Page 91 of Liar

“Then it’s settled.” I gesture to the laundry basket. “I best get back to work.”

I fold and sort and wish that life outside my lavandería were as fresh, bright, and manageable.

27

“Hola, conejita.”

I smile at the pile of laundry I’m folding, happy my brother called me after not speaking for so long. “Are you still in Tijuana, Diego?”

“I am. How are things in Loreto?”

“Quiet.”

He immediately picks up on the wistfulness in my tone. “Just quiet?”

“Uneventful.” Except for the Peeping Tom.“Boring.”Without my friends. Dance school. My brother.Him.

“You say boring. I think safe.” Diego doesn’t rub it in about my dismissal of those college applications or how I failed to have a backup plan. I do have one now; it’s just a bit more expensive than my initial plan. “It’s boring as hell here, if you must know.”

And safe. Thank heavens. “No walls being built to keep you entertained? Foreign politicians braying threats?”

He chuckles. “It’s been busy. Ignacio picked up where Marifer left off and has taken over business with the Colombians. A dozen Sureños arrived in town yesterday. Can you believe the pendejos are staying at the same hotel as the Colombians?”

“Nothing like keeping a low profile.”

“No need to once they bribed those braying politicians to look the other way so they can do business uninterrupted. Still, transporting drugs across the border without detection isn’t easy. Especially the quantities the Colombians are looking to push.”

“Just be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”

I roll my eyes.

“There’s something more. The Sureños arrived with several semi-tractor trailers.” His excitement is palpable.

“What was inside?” I ask. Because, of course, he’s investigated further. “Drugs? Cocaine?”

“Wood.”

I stop folding the shirt in my hand. “Wood?”

“Lumber. Remember when we hooked up the satellite dish to our house then spent Sunday afternoon watching home renovation shows? We laughed at how our house of cement block, plaster, and rebar seemed like a fortress compared to the flimsy wooden structures the twins were renovating. What was the name of that show?”

“Property Brothers.”

“That’s right.” He pauses. “The truck beds were loaded with similar construction material.”

“Were they beams? Four-by-fours?”

“Mostly? How did you know?”

“I saw El Calaca with a truck full of them in Loreto.”

“Thatgilipollas.”

I bite my lip, reconsidering all the oddities I never pieced together until now. “Wait. Did you find shovels as well?”

“Shovels? No.”