Shadows Across America Page 7

  “I . . . I . . . my . . . my . . . girl . . .”

  Michelle exploded in pain. Her face contorted into a devastating grimace. She doubled over and collapsed like a rag doll, as though she’d lost control of her body. Ethan caught her before she hit the ground, saving her from hitting her head. If she weren’t still sobbing inconsolably, he’d have thought she’d fainted. He slowly lowered her down to the ground, where she curled up, still sobbing, repeating, “My girl, my little girl . . .” over and over again.

  It was the most devastating sound Ethan had ever heard. The only thing he could think to compare it with was an image from his childhood, a dog whose puppies had been taken away from her. They’d been shoved in a bag to be drowned in a river. He’d never forgotten how she’d looked, chained to a post, pulling against her collar so hard that it had drawn blood, chewing on the links until her teeth broke. Eventually, she’d worn herself out. Afterward she’d just lain on the grass like a dead body, her eyes glassy, staring at the never-ending flow of the river. Now Michelle reminded him of that zombie animal, curled up like a little kid in a nondescript parking lot, oblivious to the passersby and to him, sucked into an apparently bottomless pit. She cried ceaselessly, sniveling and hiccuping, having lost any trace of dignity or shame. She began to bite her own lips, pushing little pearls of blood to the surface.

  More than ten minutes passed before she was able to move, but as soon as she’d caught her breath, she leaped back up, covering her face. Without saying a word, she locked herself in the car, where she checked herself in the mirror and neatly took a pack of baby wipes from her bag, tidying her makeup and applying eye drops. Ethan, who was completely dumbfounded, waited at the door until she lowered the window and told him to get in.

  “Forgive me. We’re very late. We need to run.”

  He got in the car full of doubt.

  “So you’ll talk to Andrés? He knows everything.”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. I know that you’re the only ones who are really with me. Now things are looking up.”

  They headed back to a party that was a perfect metaphor for the absurd situation in which Ethan found himself. The barbecue dragged on as the sun gradually dropped in the sky, and the suffocating heat began to let up. Several locals came over and bombarded him with questions, so much so that he began to grow suspicious. Doña Maria proudly strutted among her guests, introducing them to the gringo detective who was going to find her granddaughter. Whenever he stepped away, Ethan also heard her crowing about how he’d asked Michelle to marry him, but she’d rejected his advances. But the worst part was when Beto’s girlfriend, Leidy, and her family arrived. They were a veritable catalog of the worst society had to offer. Jonathan, the older brother, took charge of the barbecue. He was clearly a role model for Beto, acting like a cut-price king surveying his domain under the fawning gaze of his sister’s boyfriend. He was spoiled by Doña Maria, who did everything she could to satisfy his whims and lauded his work at the grill as though it were a banquet laid on by God himself. His sister Leidy, Beto’s girlfriend, wandered around like a high-maintenance housewife, and something about the way Beto treated her aroused Ethan’s worst suspicions. Their mother sat in a corner playing with a two-year-old they called Patito whose true parentage seemed something of a mystery: either he belonged to an absent sister, Jonathan, or the mother herself. Something about the family seemed deeply unhealthy, but Ethan had the odd feeling that he was the only one who could see it. The only saving grace came when most of the guests were getting ready to leave and Doña Maria proudly announced that her eldest son had arrived.

  As Andrés approached Ethan, they both smiled nostalgically. In some ways, Andrés was responsible for this whole situation. He’d gone to the United States as an immigrant when he’d been little more than a boy. He had been stopped at the border, illegally detained, and deported. But he’d come back. You couldn’t fight desperation with walls and watchtowers. Ethan had no idea what had happened on those trips. Andrés had never told him, but the deep pain in his eyes said it all. Many years later, now a legal resident, he’d gotten back in contact with his mother and siblings, who were much younger than him, making his relationship with them more paternal than anything. He’d helped do the paperwork for Michelle to follow him to the United States, and Ethan had met her through him. After she’d left Ethan, Andrés had stopped talking to her but still kept tabs on his niece. He had blind faith in both her intelligence and essential goodness. Eventually, now that the economy in his home country had improved and he’d felt ready, he’d moved back and made a life for himself. Now he owned several stores and paid for his two children to study in the United States. Ethan knew that he was the only one who could have taken charge of the search and paid for a private detective.

  Andrés was short and squat. Everything about him was stumpy: his fingers, neck, and all his limbs appeared to have been stunted by some invisible force, giving him a rough, compact air. He always wore a suit, and his straight, short sleeves and pants legs looked like tubes sticking out of his torso. His bald head gleamed; his thick moustache was going bright white on either side. The gray hair and bags under his eyes were the only features that indicated his true age. It touched Ethan’s heart to see this evidence of the passing of time. They hugged with hefty slaps on the back, and the new arrival served himself a drink, ignoring the rest of those present, who pretended not to notice the snub.

  Ethan held up his beer. “No beer?”

  “I stopped drinking. It’s forbidden by the congregation.”

  “Congregation?”

  “When I got back, I learned a lot. I turned my back on the beliefs of a family that did so little to help me, and now I go to an evangelical church. My life has changed completely. They taught me that alcohol is not permitted by the love of Lord Christ. Blessed be his name.”

  “I see a lot has changed over the years.”

  “I’m a good believer, closer to God than I ever was. Now that I think of it, you never had much time for that kind of thing.”

  “Well, we discussed it often.”

  “I remember. And I also remember that in addition to my having the good fortune to call you my friend, you’re also a good man. My wife never forgets to pray for you.”

  Ethan was deeply honored by the compliment because the man he was talking to was one of the few people in his life whom he truly respected. After twelve years, Andrés still addressed Ethan in formal Spanish, and even though they hadn’t seen each other in six, the first thing Andrés had brought up was their friendship. They shared a bond that Ethan had probably never experienced with anyone outside his family.

  “I came to welcome you, but now I’m leaving. I don’t belong here. We’ll have time to talk tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up at twenty to nine.” He handed Ethan a basic cell phone.

  “Thanks, but I have my phone.”

  “This one has a prepaid SIM card so we can keep in touch. I’ve put some money on it. If your phone is unlocked and you prefer to use it, then you can just put the card in that one without any trouble. But keep it—it’ll be your number while you’re here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s a pleasure to have you with us. I’ll give you as much help as I can, not that I know anything about the business anymore. These days I sell secondhand clothes.”

  When Andrés had left, the party came to an end, and the family was left alone with Leidy. She and Beto locked themselves in his bedroom. Michelle finished tidying up and slumped with her mother in front of local TV, which was showing a lurid news program whose only purpose seemed to be terrifying viewers. Ethan went off for a shower and to get ready for bed.

  As soon as he got some alone time, the events of the day hit him like a landslide. He was deeply confused. The biggest questions revolved around Michelle’s evasive behavior. There was almost a physical change whenever she was with her family. The constant sensation that she was switching between the person he knew and a
stranger was disorienting. He remembered her in the parking lot: he’d never seen her looking so vulnerable and distraught. Never in their time together had she revealed such an intimate side of herself. Never had she been so genuine. Then he thought about Ari and the way she exuded raw truth in everything she did.

  When he got out of the bathroom, he tried to write to Ari on WhatsApp but gave up when he saw that his messages weren’t getting through. He was able to get through to Candy, and he asked how Bear was doing; after a brief conversation she told him that Ari had gone out with some friends. He felt bad about his immediate reaction: asking Ari who she was out with. This time his message went through. He kept an eye on the phone until he saw it indicate that the message had been read. But that was it.

  A tap on the metal roof made him jump. He put down the phone and got up to take a look. The tap was followed by several others. They were footsteps. He looked up and guessed there were two or three people on top of the house. He went into the living room to find Michelle and her mother curled up on the sofa with the TV volume turned down, waving at him not to make a sound. Ethan waited and listened. The only sound was the quiet murmur from the television. The light behind Beto’s door was off; he and the girlfriend must have been sleeping or at least sitting quietly in the dark. The steps went from one end of the house to the other, accompanied by high-pitched teenage laughter. Ethan tried to reassure the two women, but he could see the fear in their eyes. He looked around for a weapon, and Michelle, reading his mind, led him silently to the kitchen and gave him a knife with a trembling hand. She pressed herself against his body, shivering with fear and nuzzling him on the neck like a puppy looking for safety. Ethan stroked her hair but pushed her away gently so he’d be free to move and follow the path of the footsteps.

  Suddenly a rock crashed through a window. Beto’s door swung open, and he came out in his underwear, brandishing a metal baseball bat with a wild, paranoid look in his eye. Ethan thought that he must be stoned. He gestured to Beto to show that there was nothing to worry about, and Beto lowered his guard. Doña Maria started to squeak while an equally stoned Leidy appeared in a sheet, mute with fright. Ethan waited. They all did, frozen in place, but nothing happened. It all melted into the night: the footsteps, the laughter, the tension. If it weren’t for the broken glass on the ground, they might have dismissed it as a mass delusion. Ethan cautiously went to the entrance, but Michelle’s mother begged him not to open it with a sob in her voice.

  “No, m’hijo, don’t. Better not to.”

  After waiting anxiously for a quarter of an hour to make sure that the danger had passed, Michelle got a broom to sweep up the glass, and Doña Maria stuck a sheet over the hole. Ethan helped her while Beto and Leidy locked themselves back in the bedroom. This was followed by ten more minutes of silence, which Michelle eventually broke.

  “It’s n-not the first time this has happened, Ethan. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “No, m’hija, that’s not true.”

  “I was going to explain, Mom. There is something to worry about. These neighborhoods, the ones where the rent isn’t hundreds or thousands of dollars . . . are slowly falling to the Mara. They come in, take control, and make it Mara territory.”

  “This isn’t Mara territory.”

  “No, it isn’t. This neighborhood is safe enough, but Colonia Trece, where Leidy lives, already belongs to them. When they get to a new neighborhood, they move into an empty house and try to scare people away. They’re called destroyer houses. They stay and live there like a commune, but a very poor one. They don’t even have enough money for food, and to keep themselves and their children alive, they search through garbage, beg, or steal. Extortion rackets and bus robberies are run by the bosses. There’s a destroyer house over there. It’s only a matter of time before they get here.”

  “Don’t say that, honey; it’ll bring misfortune down upon us.”

  “That’s what’s going to happen, Mom. They walk over the rooftops, climbing around, talking on their phones, and sometimes even sleeping up there in case the police come. They’re always up there, talking away while the hawks, the youngest kids, keep an eye out. Do you think they don’t know you’re here? They know everything. People here still go out and live their lives, but in Trece they stay in their houses in case there’s a shoot-out or worse.”

  “So they do this a lot?” Ethan said.

  “Walking around on the roof, sure, lots. Jonathan says they do it at his house every night, but they’ve never broken a window before . . .”

  “They were laughing.”

  “Yes, they were.”

  “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Even if you don’t want to say it, I know. They’re letting us know that they know I’m here.”

  “Who knows . . . ?”

  “If it’s because of me, maybe they won’t bother us again tonight.”

  The three of them went to bed, still worried. As soon as Ethan stepped back into his bedroom, he instinctively checked his phone. Ari still hadn’t answered.

  The sun came up a little after five, and Ethan’s exhausted body insisted that he get up. He reluctantly obeyed. Doña Maria made him a traditional breakfast of eggs, rice, and beans. Michelle left for work before he’d finished. When Andrés came by to pick him up, Beto and Leidy still hadn’t come out of the bedroom.

  They drove along narrow streets where elderly women made tortillas and set them aside in piles. They joined the traffic and turned off into a modern business district, which boasted rows of intelligent buildings watched by helpful porters and guards armed with shotguns.

  “So who is this detective?” Ethan asked. “How did you make contact with him?”

  “He’s famous for being good at what he does. Plenty of rich people have hired him to deal with kidnappings, and he never fails.”

  “Does he get involved?”

  “No, but they say he has a lot of contacts with the police and the gangs, so he can negotiate where others can’t. They say that his methods aren’t always very nice. I’m sorry to say that he has in the past paid off the Mara so he can enter their territory and kill the perpetrators, God forgive him. But mostly he makes sure that the payments are made and the hostage gets back unharmed. He doesn’t get into bed with anyone. That’s what he’s famous for. He gives it to you straight: if he thinks there’s a chance, he’ll tell you, and if not, he’ll tell you that too. The problem for us is the talk, which doesn’t lead anywhere. His services are very expensive, and for what we’ve paid him, he’s only promised to keep an eye out.”

  “I understand.”

  The office was high up in a building that also housed a shopping mall on the stories below. First you had to show your ID at one of the reception desks on either corner attended by friendly receptionists and at least three armed guards; then you got into an elevator. Once you got to the right floor, you walked down a marble-lined corridor into a minimalist office. The reception led into a midsized room with four work desks and behind them a large wooden door that opened into the boss’s office. The lavish decor, carpentry, and shiny floors contrasted with the shoddy plasterboard walls and visible screwheads, giving the place a provisional feel. The secretary asked them to follow her in. The detective was over fifty, smug, and quick off the draw; he wore a comb-over, a bespoke suit, an amused demeanor, and an intelligent gaze. He got up from his leather office chair and greeted them warmly.

  “You must be Evan.”

  “Ethan.”

  “Ethan, forgive me. I have to say I was curious to meet you. I’ve already had the pleasure with your companion. Good to see you, Don Andrés.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Here, Don Ethan: my card. Adrian Calvo at your service. Would you like something to drink? A coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You’ll take it black, won’t you? We’re in the land of coffee. Sugar or sweetener? My secretary will bring it along in a moment. So how has my country treated you so far?”
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  “Fine, I guess. I’ve only just arrived.”

  “Oh yes, those flights. Fortunately, there’s not a big time difference. Don Andrés told me that you’re a detective, a personal friend of the family, and that you’ll follow your own line of inquiry. I’m to provide as much help as I can. Is that right?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. You know the country. It makes more sense to me for you to take the lead in the investigation and for me to assist you. But I suppose there’s the matter of your fees.”

  The secretary came in with the drinks. Adrian Calvo waited until she left to reply, but his face had lit up with an answer. As soon as the door closed, he continued the conversation with a different degree of friendliness. “Forgive me . . . would you mind my asking where you learned your Spanish? You hardly seem gri . . . American.”

  “You can say gringo; it doesn’t bother me. My father was Spanish. We traveled a lot when I was a child. I spent some time in Spain.”

  “Good, good, that’s good to know. Hence your accent and style. I won’t lie to you, Don Ethan—I’m surprised by your answer, but pleasantly so. You don’t have an Avatar complex: that explains a lot.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, although I’m not sure that I understand.”

  “I’ve worked with gringos before and always come up against the same problem. Maybe it’s Hollywood—do you watch a lot of films? I love them; I watch everything. But when they go to another country . . . have you seen Avatar?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “I blame the movies. If they want to make a film about indigenous people, in the end it’s a gringo who has to lead them because they’re apparently too stupid to do it themselves. If the gringo goes to another country, let’s say, he ends up saving it single-handed. If he goes to another planet, it’s the same thing. Such fantasies don’t do them any good—believe me. Three years ago a gringo detective jetted in looking for a surfer chick who’d disappeared on her vacation, without a trace. He had an Avatar complex.”