Searching for Pilar, page 15
CHAPTER 15
PABLO’S SECRET
In early April 2011, Diego received a telephone call from Pablo Trujillo Peña, one of his former teammates in Mexico City. Diego had been friendly with his teammates there but had not hung out and partied with them after practice or games. He had spent much of his free time searching for Pilar. When Pablo told him he was in Houston and asked if they could get together for drinks, Diego was mildly surprised. They agreed to meet at the bar in the Four Seasons Hotel downtown the next day.
The bar was a quiet, dark place frequented by lawyers, businessmen, and professional athletes. The small tables were far enough apart that normal conversations would not be overheard.
Pablo had been born in Mexico but had grown up in Houston, where his father’s company had transferred him when Pablo was three years old. His Mexican parents had moved back to Mexico City when he was sixteen. His self-identity was more Texan than Mexican. When he walked into the Four Seasons Bar, Pablo was wearing lizard cowboy boots with his jeans and a big silver belt buckle.
They began their conversation with news about the old team. Then, after the waitress brought their drinks, Pablo cleared his throat and said, “Dude, I’m embarrassed to tell you this story. But since you’ve moved to Houston, I feel I need to do it. You know the picture of the girl taped to the inside of the door of your locker in Mexico City?”
Diego was surprised. He had not told any of his teammates or coaches about his search for Pilar. He didn’t want his coaches or managers to know he had anything else consuming his time besides playing fútbol. “You have information about my sister?”
“Diego, I didn’t realize she was your sister. I wish I had known,” Pablo said after a pause. Then he took a drink.
“My sister is two years younger than me. Her name is Pilar. She is married to my best friend growing up, Alejandro,” Diego said.
After a minute of reorganizing his thoughts, Pablo continued.
“Ever since we moved back to Mexico City, I visit my old friends and relatives in Houston during the off season. My friends like to spend time in the men’s clubs around the Galleria. They like the music and the girls,” Pablo said, “and I went with them when I was younger and single. But I’m a married man now, and we have a little girl, Lisa. She’s one year old, and her mother and I adore her.”
“Go on,” Diego said.
“I think I met the girl in the picture in your locker—I mean your sister—but I didn’t know she was your sister at the time, I swear! The girl I met looked just like the girl in the picture, although she was wearing more makeup when I was with her. And she didn’t look so happy. It was a couple of years ago. I saw her a few times in a lap dance room of a men’s club. She struck me as sad but naturally beautiful. The last time we went to the club, when I asked for her, they told me she wasn’t there anymore.”
“When was that?” Diego asked, trying to suppress his anger that Pablo had waited until now to tell him this.
“The last time I asked for her was in April of 2009—about two years ago.” Pablo folded and refolded his napkin. “That’s all I know.”
Diego’s hands gripped the edge of the table. “You knew where Pilar was, but you didn’t tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure it was her, and since she was in the States, there was nothing you could do about it anyway. I didn’t know she was more than some girl you spent a night with and couldn’t get out of your head. I had no idea it was your sister. The girl was a prostitute, and I was afraid that if I sent you off on a wild goose chase, you could get hurt and not be able to play,” Pablo protested. “But now that you are in Houston, I thought maybe you still wanted to find her. That’s why I’m telling you this now. I’m sorry, Diego, I was young and stupid.”
“Pilar is not a prostitute, Pablo. She was kidnapped in 2007 when we were together in Mexico City. Only we weren’t together; I went off to watch a soccer practice and left her alone. She was a victim of a kidnapping. I have been searching for her ever since the day she disappeared. After looking for her in Mexico City, I found evidence she probably was smuggled into the United States and might be in Houston. That’s why I chose to play with the Storm.”
Diego’s fists were clenched under the table. He was angry at Pablo for not telling him this sooner, but he needed to find out everything Pablo knew.
Besides, who am I to condemn a young man for the foolish decisions of youth?
“Bueno.” Diego unclenched his fists. “What was the name of the club where you saw Pilar?”
“The Jewel Box,” said Pablo. “It’s a big place on Westheimer just west of the Galleria. Do you know it?”
“I have looked in many clubs, but I haven’t been to that one so far,” Diego said.
“Well, I’ve got to go meet my wife now, Diego,” Pablo said. “It was good seeing you. I hear you are doing really well with your new team. And, Diego, I really hope you find your sister.”
• • •
Although Pablo had told him the last time he’d seen Pilar at the Jewel Box was before April 2009 and it was now early 2011, Diego felt the need to go there right away—though he knew she probably was not still there. Perhaps someone remembered her or knew where she had been taken next.
He had the valet drive his car around to the front of the Four Seasons. He headed down Lamar and Allen Parkway toward the Galleria, but it was rush hour, and the traffic was heavy. Just as he approached the Union Pacific railway tracks on San Felipe, red lights started flashing, and the arms of the Union Pacific railroad crossing came down. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel of his BMW in frustration.
Just then, his cell phone rang. It was Mary.
“Hey, Diego,” Mary asked in a cheery voice. “Where are you?”
“You won’t believe this, Mary. I just got a tip from someone who saw Pilar here in Houston. Your instinct was right. She was working at a club called the Jewel Box. I’m headed there now.”
“No, Diego!” Mary exploded.
Oh shit! Diego remembered. I promised her I wouldn’t go alone.
“Don’t do anything crazy,” Mary went on. “That’s good news, but let’s not blow it. We need to think carefully about how to best use this information.”
Mary’s call and the slow movement of the hundred-car freight train in front of him made Diego stop long enough to think rationally. Probably no one will talk to me about a girl, even if they remember her.
“Okay, Mary. I guess you’re right,” Diego mumbled. “I will wait.”
“You’re close to the St. Regis Hotel just across the tracks,” Mary said. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant in thirty minutes. You’ll wait for me, right?”
“Sí.”
• • •
Half an hour later, Mary left her car with the valet and entered the lobby of the St. Regis. It was a stately traditional hotel set off by itself in an office park near the Galleria. An air of calm luxury permeated the entire building. She walked into the light-filled, glass-walled dining room, where only a few tables were occupied. It was early in the evening. Diego was sitting at a table for two, an espresso in front of him. Two young waitresses stood nearby, watching Diego. At Mary’s approach, Diego rose and kissed her on both cheeks. The girls gave one another a disappointed look and walked away.
“Tell me what happened, Diego.”
Diego told her the story of his meeting with Pablo and how he had learned that Pilar might have been at the Jewel Box two years earlier.
“Well, that’s a stroke of luck,” Mary said. “I wish he had told you about this sooner. But we are where we are. How should we use this information? You said there is a lot of turnover among the girls at the clubs so they don’t get to know each other.”
“That’s my impression,” Diego replied.
“Who is there year after year, besides the owners and the security guards? Who could we question that might have been at the Jewel Box two years ago?” Mary wondered.
Diego sipped his espresso while he thought about this. A waitress stopped by to ask if Mary would like to order something.
“Wait, I know!” Mary exclaimed. “The janitorial staff! They see who comes and goes but don’t have a stake in the business. This being Houston, they all speak Spanish. One of them might talk to you if you explain you have come from Mexico looking for your sister. We just need to know when they get off work and find someone who recognizes Pilar’s picture to tell us if she is still there—maybe even take her a message.”
Mary was thinking as she talked, her voice growing more excited. Diego sat back and listened, impressed with her ability to analyze a problem and come up with a solution.
“But how do we find out when the staff leaves? Neither one of us can afford to sit up all night watching the club,” Diego said.
“I’m thinking,” Mary said. Then she spoke.
“Sometimes we hire investigators to do surveillance in difficult cases. I know a guy who works cheap and gets results—Steve Hernandez. He’s creative. Steve is ex-military and spent fifteen years working undercover with the Harris County Sheriff’s office. He grew up in the Rio Grande Valley and speaks Spanish fluently. After he retired, he opened a private detective firm, but he only takes cases that interest him. He’s helped me with some pretty complicated cases.”
“I trust your judgment, Mary,” Diego said.
“Let me give him a call and see if he can help us.”
“Okay, Mary, whatever it costs, I will cover it.”
Two days later, Steve was sitting on the couch in Mary’s cluttered office, a serious look on his face, when Diego arrived. Diego sized him up. He was average height and weight and bald on top with a longish fringe of gray hair. There was nothing about his face that you would remember from a casual meeting. He seemed like the perfect undercover agent.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, señor.” Diego shook Steve’s hand. “Practice ran late today.”
“No problem,” Steve said. “I’m a fan. Mary’s been filling me in. I hate those fucking pimps who kidnap innocent young girls. They should all be locked up and gang butt-raped.”
“I agree,” Diego said. “I don’t understand why they are not all in jail.”
“There’s too many of them for the police to catch, and the victims are too scared to testify against their pimps. Those bastards threaten them and their families or hook them on drugs. Besides, very few of those girls have someone who wants to help them. After a while, they figure they got no other future and no place else to go,” Steve said. “What they are forced to do causes them to die from the inside out. Most of them are dead from one thing or another within ten years.”
“Can you help us find Pilar, señor?”
“I’ll help, son. It may take a little time, though, to do what Mary has suggested. First, I need to figure out when the staff gets off work. Then I need to find one willing to talk. They might feel safer talking to a fellow Mexican. A lot of them aren’t exactly legal, so they are very guarded. I’ll let you know when I’ve got somebody.”
“Gracias, señor. I am most grateful for your help.”
• • •
In June, Steve contacted Mary.
“I’ve got a woman who is willing to talk,” he said. “It took a while. The people who work in those places are scared to death. The club owners threaten the undocumented ones that they’ll report them to INS if they tell anyone anything they see at work. Even if they are legally here, somebody in their family isn’t. Or they are afraid of physical retaliation against themselves or their families.”
“Why will this woman help us?” Mary asked.
“It’s an old woman who cleans the floors and bathrooms and the back rooms. She said her heart aches for the young girls who are taken away from their families and forced to work there. She says if Pilar has someone who will take her out of that life, she will take the risk.”
“What did she tell you, Steve?”
“She wants to talk to Diego. She wants to be sure he exists. She’s legal, but she’s taking a big chance even talking to a guy like me.”
Mary was excited but a little nervous. She knew it was dangerous for this woman to come forward.
“Where and when should Diego meet her?” Mary asked.
“Do you know where the Taqueria Grande is, about one mile east of I-45 on Broadway? It’s across I-45 from Hobby Airport. She said she’ll meet us there on Sunday after early Mass. Diego and I should be there by 9:00 a.m.”
“I’m coming too,” Mary said.
“It’s a pretty rough area of town, Mary. Are you sure you should go?”
“I’m not afraid. I have become so deeply invested in the search for this girl, who is probably my cousin, that I don’t want to miss any part of it.”
“Fine, then I’d better pick you up in my truck. I’ll be at your house at 8:30,” Steve replied and then hung up.
At 8:50 on Sunday morning, Steve, Diego, and Mary pulled up to the Taqueria Grande in Steve’s old pickup truck. They parked in back and entered the restaurant by a side door. Steve surveyed the tables in the large, crowded room. Happy conversations between grandparents, parents, and small children took place at almost every table. Baskets of chips and salsa sat on the tables. Spanish-speaking waitresses bustled about among regular customers. They took orders and returned with steaming trays of breakfast tacos, migas, and sopapillas and honey. Delicious smells wafted in from the open kitchen. Piñatas hung here and there from the ceiling, adding to the festive atmosphere. Steve found the old woman sitting in a corner booth at the back of the restaurant by herself.
“Buenas días, señora,” Steve said, removing his straw cowboy hat. “This is Diego Gonzales, the young man I told you about who is searching for his sister, Pilar.” The old woman, whose name was Consuelo, spoke only Spanish, and Steve addressed her in her language.
“Who is that?” Consuelo asked, looking uneasily at Mary.
“This is Maria Chavez. She is Pilar’s cousin and my friend.”
“Bueno.” She nodded and smiled shyly at Diego and Mary.
Everyone sat, and a waitress appeared. Diego ordered café con leche for everyone and a basket of sopapillas and honey. Then he laid the pictures of Pilar and him at his graduation and Pilar and Alejandro on their wedding day on the table in front of her.
“Señora, please, these are picures of my sister, Pilar. Have you ever seen her?”
The woman stared at the pictures. She picked them up to examine them closely, as if she had trouble seeing. When she recognized the young woman she had talked with at the Jewel Box several years earlier, her face lit up with a smile. She looked at Diego. “Sí, señor. She is a very kind woman. She sometimes gave me money the men gave her before her padrón took it from her. She was sad. But she was strong. She told me she would get away somehow, someday. She has a husband and little girl in Mexico. She told me many times she wanted to see her daughter again.”
Steve, Diego, and Mary sat silent, waiting, while Consuelo drank a little of her café. Then she continued, “She never gave up or used drugs or any of the things they tried to make her do. She kept a silver crucifix hidden; I don’t know how. She gave it to me to keep for her until she was free. Sometimes I hold it and pray that Pilar will see her daughter again.”
Consuelo reached into her purse and took out a tiny bundle of tissue paper. She unwrapped it and laid a small silver crucifix on the table.
Diego recognized Pilar’s crucifix. She is alive, and I am getting closer!
He asked Consuelo, “Do you know where she is now?”
“No, señor. When many people in Houston lost their jobs, the club was not so busy. Travelers stopped coming. Eduardo took Pilar and his other girl away.”
“Who is Eduardo, señora?” Diego asked.
Consuelo spat on the floor. “Pig! Devil!” she hissed. “Eduardo Ayala kidnaps good girls in Mexico or even here. Then he and his devil brother, Guillermo, hold them captive and make them have sex with many men. He keeps all the money they are paid and drives around in a big black car. He told Pilar he would kill her husband and daughter and her parents if she did not do what he told her to do. Pilar said he knew where they lived, and she believed he would do it. She was afraid of him.”
Diego’s lips were tight, and the tendons in his arms were taut.
“Is there anything else you can tell us, señora?”
“I pray you find your sister, señor. She is a good girl. She has been forced to do the Devil’s work. But she still prays to the Virgin to forgive her sins and let her see her family again.”
“Thank you very much, señora,” Diego said, hugging the woman to hide the tears in his eyes.
• • •
The drive in Steve’s truck to Mary’s house was silent and tense. About halfway there, Diego asked, “Steve, have you ever heard of this Eduardo Ayala?”
“Unfortunately, yes. He’s a low-level Mexican crook who engages in sex trafficking, prostitution, and drug running. He has contacts with the Sangre Negra cartel and uses them now and then to do his dirty business. Sometimes, he does theirs. I’m told he can be charming and dangerously persuasive.” He sighed. “The office has him on their radar, but they never can get enough evidence to bring him in. He goes back and forth across the border and hangs out in the East End barrio.”
“What about his brother?”
“Guillermo? He’s big, dumb, and mean. He supplies the muscle to back up Eduardo’s activities. Eduardo likes to threaten people, and Guillermo scares them into doing what he tells them to do. Guillermo has probably killed a few people, but hard evidence and witnesses are never there. They’re a very dangerous team. Of course, my information is a few years old.”
“Can you talk to some of your old buddies and get an update on what they think Eduardo may be doing now?” Mary asked.
