Rosalie Teller's House - Santo Padre
Rosalie awoke from a deep, peaceful, uninterrupted slumber for the first time in weeks; a feat, considering she hadn't dipped into her prescription for her rib pain yet. She smiled, despite the story of that night waking up along with her, prickling its way throughout her body. She rolled her head to the side; the sheets were disturbed, but he wasn't there. She pulled on her dressing gown, and wandered downstairs, towards the laughter and giggles. She paused in the doorway, and watched her kids regale Angel with tales of their weekend away.
"Oh, and Nero got this new baby llama called Gomez and he spat his breakfast out at Abel when he was goofing around and-and Nero was all haha, he's always got his eye on you! He knows when you're up to no good!" Grace giggled, "so, now he's Gomez the Guard Llama."
Angel chuckled heartily, and commiserated with Abel, "aww man, that must have been gnarly."
"Smelled so bad, you have no idea," Abel grumbled back.
"You wanna see him?" Grace asked, excitedly, "I have a picture here."
"Oh, is that him?" Angel asked, looking at the picture on the cellphone, "wait a minute, you're telling me that's a baby llama?! That thing's huge!"
"He is! I swear! He was just turning 4 months old when we were there."
"Hey, mom," Abel smiled up at her with a mouth full of pancakes.
Rosalie smiled back, "morning, baby."
Angel turned in his seat. He looked a little unsure, and he asked her, "sorry, did we wake you?"
Rosalie shook her head a little, and said, "no. The amazing smell did."
"We made pancakes, and it's not even someone's birthday!" Grace told her mother, happily.
Rosalie kissed the top of her head, and said, "well, aren't you lucky." She beckoned Angel back into the hallway, out of sight, and asked, "can I talk to you a minute?"
He immediately began explaining himself out there, whispering, "I just thought you could use the lie in, okay? Look, I'm sorry if I over-stepped-"
She caressed his face, lovingly, and then cut him off with a deep kiss. He was baffled at first, but then smiled back into his kiss.
Angel cleared his throat after they pulled away, and asked, "uh...what was that for?"
She smiled back at him, and shrugged, "pancakes."
"Okay. Sit yourself down. I'll get you some," Angel insisted.
CarnicerÃa Reyes - Santo Padre
Rosalie's face was buried in her phone, she didn't notice Jimenez sat outside the store, casually sifting through his newspaper.
"Crazy fucking times, eh," he said, and tossed the paper across the table.
Rosalie stopped, and dipped her gaze down to the front page, the retaliation Ezekiel had spoken of. She looked into the shop, and Felipe gave her a look. She exhaled slowly, and sat down with the Fed. She told him, "it's too early for a drop."
"Your medical report landed on my desk," Jimenez explained, "I was worried."
"That's really sweet."
He waited a futile beat, and then asked, "well?"
"Well, what?"
"I told you before playing dumb ain't a cute look on you."
"Worry and concern look adorable on you, K.J.," she whispered back, and then told him, "it was a fender bender. Not worth reporting, although it's good to know I so much as sneeze and it'll get back to you. HIPAA, who? Right?"
Felipe stepped outside, and rasped, "you checked in. She's fine."
"Hmm. She is," Jimenez said, with no effort to hide his skepticism, "what about our boy? A lot's going on on the other side of the fence. I want to make sure he's doing okay. I know it's a rough day."
"He's fine," Felipe drawled back, without relenting his deep stare.
"Hola, Felipe!" A woman smiled and Felipe held the door open for her, cordially, insisting he'd be right with her.
"Good. I'll stop worrying," Jimenez said, and patted the newspaper subtly, "you contact them. You can call 24/7. Tell him to use it. Soon."
They watched him disappear down the street, and Felipe told her to come inside once he'd seen off his customer, quickly; they needed to talk. Rosalie leafed through the newspaper and found a Happy Anniversary card tucked inside: For all the memories of the past, and future. Signed with a phone number.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath. Six years to the day.
The Tunnels
Angel, Coco and Ezekiel saw Adelita that morning. They'd connected with a buyer for her stolen heroin, she just needed to hold out a little while longer; Angel's fists had also connected with Pablo's face, repeatedly, and he felt marginally better for it. Ezekiel jumped at the chance to see Cristobal's condition with his own eyes; the boy had been well cared for; it didn't make leaving him behind any easier.
They walked back through the tunnels in pensive silence; but the sulk Ezekiel had on irked Angel. Gilly met them halfway, after checking on Creeper's condition. He told them Bishop was rallying the troops, their Vegas run got pushed up; he couldn't tell them why for sure.
Coco and Gilly climbed out of the tunnel, but Angel held Ezekiel back, "look, I know this thing with Emily's kid's gotta be hard for you."
"It's not for you?" Ezekiel snapped back.
"Of course it is, but you can't let it bleed into what we're doing," Angel scorned, and gestured down to his own reddened fists, "it'll come around. Big picture, yeah? Keep focused."
Ezekiel sighed heavily, and composed himself to admit, "sorry. Strange day, you know?"
Angel felt a wave of guilt rush over him and he apologized, sincerely, "shit, I'm sorry, man. I forgot."
"Doesn't matter," Ezekiel muttered, and climbed out of the hole.
"I didn't think," Angel offered, closing the hatch up behind them, "Mayans so far up my ass...and Rosalie scaring the shit outta me."
"It's okay," Ezekiel said, quickly, "and...hey, she wasn't in real danger that night with them. Wrong place, wrong time. That's all."
"They hurt her, Ezekiel."
"I know...I'm not excusing that, but you know what I mean. You don't have to worry. She's not a target."
"No...you don't know what I mean," Angel sighed and stopped. He ruffled through his hair, absent-mindedly. He leant against a battered old table and confided in his brother, "she scared the shit outta me because she didn't come to me. She didn't tell me about it. We were in a good place before, real steady ground. For a while there, I forgot it only takes one thing for her to get skittish and bolt."
"What's your deal? Church and State?"
Angel's brow peaked, and Ezekiel instantly panicked he'd said something he shouldn't have. But Angel didn't question how he knew that, and he explained, "she's had her fill of this life, of being an old lady. And it makes sense. She's been through a lot."
"So, are you together or not?"
Angel chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, "depends on the day of the week, little brother."
Rosalie Teller's House
The agent froze, his attention snapped to the sound of something small pinging against the back of his car. A second time. No coincidence. It was the back left side. He put his iPad down, and hid his firearm inside his jacket, ready to draw in an instant. He got out, looked around, no one was there. He bent down behind the car and picked up one of the pennies, thoroughly confused. The second he turned back around, he jumped and threw his hands up in the air.
"Who the hell are you?" Rosalie asked, over-enunciating every syllable.
He smirked back at the woman, and commended her, "that was a neat trick. Very cute. I'm going for my ID now."
Rosalie kept her finger hovering over the trigger, and snatched the ID out of the man's hands. She took one glance at the department and asked, "Jimenez sent you down here?"
"Get the gun out of my face, please, ma'am," he seethed.
"Don't ma'am me," Rosalie hit back, "answer the question or it's going to be down your fucking throat."
"Yeah. I'm working with Jimenez. He said you could be a little prickly. Kind of underplayed that part."
"What the hell is wrong with you guys?!" she whined, "Ezekiel has kept up his end of the deal. Doing everything he's told. You guys keep crawling up his ass, you're going to get him killed."
"This isn't just about him. Galindo's moving a shit-dump of men and money to the border like he's preparing for war. Jimenez is worried about retaliation. Just wants a set of eyes on you, until it settles.
Rosalie took the firearm out of his jacket, unloaded the clip, and returned the empty weapon to its owner. She told him, "well, I don't need a babysitter."
"Yeah, I get that," he grumbled back.
Rosalie watched the agent drive away and sat down on her front steps. She took out her phone and called Felipe, "you were right. He was watching the house...well, I told him what you said, verbatim. Haha. Yeah, thanks. No, I'll be fine. Thank you, Felipe. Buenas noches."
Galindo Mansion - Kitchen
Emily started pouring another glass of wine but Rosalie insisted she was fine, she didn't want one. Emily stared back at her and asked, "what? Are you pregnant or something? You never turn down Pinot Noir."
Rosalie tensed up, and told her, "God, no. I just have to be somewhere after this, I can't stay too long."
"You-you can't stay long?" Emily grumbled, quietly, and put the bottle back, "well, that's perfect."
"I have a client. I'm sorry. We'll organise a dinner soon or something," she said, awkwardly, "I just wanted to check in with you, see how you were doing."
"How do you think I'm doing?" Emily scorned back, all in one breath.
Rosalie still didn't bite. She told her, calmly, "I know exactly what you are going through, I know how much pain you're in, so I'm gonna let the attitude slide tonight."
Emily put her wine glass down heavily and complained, "your baby was taken by a deranged person who just so happened to drop her off with your family a few days later. You knew what you were dealing with! I know absolutely nothing!"
Rosalie scoffed back, stunned, and said, tersely, "okay, you're taking real artistic license with one of the worst days of my life. So, let's just forget about all that. Let's just take a seat, okay? Take a breather."
"No! I will not!" Emily barked back, "I'm not going to just sit on my hands like they all want me to, and do absolutely nothing, and simply hope that these impulsive, chaotic evil people that are so far out of touch with reality simply hand my son back to me in one piece! Did you do nothing? Hmm? Remind me? When your baby was snatched from your arms, what did you do?!"
"I exploded and I pushed everyone away and I made things worse."
"What do I do, then? Tell me what I should do," Emily asked, in a small voice.
Um, sleep with your spoken-for baby daddy. Lie to your father. Get kidnapped. Have a short break in an Irish castle. Threaten to shoot your grandfather, and some baby-farming nuns. Get two innocent people murdered, no wait, three, get a priest murdered too. Get married on the spot. Rosalie sighed heavily as the montage flickered through her mind. She huffed out a little laugh, and she went over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila. She poured them both a shot, and handed Emily's over. She clinked her glass and knocked it back. She poured another and told her, "get calm, and composed, and think."
The two women sat down, and they relived that night, they went over everything that they could remember, and everything that happened since. The paper-thin excuse of needing to be somewhere else went out the window early on; the tequila kept them pinned to their seats and then staggering around this room.
Rosalie paced the room and thought out loud, "remove yourself from the equation, and look objectively at the bigger picture, right? And you can see that what they are doing, it's a familiar read. Isn't it? They are taking a town over from the inside out. They position themselves as the savior. Start on the streets. Word of mouth. Whispers in the coffee shops, and the bars, at the school gates. Then...move on to social media, local press, rallies. They incite hate and rebellion with ease because it's already just below the surface. They shift the will of the broken. It doesn't take much. They get trust. They secure benefactors. They keep on recruiting."
"It sounds like you admire them, or something?" Emily grumbled into her shot glass.
"No. Not at all. I'm just saying, their play isn't new. More and more ground will be lost to the rebels because the cartel is basically giving it to them. The cartel is doing the work for them. Right? The cartel's most useful tool is power and fear; that's the way it's always been; that's what keeps them in control. And yet every time they use that on the rebels, it's turned against them. The rebels are solidified as saviors, their message is strengthened - Kill the devil. Save Mexico. You would have to dismantle their rhetoric. Sway public opinion in a different way. A smarter way. You have to turn them into the devil."
"And how exactly would you go about that?" Emily asked, scooping herself off the breakfast bar and really paying attention to her words.
Rosalie passed over the newspaper, gesturing to the headline introducing Fiesta de la Santa Madre.
"The feast in Santa Madre. Whole town will be there. Vandalize the church. Tag the walls. Scatter their propaganda around. As soon as the Galindos see it, they insert themselves. Publicly declare their outrage. Really sell it. Vow to repair all the damage," Rosalie explained, and then assured Emily, "and then Miguel will be their savior."
Felipe Reyes House - Living Room
"You want a beer?" Felipe asked, after welcoming Rosalie into his home that night.
"Hmm, better not, I'm...delicate today," she replied, and rubbed her head. Late night strategizing with Emily had cursed her entire day. She stifled a yawn, and asked, "what was so urgent? I've only got Alba til nine."
"Jimenez swung by earlier."
Her posture stiffened, and she whined, "is he for real?! Twice in so many days?"
"He spoke with EZ today too. He knows about Galindo's kid being taken," Felipe explained and watched her expression change, "he's pissed. You lied to him. More than once. You clocked a covert DA surveillance and almost took out one of his agents."
"Oh, hardly! Come on. I embarrassed him, at most."
"The kidnapping changed the game. They need more," Felipe explained, and gestured to sit down with him.
"What do you mean more?"
"Jimenez wants me to push EZ in the right direction...to convince him to flip Emily Thomas. That's the only thing keeping him and this deal alive."
"You can't make him do that," Rosalie said, flatly.
"I know," Felipe said and warned her, "he'll ask you to do the same thing, I'm sure. But he's not stupid. He'll push for you to flip her too. I don't know what your deal is with her, if she's really your friend, or if you're only looking out for her, for EZ's sake, but that's your own business. I'm just giving you a heads up."
Rosalie took a beat to absorb the fact the ground was shifting beneath them and then asked him, "you really think I'd do that?"
"No," he said, sincerely.
She thought about it, her friendship with Emily, and then thought out loud, "I'm the one who introduced her to Miguel, not intentionally, but still. And I'm the one chipping away at her perfect life. It's guilt, Felipe. At first, back in the day, yeah, I was just looking out for her because EZ asked me to, but now...now I don't have a coherent answer...it's like I'm watching my own life play out before me, again, like I'm screaming at the stupid girl in the horror movie. She's about to go down into the basement, and she can't hear me screaming at the TV. That's the deal with me and Emily."
"Felipe Reyes didn't exist before 1985," Felipe told her, seemingly randomly, "same year he got married. No birth records, addresses, schooling. Not a trace. The only information Jimenez could dig up was a social security number…belonged to a woman from El Paso. She died in 1985. He has a buddy who works for Mexico's general prosecutor. Could have the PNR do a facial recognition search."
"That's not my area of expertise," Rosalie said.
"I don't need a lawyer."
"Kinda sounds like you do."
"I need us all on the same page. No surprises. Only way this works."
"I'm going to take a wild guess, your sons don't know about any of that."
"Correct."
"I'll take that beer, now."