She spoke in a whisper, obviously relishing the chance to gossip despite her mock secretiveness. “Jackie thinks Leonora is the mole.”
“The mole?”
“Yeah. Someone’s been talking to cops, telling them every little thing that’s going on here.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“I’m not sure. But even if Jackie’s wrong, it doesn’t matter much, does it? Luz never liked Leonora, when push comes to shove Sócrates falls in line with Jackie, and Carlito is kissing Jackie’s butt, so it’s a done deal. Rubén objected, but you know, he can be easily overruled. Are you good friends with Leonora?”
“Not really. She lives in my apartment building,” he said, because he felt it was safer than saying they had taken classes together. He’d played the role of student before well enough, but right now he wanted to distance himself a bit from Leonora, seeing as she was persona non grata. That was a term he’d learned from El Mago. He quite liked it.
“You’re friends with her?”
“I guess I was,” Concha said thoughtfully. “But she’s been very mysterious lately. I think because she was back together with Emilio and she didn’t want others to know.”
“Emilio? Why would that bother anyone?” he asked innocently.
“Oh, you know, Rubén’s still sore about what happened. Leonora dumping him for Emilio. And then they broke up anyway! She’s silly like that, sometimes. I mean, obviously she’s my friend, but…well, you know Leonora. She’s always burning bridges. I think the only person who still likes her now is Sócrates. I think he has a thing for her. But of course everyone has a thing for Leonora.”
“Popular girl,” he replied. Leonora had a bunch of associates, but they seemed to have let her down. Jackie had turned on her for some reason, and Leonora hadn’t gone back to the priest for help. Could be she was hiding with Emilio, Sócrates, or Rubén, but the last two were apparently Jackie’s underlings. Nevertheless, Rubén had objected, and Sócrates might be a fan of the girl. What Elvis needed was to figure out the coordinates of those two.
And Emilio Lomelí…El Mago had said he, like the girl’s sister, was a dead end. But was he? Anyway, why had El Mago been so adamant about keeping him and the sister out of this? Sure, he’d said Emilio was money and also PRI, but that didn’t quite explain everything. And Leonora’s file was so thin, like El Mago was trying to hide half of the girl’s life. It didn’t add up, and though it didn’t have to add up for Elvis to do his job, he was getting curious.
“You think Sócrates would be her type?”
“Why, you’re also waiting in line for her?” Concha said, scoffing, and she flicked her cigarette out the window and rolled her eyes.
“I’m curious, that’s all,” he said, his hand resting against her hip again.
“I don’t know. He’s Jackie’s right-hand man these days, so I don’t think he’d go there even if he could, what with everything. But he did have a crush on her for a while. He tried reading poems to her. It was goofy.”
He nodded. And then, just as Elvis was smiling charmingly at the girl and wondering if he couldn’t squeeze a few more drops of information from her, the door to the office opened and out walked several people. Three men and a chick. One of the guys was the fucking Jesuit priest they’d beaten up a couple of days before. His head was all bandaged, and he had dark purple bruises around his eyes. Looked like hell.
Before Elvis had time to duck or hide, the eyes of the priest fixed on him, and he let out a hoarse scream.
Elvis ran. He pushed aside the people in his path and yanked the door open, rushing down the stairs like a man who had been set on fire. Before he reached the ground floor, someone slammed him against a wall. Elvis elbowed the person away, tripped, and fell the last three steps, landing at the foot of the stairs.
The street was a few paces from him, but Elvis didn’t have a chance to get up and slip out, because the same person who had slammed him against the wall now pressed a knife against his neck.
“Stay still,” a man said.
15
SHE SPUN AROUND, startled by the man’s touch. For a moment, she was afraid, thinking of what Emilio had said, that she might be in danger, and recalled Anaya. But she was greeted by a familiar face.
“Hey,” Rubén said.
Maite slid a hand down the strap of her purse. “What are you doing here?” she asked with a frown.
“You told me to come see you around lunchtime.”
She’d completely forgotten about that. She’d been too busy thinking about her meeting with Emilio, the stupid cat, and financial matters to even remember what she’d told him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, quickly changing her tone of voice. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Not too long. You already ate?” Rubén asked.
“I haven’t.”
“Then wanna go get a bite? Jackie lent me her car,” he said, pointing to a sad-looking red Chevy.
From the car’s mirror dangled two pine-shaped air fresheners and in the back Maite spotted a couple of cardboard boxes. It wasn’t a carriage, but it was something, and Maite bitterly remembered her own car, still at the mechanic. Even a student had four wheels.
“Where would you like to go?” Rubén asked.
For a moment Maite thought of all the expensive restaurants she’d read about in the newspaper. Focolare and La Cava and Jena. The one place that had really caught her imagination was the Mauna Loa, which was over on Hamburgo Street. The menu promised “Oriental” delights and the décor was supposed to be inspired by the South Seas. It was the sort of restaurant that excited her imagination. It made her think of the island in Secret Romance, the pulsating lure of drums, adventure, and romance.
But she couldn’t afford such a venue, and she doubted he could either.
“Wherever you want to go,” she muttered.
They ended up at a lonchería with plastic chairs, red plastic salt shakers, and plastic plates that offered the sort of cheap, unassuming fare you’d expect at such a place: tortas and more tortas, washed down with Coca-Cola and Sidral Mundet. She worried about dirtying her dress. She didn’t particularly like it, but it had to be dry cleaned. All she needed was to have to pay another dry cleaning bill.
“Did you talk to Emilio, then?” Rubén asked as they sat down in a corner with their drinks. There was no waitress at this joint. You paid at the cash register and someone barked your order. It was so different from Emilio’s house that she began to feel glum, deprived of what to her had been an Edenic delight.