Miss Sara. This was sent from our Erica. She’s alive. Help her. She wanted you to have this. You are the only one she trusts and the only one we trust.
God bless you always,
Manuel Rentería
Sara folds the note, places it in the envelope, and stands.
There is still a little strength left in her bones.
Emiliano tells the taxi driver to stop in front of Armando’s house. He pays with the money Armando gave him yesterday. It feels like such a waste to pay fifty pesos for something that would have cost him five if he had taken a bus. He had to take a taxi to school after he dropped the Mercedes at Armando’s house early this morning, so that’s eighty pesos gone on taxis.
Through the iron bars of the front gate, he can see Armando’s black Jeep. Someone is moving behind a window upstairs. When there’s a lull in the street traffic, he hears the deep beat of a bass guitar. There, just inside the black gate, he sees his bicycle and trailer. Armando must have had someone bring it over from Taurus.
He pushes the button on the intercom outside the gate. The intercom and the camera on the brick fence are identical to the ones at Alfredo Reyes’s home. Emiliano is surprised to hear Armando answer. “Hello?”
“It’s Emiliano,” he says, his mouth nearly touching the intercom.
“Come in.”
There’s a click and the gate swings forward at Emiliano’s touch. He’s halfway down a stone path when the front door of the house opens and Armando steps out. He’s wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and pink flip-flops. His black hair is wet and slicked up. “Emiliano! I was hoping I’d hear from you.”
The warmth and apparent sincerity in Armando’s words soothe the jagged edges that have been poking at Emiliano since he left Javier. “Did you get the box that Mr. Reyes sent you?” he asks. “I made sure the man who opened the gate for me this morning brought it inside the house. You were asleep.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course. Thank you. I hope that wasn’t too much trouble. I had no idea Mr. Reyes was sending anything with you.”
It’s probably not a good idea to tell Armando that he didn’t sleep a wink last night because of, among other things, that damn box.
“Hey.” Armando puts his arm around Emiliano’s shoulders and turns him toward the side of the house. “I’m glad you came in person instead of just calling. I want to show you something.”
Emiliano manages to step out of Armando’s hold without Armando noticing. Or maybe Armando does notice, but who cares. If he’s going to do business with these people, it will be on his own terms, and friendship is not one of them.
“I don’t know what you said or did, but Alfredo Reyes was really impressed with you, and he’s not easily impressed. I knew he would be, that’s why I sent you to see him. By the way, I took the liberty of asking my father to call Mr. Esmeralda yesterday after you met with Ernesto Reyes. I told you Jorge Esmeralda was my father’s lawyer, right? Mr. Esmeralda called my father this morning and said some very good things about you. You’re in, my friend. You’re in!”
The full implication of what Armando means by “in” is unmistakable, but Emiliano does not want to talk about Perla Rubi with Armando. “I wanted to talk to you about what Mr. Reyes proposed,” he says.
“Sure. But first you need to see this.” Armando pushes a button on a wall and a garage door rolls up. In front of Emiliano is a black sports car that looks fast just sitting there. Next to it is a white BMW motorcycle. Armando walks up to it and touches the seat. “I got this for my birthday last week. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Emiliano nods. The motorcycle that he plans to buy from Joel Cardenas seems shabby by comparison. “Ninety horses?” he asks.
“Yeah? You know bikes?”
“A little.” He’s been doing some reading since Joel agreed to sell his bike to him.
“Good.” Armando pulls a green plastic cover from another, smaller motorcycle. Emiliano takes a step closer. “It’s no BMW, but … My father got it for me for my fourteenth birthday. It’s a nice little scooter, one of the best Vespa makes. Primavera Touring. Single-cylinder four-stroke engine with catalytic converter and electronic fuel injection. Maximum speed is about 96 kilometers per hour, but I’ve gotten it to go faster than that. And look, it has front and rear luggage racks where you can carry your folk art things.”
“What are you talking about?”
Armando fishes in his pocket and tosses Emiliano two keys attached to a rabbit’s foot. “This will make you more efficient. You can’t be riding around on that old bike of yours. It would take you half a day to get to the place where Mr. Reyes keeps the product. And I have other means of transportation, as you can see.” Armando pats the BMW. “It’s good as new. I had someone siphon out the old gas and put new in.”
“I can’t,” Emiliano says.
“Sure you can. If it makes you uncomfortable to accept it as a gift, then think of it as a loan. When you buy a car or a better motorcycle, you can give it back.” Armando turns the motor scooter around and slowly pushes it outside. He closes the garage doors. “You should get one of those thick chains and a lock if you’re going to take it to school. Hey, you need a helmet? I got an old one you can have.”
“That’s all right.” Emiliano is at a loss for words. He came over to tell Armando that he will work with Mr. Reyes under certain conditions, but he can’t remember what they are now. “You knew I was going to say yes.”
“I was hoping.”
“Why? What do you get out of all this?”
Armando laughs. “Alfredo Reyes is an associate of my father’s. I thought I’d do him a favor by sending him someone like you. Good people are incredibly hard to find.”
Mr. Esmeralda said something to that effect. Emiliano tries to recollect his exact words. Cortázar and Reyes are good businessmen. The success of an organization depends on the quality of the people who work there.
“But what about you? The business that I’ll be doing is so small. Whatever cut you want from it can’t possibly make a difference to you.”
“I’m not looking for a cut of your business,” Armando says, smiling.
“Then …”
“The way this world works, my little friend, is that today I scratch your back and tomorrow you’ll scratch mine. Hell, that didn’t sound right. Look, connections are the only way to make it in this town. I don’t have a head for business, as much as my father wishes I did. He wants me to help him develop malls and office buildings. And to be honest with you, I’d rather be flying on that baby in the garage than do the boring stuff he wants me to do. So, if you must know, my hidden motive is that someday you’ll work with me and take care of all the business junk that comes naturally to you … and I hate.” Armando pauses and studies Emiliano’s face. “Relax. We’re not monsters. We’re businesspeople. Okay? Don’t worry. You’re doing the right thing for yourself and your family.” He smiles and adds, “And you’re doing the right thing for Perla Rubi.”
Emiliano smiles as well. He touches the right handle of the motor scooter. “How do I get in touch with Mr. Reyes? To tell him I want to do business with him.”