Family Money(58)

But would a real son do that? Would he ever let his father go?

I pulled out a prepaid cell phone I’d picked up at Target after leaving the hotel, just in case my own cell phone was being monitored, as Greta had suggested, and called Raul.

“What’s with the new phone number?” he asked me.

“I’ll explain in a moment. If I give you a phone number from Mexico City, can you trace it?”

“Most likely. What do you have?”

I paused, feeling at a decision point. I either let Joe go right now—which was what he basically had begged me to do—or risk everything in one last Hail Mary effort to see if I could possibly find him alive and bring him home. I thought about Taylor and my girls. If I did this, I couldn’t guarantee I’d return to them safely. Anything could happen to me. But I also knew if I didn’t do this, I might never be able to live with myself. In so many ways, Joe had rescued me. It was time for me to try to return the favor.

I told Raul about the text message, my deadly encounter with Antonio Perez, and my meeting with Greta at the hotel.

“Will you help me?” I asked him.

“This is still my case, Alex. I have a duty and a responsibility to pursue it to the end. But we must be careful. My investigation into Miguel Cortez and his nephew has been closely monitored by others around here. I have a very bad feeling about it, so I’m keeping things close to the vest. But I will track down this phone number.”

“Thank you. If I get on a plane tonight, I can be in Mexico City by early morning.”

“I’ll meet you there.”





THIRTY-EIGHT


I managed to get a seat on an eleven o’clock red-eye flight to Mexico City. Most travelers looked to be asleep within a few minutes of takeoff. I sat by myself in an empty row near the back of the plane and stared out the window into darkness. Although I was physically exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. Just like every other night this past week. I wondered if I’d ever be able to get a full night’s rest again. If I had to keep lying to Taylor for the rest of our marriage, I doubted it. I had just replied to her good night text, where I’d implied that I was about to get into bed myself. If she suddenly decided to call me, I’d have to decline it and make up an excuse for why I didn’t answer her when we talked again in the morning. Could I really live my life like this? I felt sad for Joe, who had felt forced to do this very same thing for more than three decades. I also felt bad for Carol, even though she knew nothing of it. Lies in a marriage build a chasm that can never be bridged until the truth is finally revealed.

The plane touched down at Mexico City International Airport a few minutes after five in the morning. Raul had arrived before me. He told me by text he’d had success tracking the phone number back to an apartment building about thirty minutes from the airport. He was already there, waiting for me in his rental car. In a herd of other early-morning traveling zombies, I went through customs, got cleared, and finally found my way outside of the airport. I had only my backpack with me with a couple of changes of clothes and some toiletries. I had no idea how long I would be in Mexico City but wanted to stay as flexible as possible. After locating a long line of taxis on the curb, I jumped into the first one available and gave the driver the address for the apartment building.

I felt a renewed sense of optimism now that Raul had been able to actually trace the phone number back to a real location. Surely someone at the other end of the phone had answers for me. I hoped they would tell me that Joe was still alive. After about thirty minutes of navigating traffic, I was finally dropped off at the curb in front of what looked like a low-rent four-story apartment building sandwiched between two other similar crumbling structures in the heart of Mexico City. The sidewalks in front of the buildings were mostly empty. The sun had not yet risen.

As I watched the taxi take off, I looked around at a few of the cars parked along the curb. I sent a quick text to Raul, letting him know I’d arrived and asking for his exact location. But I didn’t get a response. So I called his phone. Again, no answer. That made me uneasy. I began walking up the sidewalk, peering into the vehicles parked at the curb as I passed by them. No Raul. They all sat empty. I crossed over the street to be on the same side as the apartment building.

Then I noticed a gray Honda Civic with a Hertz rental car license plate frame on the back parked on a side street. It looked like someone’s head was peeking over the driver’s seat. Circling the rental car to the passenger side, I glanced in and noticed Raul sitting behind the wheel. I opened the passenger door and climbed inside. And that’s when I realized something was horribly wrong. Raul’s head was actually cocked a bit to the side, a hole near his temple, and blood was flowing down his neck and soaking the collar of his white shirt. I cursed. Someone had just shot him. I felt complete panic push through every inch of my body. Was he already dead?

“Raul?” I said, pushing on his shoulder, accidentally getting blood on my fingers. This only made him slump over farther against the window. I cursed again. Whoever had done this had to still be close by. It had only been twenty minutes since I’d last corresponded with Raul. Were they watching me right now? Were they about to go for a second kill? I had to get the hell out of there.

Glancing down, I noticed Raul’s small notepad sitting in the cup holder. I remembered him using the same notepad when I’d first met him. I quickly snagged it, shoved it into my pants pocket. I opened the door and kind of stumbled back into the street because my legs felt wobbly from shock. Then I froze in the sudden headlights of a car that had just pulled straight up to me and stopped. I was blind to whoever was inside. Was it the same person who had just shot Raul? Did they already have a gun pulled on me? Red-and-blue lights started swirling on top of the vehicle, followed by a quick siren chirp.