the people gathered out there. He hadn’t had a chance to watch any coverage before, and it hadn’t occurred to him that he was the main topic in the news.
There was so much else on his mind that the events prior to the assault seemed distant. Apparently, what had happened to him had fired up the public’s interest. He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already.
There was a light knock on his door and Mark looked over to see Scott Palmer standing in the threshold. Warring emotions battled in his mind. Dread that he would have to talk-yet again-about what had happened. Already, he could feel his heart speed up. A glimmer of hope tried to balance the dread. Hope that this man would be able to help him sort out all his turbulent feelings so that they would finally quiet down and he would feel like himself again. He hated the way he felt right now. It was like riding a never-ending roller coaster.