La Mujer de Lalo (Lalo's Woman)

El hombre

As he washed his face and looked into the mirror in front of him, he could see that time was fast catching up with him. Not that he was into good looks only, but hey, good looks take you a long way.

Clad in a dark green shirt, dark jeans and a cowboy buckled leather belt, he turned towards the bed. It was messed up, indicating that he had spent the night with some girl who was nowhere to be found. His head pounded hard.

If there are two things that Eduardo Salamanca hates, it's not drinking enough to celebrate and the other is a hangover. Though he generally avoids drinking especially during his work, he does have an immense control over every habit of his be it drinking, smoking, drugs or even women. He never goes beyond what he considers as his safe zone.

But this time it was different.

Work in Chihuahua was just fine. Products freely moved north of the border and Dollar bills swiftly moved south of the border. But it wasn't a minor hiccup in business. No. It was a hiccup in la familia.

The Salamancas were well known throughout Mexico as one of the prominent and powerful families that controlled drug operations in Mexico and America. They were respected and feared everywhere.

Eduardo, or Lalo as his close ones fondly know him as, is the youngest Don in the Mexican cartel. He became a capo 6 years back at just the age of 38. All the other Dons were much older. He had always looked up to his Tío from his childhood. Tío Hector had practically raised him. Lalo's mother was Tío Hector's favorite sister. He always had an extra affection towards her Lalo as well. Lalo too returned the same affection towards his uncle.

As Lalo closed his eyes, he could feel the wetness growing in his eyes. But he quickly made it go away by quickly batting away the tears. He remembered the fond memories with his Tío right here, in his hometown Chihuahua.

Hector gave Little Lalo, his first beer, his first gun, taught him to handle each weaponary. The bond this duo shared was unreal. Hence the news of Hector's paralysis hit him the worse. The grande hombre, brought down to a wheelchair always in need of an attender even to help him shit. Though he had a history of heart trouble, he was regularly taking his medicina. No one had expected this to happen. The old man could no longer move any part of his body, expect his eyes, mouth and right index finger.

Lalo had to go north of the border, to Albuquerque, United States of America and get the reins back into his family's hands. He had already packed his bags, all that was left to do be put in the bag was a passport which read "Jorge de Guzman" and a small box wrapped up with ribbons on top. He ever so lightly patted down his thick black hair after running his fingers though them. Few stands of thick grey hair covered his forehead.

He carried the duffle bag and walked away.