CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

So I made my way back toward the prison and soon saw the guard towers on the horizon. If I passed them and just kept going west, I would eventually drive right into the Everglades. I was tempted to do that. I figured the alligators were less risky for me than Ratón Ramírez. Then again, the guys who had been gunning for me the night before wouldn’t be able to reach me inside the prison walls. At least I hoped that was the case.

In the end, I turned into the prison parking lot and passed through security. Minutes later, I was led into the visitors’ room. Ratón was already there, sitting right between the Little Mermaid and the Lion King and clutching his Bible. He stood up as I approached and opened his arms.

“Mr. Cuesta, it’s wonderful to see you again so soon. Let me give you a bit of God’s love.” He put down his Bible, wrapped his arms around me in a rigorous hug and then systematically patted me down in search of a wire. When he was done, he turned me loose and smiled.

“I trust God has been good to you.”

“God possibly, but you haven’t been, Ratón.”

“Why? What has happened to you?”

“You almost got me killed the other day in Little Havana.”

“Didn’t you get the information you were in search of?”

“Oh, yeah, I found where Catalina Cordero was being held hostage, but just a touch too late.”

“The spirits can’t be rushed, Mr. Cuesta. They visit me very much on their own schedule.”

That Ratón Ramírez would be in close contact with the spirits of the dead was not so surprising. He had certainly created enough of those spirits. But I was getting tired of his game.

“And then there was last night. According to the news reports, the guy who was killed was one of your compadres, a member of your smuggling operation. Before he was killed, he tried to shoot me up and run me over.”

“It’s true that he was one of my children. He came from my garden in Colombia, Cuesta. But you make the same mistake the prosecutors made. Since everything is God’s creation, there is no such crime as smuggling. It’s all one.”

He beamed at me majestically. Ratón sharing his moral philosophy with me was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but one I could do without. He seemed to comprehend that and went on.

“But yes, I knew him and he was a sinner . . . and he was one of those who grabbed the girl.”

He was telling me it was his people who had perpetrated the kidnapping.

I pointed at him. “So it is you who is holding Catalina Cordero?”

He wagged a finger at me. “I didn’t say that. I don’t have control over any of those crimes. How can I? I am in this prison. I said I heard from the spirits that certain acts have been committed and that certain children of mine, wayward children, had been involved.”

“And who was it that tried to rip off the ransom? Who killed that bad boy of yours?”

“It was someone from the Estrada family themselves who ruined the ransom. They saw no reason to spend good ransom money on that girl.”

“How do you know all that?”

He smiled and tapped his heart. “I told you already. I have contact with the hearts, minds and souls of all men, even you.”

My eyes narrowed. Ratón didn’t really know who had raided the ransom party, but he knew enough about the powers that be in Colombia and what they might be capable of. Cousin Cósimo could have been responsible for that mayhem, even I had figured that. But there was something I certainly couldn’t figure.

“But why would you want to kidnap this girl or any member at all of the Estrada family?” I asked Ratón. “You don’t need the money.”

The money wasn’t going to do Ratón any good anymore. There’s just so much you can spend in the candy machine in a prison. But I didn’t add that.

“You told me last time that the Estradas have enemies,” I said. “Are you one of them?”

He smiled beatifically. “I love all God’s children, although it is true that sometimes those offspring must realize God’s wrath.” He took a deep drag from his cigarette. “As for why any member of the Estrada clan was targeted, ask the Estradas. They will know, although maybe they won’t want to tell you.”

I thought back to the construction projects in Medellín, the alleged drug money involved and also the connection to the late Mario Estrada. “Does it have something to do with all those buildings going up in Medellín?”

He waved the question away. “Don’t ask me. Ask them. Or you can ask their American partner, Conrad Nettles. Maybe he will tell you.”

I had seen the construction equipment belonging to Nettles’ company down in Medellín, and I knew he was also involved in those projects.

Ratón exhaled smoke that formed a milky cloud in the air between us. I waved it away as if I were erasing a blackboard.

“Let’s cut the shit, Ratón. I’m not wired, and you don’t have to play the weirdo with me, okay?”

Ratón smiled and shrugged.

“Where are they holding her now?” I asked.

He shook his head. “At this moment, I am not able to tell you that. If your authorities were to acquiesce to my request to be returned to Colombia, I would probably be able to assist you. What did the people you know in the government say about my proposition?”

I didn’t want to tell him the truth, that Grand had guffawed at his proposed deal. “I haven’t heard back from them yet.”

He shook his head somberly. “I’m very afraid that if the authorities don’t take me up on my proposition to send me back to Colombia, these gentlemen may continue to cause chaos here in Miami. I can’t help it and I can’t control them, but they are very devoted to me”

“What kind of chaos?”

He shrugged. “I’m afraid you’ll see.”

Then he changed the subject.

“Have you told Carlos Estrada about your meetings with me?”

I shook my head. “No, I haven’t. The Estradas were worried enough when they thought the guerrillas had grabbed Catalina Cordero.”

A big smile spread across the rat man’s whiskered face.

“What is it you find so funny?” I asked.

“What I find very funny is you, my friend. I find it humorous that you would think the guerrillas would grab this Cordero girl and hold her hostage.”

“And why is that?”

He tapped me on the chest. “Because that girl, Catalina Cordero, is herself a guerrilla. The paras killed her father, and after he died, she enlisted with the guerrillas to find her revenge. She has been a member of the guerrillas ever since. Why would they kidnap one of their own?”

He burst out laughing then, which left my astounded silence even more silent. Finally, he grabbed his cigarettes, got up, beamed at me one more time as if I were the most amusing fellow on earth, and headed back to his rathole—his cell—still chuckling.