Searching for Pilar, page 14
“How old is Pilar’s daughter?”
“Concepción is almost five years old. She looks very much like her mother. Alejandro dotes on her and keeps her close to him. My mama and papa take care of her when he is working. We have always been a very close family.”
“I’d like to meet them someday,” Mary said. “John and I grew up without much family. I envied my friends who had lots of brothers and sisters and cousins. How wonderful and comforting that would be!”
“If you would like to meet the family, I promise you will, Mary,” Diego said, smiling and holding her gaze.
“Okay, so let me tell you what I found out,” Mary said. She realized she was very attracted to Diego, so she backed away from him and sat down on a club chair, hoping he would not notice. “There are two ways to find information about sex trafficking: law enforcement and nonprofit organizations. There is a task force made up of the Houston Police Department, the Harris County Sheriff’s Office, the FBI, and some other agencies that is investigating the sex-trafficking industry in Harris County. I spoke with the police lieutenant in charge and learned that girls kidnapped from Mexico are only part of the picture. Traffickers smuggle in girls from all over the world. Asian girls work in the massage parlors around town, East European girls work in strip clubs, and most of the Hispanic girls work in cantinas and brothels in the barrios.”
“What about white girls? Do American girls get caught up in this mess too?” Diego asked.
Mary sighed. “Half of the women who are trafficked are runaways—Americans who get trapped by pimps. White girls work mostly in hotels or men’s clubs—but when business is booming and demand is high, sometimes attractive, fresh Hispanic girls work in the back rooms of the clubs.”
Mary went on, “There are gentlemen’s clubs all around the Galleria. I was shocked to learn that girls are sold in clubs I pass every day on Westheimer and Richmond Avenue.”
Diego realized his mission to find his sister, even if she was still in Houston, could be overwhelming. “Where should we start looking for Pilar?”
“There are hundreds of cantinas, brothels, and men’s clubs all over Harris County. She could be in any of them,” Mary said. “But I have a hunch. You said Pilar disappeared in late 2007. Back then, Houston was booming, and there were some big events and conventions in town. These would have created a high demand for sex.”
“Pilar was young and beautiful,” Diego said.
“The man I spoke with at one of the faith-based nonprofit organizations suggested we start looking in the high-end men’s clubs and work our way down. He said four years is a long time for a girl to stay in one place, but someone may have seen her back then and remembered her.”
“I will start right away,” Diego said.
“Wait, Diego. There’s more,” Mary said. “The man told me it would be dangerous to be asking about a particular girl. The owners are on the lookout for undercover law enforcement or people who could disrupt their very profitable business. If anyone figures out what you are doing, they could beat you up or kill you. Some of the women in those places are willing prostitutes. A woman could turn you in to the owner if she thinks you are threatening her livelihood.”
“If I am discreet, I don’t see any harm in going in a club and looking around,” Diego argued.
“We need to get you a guide,” Mary said.
“I don’t need a guide to a bar,” Diego scoffed. “After all, I am a professional athlete.”
Mary raised an eyebrow at that. “You need to go with someone who goes to these clubs on a regular basis, someone who is known and trusted by the owners or their thugs. Don’t give up, Diego. Focus on your career. I’ll keep working on a plan.”
“Aye, Mary, you are logical, but I find waiting very frustrating.” As he said this, Diego absently leaned forward and put his hand on Mary’s. “But I will follow your lead for now.”
Mary felt her body tingle at his touch.
• • •
The season opener was only a few weeks away. Diego didn’t have time to wait for Mary to figure out a plan. He needed to act.
Diego had carefully observed his teammates. Paul Davies, a midfielder from the UK playing his third season in Houston, had caught his eye. Paul seemed to be the most flamboyant partier on the team. He was tall, blond, and single. He used his British accent to charm, and he was not shy about liking the ladies.
The day after his meeting with Mary, Diego approached Paul in the locker room. “Hola, Paul, can I talk to you?”
“Sure, what’s up?” Paul replied.
“I heard you and Juan talking about going to some clubs tonight. I haven’t had much fun since I’ve been in Houston. I’ve been busy getting settled,” Diego said. “Would it be possible for me to come along?”
“Sure, Diego. I can always use another wingman,” Paul said as he slapped him on the back. “Let’s hit Sambuca and some of the other downtown spots and then head out to the Galleria for a nightcap.” Then Paul called over to Juan, a midfielder from Argentina. “Can we use your new convertible for a night out?”
Juan was a relatively small but fast player. He admired Paul and hung around him most of the time. “Sure, amigo,” Juan said.
Four hours later, Paul, Juan, and Diego left the bars around Market Square. Juan drove west on Memorial Drive to Loop 610 and exited at Westheimer, which ran through the middle of the Galleria shopping area. Neiman Marcus, Sak’s Fifth Avenue, and the other stores were dark at that time of night. But the many men’s clubs located west of the Galleria were just getting started with the night’s activities. Some of the clubs had walls that screened customers from the street, but others blatantly advertised that girls were available. Diego tried to memorize the names of the clubs as Juan slowly cruised the area: Heroes Club, Ricky’s House of Treasures, King of Hearts, The Mile-High Club, and the Jewel Box, among others.
“This is where the action is, Diego,” Paul said. “Juan, let’s go to King of Hearts.”
Juan pulled the car up to the valet. They went inside a large, dimly lit room. It was obvious from the way the doorman greeted Paul and Juan that they were regular customers. A hostess showed them to front-row seats at one of the bars. Cigar smoke permeated the air. A relentless disco beat surrounded them. Two big-breasted, topless girls in thongs were pole dancing on a stage in front of them, both white, one with blonde hair, the other brunette. Men along the bar stuffed money in their G-strings when the girls targeted them for attention.
Diego surveyed the room. Men in business suits or golf shirts and neat jeans sat at small tables. Attractive, well-groomed young women in scant outfits moved adroitly among the tables. Some took orders for drinks. Others flirted with the men, asking them if they would like to have a private lap dance.
Unsmiling, muscular males in black T-shirts with the club’s logo stood silently around the walls and near the front door, keeping their eyes on the customers. Diego locked eyes with one of them for a minute, each man assessing the other. Diego forced a thin smile before he turned back around to watch the girls perform.
When he concluded that it was safe to resume surveying the layout of the club, Diego noticed a group of men gathered by a curtained doorway. The door opened, and an attractive middle-aged blonde woman in a black sequined dress led them inside.
“What’s going on over there?” Diego asked Juan, nodding his head toward the door.
“That’s the private lap dancing rooms,” Juan replied. “You know, where a girl you choose gives you a private performance. Why? You see something you like? If not, they’ve got more in the back.”
“Let’s go see Marie,” Paul said.
He tucked a bill into the G-string of the girl who had been flirting with him and led the way to the curtained door. The blonde woman welcomed Paul and Juan by name.
“This is our new friend from Mexico,” Paul told her. “He needs to relax.”
“You’re a handsome one,” Marie said to Diego, squeezing the muscle in his bicep. “What is your preference?”
“Do you have any beautiful ladies from my country?”
“Young?” she asked.
“At least eighteen,” Diego answered. “I like experienced women. They are more exciting.”
Marie took Diego by the hand and led him down a hall. He could hear low, slow music coming from behind curtained rooms. Occasionally he heard distinctly human sounds.
Marie drew back the curtains across one of the rooms. “This is Linda,” she said. Then she was gone.
Linda was a young Mexican woman with long black hair. She sat on a gold velvet daybed in the middle of the room and wore a short white satin negligee. The contrast with her brown skin was striking. The faint smell of incense surrounded her. A soft Latin rhumba was coming from a Bose CD player on a bronze-and-glass side table. Diego realized he had foolishly hoped Pilar would be behind the curtain. Her face was burned into his mind all the time. The girl sensed his disappointment.
She looked nervous. “You don’t like me?”
“No, it’s not that,” Diego said. “You are muy bonita. Please forgive me if I offended you, señorita.”
Diego hesitated. “It’s just that you resemble someone I know—my sister.” He fumbled for the picture of himself and Pilar from his graduation day. “Look closely. Do you see the resemblance?”
Linda studied the picture. “No,” she said. “But I can pretend I am your sister if you like.” She gave him an impish look.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. He wanted to leave but was afraid that would arouse suspicion. “Please, dance for me.”
• • •
Later, while they were waiting for the valet to bring Juan’s car around, Paul told Diego, “Honcho, the head of security, asked me how well I knew you.”
“Why?”
“He said you spent a lot of time looking around the place—like you were checking it out. They’re sensitive to undercover cops and those church types who don’t have anything better to do than poke around in other people’s business.”
Diego made up a quick lie, hoping to calm any suspicion.
“Where I come from, Paul, you always want to know exactly where you are, who else is there, and where the exit is,” Diego responded. “I didn’t exactly have a privileged childhood in Mexico. I was trying to get my bearings.”
“Well, you might want to be more discreet about your bearings in these places. Some of the security guys are paranoid and quick to overreact.”
“I understand,” Diego said. “Thanks for taking me.”
“You’re a strange dude, Diego. But you’re a hell of a scorer, and that’s good enough for me,” Paul said. “Yeah, we’ll do it again. I can see you need some taking care of, and you do help attract the ladies.”
During March, Diego spent his evenings visiting the men’s clubs. He went alone to a different club each night, using the same routine. None of the girls to whom he showed Pilar’s picture recognized her. Some of them told him they had only been at that club a short time.
One Friday night, he decided to return to King of Hearts. Diego had a feeling he should give it one more try. Marie led him to a room where an attractive young Mexican woman was waiting. Diego had modified his routine to show the picture to the girl after she finished her dance. He thought she might be more willing to help him when he had his wallet open. The girl didn’t recognize Pilar. Diego was on his way out the front door when Honcho grabbed him roughly by the arm, pushing him into a small room off the entrance to the club.
“Who are you?” the man asked, shoving him down onto a wooden chair.
“I’m just a guy enjoying a little feminine company at the end of a hard day,” Diego answered, trying to appear calm.
“I knew you were trouble when I first saw you,” the man said. “Who are you working for?”
“No one,” Diego answered. “I’m just a player with the Storm. I am new to town.” Diego was nervous. The guy was huge.
“Cut it out. I was watching you on the closed-circuit television. You showed Marisela a picture and asked her questions. You’re looking for something,” the man said, standing over Diego.
“I liked the girl. I was just showing her a picture from Mexico. She said she was homesick. I thought that might make her feel better.”
“Bullshit!” Honcho yelled. “I’m going to get her. We’ll see what she has to say.”
As the man left, Diego heard him lock the door behind him.
Shit! Diego thought. I’ve got to get out of here before he comes back. Diego looked around for a way out. There was a high window in the room that he guessed opened above the valet station. Pulling the chair over to the window, he climbed up. The window was not locked. Diego lifted himself up, sliding the window open. It was a ten-foot drop to the driveway. Potted Jerusalem palms lined the outside of the building. When the valets were busy with customers and had their backs to him, he crawled through, dove forward, and landed in one of the palms. Whoosh! Diego stifled a moan as the rough edges of the palms cut into his body.
A valet turned when he heard the noise. It was dark, though, and the man didn’t see movement. Diego held his breath until the man turned around again, then he scrambled out of the palm and limped around the side of the building, feeling his way along the wall.
He heard Honcho run outside, cursing and asking the valets if they had seen a tall young Mexican guy leave the club. The valet who’d heard him fall in the palm plant said he thought someone was lurking around the building. Then Diego saw the beams of flashlights illuminate the palm plants and the driveway. A group of men gathered around the entrance. Honcho ordered them to spread out and search the area.
Diego was terrified. He made his way in the dark to the back of the King of Hearts, where he hid in a narrow, dark space between a set of dumpsters. About ten minutes later, two other security guards ran around to the back of the building, searching for him. They were only about ten feet away.
He held his breath.
Just as Diego couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he recognized Honcho’s voice. He summoned the two men back to the front of the club. Diego heard Honcho curse again, “Fuck! The bastard got away. Be ready for him if he comes back!”
Once the coast was clear, Diego made his way out from between the dumpsters onto a side street. His ankle throbbed, and he was bleeding. The palm plants had cut into him on his arms and shoulders where he’d tried to break his fall. He had parked several blocks away from the club and was now too disoriented to search for his car. He waited but didn’t see a taxi anywhere.
Reluctantly, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Mary’s number. He didn’t know who else to call.
“Hello?” he heard Mary’s sleepy voice. Her clock showed it was 2 a.m.
“Mary, please, I need your help. I am a little hurt and not sure where I am. I don’t have my car.”
“Diego?” Mary asked, her voice more awake. “Where are you?”
“Near the Galleria,” he winced. “I apologize, but could you possibly come get me?”
“You didn’t go off on your own …? Never mind. Tell me what buildings you can see, or a store. Do you know any of the streets?”
“I’m near Westheimer but on a parallel street. I think the Galleria is east of me. There is a Verizon Wireless store on the corner.”
“Okay, I’ll find the Verizon store. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
• • •
“What happened to you, Diego?” Mary asked. They were back in her living room. She had been too angry and he had been too embarrassed on the way home to discuss what had happened. Diego lay on the couch, although it was too short for his long body.
“I had an encounter with a palm plant,” he grimaced. “The plant won.”
Mary placed a bag of ice wrapped in a dish towel on Diego’s shoulder and another one on his ankle. Neither looked broken, just severely bruised. She swabbed his cuts with alcohol and placed Band-Aids on them.
“These bruises are going to turn blue, and you will have swelling for a few days.” She handed him four ibuprofen tablets and a glass of water. “Here, take these. What are you going to tell your manager and coach on Monday?”
“I’ll tell them I made a pass at a tough female lawyer and she beat me up,” he said.
Mary blushed. “If you go poking around men’s clubs alone again, I will do that. You’re a soccer player, not James Bond.”
Diego didn’t respond.
“Never mind. Did you learn anything?”
“I learned that these guys move their girls around regularly from place to place so that they don’t get to know each other. None of the girls I talked to in five different clubs in the area recognized Pilar,” Diego said, holding the bag of ice to his shoulder. “I also learned there isn’t any place to question the girls privately, because some of the clubs have security cameras or listening devices in the rooms. Someone could always be watching. I’ll have to find another way to get information.”
“Correction: maybe now you will listen to me. You asked for my help because you said you didn’t know Houston. Then you went off on your own and did exactly what I warned you was dangerous.”
“You’re right, Mary. I beg your forgiveness; from now on I will listen to you.”
Mary turned away, realizing she was blushing again.
Diego’s eyes were drooping, and he had slid down on the couch so that his head was resting on a throw pillow. One arm was dropped beside him. He was exhausted. “Stay here tonight, Diego. You can sleep where you are. I don’t think you are capable of walking to the guest room. I’ll feed you a hot breakfast in the morning, take you to get your car, and follow you to your apartment. Maybe I will lock you in. Tomorrow and Sunday you shouldn’t do anything but lie in your bed and heal. On Monday you can go to practice, where you belong.”
Diego did not answer. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed. Mary brought a comforter to cover him, took off his shoes, and placed a feather pillow behind his head.
She sat on the club chair and watched him sleep for a few minutes. She knew it was crazy since she had just met him, but it felt nice to have him in her house. Then she got up, locked the deadbolt on her front door, turned on the alarm system, and walked to her bedroom, taking the key to the front and back doors with her.
“Concepción is almost five years old. She looks very much like her mother. Alejandro dotes on her and keeps her close to him. My mama and papa take care of her when he is working. We have always been a very close family.”
“I’d like to meet them someday,” Mary said. “John and I grew up without much family. I envied my friends who had lots of brothers and sisters and cousins. How wonderful and comforting that would be!”
“If you would like to meet the family, I promise you will, Mary,” Diego said, smiling and holding her gaze.
“Okay, so let me tell you what I found out,” Mary said. She realized she was very attracted to Diego, so she backed away from him and sat down on a club chair, hoping he would not notice. “There are two ways to find information about sex trafficking: law enforcement and nonprofit organizations. There is a task force made up of the Houston Police Department, the Harris County Sheriff’s Office, the FBI, and some other agencies that is investigating the sex-trafficking industry in Harris County. I spoke with the police lieutenant in charge and learned that girls kidnapped from Mexico are only part of the picture. Traffickers smuggle in girls from all over the world. Asian girls work in the massage parlors around town, East European girls work in strip clubs, and most of the Hispanic girls work in cantinas and brothels in the barrios.”
“What about white girls? Do American girls get caught up in this mess too?” Diego asked.
Mary sighed. “Half of the women who are trafficked are runaways—Americans who get trapped by pimps. White girls work mostly in hotels or men’s clubs—but when business is booming and demand is high, sometimes attractive, fresh Hispanic girls work in the back rooms of the clubs.”
Mary went on, “There are gentlemen’s clubs all around the Galleria. I was shocked to learn that girls are sold in clubs I pass every day on Westheimer and Richmond Avenue.”
Diego realized his mission to find his sister, even if she was still in Houston, could be overwhelming. “Where should we start looking for Pilar?”
“There are hundreds of cantinas, brothels, and men’s clubs all over Harris County. She could be in any of them,” Mary said. “But I have a hunch. You said Pilar disappeared in late 2007. Back then, Houston was booming, and there were some big events and conventions in town. These would have created a high demand for sex.”
“Pilar was young and beautiful,” Diego said.
“The man I spoke with at one of the faith-based nonprofit organizations suggested we start looking in the high-end men’s clubs and work our way down. He said four years is a long time for a girl to stay in one place, but someone may have seen her back then and remembered her.”
“I will start right away,” Diego said.
“Wait, Diego. There’s more,” Mary said. “The man told me it would be dangerous to be asking about a particular girl. The owners are on the lookout for undercover law enforcement or people who could disrupt their very profitable business. If anyone figures out what you are doing, they could beat you up or kill you. Some of the women in those places are willing prostitutes. A woman could turn you in to the owner if she thinks you are threatening her livelihood.”
“If I am discreet, I don’t see any harm in going in a club and looking around,” Diego argued.
“We need to get you a guide,” Mary said.
“I don’t need a guide to a bar,” Diego scoffed. “After all, I am a professional athlete.”
Mary raised an eyebrow at that. “You need to go with someone who goes to these clubs on a regular basis, someone who is known and trusted by the owners or their thugs. Don’t give up, Diego. Focus on your career. I’ll keep working on a plan.”
“Aye, Mary, you are logical, but I find waiting very frustrating.” As he said this, Diego absently leaned forward and put his hand on Mary’s. “But I will follow your lead for now.”
Mary felt her body tingle at his touch.
• • •
The season opener was only a few weeks away. Diego didn’t have time to wait for Mary to figure out a plan. He needed to act.
Diego had carefully observed his teammates. Paul Davies, a midfielder from the UK playing his third season in Houston, had caught his eye. Paul seemed to be the most flamboyant partier on the team. He was tall, blond, and single. He used his British accent to charm, and he was not shy about liking the ladies.
The day after his meeting with Mary, Diego approached Paul in the locker room. “Hola, Paul, can I talk to you?”
“Sure, what’s up?” Paul replied.
“I heard you and Juan talking about going to some clubs tonight. I haven’t had much fun since I’ve been in Houston. I’ve been busy getting settled,” Diego said. “Would it be possible for me to come along?”
“Sure, Diego. I can always use another wingman,” Paul said as he slapped him on the back. “Let’s hit Sambuca and some of the other downtown spots and then head out to the Galleria for a nightcap.” Then Paul called over to Juan, a midfielder from Argentina. “Can we use your new convertible for a night out?”
Juan was a relatively small but fast player. He admired Paul and hung around him most of the time. “Sure, amigo,” Juan said.
Four hours later, Paul, Juan, and Diego left the bars around Market Square. Juan drove west on Memorial Drive to Loop 610 and exited at Westheimer, which ran through the middle of the Galleria shopping area. Neiman Marcus, Sak’s Fifth Avenue, and the other stores were dark at that time of night. But the many men’s clubs located west of the Galleria were just getting started with the night’s activities. Some of the clubs had walls that screened customers from the street, but others blatantly advertised that girls were available. Diego tried to memorize the names of the clubs as Juan slowly cruised the area: Heroes Club, Ricky’s House of Treasures, King of Hearts, The Mile-High Club, and the Jewel Box, among others.
“This is where the action is, Diego,” Paul said. “Juan, let’s go to King of Hearts.”
Juan pulled the car up to the valet. They went inside a large, dimly lit room. It was obvious from the way the doorman greeted Paul and Juan that they were regular customers. A hostess showed them to front-row seats at one of the bars. Cigar smoke permeated the air. A relentless disco beat surrounded them. Two big-breasted, topless girls in thongs were pole dancing on a stage in front of them, both white, one with blonde hair, the other brunette. Men along the bar stuffed money in their G-strings when the girls targeted them for attention.
Diego surveyed the room. Men in business suits or golf shirts and neat jeans sat at small tables. Attractive, well-groomed young women in scant outfits moved adroitly among the tables. Some took orders for drinks. Others flirted with the men, asking them if they would like to have a private lap dance.
Unsmiling, muscular males in black T-shirts with the club’s logo stood silently around the walls and near the front door, keeping their eyes on the customers. Diego locked eyes with one of them for a minute, each man assessing the other. Diego forced a thin smile before he turned back around to watch the girls perform.
When he concluded that it was safe to resume surveying the layout of the club, Diego noticed a group of men gathered by a curtained doorway. The door opened, and an attractive middle-aged blonde woman in a black sequined dress led them inside.
“What’s going on over there?” Diego asked Juan, nodding his head toward the door.
“That’s the private lap dancing rooms,” Juan replied. “You know, where a girl you choose gives you a private performance. Why? You see something you like? If not, they’ve got more in the back.”
“Let’s go see Marie,” Paul said.
He tucked a bill into the G-string of the girl who had been flirting with him and led the way to the curtained door. The blonde woman welcomed Paul and Juan by name.
“This is our new friend from Mexico,” Paul told her. “He needs to relax.”
“You’re a handsome one,” Marie said to Diego, squeezing the muscle in his bicep. “What is your preference?”
“Do you have any beautiful ladies from my country?”
“Young?” she asked.
“At least eighteen,” Diego answered. “I like experienced women. They are more exciting.”
Marie took Diego by the hand and led him down a hall. He could hear low, slow music coming from behind curtained rooms. Occasionally he heard distinctly human sounds.
Marie drew back the curtains across one of the rooms. “This is Linda,” she said. Then she was gone.
Linda was a young Mexican woman with long black hair. She sat on a gold velvet daybed in the middle of the room and wore a short white satin negligee. The contrast with her brown skin was striking. The faint smell of incense surrounded her. A soft Latin rhumba was coming from a Bose CD player on a bronze-and-glass side table. Diego realized he had foolishly hoped Pilar would be behind the curtain. Her face was burned into his mind all the time. The girl sensed his disappointment.
She looked nervous. “You don’t like me?”
“No, it’s not that,” Diego said. “You are muy bonita. Please forgive me if I offended you, señorita.”
Diego hesitated. “It’s just that you resemble someone I know—my sister.” He fumbled for the picture of himself and Pilar from his graduation day. “Look closely. Do you see the resemblance?”
Linda studied the picture. “No,” she said. “But I can pretend I am your sister if you like.” She gave him an impish look.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. He wanted to leave but was afraid that would arouse suspicion. “Please, dance for me.”
• • •
Later, while they were waiting for the valet to bring Juan’s car around, Paul told Diego, “Honcho, the head of security, asked me how well I knew you.”
“Why?”
“He said you spent a lot of time looking around the place—like you were checking it out. They’re sensitive to undercover cops and those church types who don’t have anything better to do than poke around in other people’s business.”
Diego made up a quick lie, hoping to calm any suspicion.
“Where I come from, Paul, you always want to know exactly where you are, who else is there, and where the exit is,” Diego responded. “I didn’t exactly have a privileged childhood in Mexico. I was trying to get my bearings.”
“Well, you might want to be more discreet about your bearings in these places. Some of the security guys are paranoid and quick to overreact.”
“I understand,” Diego said. “Thanks for taking me.”
“You’re a strange dude, Diego. But you’re a hell of a scorer, and that’s good enough for me,” Paul said. “Yeah, we’ll do it again. I can see you need some taking care of, and you do help attract the ladies.”
During March, Diego spent his evenings visiting the men’s clubs. He went alone to a different club each night, using the same routine. None of the girls to whom he showed Pilar’s picture recognized her. Some of them told him they had only been at that club a short time.
One Friday night, he decided to return to King of Hearts. Diego had a feeling he should give it one more try. Marie led him to a room where an attractive young Mexican woman was waiting. Diego had modified his routine to show the picture to the girl after she finished her dance. He thought she might be more willing to help him when he had his wallet open. The girl didn’t recognize Pilar. Diego was on his way out the front door when Honcho grabbed him roughly by the arm, pushing him into a small room off the entrance to the club.
“Who are you?” the man asked, shoving him down onto a wooden chair.
“I’m just a guy enjoying a little feminine company at the end of a hard day,” Diego answered, trying to appear calm.
“I knew you were trouble when I first saw you,” the man said. “Who are you working for?”
“No one,” Diego answered. “I’m just a player with the Storm. I am new to town.” Diego was nervous. The guy was huge.
“Cut it out. I was watching you on the closed-circuit television. You showed Marisela a picture and asked her questions. You’re looking for something,” the man said, standing over Diego.
“I liked the girl. I was just showing her a picture from Mexico. She said she was homesick. I thought that might make her feel better.”
“Bullshit!” Honcho yelled. “I’m going to get her. We’ll see what she has to say.”
As the man left, Diego heard him lock the door behind him.
Shit! Diego thought. I’ve got to get out of here before he comes back. Diego looked around for a way out. There was a high window in the room that he guessed opened above the valet station. Pulling the chair over to the window, he climbed up. The window was not locked. Diego lifted himself up, sliding the window open. It was a ten-foot drop to the driveway. Potted Jerusalem palms lined the outside of the building. When the valets were busy with customers and had their backs to him, he crawled through, dove forward, and landed in one of the palms. Whoosh! Diego stifled a moan as the rough edges of the palms cut into his body.
A valet turned when he heard the noise. It was dark, though, and the man didn’t see movement. Diego held his breath until the man turned around again, then he scrambled out of the palm and limped around the side of the building, feeling his way along the wall.
He heard Honcho run outside, cursing and asking the valets if they had seen a tall young Mexican guy leave the club. The valet who’d heard him fall in the palm plant said he thought someone was lurking around the building. Then Diego saw the beams of flashlights illuminate the palm plants and the driveway. A group of men gathered around the entrance. Honcho ordered them to spread out and search the area.
Diego was terrified. He made his way in the dark to the back of the King of Hearts, where he hid in a narrow, dark space between a set of dumpsters. About ten minutes later, two other security guards ran around to the back of the building, searching for him. They were only about ten feet away.
He held his breath.
Just as Diego couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he recognized Honcho’s voice. He summoned the two men back to the front of the club. Diego heard Honcho curse again, “Fuck! The bastard got away. Be ready for him if he comes back!”
Once the coast was clear, Diego made his way out from between the dumpsters onto a side street. His ankle throbbed, and he was bleeding. The palm plants had cut into him on his arms and shoulders where he’d tried to break his fall. He had parked several blocks away from the club and was now too disoriented to search for his car. He waited but didn’t see a taxi anywhere.
Reluctantly, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Mary’s number. He didn’t know who else to call.
“Hello?” he heard Mary’s sleepy voice. Her clock showed it was 2 a.m.
“Mary, please, I need your help. I am a little hurt and not sure where I am. I don’t have my car.”
“Diego?” Mary asked, her voice more awake. “Where are you?”
“Near the Galleria,” he winced. “I apologize, but could you possibly come get me?”
“You didn’t go off on your own …? Never mind. Tell me what buildings you can see, or a store. Do you know any of the streets?”
“I’m near Westheimer but on a parallel street. I think the Galleria is east of me. There is a Verizon Wireless store on the corner.”
“Okay, I’ll find the Verizon store. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
• • •
“What happened to you, Diego?” Mary asked. They were back in her living room. She had been too angry and he had been too embarrassed on the way home to discuss what had happened. Diego lay on the couch, although it was too short for his long body.
“I had an encounter with a palm plant,” he grimaced. “The plant won.”
Mary placed a bag of ice wrapped in a dish towel on Diego’s shoulder and another one on his ankle. Neither looked broken, just severely bruised. She swabbed his cuts with alcohol and placed Band-Aids on them.
“These bruises are going to turn blue, and you will have swelling for a few days.” She handed him four ibuprofen tablets and a glass of water. “Here, take these. What are you going to tell your manager and coach on Monday?”
“I’ll tell them I made a pass at a tough female lawyer and she beat me up,” he said.
Mary blushed. “If you go poking around men’s clubs alone again, I will do that. You’re a soccer player, not James Bond.”
Diego didn’t respond.
“Never mind. Did you learn anything?”
“I learned that these guys move their girls around regularly from place to place so that they don’t get to know each other. None of the girls I talked to in five different clubs in the area recognized Pilar,” Diego said, holding the bag of ice to his shoulder. “I also learned there isn’t any place to question the girls privately, because some of the clubs have security cameras or listening devices in the rooms. Someone could always be watching. I’ll have to find another way to get information.”
“Correction: maybe now you will listen to me. You asked for my help because you said you didn’t know Houston. Then you went off on your own and did exactly what I warned you was dangerous.”
“You’re right, Mary. I beg your forgiveness; from now on I will listen to you.”
Mary turned away, realizing she was blushing again.
Diego’s eyes were drooping, and he had slid down on the couch so that his head was resting on a throw pillow. One arm was dropped beside him. He was exhausted. “Stay here tonight, Diego. You can sleep where you are. I don’t think you are capable of walking to the guest room. I’ll feed you a hot breakfast in the morning, take you to get your car, and follow you to your apartment. Maybe I will lock you in. Tomorrow and Sunday you shouldn’t do anything but lie in your bed and heal. On Monday you can go to practice, where you belong.”
Diego did not answer. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed. Mary brought a comforter to cover him, took off his shoes, and placed a feather pillow behind his head.
She sat on the club chair and watched him sleep for a few minutes. She knew it was crazy since she had just met him, but it felt nice to have him in her house. Then she got up, locked the deadbolt on her front door, turned on the alarm system, and walked to her bedroom, taking the key to the front and back doors with her.
