Jorgie: Pick you up in an hour.
My stomach dips. I’ve been coming out of my skin waiting for this text. I should count myself lucky, it could have come two or three days from now, a week even. And now that I’ve read it, Sudden misgivings seep into my resolve to see this through. Plus, in an hour I’m supposed to be at Ellie’s place.
Indecision peels away another layer of my sanity. Nothing should be more important than Ellie’s well-being. Except maybe I can do both. I’ll get this done and then I can see her after. An hour’s not going to matter one way or the other. Before I can change my mind, I text her.
Scott: I’m going to need an extra hour. R U good with that?
Opal: I’m sure I’ll survive. Everything ok?
Scott: Yeah, just
Just what? My thumbs hang over the keyboard. When they return to type, a sick feeling spreads through my chest.
Scott: Yeah, just a homework problem.
Opal: Ok, take your time.
By the time Jorgie shows up, my brain is still trying to justify lying to her, but no amount of rationalization seems to be working. I hope I know what I’m doing.
When I get into Jorgie’s car, he doesn’t help matters.
“You sure about this?”
Jorgie and I finally put our differences aside last month when he showed up on a Sunday morning with coffee and an apology. Personally, I thought he should have grovelled a bit more, but I figured twenty years of friendship wasn’t something to give up on lightly.
I turn a stony glare on him. “I’m sure. Where we going?”
My heart falls when he names a place at least forty minutes away, but I’m not backing out now. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.
We drive mostly in silence, listening to tunes while I brood in a mix of angry anticipation and dread. When we pull up in front of a small house in a sleepy suburban neighborhood, Jorgie shrugs at my questioning glance. “I’m only the messenger.”
He doesn’t knock, just walks in the front door like he owns the place. The living room is eerily void of furniture, but we follow the sound of voices into the kitchen. Around a table are five guys, drinking beers and smoking.
“About time, Junior,” Niner gripes, getting to his feet, stubbing out his cigarette. “You drive like a fucking old lady, or what?”
Jorgie snorts. “At least I’ll make it to old age. You assholes will all be dead soon from sucking on those cancer sticks.”
My eyes land on Alejandro, who’s ignoring everything else in the room but me. The way his scrutiny rakes over me is unnerving. He knows I’m in way over my head here, and I’m suddenly afraid he’s going to call me out for wasting his time.
Only a very unwise man would waste Alejandro Bernal-Acosta’s time, and I wonder just how close to empty my goodwill with Alejandro is running. He may have known me my whole life, but his best friend, my Tío Javier, has been dead for going on a decade . . . and surely he’s got better things to do than babysit me and my petty grudges. Drug syndicates don’t run themselves after all.
But then he says, “Clear out. Go get dinner or something. I want to talk to Scotty.” And by the tone of his voice, I can tell that he’s not pissed off with me, just curious.
The guys get to their feet without complaint and leave one by one, mumbling greetings and administering a few cuffs to our shoulders as they go.
“You too, Jorgie.”
Jorgie checks with me briefly, but he does as he’s told. “I’ll be on the back steps.”
When we’re alone, Alejandro says, “Grab a beer from the fridge.”
For a moment, I consider it. A beer might do my nerves some good, but Ellie smelling it on me is one of the least appealing things I can think of.
“Nah, I’m good.”
He gestures to the chair in front of him so I take it.
“Thanks for doing this,” I begin, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“You’ve never asked me for anything, Scotty. I’m happy to help you out.” In the almost seven months since I last saw him when Ellie and I went to pick up my mom from that bar, he looks like he’s aged years. He’s tired, that much is clear, and I’m tempted to ask if he’s okay until he says more. “But I need to know what you’re thinking here.”
“I just want to talk to him.”
The tick of his eyebrows tells me he knows that’s bullshit, but I keep my mouth shut.
“I sent Luis to pick him up.”
My gaze snaps to his in alarm. If Alejandro is the devil, Luis is his wrath. Luis takes care of shit when shit is serious, I know that much. I bite back the apology that’s forming on my tongue because he’s still talking.
“The kid was expecting us. Didn’t so much as say a word when he was told to get in the truck.”
My earlier misgivings begin to refashion themselves into something that feels more like the sting of conscience. “I just want to talk to him,” I repeat, though it feels like less of a lie than it did thirty seconds ago.
“All right then.” He gets to his feet and I follow him to a door off the kitchen. As we go down into the basement on creaking, wooden steps, nightmarish visions of Daniel tied to a chair assault me, but when Alejandro flips the switch, I don’t see him at all. Movement pulls my attention to the other side of the room where Daniel is sliding up the wall from where he was sitting on the floor. He squints against the light.
The unfinished basement is completely barren and cold as fuck, but that doesn’t stop the heat of my rage from surfacing when I see him. My knuckles crack with how hard I clench my fists.
I remind myself I only want to talk.
Except not a single word occurs to me. Not that I could get it out anyway with my teeth grinding together like they are.
“Listen, Scotty,” Daniel croaks, his eyes bouncing nervously between me and Alejandro.
My head tilts, wondering what he could possibly have to say for himself. Turns out he’s got nothing because his mouth snaps shut and stays that way. I’ve known Daniel Patterson forever. He’s Lolita’s brother’s best friend. Though Daniel and Mateo are two years younger, we crossed paths often as kids and then teenagers. I have fond memories of kicking their asses at Mortal Kombat. It’s been years though. Who would have thought that little kid would grow up to be this grubby, disheveled piece of shit who nearly annihilated my life as I know it?
Alejandro interrupts my thoughts by moving to lean against the wall to my left. He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts an eyebrow at me as if to say, now what?
That’s a very good question. What am I doing here?
“I’m listening,” I tell Daniel simply, but I can hear the underlying threat in my tone.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he pleads, rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans in a nervous gesture.
I glare at him. He’s going to have to do way better than that.
“I . . . I didn’t know who she was.”
My head shakes of its own accord in disgust. “Didn’t know who she was?” I mock. “My daughter or my girlfriend?”
He doesn’t know how to answer that and his silence begins to gnaw at my patience. “Why the fuck would you have a gun anyway?”