In April of 1993, Carlos Dominquez botched to kill his boss Raphael Geraldo who was running three big cartel operatives through Juarez in Mexican boarder to the United States. Dominquez, second in charge, was in dire terms with his boss. Unfortunately, in the attempt, a holidaymaking couple got killed outside the hotel in Cancun. Carlos Dominquez was fearless in his method of ‘bullets or pesos’ – applied daunting tactics to kill a big shot.
So the Colombian gang tried to eliminate him – Raphael Geraldo’s links to the Caribbean was sturdy. He requested his close lobbyists, hotelier Lazaro Gutierrez, to purge Dominquez and his operation in Cancun. And Gutierrez paid one and half million dollars to Cerro to track him down. With three straight hits, Dominquez was in trouble. In November, Dominquez and his wife nearly escaped death, miraculously saved by El Metro – his bodyguard.
Dominquez maintained busy movement around the Caribbean. He paid interest in buying small aircrafts which he used to fly across the boarder and crash into US soil after the pilot and drug parachuted off. Flights manoeuvred on commercial routes following airlines to evade detection. Flight activities were very significant in the Cancun territory where he was frequently located. It was increasingly vital to maintain his connection to the area intact but he was followed in Santiago, Puerto Rico, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro and almost everywhere, by Cerro’s men.
Dominquez arranged a man from Oaxaca who was introduced by El Metro to remove the shadow of Gutierrez Cartel from his hair.
Lazaro Gutierrez controlled one of the smartest logistical operations south of the boarder, precisely in the Caribbean – hotels, yachting clubs, drug smuggling, and money laundering, connected to major operatives like those of Raphael Geraldo, the Colombian, but his enterprise was notably marred by Operation Casablanca carried out by the US and ongoing.
The man from Oaxaca got nothing but a name – Pedro. His stay was modest in La Casa de Los Sabores, a mile and a drive by the streams and waterfalls from Rio Grijalva in downtown Villahermosa. He was a thin man, red and brown, with long hair. He wore a poncho with rebozo and sombrero, drove a red-coloured Dakota. El Metro visited him in the New Year and paid him money and a gun and three months to wipe off Cerro Gonzalez and Lazaro Gutierrez. Cerro was born in Villahermosa in Tabasco. This town happened to be also the birthplace of El Metro. Cerro’s mother was living here and El Metro decided that Pedro should start here.
A month later, in February 1994, Pedro parked his truck outside the entrance to Olmeca Plaza Hotel. Climbed down and lit a cigarro with his Zippo, picked a bouquet of flowers of the species Cattleya Violacea and entered the lobby. Pedro walked across to the girl at the counter and handed a card with the bouquet of flowers. “Your Valentine is in the card.” Pedro said and turned away.
She smiled, “Gracias,” smelt the orchids closing her eyes and twitching lips. Monica felt hands under her skirt. She bashed at his arm with the bunch of orchids sending the flowers scattering to the floor.
“Monica! What do you mean by that?” Sanchez asked baffled.
She eyed at him coldly, “Dirty! You snatch me!”
“Snatch you? What are you talking about? Why did you hit me?”
She stared fiercely and he stared back. Sanchez was confused. Monica was sure he snatched her under the skirt. That was dirty and worse that he pretended he knew nothing.
Outside the entrance, Pedro climbed his truck and drove off, followed by Benito Monos – another of El Metro’s men set on trail.
Monica Cruz was nineteen, working at Olmeca Plaza as a receptionist. She climbed down at La Casa de Los Sabores around five in the afternoon. She asked for Pedro and the landlady took her to the back garden – a congested backyard full of spiky trees, pot plants, ferns and flora, wicker fences and trees hanging over. This backyard café set for six tables in orange clad and stiff chairs around them. Two tables were occupied by some outsiders. She wore a black pinafore. Coffee was served and the lady told that Pedro would come down to meet her in the garden.
Few minutes later, Monica caught sight of a cat over the low-hanging roof of the landlady’s bungalow. It rattled the cup in her hand. The cat jumped on her head suddenly and ran off behind a fence. Monica shrieked jumping from the chair full of fright. “What am I doing? Something’s wrong here!”
Everyone watched with attention. She checked the card nervously. Picked her purse and hurried to go. At that moment she saw Pedro standing on the balcony smoking his cigarro. She stared at him and stepped her way through the pot plants of spiky leaves and ferns to the house. It was a two-storey residence and Pedro kept a room upstairs. Monica was drawn to him as if she was under a hypnotic influence.
Pedro held the door open for her to enter. He was a man of few words. The room lit dimly and quiet, furnished with a bed neatly covered with a white cotton blanket. Pedro chewed the end of his cigarro facing the window watching the roadside houses painted in bright colours. Monica smelt something like vanilla. She felt a bit drowsy and blurry. In a moment, she drifted to the door but it was locked. She slipped slowly to the floor unconscious. Pedro helped her to the bed. He removed a picture of Saint Peter on the wall and his clothes.
Her dress was removed. He lit nineteen candles and placed them on the mattress around her body. He arranged hundreds of orchids in line with the candles. He drew patterns of skulls and pyramids on her naked flesh, using a felt pen and ink of ashes and bones. He sat down on the floor beside her heels and meditated through the night until by dawn when he gave the Kiss of Death.
Benito Monos counted the hours since she went in but the girl did not come out. Benito belonged to the neighbourhood and he occasionally maintained track of Pedro since he felt nothing peculiar to report. He asked a girl keeping the house of Los Sabores and found it was only a Pedro’s girlfriend. She knew the bed was never slept since he checked in but that night it was different – the blanket was turned. Benito Monos could think of few places Pedro had gone. He could never forget that brief stop at Olmeca Plaza. Soon he learnt Monica Cruz was working there. He reported to a number given by El Metro.
When he hung up the telephone and turned to leave the booth, he noticed a topless woman standing in front of him. She got her black hair slumped over the breasts and gilded in gold and silver. It was the ghost of Frida Kahlo and she floated towards him as if her legs were paralysed. She reached close enough to step on his shadow and rapidly vanished removing his shadow. He started to bleed from his nostrils right there.
Three days later, he died in Hospital de Salud Mental suffering bleeding from his brains. Dominquez arranged disposal of Pedro and tracked Monica Cruz until the girl fell off interest. The Oaxaca man was killed in La Casa de Los Sabores and these incidents prompted Cerro Gonzalez to find out about the dead man – Pedro.
Cerro consulted a Temazcal practitioner who said that the Oaxaca man applied the magic of orquidea to raise the spirit of Anzala Fahsha. A girl Cerro could not tell and should not live. He took a dip in Sweat Bath for a curative purification of his mind and soul just to find a curse of a ghost after his blood. Only the Oaxaca man knew who she was. The practitioner gave a mascot to wear saying, “Whoever she is, wherever she lives, she follows you.” It was a skull obtained from the Day of the Death according to the beliefs of the indigenous Nahua people for the Symbol of Life.
Monica Cruz met a friend, Noria Seco, working at Rancho Inn on Boulevard Ruiz Cortinez, half a mile from La Venta Museum. Two girls sat talking in an open cafeteria. It was a Saturday night. Sightseers were plenty in the area with bubbling kids. “I am having a strange feeling since I met Pedro.” Monica said, “He came in one day and gave me some orchids with a card. I went to the address. Then he gave me these pictures and told me to find them. Sometimes I feel I can tell where they are and what’s on your mind.”
No address appeared on any of the three cards but handwritten names on the back of the snaps; Lazaro Gutierrez, Cerro Gonzalez and Carlos Dominquez.
“That’s voodoo.” Noria said, “You must find a cure.” She picked a photograph and lit a light to it.
“Yo! Are you crazy?” cried Monica Cruz quickly snatching the other two cards. It was the photograph of Gonzalez that Noria burnt. “Do you think I am spelled? Pedro is dead. I met him only once. There’s no one who can stop me now from seeing these guys.”
“Why do you want to see them?” asked Noria.
“That’s the strange thing I don’t know. I cannot drive them off my mind, just like I went to Los Sabores the other day. You know, I saw a guy trailing me and I knew he was following. I passed him and then my mind told me he’s watching me. I felt his brain resonant and clear to me what’s going inside him. I turned to look at him. He’s a guy I never seen before.”
“Cut that talk! You’re boring, Monica! Let’s talk something else.”
“I know a big secret. Sanchez is dating my boss. She’s got a husband.” Sanchez was the receptionist on duty with her. “That’s their affair.”
Some music aired on a loudspeaker in the dusk amplified to the course of wind. “Pajarillo barranqueño! Qué bonitos ojos tienes! Lástima que tengan dueño.”
Monica and Noria bought ice-creams, enjoying every moment like good friends. Whiskery muchachos roller skated on the pavements under the naked colour bulbs flickering in the dark corners. Two girls climbed a flight of steps towards Rancho Inn when Monica Cruz felt stirred of an intruder. “Noria, I guess we turn back! I have a feeling someone is following. There is somebody here.” It could be just any cliff-hanging bird. The girls went down the steps in search of the intruder.
Antonio Ojo was not actually following but he was indolently hanging around quite coincidentally. In an hour that passed Noria felt her eyes blurry and could not focus on anything around. There was a moment she thought Monica was vanishing while standing next to her. Monica wore a red top and a pair of white buckskin pants. “Hang on! What’s going around me?” Firecrackers burst on the street corner.
“We are closing up. Come faster!” cried Monica.
“Where are you?” asked Noria Seco.
“There!” she pointed to a thickset man wearing a hat and long moustache, leaning on a canteen counter for a beer. “That’s him, that’s the guy following me. I got an idea, let’s buy some popcorn.” The girls reached the counter and Ojo watched bit surprised to come across Monica coincidentally.
Soon Ojo followed them. It wasn’t for the best interest of Dominquez but he preferred to do so out of curiosity. A moment later he lost Monica. She vanished in thin air. Ojo hurried his steps behind Noria Seco who seemed to be talking to someone standing next to her as if Monica was there. “With whom are you talking?”
Noria replied, “Nobody!”
“Where’s the girl with you?”
“Are you blind? She’s right here.” Noria pointed to a cone of popcorns hanging in midair. Monica Cruz was visible to Noria and so she got no idea of what was happening to Ojo.
Ojo dropped his jaw and the beer fell from his hand spilling to the ground in a fizz. Initially he saw the popcorns hanging in midair. In the next moment he saw a topless woman wearing a black wrap floating beside Noria who turned to go. Antonio Ojo could not see her face because the girls headed away. He got no nerves to take another look. That was exactly what Benito Monos described while in hospital bed.
Ojo hurried to the church on Av. F. J. Mina and summoned a father he knew well. The priest told him, “That spirit belongs to Anzala Fahsha. She rises to the magic of orchids. I feel no prone danger since you saw her facing the opposite direction. You keep this card of Virgin Mary.” With some sacred water, Ojo got away.
Antonio Ojo was one of the narcotraficantes. He never feared heights. His third run that year took off from Chipepté. Ojo took a bearing on heading 309 and climbed 3000 feet to cruise on an international course to KSPX Houston from MDHE Santo Domingo. On a one-engine Cessna C172SP Skyhawk at 180 kph, his aircraft was low on fuel – it was a one way trip. At that point he realised he was not flying alone. A backseat of the four-seat cabin was occupied by the topless woman wearing gold and silver. His flight dipped out of control, nose-diving steeply and a stalling siren ringing somewhere, his might behind the column, he glanced at the woman who sat unflustered – her eyes white.
When the aircraft yawed to drop its tail in the spin, Ojo opened the emergency exit and jumped out pulling the ripcord. Hanging onto his harness, he saw the aircraft skim on the ocean without a light. Antonio Ojo was picked by a US coastguard vessel.
Carlos Dominquez heard his man was missing. Precisely under US custody in Tampa Bay but he didn’t know the actual reason why he fell. Antonio Ojo passed vital information about Dominquez to US coastguard and that was the reason why he became fugitive. Ojo’s story passed through Interpol nearly after two months. By then it was a bit late. When Mexican Police checked at Olmeca Plaza, the girl in question had left a week ago. Soon it became clear that Monica Cruz boarded a plane from Carlas A. Raviroza Airport to Cancun on the 21st of April. As for the records, she got nothing that the police could hold her up but a measly story and a tip off.
On the mini golf course behind Hilton Cancun, Lazaro Gutierrez shot into the trees way off the grass. He cleared some twigs around and straightened to find a topless woman standing on the turf six yards away. He glanced twice and continued to play. His shot took the ball in air and her eyes traced it right into the hole and without a single bump on the ground. Gutierrez cheered unbelievably. His eyes caught the woman again. She was standing a good foot above ground. He focused on her for a long moment and suddenly – she vanished.
The guests dined on lobsters and wines in the comfort of Rosmarinus Restaurant at Royal Solaris. On the beach it was a Caribbean Night and barbeque served on grills under a million stars and the Scorpio Moon of the 25th April. Cerro Gonzalez came across a pretty girl in a white suit with an orchid on her hair. “Hello, honey! Allow me to introduce myself, Cerro,” he offered his big hand.
“I’m Monica,” replied the girl.
“Are you staying with us?”
“I am staying in the city. I come down here for the beach.”
“There you are! You’re not adequately dressed for the occasion.”
“If you may insist, I can open up the robe.”
He smiled, “We got a big party here, dignitaries for a NAFTA Seminar.” They took a walk by the piscina. Tequila topped to the neck. Cerro told that the meeting would go on for a week. “All middleclass businessmen gathered here in Cancun. The seminar is here at Solaris. I’ll be free for a day, if you may join fishing.”
Cerro spent the night with Monica Cruz. He was staying on the fifth floor in a deluxe room with a superb view of the Caribbean Sea. It was awfully hot and the air-conditioning seemed not to work properly. Sweat in tiny bubbles stirred on her shoulders dripping down her spine. She patted his chest with a towel. “Why do you wear this?” she asked picking the metal piece engrossed with a skull on a heavy chain around his neck.
“It protects me from evil. Evil that comes from Anzala Fahsha.”
“Who is Anzala Fahsha?”
“She walks like an angel, talks like an angel. She even looks like an angel but she comes in disguise of a human. Her spirit rises in someone’s body and soul.”
“What does she do?”
“She brings death.”
Monica knew then she was messing with one of those three guys in the photographs. Cerro was the one that Noria burnt. She decided to spurn the story about the Oaxaca man. She was disturbed to know that a spirit rising in her body would bring death to these men. But then she wasn’t undergoing a transition oddly this time to see those strange ornaments of gold and silver on her body or to read his mind. She climbed down from bed.
In the morning light they went fishing. Cerro’s boat was a Fairline Targa 47 with Twin Diesel 425 Hp Caterpillars. They left from Solaris Marina and explored the Nichupté Lagoon, spent the entire morning on white sandy shores.
She enjoyed swimming and played volley after lunch in Restaurante Las Fuentes – took a brief nap on the beach. She lay watching the surfers, swimmers and jet-skiers. She wore a white bikini top and bottom and in a moment the sun tanned her brown.
It was late afternoon. She left her clothes in his room at the Royal Tower.
That moment one of the NAFTA delegates from Sao Paulo, Andrea Corzo and his beautiful wife climbed one of those slow elevators to the sixth floor at Royal Solaris to their suite. He spent the day in the seminar as a business representative of distillers from Brazil. His wife spent the day on a Kukulcan Excursion and Cancun City Visit arranged for the spouses. He was seventy with white hair and one of the associates of Gutierrez. They walked into their suite to find a woman standing there facing a window to the sea. She was wearing an orange gown that belonged to Mrs Corzo. Her hair black and fell over shoulders to her midriff. She walked pass them in slow motion, that gown rippled below hips as if she got no solid legs. She wore golden chains on her neck and wrists. Her figure drifted to the end of the corridor and vanished while the couple watched. Corzos entered to find their jewellery box left open on the table. All the stones were stolen.
These hotels always advised to leave valuables in the safety deposit lockers at the Front Desk. Roberta Corzo, like anybody else, kept some of her jewellery to wear for the evenings. She called the Front Office and reported of the theft.
Within seconds, security was alerted to search for a woman with a description rather complicated – a floating figure that vanished in air.
Monica woke up from sleep to find an orange gown and jewellery on her body. She glanced around – people got dispersed and bathers lessening. She quickly stepped behind the Mini Club and the Tennis Court to the parking area. She removed that gown and wrapped the jewels in it. She reached the Bus Stop. Two security guards reached the stand, not necessarily searching for the woman, but they always did appear. She emerged in bikini and the buses were packing people. She climbed one and fled. Halfway up the Kukulcan Pass she saw the golden necklace around her neck and the silver girdle on her hips, bangles and anklets too. A black armband on her left biceps and an orchid on her hair. Passengers on the bus saw her wearing them.
She climbed down at Pino Bus Stop and walked quickly down Uxmal Avenue in thong and bra, gold and silver on her body – arrived Bonampak at six-thirty.
Her lodge was located in Cazon Square. Monica stepped into the narrow passage of La Mirilla. It was a two-storey house to-let lit dimly in an orange glow. Her room was located on the ground floor at the end of the cross-corridor that stood open without doors.
She remembered that the room key was in her purse left in Cerro’s room. She clutched the handle and shook it. Luca heard the clunks. He came out of the tall glass window and glanced into the cross-corridor just in time to see her walk into the bedroom but the things she carried hit somewhere and some jewels scattered to the stone slab floor. He took strides to reach the door. He was only a yard away when Monica walked out of the closed door.
She saw him, “Hello, Luca! I lost my room key on the beach. Can I have a double key?”
“I thought you walked out that door!” he asked baffled.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” She sat on heels to pick the ornaments.
Luca Hernandez was only fourteen. He returned quickly with a double key and opened the door for her. “You’re wearing beautiful chains.”
“Thank you,” Monica returned and entered the little bedroom. Reached the bath and turned the tap on to fill the tub still holding the orange gown in one hand. She spread the jewellery on the bed.
Luca reached the rear house. It was pretty dark. He was excited to see her wearing gold and silver. Luca nursed a peephole in almost every room at La Mirilla. He saw the jewellery placed on the bed; diamonds, rings, a pearl necklace, bangles, brooches and earrings. She sat on the mattress scrutinizing those gems against the dim light on the wall. The silver girdle on her hips weighed two silver lockets.
She reached an arm behind and undid the bra – his excitement peaked. She was still wearing the chains. She walked that door wearing them. Monica got up from bed and posed at an angle facing Luca. She tucked her thumbs under the straps of the white panties and drew them down below knees – his excitement switched out fast as lightning. She wasn’t standing there anymore – she vanished.
Luca’s face moistened. He observed the jewels and the empty room. He saw a towel unfurl on its own and moving to the bathroom. Monica appeared a minute later wrapped in towel. The night grew hot. He backed away quietly. He could hardly believe it but he could not ask anybody for an explanation because he peeked. An hour later, she came to the lobby to leave the stones in the safety locker kept by the landlord.
Monica thumbed a cab on the road and asked the driver to drop her at Royal Solaris Caribe. The taxi pulled up in front of the hotel at 08:12 pm. She went up to the reception and asked for Cerro. He was not in the room, probably at the restaurant, but fifth floor room service had collected her clothes to be returned to her if she called. She was waiting in the lobby when Andrea Corzo and his wife arrived with the Hotel Manager, still looking for the lost treasure.
Monica received her garments in a laundry bag. She checked her purse and key in order. Everything was noted including an ID she used at Olmeca Plaza and the key attached to a metal disc with the words ‘La Mirilla’ and a hole in the middle. The thievery obligated to carry out methodical checking that night. She left Solaris and took a bus to the city.
Luca knew that Monica slept a good half of the day. In the afternoon, she went to Mexicana Airlines and Aeromexico Airlines. Her next stop was at the banks on Avenida Tulum. She did money transfers to six different accounts in Sao Paulo. It was a lot of money. The cashier at the counter remembered well; Monica Cruz wearing black and lace hot pants and a red colour poncho – the gold and silver hidden under and a white sombrero. She did shopping on Uxmal Avenue and spent the night in a club on Margaritas.
NAFTA Seminar ended on 29th Friday. Delegates booked in Cancun hotels would spend a weekend on the beach. Among them Gutierrez got somewhat a different plan. He was supposed to join farewell dinner at Royal Solaris Caribe and he would leave straight to the airport for La Paz.
Monica came to the lobby at five to return her room key. She said that someone invited her to join the farewell dinner at Royal Solaris. She carried a large bag. She wore a sleeveless brown top and a black wrap split in half by the rear that exposed all white of her right leg when she walked. She wore chains and an armband on her left biceps. The silver lockets glittered on her hips. The golden necklace reached her navel and the orchid on her hair scented like perfume. She was dressed like a manjé in kandeki and libas.
At the end of the day there was a mild breeze coming in from the sea. Sunbathers evacuated early to their quarters. Roberta Corzo and some other spouses of the delegations climbed from the beach around six. She saw a girl on the beach wearing a golden necklace that reached her navel. The black wrap blew to the wind to reveal nudity. A weight of a white colour bag on her shoulder ploughed her footsteps deep into the sand. It was probably a fishing rod tucked under one arm and wrapped in a polythene bag. Roberta had seen this girl somewhere before. She remembered seeing the girl with Cerro few nights ago.
Lazaro Gutierrez sat with two bodyguards by the two swimming pools in Hilton Cancun. This whole place was empty, reddish glows of lights around and the bluish pools hurt his eyes. He kept patting his head to comb down from the wind but he got no hair. They were counting on minutes to drop in at Royal Solaris and join the dinner at eight o’clock.
Monica sat by a distant table by herself in deep brown top and black skirt. She grew camouflaged with the palms and the lights. Francesco, the waiter, arrived with her order of a michelada. He was a step behind her when she removed the brown top lifting arms to get rid of it.
“Are you comfortable here?” Francesco asked. “A weather front is moving in.”
“Hi!” she sneered shockingly with a wink, “I feel fine here.” She undid the zipper of the white bag on the ground and put the shirt in. A wrapping in laundry bag lay on the table. He left her serving the beer and sauces.
His bar stood a distance beyond the pavilions. Francesco watched her. The lights did not help much to make her figure clearly but the luminous white bag was there obviously. She was missing then for a moment. He got busy with another cocktail shake.
Jose and Ramirez were the bodyguards seated with Gutierrez. It was Jose who saw it first – something that moved below the palm leaves. He exclaimed, “What the hell is that?”
Their eyes caught sight of a gun hanging in air and floating towards the table. Jose jumped up from the chair. The gun aimed at Gutierrez. Suddenly, the shot, carried with the wind, echoed in the ears of the guests at the hotel. Jose and Ramirez held their hands up as if they were held at gunpoint but the rifle dropped to the ground. The bodyguards quickly attended to their boss whose brains were spilt and blood spread to the palms fifteen feet away. Lazaro Gutierrez died instantly.
Francesco was to reach them first. The guests rushed to the crime scene. In seconds, the pools lit up with bright lights spotting every face in the area.
Monica picked another bag from the beachside and climbed Kukulcan Pass. Thumbed a taxicab and she was moving to the city centre before Cancun Police on Kukulcan Pass arrived at the scene. Shortly, Cerro and others from Royal Solaris reached Hilton. The weapon was a Winchester 22LR Tribute rifle and it belonged to Cerro Gonzalez. It was locked in his Fairline Targa.
Francesco saw a polythene bag blown in air. He noticed the wrap on the table where the girl sat. She was no longer there but the white bag still stood untouched. The wrap was no more on her table so it was in air. He ran after the drifting bag and fetched the polythene bag from Royal Solaris.
Instantly, Cerro discovered it got to be Monica Cruz – the uptown girl.
Monica Cruz did not return to La Mirilla. When the driver stopped in front of Aeromexico Airlines she requested, he found the backseat empty. He didn’t know how she slipped away while his car was moving.
Meanwhile, Mexican Police was looking for the girl coordinated by Villahermosa but the search warning was green as to a circular passed from Interpol. Now it turned suddenly red on priority and the Cancun Police were after her too. By morning it was clear that Monica had taken two flights, one to La Paz on which Gutierrez was booked to fly and another to Cuba. She checked in at two of the counters and obtained boarding passes at two different gates under an hour but Monica Cruz had not arrived in any of the destinations.
Front Desk at Royal Solaris came with the list of items she picked four days ago. The key of La Mirilla was noted. Police rushed to the lodge in Cazon Square. It was reported that she was last seen on 29th Friday at 5:00 pm. There was not much left in room No. 10 where she stayed other than potential DNA samples she would carelessly spill everywhere.
Noria Seco read in the papers that Monica Cruz was wanted by the police.
Three days later, Interpol offices were receiving information about Monica Cruz. When Interpol referred to her bank status, her account filled a million dollars in seven days. Surprisingly, those payments were made by credit card holders staying at Cancun hotels during the NAFTA Conference.
She did money transfers from Banco de Mexico Branch in Cancun to six other accounts of the delegates who got accounts in Banco Real in Brazil. This money – a million dollars – was withdrawn in cash under twelve hours of Monica’s disappearance. She stole their credit cards and used Automated Teller Machines in Brazil to withdraw cash from the accounts she transferred stolen money from other credit cards.
It gave new insight to explain her ability to use power to manipulate with electronic machines to bypass security codes and access to data or cash in the ATM’s. Investigators tried to describe a hypothetic claim of her paranormal behaviour to get invisible as mentioned by a handful of people who saw it like Luca in La Mirilla, the Corzos at Royal Solaris, the taxi driver or Antonio Ojo in US custody.
Carlos Dominquez slipped away to Santiago or Buenos Aires. He managed to escape many times before from the Mexican Police. Once it was a narrow escape while he was playing pool at a friend’s house in Buenos Aires. Three years later, Dominquez slipped into Mexico from Cuba. On 4th July 1997, he died on an operation table while undergoing plastic surgery on his face. The nurse girl, Rose Ocssana, said a woman appeared who pretended to be his sister. She wore a single white outfit and an orchid on her hair. Standing next to his bed, she removed the white cloak to expose no physical structure to hold the robe. It dropped on the floor. Rose realised Dominquez was dead.
The doctor who performed surgery on Carlos Dominquez was killed afterwards by El Metro.
On the 1st November in 1997, Cerro Gonzalez, originally from the Nahua descent, tolled the bells at his mother’s home in Villahermosa to praise El Día de Los Muertos.
Luca was eighteen. His peep advanced a step in bugging the rooms with electronic devices, microphones and cameras. Each time Luca taped the empty room of No. 10 at La Mirilla where Monica Cruz stayed, he got a voice on tape, “Monica…watching you…Luca!”