Rick Mofina - In Desperation

Today was Tuesday, or was it Wednesday? He wasn’t sure. Last Friday, according to the original plan, he was to fly from Phoenix to California, ostensibly for Quick Draw company business. No one knew the truth: that he was really flying to L.A. for his last deal with his cartel partners.

But before boarding his flight in Phoenix, Galviera, as instructed, went to a pay phone, deposited a stream of coins, called a temporary number and checked in with Octavio, his chief cartel associate.

“The situation has changed,” Octavio had said. “We’ve learned that a competitor is now disputing ownership of our routes and demanding payment.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You are likely being followed.”

“Followed? Jesus Christ! You said there’d be no complications!”

“Listen to us.”

“No, you listen. I’m the one holding the goddamned money. I’m the target. You guaranteed no complications. I did not sign on for this bullshit. What do I do now?”

“You shut up. You listen. And you live.”

Galviera listened.

“We must take very specific action. We’ve made arrangements. Abandon your flight to L.A. and drive to San Diego immediately. On the way, stop at a public phone and call the number I give you, at the time I give you. Tell no one. Before you leave, get rid of your cell phone.”

Galviera got to his pickup truck and headed alone for California. Octavio had advised him to stop in Yuma, where a “friend of ours” had exchanged Galviera’s F-150 for a Grand Cherokee, gave him paperwork for it and counterfeit ID.

“In San Diego, collect the cash. All of it,” Octavio said.

“All of it?”

“All of it. Then drive back to Phoenix. Break up the total and secure it in the locations we’ll provide. Then you will meet us in the Phoenix area at the specified address on the specified date and time we will give you. Do not deviate from our instructions.”

Galviera followed them to the letter.

Making the six-hour drive across California and Arizona loaded with over five million in cash was unnerving, but it went OK. It was after he’d returned to Phoenix and was in the process of storing the money that the news broke of Tilly’s kidnapping and the link to him.

Who was behind it?

How did they know Cora worked for him? How did they know how to find Cora’s home? How did they know she had a daughter? Christ, they’d better not hurt her. How did everything turn to shit?

Now, as he drove to the meeting place, the knot in his gut tightened.

Galviera saw himself in the mirror, gaunt and looking like something that should be flushed. How had his life come to this? Hell, he sponsored three Little League ball teams. He’d worked hard for his piece of the American dream.

Now he could lose it all.

His father, a bus driver, had died, leaving his mother to support him by cleaning offices before she died from a heart attack. Galviera dropped out of college to work full-time as a bike-riding courier. Then he got a truck and started his own business delivering packages by day, pizzas at night. He built it into a major regional courier company but then married a nutcase, who preferred ferrets to children.

When she caught him cheating with an office worker, she got an asshole lawyer and tried to steal his company. It forced Galviera to hide assets, get creative with numbers. He kept his company, but the battle left him poorer and bitter.

He vowed to never get married again.

The stress of his divorce led to his gambling addiction, which he’d kept hidden. It was his lame bid to try to recoup some of what he lost in his divorce settlement. He ran up heavy gambling debts but had always cleared them.

Along the way he’d hired Cora from an agency. She was pretty, but unlike most of the empty-headed agency bimbos, she had brains and a mature attitude.

He liked her. Really liked her.

She’d had a hard life but was a strong, independent single mother. He liked being with her and he liked Tilly. She was a smart, sharp kid. He liked having them in his life.

They made him feel whole.

Sometimes he and Cora talked about marriage but he was gun-shy.

“Not sure I’m ready to go down that road again,” he’d always tell her.

Around the time the economy tanked, Galviera made some bad investments, just when company bills were mounting. He was facing an overdue $1.9-million payment. If he couldn’t make it, he’d lose Quick Draw. He kept negotiating extensions but time was running out.

Quietly, he asked around for financial help.

His out-of-state bookie knew a guy, who knew a guy who knew people who were interested in an arrangement that could help him.

A meeting was set up in a hotel in Tijuana.

The investors wanted a very confidential off-the-books arrangement to have Galviera’s company deliver religious items made in convents and monasteries in Mexico to select addresses in the U.S.

The deal would involve special codes, contacts and payments. In a short time, it would earn Galviera a lot of cash. The beauty of the plan was that Galviera’s clients would handle everything-customs and inspections, any “difficulties” that might arise.

The truth: he was dealing with a drug cartel.

To agree meant a pact with the devil.

They smiled and assured him there would be no complications. They assured him they would take care of all risk. They assured him that with sufficient notice, he could end the arrangement for any reason at any time.

In desperation, Galviera took the deal.

And it went well.

The shipments flowed, and he collected and secured cash payments according to the instructions he was given. For his work, his first earnings totaled $976,000. A second payment a month later, was $1,034,000. The next was going to be just over two million dollars. All of it tax free. With the two million to come, Galviera would clear his debt, end his partnership with the cartel and focus on his company.

That was his plan before Tilly was kidnapped.

He’d never expected this to happen.

There were to be no complications.

Goddamn it. God-fucking-damn it.

Now, as he adjusted his grip on the wheel while pulling up to the Broken Horses Bar, he checked the time. Fifteen minutes to five. Octavio and his partner specified meeting here at five.

The building’s chugging air conditioner dripped water over a fractured metal door that creaked when Galviera entered. He kept his dark glasses on, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light while he dealt with the stench of stale beer and hopelessness.

A large TV on mute loomed over the wooden U-shaped bar where several pathetic cases were perched. There were a few wooden chairs and tables on the main floor, while along the wall, high-backed booths offered privacy.

Galviera ordered a beer at the bar and carried it to the booth, where he took a long pull and did his best to keep himself from shaking.

Christ, the TV was tuned to FOX. They were showing his face as a “person of interest,” up there for the whole goddamned world to see.

He lowered his head.

Adrenaline surged through him.

He had to do something.

But what? What could he do? If he went to the police now, while sitting on five million in cartel money, he was a dead man.

That would seal Tilly’s fate.

Be calm. Stay cool. He had to fix this.

Stick to the plan. That was all he could do.

He glanced at the time. Damn. It was flying. Now it was fifteen minutes after the hour and no sign of Octavio.

What happened to them? They were never late.

Galviera took another pull of his beer.

His hands were shaking. He was a mess. He needed those guys to walk through that door so they could take care of the money, so he could give them their share and fix this.