On the Side of the Road

By Louis Romano and John Gojcaj

On a dirt road in Barranquilla, Colombia sometime in the
1970's a mother of baby twin boys is forced to make the
most difficult decision of her life. One of her sons grows to become a major part of the Cali Cartel drug trafficking world. The other boy's life remains a mystery until the drug dealer son begins searching for his lost twin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667870823

Louis Romano

Born in The Bronx in 1950 Romano's writing career began at age 58 with Fish Farm. Then INTERCESSION, a bloody revenge thriller, which earned him the title of 2014 Foreword Review Top Finalist. BESA, winning six international film awards for its screenplay (2012 Winner: NYLA Int. Film Festival; 2012 Winner: California Film Awards; Winner: Bloody Hero Int. Film Festival; 2013 Winner: Paradigm Script Pipeline; 2013 Winner: Best Script Honolulu Film Awards) has been translated into Albanian from which the word BESA is derived. It means the 'promise' or 'code'... an organized crime novel. Romano has 19 published novels.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Nearly every day in the Town of Soledad was the same. The sizzling sun beat down mercilessly upon this municipality in the northern Colombian department of Atlántico in the densely populated metropolitan area of Barranquilla. Temperatures rarely snuck under ninety degrees, accompanied by insufferable humidity. Rain was a rarity, if not miraculous.

A young woman stood on the side of a dirt road off the main two-lane Route 25 which ran past the frenetic Aeroporto International Ernesto Cortissoz de Soledad.

Maria Rodriguez-Garcia was carrying two handmade green wicker bassinets each bearing an infant boy.

The handles on the portable cribs had chafed Maria’s hands from hauling the babies for miles in the oppressive heat. She wore a worn but clean full-length yellow and green peasant dress. Her straw hat gave Maria some relief from the blazing sun but none from the breathless clamminess of the afternoon atmosphere. Around her thin neck was a small medallion of La Virgin de Chiquinquira, Our Lady of the Rosary, the patron saint of Colombia.

The identical twin boys were soundly sleeping under a straw coverlet that offered shade to their fair skin. Under their cotton baby tee shirts, each child wore a plain miraculous metal to bring special grace from the Virgin Mary.

The thunderous sounds of aircraft soaring and landing at the airport made Maria shutter. She worried that the noises—which came every few minutes—would startle and waken her sleeping babies.

Maria must have said two hundred Hail Marys as she walked from the bus that left her off on Route 25 to the designated meeting place. Now she asked the Blessed Mother for her holy help, her intercession to her son, El Senior, Jesus Christ.

Holy Mother, please tell me what I am doing is the right thing for my sons. I cannot bear another night, another day of the pain hunger brings to us.

In the sweltering distance, almost like a mirage, Maria squinted at the cloud of rapidly approaching yellowish road dust.

As the vehicle got close enough to fully reveal itself, Maria bit her lower lip so hard she could taste her blood. The twinge of hunger in her stomach turned into a pang of iron butterflies.

A faded two-tone tan 1973 Chevy Suburban truck pulled off the road near where Maria stood, kicking up stones and a plume of compacted hard pan. The dust and the blinding glare from the cracked windshield of the Suburban truck forced Maria to pull her straw hat below her eyes. She clenched the two bassinets together in one hand, turning her slim body away to protect her two sons from the tumult. She felt the acidy bile from her stomach lodge in her throat.

As the dust settled, Maria heard the door of the truck open and slam shut. She turned and tried to focus her eyes through the remaining road dust.

Hola, mami. Let’s get this done as quickly as possible. I have much to do today, came the raspy smoker’s voice of Juan-Jose. In his late thirties with a wrinkled and soiled ill-fitting white suit, the unshaven tour guide—as he liked to refer to himself—approached Maria.

Here, let me take a look, Juan-Jose blurted. His brownish nicotine fingers grabbed hold of the two bassinets as if simply containing some melons.

Which one to choose? What does it matter anyway? They’re paying for a baby boy. I’ll pick this one. Juan-Jose lifted the bassinet in his right hand, almost to Maria’s eye level.

Through her tears, Maria could hardly see the young American couple who had exited the truck and stood behind their baby broker.

Juan-Jose ignored Maria as he handed the whicker crib to the couple standing behind him.

Oh, Chad … he is beautiful. Just what we were told. He doesn’t even look Latino! the twenty-something woman announced.

In high school Spanish, the woman addressed Maria.

Thank you very much. We will take good care of him and love him forever.

The husband uttered a weak, Gracias.

Juan-Jose abruptly steered the new foster parents back to the still running Suburban.

Maria clutched the remaining bassinet to her chest. Juan-Carlos took a white envelope from inside his blue striped sear sucker jacket and tossed it toward Maria as if she could catch it with her trembling hand. The payment fell in front of the mother and child. The baby began to wail as if he knew his brother had been taken from him. Or perhaps he felt his mother’s anguish. On the other hand, maybe he wet himself.

The Chevy Suburban moved rapidly into a three-point turn, kicking up rocks and pebbles as it retreated into a cloud of dust.

Maria ignored the protesting baby as she fell to her knees, pleading with the Blessed Mother to guard over her lost baby. An Airbus A300 rose low from the airport above the sunbaked mother and child. Maria didn’t notice the sound.

She watched the SUV through her warm, salty tears until it faded away on the dirt road.

CHAPTER TWO

Carlos Torres worked the streets of Soledad and Barranquilla peddling cocaine for the infamous Cali cartel. He had been vying for a bigger job with the cartel for nearly three years. He envisioned himself as more than just a low-level drug dealer selling small bags of the product to friends, college students, and some well-to-do businessmen.

The big money, and the visibility to the Cali leaders, were found in distributing large volumes of kilos out of the port of Barranquilla. Boats and cargo ships to the Caribbean islands, planes flying to and from as far away as Miami and California and New York was where the real drug money was found. Simply put, more risk more reward.

The Cali bosses were testing Carlos in their downstream operations, but Carlos had his own mental timetable. He ran some weight from Cartagena to Barranquilla and Soledad, but it amounted to the proverbial pimple on the ass of the Cali cartel … and Carlos knew it.

With each trip to Cartagena, Carlos was endearing himself with Cali leadership.

His entire life, Carlos was used to getting his way. At six-feet-three-inches tall, with the build of an American football linebacker and a wicked scar on his usually unshaven face, Carlos was an imposing figure to most, if not all, his clients. If he was owed money, he would get paid on time or he would brutally crack heads and legs with tire irons, baseball bats, or anything within reach. No one, no matter how tough they were, would dare to step in front of Carlos and his career goals. In his early twenties, he’d done his first killing, one of at least a dozen, knifing to death his drug dealer boss in a dark alley of a slum in Soledad.

After the murder of his boss, Carlos became the main drug pusher of the Soledad barrio until he came to the attention of the main players in the Cali cartel. He moved up in the organization, impatiently waiting for the prize he dreamed of. Carlos wanted to be the el jefe of the port of Barranquilla for the Cali Cartel. That position would only be a stepping-stone to a seat at the big table in the rugged area, Valle del Cauca in Cali.

If I want something, it is mine, was Carlos’ mantra.

One more thing that Carlos obsessed over—for almost a year—was the affection of Maria Rodriquez-Garcia.

Almost ten years had passed since the painful and horrible event on the dirt road near the airport, and time had not healed Marias’s intense heartache. She lived a modest life in a small two-bedroom apartment in Soledad with her pride and joy, her ten-year-old son, Antonio, whom everyone called Tony. Maria kept the apartment spotless, and home cooked every meal for herself and her son, who took his meals on a small, metal table facing their prized portable television.

On a shelf in the tiny kitchen of their apartment, above the stainless-steel sink, Maria had built a system of wooden shelves with votive candles and black and crystal rosaries entwining statues of St. Antonio di Padua and St. Francesco di Assisi. Tony’s brother was named and baptized as Francesco.

The shrine was a constant reminder to Maria about what she thought of as her darkest moment, her most sinful act. There were other moments in her life she was not proud of, but selling her baby boy was the worst. Like anyone who’s experienced grief of any sort, life was a bit easier now, years later, to forget the desperate, impoverished life she and her twin sons had been living under.

Maria took communion daily, offering her prayers for both her sons, but especially for Francesco, the void in her soul.

Tony was never told by his devoted and often doting mother that he had a brother, never mind an identical twin whom she was forced give up for adoption. Maria had never forgiven herself for what she had done, and she could not live a single day if Tony found out about his twin and, God forbid, refused to forgive her.

As poorly as she was faring emotionally, the years had been kind to Maria physically. With her large, light green, olive-like eyes and her long, silky, pitch-black hair, perfect gleaming white teeth, and a Victoria’s Secret’s model figure, Maria turned more than a few heads as she moved about her day.

Maria had worked her way up from cashier to the assistant manager of the Olimpica supermarket. Routinely, Marie worked sixty to seventy hours each week to put food on the table for her and her son. In her scant free time, she volunteered at her church where Tony grew up playing with other children in the churchyard and adjoining soccer field.

There seemed to be an underlying sadness in Maria’s countenance. She was serious about her job, dedicated as a mother, and fervent to her religion and an ardent supporter of her church. She had never dated or been with a man since she sold her son to scratch her way out of the poverty and starvation.

The frown lines on Maria’s pretty, chiseled, high-cheekboned face seemed to relax a bit when Father Jorge Lopez was present. Frankly, Maria’s beaming smile would take the place of her normal dour expression when she was near the prelate.

Short, bespeckled, and the almost too thin, Father Lopez was born in Barcelona, Spain. He was educated in his native country and graduated from Pontifico Seminario Romano Maggiore, the Pontifical Roman Major Seminary in Rome. The Vatican assigned Father Lopez to Barranquilla for his love of the Holy Family, his caring demeanor, and his ability to teach English to the children in the region.

Tony became the priest’s star pupil with the enthusiastic help of Maria, who was also learning to speak and read English. Even more important to the widowed Maria, Father Lopez—who everyone called Padre Jorge—had become a father figure to Tony, who had been lacking a male figure in his life.

Carlos had admired and stalked Maria for several months after he saw her one day at the supermarket while she was filling in for a cashier who had become ill.

CHAPTER THREE

Look what we have here, Carlos blurted. He was waiting to pay for some bottles of domestic beer and three bags of potato chips. You really should be running for Miss Colombia, parading around in one of those tight one-piece bathing suits. What is your name, mami?

Maria barely glanced at Carlos without a change to her stern look. She didn’t reply as Carlos placed his items in front of her.

You can at least tell me your name, my love.

Again, Maria ignored the flirtation, focusing on scanning the bottles and snacks.

No matter. Sooner or later, you will soften up to me, and we will be going out together. Trust me on that, Carlos predicted.

That will be four-thousand pesos please, Maria said. She never looked at the creepy, sneering Carlos.

Is that all? Four thousand? Here is twenty-thousand, and the change is for you to keep.

No, thank you, Maria mumbled.

Buy something nice for yourself.

I will not accept this. She still never made eye contact.

Yes you will, my love, Carlos announced as he walked away from the register. He was smiling at Maria and making a kissing noise with his lips.

Maria dropped the change on the counter. She was angry but never showed it on her face.

Maybe a nice tight pair of jeans or a sexy blouse? Carlos called as he walked farther toward the store’s exit.

Feeling her face redden in embarrassment, Maria picked up the change and announced for the sake of the other customers in line, This will go to the poor box at the church. Which is exactly what she did with the sleezy drug dealer’s tip.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two days after Carlos first set eyes on Maria, making his first of many lurid advances, he showed up at the Olimpica supermarket at closing time.

Maria was locking the gates on the front of the store when she was startled by a deep voice from behind her.

Good evening, Maria.

Maria jumped as she turned to see the imposing figure of Carlos staring at her like a mental patient.

I found out your name from one of your colleagues. I also found out what time you got off work tonight. I even know that next Wednesday is your birthday. How about a few drinks and some dinner to celebrate, my dear Maria? Carlos uttered.

Excuse me. I’ve had a long day, and I am busy. I am not interested, Maria declared. She began walking away from her pursuer.

When you find out about me and the bread I make, you’ll change your mind.

Please leave me alone.

Maybe that’s your problem, my love. You have been alone too long. You probably forgot what a man feels like. I learned more than just your name from your colleague. Some pesos buy a lot of information. For example, you don’t go with men anymore. If you are a lesbian, that would be such a waste. But I don’t think so. At least I hope not.

Carlos hustled to Maria until he was walking beside her.

Please leave me alone, or I will call the police, Maria warned. She felt a pit in her stomach just talking to this man.

Ha! The police? The police all know me. I have them in my pocket, so they will laugh at you as I am, Carlos guffawed.

Maria kept her head down as she headed for the safety of the church and Padre Jorge. She wanted to go straight home to prepare supper for Tony but wouldn’t dare show this creep where she lived.

Carlos carried on his insistent flirting until he realized Maria was moving toward the sanctuary of the church.

A good Catholic girl, I see. I can tell you one thing. I don’t give up so easy. That silly, little priest can hear your confession after our first date. His hair will stand up from what he hears. Carlos laughed.

Maria ignored the comment as she opened the reddish wood main entrance door to the church.

See you soon, my love. Next time I will bring you flowers and a soccer ball for that son of yours, Carlos yelled.

Maria closed the heavy door behind her, placing her quivering back against it, trying hard not to cry.

***

Maria had rejected Carlos’ advances on several more occasions. The more she sent him away, the more Carlos wanted her. It was more than just wanting her. Carlos was craving her, obsessed with her. He was like a dead-eyed shark searching for its helpless prey. Nothing would stand between him and having Maria.

Thankfully, there was a one-week break in the harassment when Carlos went to Cartagena to resupply his thriving business. Maria was hoping against hope and praying that her tormentor was gone for good. She wouldn’t mention what was going on in her life with anyone. Not Padre Jorge, and certainly not the corrupt police.

***

One evening, Maria and Tony were watching an American television series in English, which they never missed. The Partridge Family was a program that Maria allowed the boy to watch although he wanted to see Hawaii Five-O. Maria felt, and rightfully so, that there was too much drugs and violence on police shows for her young son.

They laughed and chucked together at the Rated G Partridge Family. They also used a red, tattered English dictionary for words they didn’t fully understand. It was fun for mother and son to be together and use the show as a learning experience.

Occasionally, Padre Jorge would join them to have dinner and watch American television. This night was not one of those nights.

After the show was over, it was time for Tony to go to bed. Before Maria tucked her boy in, she watched over Tony as he knelt by his bed and said his prayers, which always included three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers. Tony would alternate the prayers in Spanish and English to practice his second language. Maria kissed her son’s forehead and headed for the kitchen to light the votive candles to St. Anthony and St. Francesco and say her own prayers. This was her nightly routine which she never wavered from nor skipped.

All the lights in the apartment were off, leaving the flickering candles to cast an almost eerie shadow on the two rosary-encrusted ceramic statues and the white plaster ceiling.

Maria made her way to her bedroom to say more prayers which helped her fall asleep. Ever since parting with her son, Francesco, on the deserted dirt road, Maria slept restlessly, tossing and turning throughout the night. This night promised to be no different.

Maria never heard Carlos Torres as he picked the lock of her front door and silently closed it behind him.

Carlos entered the tiny apartment, walking on the balls of his sneakered feet. He made his way to the first bedroom and saw a young boy curled up in his pajamas, hugging a small, square, blue, satin security blanket. Some kids used those blankets until they married. Carlos held his breath and slowly closed the bedroom door, not letting the doorknob engage to make any sound.

The candles helped to illuminate the ceiling between the kitchen and the second bedroom where his prey would be found. Carlos took a deep breath to help subdue his adrenalin, his heart beating thickly in his ears.

He was beginning to become aroused from the idea of seeing Maria in her bed. If he couldn’t have her willingly, he would force himself on her. Carlos convinced himself that once he entered her, Maria would enjoy him so much that she would gladly and enthusiastically be his any time he wanted.

Carlos entered the room, moving ever so slowly until his shins were touching the side of Maria’s bed. Maria restlessly rolled over, exposing the shoulder straps of her plain cotton nightgown. Seeing her black hair and the smooth olive skin on Maria’s shoulders got Carlos fully erect. He slowly pulled down his jogging pants, putting his knee on the single bed.

Maria felt the bed move and turned, thinking it was Tony who may have had a bad dream. Instead, she saw the outline of her own worst nightmare looming over her. As she opened her mouth to scream, Carlos wrapped his wide hand around her mouth and nose to suppress any noise. Maria couldn’t breathe.

With one hand on Maria’s mouth and one pulling down the single sheet that was covering her body, Carlos moved his head close to his victim’s ear. She could smell the tobacco and liquor and the sharp cologne that Carlos soaked himself with.

So, I suppose I wasn’t good enough for you, bitch. No woman rejects me like you have. None ever—so now I will show you what I’m about. If you scream, I will choke you to death, fuck your dead body, and go inside and slit your son’s throat like a baby pig. So now after I fuck you good, you will come back begging me for more.

Maria now knew it was Carlos, her persistent tormentor.

Carlos loosened his hold on the trembling Maria’s mouth, allowing her to breathe again.

Please don’t do this to me, Maria exclaimed.

Shut the fuck up. You will be grateful to me in a few minutes.

Carlos pulled the sheet off Maria, sending it to the bedroom floor. His knees straddled the terrified woman’s body. He pinned her hands over her head with his left hand and groped under Maria’s nightgown, feeling that she was not wearing panties. He inserted his middle finger inside her dry vagina, causing Maria to gasp in pain.

Carlos dropped his head down to Maria’s neck, licking her closed lips and nibbling at her soft skin. The smell of him nearly caused Maria to vomit. She swallowed hard, realizing that if she did throw up on him, he would likely kill her, and then Tony.

Please, I’m begging you in the Lord’s name. Please no, Maria pleaded.

Carlos slammed himself inside Maria completely, causing Maria to scream in pain.

There you see now, mami. Papi has a big dick, right? You should have put out for me months ago, Carlos uttered. He continued to pound away on his victim. Maria began to sob, trying to stifle her voice.

Tony awoke from the commotion he heard coming from his mother’s bedroom. He could hear his mom crying. The springs on her bed were squealing, like when Maria would allow him to jump and use the bed like a trampoline on occasion. The young boy peeked into the darkened room, seeing the outline of a man lying on and moving hurriedly on top of his mother. Carlos suddenly reached his orgasm and turned his head and sweaty face toward the door. The rapist’s mouth was open, and his eyes were closed when he made a moaning sound like a wounded animal.

Tony saw the man’s face in the dim candlelight for the first time. He had seen this man before, calling out to his mother in the street as she quickly walked past. Tony ran back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him and crawling into a fetal position under his bed covers. He sat there for some time and heard nothing more coming from his mother’s room.

Only then did Tony notice he had wet himself from fear.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tony heard the front door open and close. He ran to the window and got a better look at the man who’d attacked his mother. He watched as Carlos strutted away toward the next street where he would turn out of sight, smoke billowing from his mouth. A cigar perhaps. A joint or a cigarette. No matter to Tony. All that mattered to him now was vengeance.

Tony’s mind raced forward. One day I will be the man of this house. That day, I will kill that bastard. I swear this on everything I love.

The next morning, as every morning, Tony woke to the waft of freshly brewed coffee. He loved the aroma, but his mother wouldn’t allow him to take even a sip. A bouquet of cooking oatmeal and toast got Tony out of bed. It was Sunday, and Tony dressed himself for church. He would not mention what happened to Padre Jorge. That could only bring embarrassment to Maria and maybe even more trouble to both of them.

Maria was busy in the kitchen and greeted her son like any other day. They tried to speak English at home whenever possible.

Buenos dias. Good morning. I have some breakfast ready. You can eat now and receive communion at the children’s mass. Our Holy Father Paul in Rome just changed the rules. Do you realize when I was a girl, we could not eat or drink anything from the midnight before we received. Unless, of course, you were ill or elderly. I remember my stomach growling during holy mass. Some of the girls in my class would faint from low blood sugar. Today, it's different—like many things, Maria rambled. Her eyes were puffy from crying, but Carlos had left no visible marks or bruises.

Tony sat at the oval Formica dinette set. Maria’s aunt had died the year before and left her the solid white table with four red vinyl chairs with white piping on the seat back.

Nothing was said about the night before. Maria had no idea that Tony had been awake through her ordeal. Tony was not going to embarrass his mother or cause her more anguish.

At mass that morning, Padre Jorge announced to the congregation that he would be moving on to the Catedral Metropolitana María Reina de Barranquilla, the Queen Mary Cathedral. He was to be promoted to monsignor.

A week later, Maria and Tony moved to an apartment near that cathedral. Maria would have a good job with Padre Jorge as his assistant.

***

The years passed quickly. Tony