Searching for Pilar, page 21
“What about Consuelo, the old woman from the Jewel Box?” Diego asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Steve. “She seemed sincere in wanting to help Pilar, and we were careful about where we met her.”
“What about your teammate Pablo from Mexico City—the one who told you about seeing Pilar at The Jewel Box?” Mary asked Diego. “Could he have told someone with ties to the gangs?”
“I don’t think so,” Diego replied. “I got the impression that getting married and having a daughter changed his view of women as disposable objects. He seemed sincerely contrite about not telling me he had seen Pilar earlier—especially when he found out she was my sister.”
Everyone was silent for a few minutes. Then Diego rose and crossed his arms in front of him. “When Mary left my apartment in Midtown the other night, I noticed a black SUV parked across the street. The windows were tinted, but I thought I saw two men inside. The car looked familiar, but there are so many SUVs in Houston, I didn’t think any more about it,” Diego said.
Mary shivered. “It was probably the same SUV that blocked me in on Studewood. Whoever it was, they followed me, and someone must have gotten out and stolen my license plate while I was sitting there.”
“Damn!” Diego swore, slamming his fist on the table. “I should have paid more attention to it. I know where I saw that SUV before!”
Mary and Steve looked at Diego, surprised, waiting for more. Diego walked over to the window and then turned to face them.
“I may have made a mistake,” Diego said, looking away.
“Spill it, amigo,” Steve said.
Looking at Mary, Diego said, “I was trying to untangle myself from a girl who was more interested in me than I was in her.”
Mary couldn’t help brightening inside when Diego said this.
“Marisa Escobar?” Mary asked. “Sara Beth mentioned a while ago that you and she had been an item.”
“An item?” Diego asked.
“Never mind,” Mary said. “Go on.”
Diego walked back to the table and sat down again, looking at Mary. “She has been very kind to a fellow countryman. She makes me feel comfortable, and we have become friends. I told her that someone had kidnapped my sister in Mexico and I suspected they’d brought her to Houston. I might have mentioned Eduardo’s name.”
Diego was not looking at the others. He felt foolish. He had bared his soul to a woman he hardly knew—a woman whose father employed a private army in their home, who could be involved in illegal activities. Diego remembered the man with the gun standing behind Arturo the night of the party and the extreme security surrounding his home. Marisa had told him that her father’s decision to send her out of the country might have been motivated by the fact that he knew Diego was looking for Eduardo Ayala. Diego was embarrassed. He had let his friends down and possibly exposed them to a very dangerous situation.
“What?” Mary and Steve said together.
“Diego!” Steve exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing her! Her father, Arturo Escobar, has been a person of interest for the authorities for years. Only no one could ever get close enough to get any solid information. He keeps a close circle, and security surrounds his house.”
“I know. I saw the SUV in his driveway. But I didn’t put it together until now,” Diego replied, feeling foolish.
“You’ve been to his house?” Steve asked, surprised.
“Only once. One of the coaches delivered an invitation for me to attend a party there. He said I should go because Escobar is a big team supporter. That’s where I met Marisa. She’s a fan too.”
“I bet,” Mary said.
“She came to all my home games, and sometimes we went to Beck’s Prime or 100% Taquito or Hugo’s afterward. I told her about Pilar the first time we went to dinner. I was nervous in such a fancy restaurant. It was just conversation with a girl who is a good listener. I wasn’t thinking about her father.” Diego got up and started pacing around the dining room. He knew he was not telling them the extent of his relationship with Marisa but reasoned that it was not serious—on his part at least. And he didn’t want Mary to cut him off again. He had felt unhappy and anxious when she didn’t return his calls after the dinner party.
“Was Marisa your source for Los Arboles?” Mary asked. She longed to find out if Diego’s relationship with Marisa was romantic, as the Chronicle article and Sara Beth had suggested, or just companionship with someone with common interests.
“Yes. I didn’t tell you my source was Marisa because you wouldn’t return my calls or kept them very short after the night of the dinner party with John and Sara Beth.”
Now Mary felt foolish. She hadn’t given Diego a chance to deny her sister-in-law’s implication that he and Marisa were in a romantic relationship. This is why you are not supposed to get emotionally involved with a client, she thought, although Diego was not technically a client, she reasoned.
Diego tried to justify himself. “Marisa asked one of her father’s security guards if he knew where Eduardo lived or hung out—but I didn’t tell her to do it. It was her idea. She said she was trying to help me.”
“Where is Marisa now?” Steve asked.
“Her father sent her with her mother on a shopping trip to Europe after his guards told him that Marisa was asking about Eduardo Ayala.”
Steve had gotten up and was pacing up and down while he listened to Diego and Mary’s conversation.
“Damn, Diego! Arturo Escobar is bad news big-time. This changes everything. Amateur night is over,” Steve said.
“I don’t blame you if you don’t want to help me anymore,” Diego said. “I screwed this up. I guess I’m still the irresponsible mess I was when I abandoned Pilar.”
Mary felt several emotions. She felt sorry for Diego. He had made a mistake, but it was an honest one. She also wanted to hug him right there, on finding out that he was not in a romantic relationship with Marisa. She realized that didn’t affect how he felt about her, but at least he wasn’t romantically committed to someone else.
“I’m not quitting,” Steve said. “But you need bigger guns than Mary and me. Eduardo Ayala is a small-fry pimp in the Mexican–American underworld, with a dim-witted muscle of a brother. Arturo Escobar is a big fish, maybe even cartel. He’s not going to risk exposure to protect Eduardo’s hide. He must be involved in something bigger over there.”
“Do you think Escobar could be involved in sex trafficking, Steve?” Mary asked.
“I know the sheriff’s office thinks he is involved in drug smuggling from Mexico. Trafficking women for commercial sex could be an expansion business. Guys like him never lose an opportunity when they smell money. We need to get in touch with the Harris County–FBI sex-trafficking task force. Are you ready to tell your story to them, Diego?”
“I will do whatever it takes to find Pilar,” Diego said. Then he took Mary’s hand. “But I don’t want to involve you anymore, Mary. I am very, very sorry I have put you in danger. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.” He realized how important Mary had become to him—not just as an ally in searching for Pilar but also as a woman.
Mary started to protest, but Steve put up his hand. “Diego is right, Mary. We need to figure out a way to keep you safe. Can you move in with your brother and sister-in-law temporarily?”
“And admit they were right? No way. I’ve got my security system and my Glock.” Mary was vehement. “Our dad made sure we knew how to use it.”
She is such a brave woman! Diego thought. Her passion and strength are a beautiful thing to behold.
“I am going to contact my old buddies in the sheriff’s office. It may take a while for this to feed up the bureaucratic chain to the Feds. In the meantime, Diego, watch your back and focus on winning games. Don’t talk to Marisa again. Better this ends with a broken heart than a dead body. And don’t go back to Telephone Road. If we’re lucky, they will think you’ve learned your lesson and backed off. Can you do that?”
CHAPTER 21
JOHN
Mary sat next to her brother on her sofa at 5:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night in late September. It had been two weeks since Steve told Mary what Josefina had said about how Eduardo Ayala had brought her and Pilar to Los Arboles and what they were forced to do there. The following day, Steve had reported to his old friends in the sheriff’s office about his visit to the cantina and bordello. The sheriff’s office had been waiting for a long time for confirmation by a reliable source of sex-trafficking activities at the club. The FBI had the authority to authorize a raid, so the sheriff was eager to get the Feds to take action against Los Arboles as soon as possible.
Mary and Diego were just as anxious. So when she’d heard that the sheriff’s office needed to get the FBI involved, Mary had decided to take action. She’d called John and invited him over for a glass of wine with Diego and “another friend.” She hadn’t been sure he would come, since he had made his position clear about not wanting to get involved in the matter of Pilar. She’d been delighted when he’d accepted her invitation.
She brought him a glass of cabernet and then placed herself next to him on the couch. Steve and Diego sat on either side in the club chairs, Steve holding a beer and Diego a glass of mineral water.
“I’m here, Mary. Now what is this all about?” John asked. “I told Sara Beth I would be home in time for dinner at 7:00.”
John was sizing up Steve, whom he had just met. With his jeans, cowboy boots, scruffy beard, and denim shirt, Steve was probably someone John would think was an unlikely friend for his sister.
“This won’t take long,” Mary said. She cleared her throat. “You know that I have been helping Diego search for Pilar—”
“And I have expressed our reservations about that,” John curtly interrupted.
“Hear me out,” Mary said. “Steve has been working with us. He is a retired Harris County Sheriff’s Office undercover detective, now private investigator. Steve has helped me before at the Legal Aid clinic, and I hired him to help us find Pilar. We believe Pilar is alive, and we know where she may be. That’s the good news. But there is bad news too. Some pretty nasty characters are keeping her at a cantina in the barrio. Some of them have learned that we are looking for her and are not happy about it.”
“Oh, God, Mary!” John nearly shouted. “This is exactly what I warned you about!” John got up from the couch and began to angrily pace back and forth in front of the coffee table, stopping in front of Diego. “This is your doing, Diego! Are you satisfied now that you have put my sister in a dangerous situation, too?”
Diego turned red and looked abashed but didn’t respond. Mary stood up and said, “That’s not fair, John. I offered to help Diego find Pilar, and I would do it again! Pilar is in an ungodly situation. There are hundreds of girls just like her in Houston, and I feel compelled to do what I can to curb this awful sex-trafficking business. Please, sit down now and hear me out.”
John was angry. But he sat down again on the couch so that his back was to Diego.
Mary continued. “Steve talked to the sheriff’s office and told them everything we know about Pilar, Josefina, Eduardo, and Los Arboles. Members of the joint task force that investigates human trafficking in Harris County have heard rumors about underage girls being sold in the cantina for years. They have received anonymous reports that the woman who runs the business, Rosa Rodriguez, sells minor girls for sex, sells drugs on the premises, and engages in other illegal activities. Nothing has happened, though, because there are many such cantinas in the barrio, and the information they had about this one was not sufficient to get a warrant for a raid.”
“But we can change that,” Steve broke in.
“And what is your part in this vigilante threesome?” John addressed Steve in an icy voice.
Mary answered. “Steve grew up in the Valley and speaks Spanish. He went inside the bordello and secretly talked to a girl named Josefina. Josefina told Steve that Eduardo Ayala had kidnapped and smuggled her, Pilar, and another girl to Houston and sold them to hundreds of men. About six months ago, right after the death of the madam’s bookkeeper, Eduardo took Pilar out of the bordello and bought her new clothes. Pilar was a bookkeeper in her village in Mexico. I suspect Pilar is being forced to help Rosa in her business.”
Diego finally spoke up. “If Mary is right, Pilar could know things that would allow the authorities to arrest Rosa and shut down Los Arboles. We could free all of the girls!”
“Oh my God, Mary! What have you gotten yourself into? Sex trafficking? You are not the FBI or the attorney general,” John cried. “You are just a—”
“Just a what?” Mary asked.
“Never mind, I didn’t mean anything by that. I am just worried about your safety,” John said. Then he grudgingly asked, “What does all this have to do with me?”
“I’m getting to that,” Mary continued. “Conspiracy to engage in sex trafficking and harboring illegal aliens are federal offenses. The FBI is the proper authority to order a raid on the cantina. The special agent in charge of human trafficking in the Houston office is your friend from law school, Michael Torres. That’s where we want your help. These padrónes, like Eduardo, move girls around all the time. From what we can tell, Pilar has been relatively stable in her location, but that could change tomorrow. We need an audience to impress upon the FBI that this is a matter that should be given utmost priority.”
“You want me to contact Michael and ask the FBI to put staging a raid on this particular cantina at the top of their to-do list?”
“Exactly,” Mary replied.
John didn’t say anything for a few minutes. The others sat still, waiting for his response.
“Mary, Mary,” John sighed, “your heart is bigger than your normally impressive brain. You are still working on suppositions and circumstantial evidence—we have no hard facts about our blood relationship with Pilar or that she is really being held captive where you think she is. Are you ready to stake your professional reputation, and mine for that matter, on hope and circumstantial evidence?” He sounded incredulous.
“Yes, John, I am. I believe we are family. Our dad gave us the same names as Victor’s parents. We found Isabel’s crucifix hidden in Papa’s closet. You resemble the picture of Victor that Diego showed us. Papa was sometimes moody and sad about something in his past; most likely it was Isabel’s death. Maybe we can redeem him by rescuing his nephew’s wife.” Mary’s voice became more intense. “Besides, even if Pilar is not where we think she is, even if she is not related to us, this is now about more than just one girl. We are lawyers, John. A lawyer’s role in society is to seek justice. How can we turn our backs when confronted with unspeakable, immoral crimes? I do have a big heart, but my brain and conscience are working just fine. In this case, criminals have violated dozens of state and federal laws and basic human rights. They need to be brought to justice.”
The air was charged as John considered his sister’s words. It was a tense, hard silence. Diego and Steve fidgeted uncomfortably. Mary never dropped her gaze from John.
Finally, John said, “Okay, counselor, you’ve made your point. I’ll see what I can do about getting Michael Torres to give you a chance to make your case to him. Actually, I’d rather see the proper authorities take over this investigation than have you continue to do things that could get you killed.”
“And Diego,” John said in a terse voice while pointing his finger at him, “I’m holding you personally responsible for my sister’s safety.”
“I will protect Mary with my life,” Diego said, straightening his shoulders and looking John in the eye.
John threw up his hands as if to say, “I give up.” Instead, he said, “I’d better get home before my wife figures out you have drawn me into your plots.”
“Not a word!” Mary whispered in his ear as she hugged him.
“Not a problem!” he replied.
CHAPTER 22
PILAR’S DILEMMA
Every night after she finished counting the previous day’s receipts and entering them in a ledger, along with any other task Rosa gave her, Pilar was alone in a small bedroom in one of the old wooden bungalows in the Los Arboles compound. A single bed, a chipped blond 1950s dresser, and a nonmatching bedside table were the only furniture in the room. Pretty winged fairies danced around the faded shade of a pink lamp, the only source of light in the room. As she looked at the lamp, Pilar wondered if an innocent little girl had once lain in this bed and dreamed happy thoughts about her future.
The room’s only small window faced the ten-foot wooden wall that encircled the Los Arboles compound. Iron bars across the window limited the light coming from outside. Houston was still hot and humid in late September, and there wasn’t any air-conditioning in her little room. It was miserable.
At night, while lying in bed, she could hear the noise from the cantina, especially when the men were watching a fútbol game on television. The crowd would yell the names of the players who scored goals, like “Diego!” or “Jorge!”
How I loved sitting in the stands with Alejandro when Diego’s fútbol club played, Pilar thought as the men in the cantina roared.
Concepción and Alejandro still appeared in her dreams, although they came less frequently now and their faces were less distinct. She dreamed of the three of them eating breakfast in their cozy kitchen. Concepción was pulling tortillas apart and throwing the pieces on the table. She thought that was hilarious and giggled.
She was having so much fun. How happy we once were! Or is that just a dream?
Sometimes the three of them bumped along the road leading north toward Guanajuato on a Sunday afternoon. They stopped for a lunch of tacos, fruit, and cheese. In these dreams, she rocked her baby to sleep in her arms while Alejandro sketched the landscape. She would tell him the picture was beautiful.
He kissed me and called me “my love.”
Too often, images from the filthy cubicle where she’d toiled for the last year and a half would crowd out the beautiful dreams. The faceless, stinking, crude men who had raped and beat her thousands of times marched through her thoughts like a growing cancer. She had tried to blank out her mind while enduring the despicable things they did to her or forced her to do. Oblivion was the refuge she sought. But the horrible images slithered back into her mind no matter how hard she tried to fight them.
