The plane touched down at Mexico City International Airport a few minutes after five in the morning. Raul had arrived before me. He told me by text he’d had success tracking the phone number back to an apartment building about thirty minutes from the airport. He was already there, waiting for me in his rental car. In a herd of other early-morning traveling zombies, I went through customs, got cleared, and finally found my way outside of the airport. I had only my backpack with me with a couple of changes of clothes and some toiletries. I had no idea how long I would be in Mexico City but wanted to stay as flexible as possible. After locating a long line of taxis on the curb, I jumped into the first one available and gave the driver the address for the apartment building.
I felt a renewed sense of optimism now that Raul had been able to actually trace the phone number back to a real location. Surely someone at the other end of the phone had answers for me. I hoped they would tell me that Joe was still alive. After about thirty minutes of navigating traffic, I was finally dropped off at the curb in front of what looked like a low-rent four-story apartment building sandwiched between two other similar crumbling structures in the heart of Mexico City. The sidewalks in front of the buildings were mostly empty. The sun had not yet risen.
As I watched the taxi take off, I looked around at a few of the cars parked along the curb. I sent a quick text to Raul, letting him know I’d arrived and asking for his exact location. But I didn’t get a response. So I called his phone. Again, no answer. That made me uneasy. I began walking up the sidewalk, peering into the vehicles parked at the curb as I passed by them. No Raul. They all sat empty. I crossed over the street to be on the same side as the apartment building.
Then I noticed a gray Honda Civic with a Hertz rental car license plate frame on the back parked on a side street. It looked like someone’s head was peeking over the driver’s seat. Circling the rental car to the passenger side, I glanced in and noticed Raul sitting behind the wheel. I opened the passenger door and climbed inside. And that’s when I realized something was horribly wrong. Raul’s head was actually cocked a bit to the side, a hole near his temple, and blood was flowing down his neck and soaking the collar of his white shirt. I cursed. Someone had just shot him. I felt complete panic push through every inch of my body. Was he already dead?
“Raul?” I said, pushing on his shoulder, accidentally getting blood on my fingers. This only made him slump over farther against the window. I cursed again. Whoever had done this had to still be close by. It had only been twenty minutes since I’d last corresponded with Raul. Were they watching me right now? Were they about to go for a second kill? I had to get the hell out of there.
Glancing down, I noticed Raul’s small notepad sitting in the cup holder. I remembered him using the same notepad when I’d first met him. I quickly snagged it, shoved it into my pants pocket. I opened the door and kind of stumbled back into the street because my legs felt wobbly from shock. Then I froze in the sudden headlights of a car that had just pulled straight up to me and stopped. I was blind to whoever was inside. Was it the same person who had just shot Raul? Did they already have a gun pulled on me? Red-and-blue lights started swirling on top of the vehicle, followed by a quick siren chirp.
THIRTY-NINE
Two uniformed officers got out of the police car. Approaching me, one of the officers began speaking rapidly in Spanish. They were both focused only on me at the moment and not yet paying any attention to what was inside the rental car next to me. But could I keep their attention on me? My heart was pumping so fast, I was having a difficult time breathing. I looked down at my left hand, noticed the fresh blood on my fingers in the glow of their headlights, so I squeezed my hand together to try to hide it. This was a disaster. They had just seen me stumble out of the rental car. They were about to find Raul shot dead inside and probably think I had something to do with it. What was I going to tell them? The truth was beyond explanation and would likely get me thrown in jail for a long time. I had visions of rotting away in a dark Mexican prison cell without my family even knowing what the hell had happened to me.
I heard one of the officers say “ID” among a host of other Spanish words. I nodded, slipped my backpack off my shoulder, unzipped a pocket, and pulled out my passport and wallet. I handed both of them to the officer who’d requested it. He was portly and looked to be in his fifties. The other officer was slightly younger but also did not look to be in the best of shape. The officer in front of me shone a little flashlight on my passport and examined it with narrow eyes. At the same time, the younger officer began staring over toward the rental car and slowly started to make his way around to the driver’s side. I felt even more panic set in. Everything was about to unravel on me. Not only was my friend shockingly dead, I knew I could very well be accused of the crime if I couldn’t find a way to get out of this right now.