1
Jalisco, Mexico
March 2025
It was approaching noon before Lilly DeFranco finally ventured out onto the casita’s porch. It had rained during the night and the warm, humid air still smelled of ozone and the flinty, limestone earth. She cinched her silk dressing gown more tightly around her waist as she gazed out across the rolling, corrugated plain stretching into the near distance. The neat rows of spiky, gray-blue agave seemed to undulate like waves in the midday heat.
She flipped open her sunglasses, and before slipping them on, took a cautious sip of her coffee. It was strong and black, just as she preferred it. A decent cup of coffee was one of two things she missed the most while in the prison in Arizona where the coffee was little more than brown water. The other thing she missed was a decent over easy fried egg. Right now neither of them sounded even remotely appealing.
She had felt nauseated for three days, her general lack of appetite aggravated by this morning’s spate of vomiting. She explained it away as being due to the cabrito stew Jesus, the plantation overseer, had graciously offered her three days ago. At least, she thought it might be the goat meat, although the neat might have just as well been rabbit or ground squirrel. She disliked cooking, so leftovers tended to linger longer than their use by date. She would have to go back to her staple diet of fresh tortillas, bananas, avocados, and whatever she could scrounge from the local Mercado. But she vowed to pass on the surprise meat in the future.
She had stayed up until almost three am the night before reading an Elmore Leonard novel– the one about the sexy, quick on the draw US Marshal. It made her think of Harlan Quist, the ex-ATF agent and her one time lover who had once saved her life. She managed to discover he lived on the coast of Oaxaca, but she would never make the effort to seek him out. That had been a different life. One she had no desire to revisit for it was tainted by shame, violence, and retribution.
She took another sip of her coffee as she watched the handful of workers toiling in the neat rows of agave. Most of the plants wouldn’t be flowering for at least another couple of weeks. She had learned that the timing of the harvest was critical. Too early or too late could result in a lower yield or an inferior end product.
Jesus, the workers’ overseer, was an elderly Zapotec farmer from Oaxaca who the managers and the workers only referred to as El Viejo. His counsel as to the exact timing of harvest seemed to vary from day by day depending on not only the agaves’ budding blossoms, but also the vagaries of the weather and certain enigmatic celestial alignments that he without fail consulted each evening.
Lilly, along with the old man and the young overseer of the adjoining distillery, had spent the past two weeks negotiating with a labor contractor to hire the required number of workers requited to harvest the piña. Now all that remained for Lilly to still accomplish before returning to Mexico City was to review the anticipated production quotas, something she knew absolutely nothing about.
She suspected the real reason her boss sent her here was to render an opinion about Abraham, the brash, young, college-educated manager of the distillery. Abraham had been selected by one of the distillery’s silent partners, in this case, a well-known Hollywood actor. Lilly’s boss, Jeronimo Hermosa was under the impression the two men’s relationship was more than just professional. If such was the case, Lilly had not been able to confirm or discount his suspicions.
She was more than ready to return home, for she missed her life in the bustling urban scene of Mexico City, her expanding circle of newfound friends, and, of course, her lover Jaime.
He had called her the night before to say he would be stopping over for one night before flying to Austin, Texas to deal with some labor troubles at their boos Jeronimo Hermosa’s latest hotel acquisition.
Hermosa had once held an esteemed status in the hierarchy of Mexico City’s criminal pantheon. The scion of a wealthy and prominent Mexico City family, he had been sent to Texas for his education, even going so far as to earn a graduate degree in business from the University of Texas. Upon his return, he found his niche catering to the burgeoning appetite among the city’s nouveau riche for gambling and nightlife.
His first self-made fortune came to fruition by investing in risky and quasi-legitimate real estate deals, his profits then plowed into purchases of nightclubs. From there, he bought interests in casinos. It all came too easily, and before he knew it, he found it even more lucrative to dabble in influence peddling and bribery of public officials. Money laundering became the next natural progression. Soon any form of graft that did not involve drugs or prostitution was on the table. Even though he possessed a strict, almost Puritan moral code, it did not preclude him from resorting to the occasional use of strong arm tactics to achieve his goals.
But those days were long past, and now at the age of seventy-six, Hermosa was divesting himself of his illicit businesses and investing instead in a host of legitimate enterprises. The tequila distillery was just one of his many new acquisitions. To this end, Lilly served as his personal courier and liaison in these new ventures.
She herself had undertaken her own metamorphoses by shedding her own criminal past in the hope of rebuilding a new life. Gone was an identity that included two prison terms, an ill-fated career in armed robbery, and several months on the run from both the US authorities and the Sinaloa cartel.
Jeronimo Hermosa had become her savior, providing her with a job, a new false identity, and the opportunity to regain a sense of self. She was now Lilia Montez, a confidante and personal messenger for one of the few men in Mexico who offered her protection.
She continued scanning the agave fields for a moment longer as she sipped her coffee. She was just about to turn and go back inside when she caught sight of a vehicle speeding down the muddy road leading from the field’s entrance. She picked up a pair of binoculars from the porch’s railing to see who it might be. If it was Jaime, he was early, she thought with guilty pleasure. They hadn’t seen each other in a week, and now the prospect of his companionship lightened her mood.
Peering through the binoculars, she could now see the vehicle was a large sedan, not the four wheel drive SUV Jaime usually rented in Guadalajara. She watched for a moment longer as the sedan turned onto the road leading in the direction of the casita. She saw it was a large, expensive-looking Mercedes sedan that rolled like a rowboat on a rough sea as it maneuvered along the uneven road. The car slowed for a moment as it approached the drive to the casita before turning in.
At first, Lilly thought it might be an unexpected visit from Jeronimo, but quickly realized this would be out of character for him to show up unannounced.
The sedan pulled to a stop at the path leading to the porch. A moment later, a tall, well built man dressed in khaki slacks and a red guayabera dismounted from the passenger side, followed by another man exiting from the driver’s side. The second man was short and pudgy and wore jeans and a long-sleeved white dress shirt. The taller of the two men, took a moment to survey his surroundings before making his way casually up the path, the shorter man in tow.
As they drew near, Lilly briefly entertained the thought that she had seen the shorter of the two men somewhere once before, an impression that only grew as the two men paused at the foot of the steps. The short one gazed up at her for a moment before removing his sunglasses.
She took in a sudden involuntary breath as the recognition struck her like a slap in the face. Her first instinct was to turn and go inside, but to what end? If they had come for her, there would be no escape.
“Buenos Dias, Señorita,” the tall one said with a smile. Unlike his companion, he made no effort to remove his sunglasses.
He had a handsome, well-sculpted face with a broad mouth and white even teeth. His carefully coiffed black hair glistened in the midday sun.
“Buenos Dias,” she managed to reply, crossing her arms across her chest, her eyes returning to the short man who gave her a curious look before also smiling. He was bald with a pale, almost pasty complexion. His eyes were as small and round as bullet holes. A thick, black mustache barely concealed his fleshy lips.
The last time she had seen him had been at a dinner party in Culiacan. Estevan, her lover at the time, had introduced them. The encounter had been brief and forgettable. Yet here he was standing on the steps of the porch.
As a precaution, she had changed her appearance soon after she found herself traveling around Mexico on Jeronimo’s behalf. She had dyed her auburn hair a dark brown and wore it in a long braid. A plastic surgeon had re-sculpted her nose that had been broken by a cartel thug. She had also replaced her reading glasses with dark brown-tinted contacts that concealed her blue eyes. Even though she doubted the man would recognize her, she couldn’t discount the possibility someone had given her up.
She offered them each a nervous smile. “Can I help you?” she asked. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak a whole lotta Spanish,” she added in an exaggerated Southern drawl.
“I was told at the gate that you are the representative of the owner,” the tall one said in heavily-accented English.
“Oh no. I am only one of the botanists. Una botánica. Did I say that right? I was hired as a consultant.”
“Una botánica.” He stared at her for a moment before going on. “I was hoping there might be someone who could place me in touch with the owner of your operation. Señor Hermosa, yes?”
“I don’t know that name, but I’ve only been here a coupla weeks. All I know is my paycheck comes from a corporation in Guadalajara. Nectar Azul. I do know that one of the owners is some Hollywood movie star. I haven’t had the pleasure of making his acquaintance yet,” she said with a playful shrug. “I tell you what I do have is an email address for their office if that helps.”
He gave her a look that telegraphed his skepticism. “That is very strange for my sources tell me that Señor Hermosa was here several days ago to attend a meeting with a Señor Morales.”
Lilly fumbled for an answer. “I’m sorry, but that comes as news to me. I’ve been busy here in the fields. I guess maybe I could’ve missed them. Or maybe they were meeting in Guadalajara.”
“Perhaps, one of the field workers has seen him,” the short one offered.
“Oh, I doubt it. I’m with them all the time.”
“Pero hoy no hay trabajo.”
She gave him a blank look, knowing full well he was trying to trip her up and see if she understood Spanish.
“You do no work today?” he asked, perhaps reading her confusion.
“Oh.” She clutched her stomach. “Mi… estómago. Sick, yes? I tell you what. Do you have a card? You know, just in case this Señor… What was his name again?”
“Hermosa,” the short one replied with obvious annoyance.
“Yeah. In case he shows up I can give him your card.”
“No necesauo,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Or your name maybe in case he asks?”
The short one seemed to think about it for a moment before reaching into his shirt pocket, retrieving a card and extending it to her.
She took the card and read the two words printed on it. Empresas Marigold, and below it was a phone number. She turned it over, but the reverse side was blank.
“Señor Hermosa will know who we represent,” the tall one said offering her a wide smile. He nodded and turned to walk away.
The short on lingered as he studied her. Had he finally recognized her?
“And your name, señorita?” he asked after a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Gloria. I’d offer you two gentlemen a cold drink, but I’m outta ice,” she added.
The machete she kept for killing snakes hung on a hook just inside the door. If he gave just the slightest inkling of remembering her, she would invite him in. Then what? Hack him to death? And what about the other one? Would it be worth the risk? She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that, for she had no intention of running again.
“No gracias.” He smiled before turning and joining his companion.
“Assholes” she muttered softly as she watched them get in the car. There had been a time when she had fed the short guy’s boss to the pigs at a farm outside of Culiácan. Another life. No pigs here, she thought, allowing herself a smile. She felt confident he hadn’t recognized her. Either that or he had been yet unable to place where he knew her from.
She looked at the card again. Marigold Enterprises. But no name or even a phone number. It seemed strange, cartel gangsters using business cards. What was next? Their own website? Facebook? If she could take a guess, these two were bent on muscling in on Hermosa’s tequila business. The word was the cartels were buying up agave fields and distilleries, or worse yet, simply expropriating them. She had even broached the subject with Jeronimo, warning him of the risk, but he seemed unconcerned.
As she watched them drive off, the short guy’s name suddenly occurred to her. It was Gustavo something. Back in the day, he used to be with the Sinaloa cartel, but this was the Jalisco cartel’s territory. Had he changed teams?
She wondered where the two men would’ve gotten the impression Jeronimo had been here the previous week for some kind of meeting. It didn’t make sense. As soon as she got back to Mexico City, she would report this to Jeronimo. His reaction would undoubtedly prove interesting. She tossed the cold dregs of her coffee over the porch railing and went inside.