Hello, my name is Alejandro
*Safe for work*
Guero eased the car down the winding drive, stopping at the guard station. He rolled down the window.
“She’s a pain in my ass,” he said, keeping her one light. “I’ll hang out here in case she changes her mind.”
“Got it,” the guard responded, shaking Guero’s outstretched hand.
Guero had slipped a few bills into it—knowing these hired thugs expected “tips.” At least he’d chosen his costume wisely. The Sol II was a resort that still benefited from the protection of some of Cancún’s most notorious criminal outfits.
Putting the car in park, Guero’s eyes caught his nameplate in the mirror:
Hello, my name is Alejandro.
Any satisfaction in his disguise quickly melted away.
“What the fuck have I become?” he asked aloud.
Taking out his cell phone, he scanned his emails, deleting 90% of the bureaucratic bullshit that had become part of his daily routine.
“How the fuck did it get to this point?” Guero asked again, tossing the phone away in frustration.
He couldn’t believe the government had the balls to approach him—not with his record. Apparently, that had been the point. They needed someone to lend credibility to their operations. In true government style, they didn’t even do it themselves—they hired a consultant.
Enter Jack Cavanaugh of the Improve Group, a security consulting firm from Washington, D.C.
Letting the car idle, Guero thought back to his first interaction with Cavanaugh several months prior. He wished he could forget it—wished it had never happened.
The man had walked into his office unannounced, sporting a tight polo shirt and unpolished loafers. Guero initially took this as a sign of his low level of influence. That changed, however, as soon as he began talking.
“Nice office,” Cavanaugh said, in a tone that suggested he was trying hard to appear cordial. “I’m Jack Cavanaugh. They call you Guero, right?”
“My friends do, yes,” Guero replied, studying his guest coolly.
He excelled at dealing with surprises. It was why his boss, Rubén, valued him so much. Others were not so controlled.
His secretary, Alicia, burst into the room. Flustered, she smoothed her bottle-blonde hair. Outfitted in her favorite hot pink suit, she turned on the uninvited guest.
“Sir, this man—”
“It’s fine, Alicia,” Guero said in rapid Spanish.
Cavanaugh watched the exchange with interest. He spoke Spanish; that much was clear. Guero was adept at reading people. He had to be—his life depended on it. A wry look, a knowing glance—these were all signs danger might be lurking.
Alicia frowned, shooting daggers at Cavanaugh. Turning on her heel, she exited the room.
“Please,” Guero continued in his native tongue, directing Cavanaugh to the seating area.
Though the weather was mild, the air conditioning was on full blast. Despite the temperature, Guero noticed beads of sweat on Cavanaugh’s brow.
Not as cool as you appear, he thought.
“Hold on, there’s one more coming,” Cavanaugh said, looking expectantly at the door.
Guero heard a loud argument behind the polished wood—two women going at it in Spanish. After several moments, an annoyed-looking Alicia reentered, her round face flushed.
“A Miss Carrero,” she snapped, rolling her eyes as a woman pushed past her.
The uninvited guest had flawless chocolate skin, dramatically paired with an electric blue peplum dress. Despite the humidity, her waist-length hair was perfectly coiffed.
“This is my assistant, Sylvia Carrero. Sylvie, for short.”
“I’m not Black, I’m Puerto Rican—in case you’re wondering,” Sylvie said in Spanish, shaking Guero’s hand before taking a seat next to her employer.
“I wasn’t, in fact,” Guero said, raising an eyebrow at the odd coupling.
Cavanaugh leaned forward, eager to dispense with the pleasantries.
Guero, I’m part of the Improve Group. The Mexican government has contracted our services to help out with a few things.”
“We do security consulting,” Sylvie added.
Guero stared into her violet eyes, realizing she wore colored contact lenses. He glanced down at her equally vibrant platform shoes.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, looking up from his survey.
Cavanaugh sat back, his blue eyes shining under wrinkled folds.
“The government wants to ensure Cancún is safe for tourists.”
“Cancún is perfectly safe,” Guero said, hoping Leigh didn’t drop by unexpectedly.
She did not react well to surprises. In fact, she responded rather badly to them. Thinking about his girlfriend made him nervous. Before he met her, Guero wouldn’t have thought twice about shooting a man dead. Now, everything was different. He had someone to love—someone to protect.
“Well, you know, sometimes it takes an outsider to point out the flaws in a security approach,” Cavanaugh said, glancing at Sylvie before continuing. “Ms. Carrero and I come highly recommended from our security work—I can assure you of that.”
Sylvie gave a little snort as Cavanaugh continued.
“As soon as we arrived in Cancún, we kept hearing one name. Do you know whose name that was?”
“Mr. Cavanaugh, Sylvie—” Guero began.
Leaning forward, he unbuttoned his jacket, revealing the butt of his Glock.
Sylvie’s eyebrows shot up to the top of her forehead, but Cavanaugh didn’t move.
“Make your point. I have a resort to run,” Guero said.
“You live with your girlfriend, do you?” Cavanaugh asked.
“Sí,” Guero responded, controlling his expression.
“She is American?”
Taking out a manila envelope, Cavanaugh removed a photograph and placed it on the coffee table between them.
It was a picture of four girls taken at a sorority party. The young women clung to one another tightly, red cups in hand.
Guero knew their names by heart. He had lived their story—and now, the moment he had been dreading had finally come to pass.