“Who was that?” she asked. “I hope you’re not two-timing on that other girl.”
“It’s nothin’ like that,” he replied.
“Good,” Marti grumbled. “I can’t stand a cheater.”
They stood in silence and watched the Bronco drive away.
“So is she a friend?” Marti asked.
The question took him off guard, because it had been a long time since he’d had any. The occasional girlfriend, but not an actual friend, like the kind he used to know. He wasn’t sure if Keisha counted. Then again, they kept each other’s secret, and had an ongoing relationship of sorts. Maybe it wasn’t all business anymore. And when he thought of Mindy, who had gone out of her way to involve him in the play, and to keep Diego in it even when he got suspended… That sure seemed like the sort of thing a friend would do. Keisha hadn’t gone to those lengths, but he knew he could trust her. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I guess she is.”
“Good,” Marti said. “I figure things have to get better eventually. Don’t they?”
The question wasn’t rhetorical. Not for people like them. They had gone through so much bad shit over the years, from his father’s death, to her breakdown, and a slew of trouble that he’d gotten himself into since. She didn’t know the half of it. But he felt like telling her now. Which was weird, because usually he just disappeared. He never stopped worrying about her though. Not really, because losing one parent had been bad enough. If there was one thing that kept him here…
The reluctance hit home. His mom was the reason why. And always had been, or he would have left ages ago. He wondered if he should tell her about the mess he’d gotten himself into. Or if it was better to blow hot air up her ass about how peachy the future was going to be. He didn’t know how to fix her, or keep her sane, so he kept to the simple truth.
“I don’t know.”
“Me neither,” Marti replied. “But I do know that I need a beer.”
“You and me both,” Diego said.
Tonight he would be sleeping in a cave. For now he would enjoy the comforts of home. What little of them remained. Although lately, it almost felt like enough.
CHAPTER 26
May 22nd, 1993
Omar was toweling his hair dry when he heard the doorbell ring. He was still naked, so he walked over to the wall he shared with his sister and hammered on it with the butt of his fist.
“Hey, Yasmin!” he shouted. “Get the damn door!”
He paused, expecting her to say something equally snarky back. When all he got was silence, he remembered her mentioning plans she had with a friend. Which he envied, because he would be working today. As much as he loved Archie’s, weekends were meant for being lazy. Then again, his parents had left early this morning, since they were running a big sale at the store. Maybe this is how it would be from now on. Growing up sucked sometimes.
He heard the doorbell again and hurried to pull on a pair of boxers. Mamani could get grumpy if she had to answer when someone else was home. Omar got into his work uniform as quickly as he could and was tugging the shirt down over his stomach as he descended the stairs. He was too late. Mamani stood in the entryway, leaning against her cane while talking to some balding dude with a mustache. He caught the tail end of the conversation.
“We have reason to believe that your grandson might have been involved,” the guy said before noticing him. “Ah! This must be him.”
“What’s going on?” Omar asked.
“This man is with the police,” Mamani explained.
“Detective Truman,” the man said, thrusting out a hand. “How’s it goin’ bud?”
“Good,” Omar said warily while shaking his hand. “Umm… Is everything okay?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out,” the detective said, smiling at them in a way that was reassuring, but not convincing. “I’m worried you might have gotten mixed up in a bad situation.”
“What do you mean?” Omar asked, already starting to sweat.
Detective Truman held up a VHS tape. “Someone dropped this off at the police station last night. Any idea what it is?”
Omar tilted his head and squinted, like he was trying to read the label, when he already knew that it didn’t have one. “Could be anything,” he said with a shrug.
“Let’s take a look.” Detective Truman turned to Mamani. “If you don’t mind.”
She shrugged. “I’m surprised the police don’t have their own VCR, but very well. I just hope it’s a good movie.”
“Oh, it’s interesting, I promise you that.”
Omar followed them into the living room, and when handed the tape, dutifully loaded it into the VCR. Why the hell would the police be here now? He had dropped the tape off last night after work, not wanting to get up early, or be late for his next shift. Actually, that was a great excuse!
“I really need to get to work,” Omar said.
“This won’t take long,” Detective Truman responded, not seeming in a hurry as he sat down on the couch next to Mamani. He nodded at the striped polo Omar was wearing. “Archie’s Pizza Pi! Great place. My kids are always begging me to take them there. Do you work in the kitchen?”
“No,” Omar said, opening his mouth before clamping it shut.
“What do you do there?” the detective pressed.
Almost like he already knew.
“Looks like we’re ready,” Omar said, pressing the play button on the remote control instead of answering the question.
The image on the screen was exactly what he’d expected to see. Graham’s house was in the background, the white exterior scorched with black streaks, like a pissed off dragon had paid a visit. Which wasn’t far from the truth. Diego was scowling at them from in front of the house.
“One take and then we get the hell out of here,” he growled through the television speakers. “Make sure the house is in the shot. Got it, Jafari?”
Omar’s stomach sank. He had intended to edit that part out, but he had used the equipment at work and was in a rush, since he didn’t always have privacy. He was often sitting next to the security guard he shared the room with and had hurried to get it done on the man’s break, worried the entire time that his boss would pop in and ask what he was up to.
The video played to the end, which didn’t take long, static filling the screen.
“Could I have that back please?” the detective asked.
“Sure,” Omar said, ejecting the tape and handing it to him.
“Jafari is an unusual name in this town,” Detective Truman commented when accepting it. “Hey, I don’t suppose you have a camcorder?”
Omar glanced at Mamani, whose eyebrows were raised above a concerned expression. He couldn’t lie. Not in front of her. Even if she held her tongue on his behalf, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
“Of course,” Omar said. “I’m the one who filmed this.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” the detective said, not seeming the least bit surprised. “What kind do you have?”
“It’s a Sony Handycam,” Omar mumbled.