Maybe my hunch is wrong. But if I’m right? “That night at the Superama, the Z22 were harassing the manager about a large order of shovels.”
“Wait. What?”
“El Calaca and another Z22 were angry the shipment of shovels had been delayed. I thought it odd at the time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I didn’t think it was important.” Yet, I did tell Hayden, didn’t I? About the shovels and the lumber.
“They’re digging a tunnel,” Diego and I say at the same time. He grows quiet, processing this news, as I am.
His whistle breaks the silence. “Not only did Ignacio know what Marifer was planning, that slycabrónsat back and waited for everything to fall into place, didn’t he? Allowing her to finance the dig and settle the terms with the Colombians. I bet he was plotting to kill her when the time was ripe. Boss did him a favor by starting a war with the Z22s. Ignacio owes the Bastard a huge motherfucking favor, not the other way around. Why Boss set himself up to be indebted to that cabrón is something I’ll never understand.”
I do. But understanding doesn’t make a difference. Just like with the performance, I’ve cut my losses and moved on. Nowadays, I refuse to think about what could have been.
“No wonder Boss has been in such a foul mood. Something happened. He won a war, eliminated a rival, yet is more of a Bastard now than he’s ever been.”
Resist. He wants nothing to do with you. Don’t go there.
“Are you still on the line?”
I look down at the now wrinkled shirt clenched in my fist. “No, I’ve hung up without saying goodbye.”
“Always with the sass.” He sighs. “Can I ask you a question?”
I snort. “You’re asking permission?”
“Have you seen Ignacio around town lately?”
“Why are you asking?” I cautiously reply, wondering if Javier spoke to my brother about the Peeping Tom incident.
“Building a secret tunnel to move drugs for the Colombians is a huge responsibility. If Ignacio isn’t here, then who is handling things in Tijuana for him? No way would Ignacio give control to the Colombians. It’s one of his men. Someone he trusts and who’ll follow his orders without question.”
I replay on fast-forward my conversations with Eduardo. What did he share the last time we talked?
“My uncle needs me in Tijuana for business.”
No. Could it be?
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Luciana,” Diego hisses in response, prepared for the worst.
“Remember my dance partner?”
“The one who will be getting a beating as soon as business here is done.”
I brace myself for my brother’s explosive reaction. “First, please understand I only discovered this the night of Nacionales.”
“Spit it out, Luciana.”
“My ex-dance partner, Eduardo, is Ignacio’s nephew.”
“¡Hijo de puta! ¡De puta madre!”I pull the phone away from my ear, so I miss the long stream of curses that follows, until finally, he asks, “¿En serio?”
“Yes. I’m serious. And he’s in Tijuana.”
It’s hard to imagine Ignacio would place such a weak-minded man in charge. But what other business could Eduardo be doing in Tijuana?