Five Midnights

by Ann Dávila Cardinal

  “Hell yes!”

  “What?”

  “I mean, back then I believed everything my mother told me. It was that time when you think your parents are all-powerful.”

  How would I know? But she kept that comment to herself.

  “It’s funny, now, as a parent, I realize that it’s actually the children who have all the power. If I’d have known that as a child I would have been threatening her with El Cuco!”

  They both chuckled, until Lupe heard murmurs of the nurse’s voice. “Okay, wrapping up,” he said, his mouth away from the mouthpiece. Then to Lupe: “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

  She took a deep breath and pushed her head up as if making herself taller, stronger. “I’m doing good, Dad.” She looked around at the blazing flamboyán tree, a bright green lizard skittering across the short grass in the fading light. “I like it here.”

  “I’m glad. I do, too, m’ija. Maybe next summer I can come down and we’ll fly back together. Like the old days, huh?”

  Lupe smiled. “I’d like that.”

  The clipped voice was back. “Your father needs his rest.”

  Click. And he was gone.

  Lupe stared at the phone in her hand for some time.

  Vermont had never felt farther away.

  July 9, 6:42 P.M.

  Javier

  JAVIER PACED BACK and forth in front of the restaurant, looking for his mother among the foot traffic on Calle de Recinto. Chief Dávila and his team were going to contact the mothers of the other cangrejos. He thought it best if he asked his mother directly. He was triple-guessing himself as the hour drew near. Would she respond better to a policeman? He had almost called and canceled a dozen times. What about Lupe? They still didn’t know who was threatening her.

  As if he could keep her safe. Hell, he had a monster after him. He was about to bolt when he saw his mother waiting to cross the street from the parking garage. He actually wondered if he could still run, if she hadn’t seen him yet, but that time had passed.

  He was done running.

  Her face broke into a huge smile as she saw him in front of Mojito’s Restaurant. She was dressed in an immaculate pale blue suit with her designer purse clutched tightly against her body. She might act all sweet and gentle, but Javier pitied any thief who tried to snatch that bag. She would probably beat them to death with it without mussing a hair on her perfectly coiffed head.

  When she reached him, Javier’s mother gave him an air-kiss. God forbid she smear her lipstick. “Javier, what a lovely surprise this invitation was.” She put her arm through his and led him into the restaurant.

  As they were led to a table in the back, Javier’s mother gushed to the hostess about how her thoughtful son made time to take her out to dinner. Javier bit the inside of his mouth.

  He said nothing as they settled themselves in and perused the menu. He didn’t really need to talk when having a “conversation” with his mother. Besides, his throat was so tight he didn’t think he could squeeze any food through, so he let her order for him. Before the waiter left, his mother ordered them both champagne.

  “You know I can’t drink alcohol. I’m in recovery.”

  She dismissed him with a wave. “Nonsense, it’s only champagne. You can toast with your dear madre to your birthday.”

  The waiter returned and placed two glasses on the table. Javier felt that familiar rage rising to the top like the bubbles in the champagne. He concentrated on pushing the anger down, through his legs, the floor. He’d turned to drugs in the first place because they took him out of his miserable existence with her and lifted him up in a kind of cyclone until he was up and over his small life.

  She lifted her glass up for a toast. “To my baby boy: tomorrow at midnight you’ll be eighteen. I can’t believe it!”

  Javier started to lift his water glass to meet her champagne, but changed his mind. Instead of clinking her glass, he put his back down on the table. “My birthday is what I wanted to talk to you about. I need your help—”

  “Ooh, do you want me to help you plan a party?” She put her glass down. “I should have thought of that myself! Why should Carlos be the only one having a fête?” She was clapping like a toddler with a new toy. “Perhaps I can reserve a private dining room at the Caribe Hilton. I have the manager’s card in here somewhere—” She started rifling through her large handbag, talking nonstop.

  Javier reached over to put his hand on his mother’s arm. “No, Mamá, I need your help with something else.”

  She stopped and looked up at him. “Seguro, my love. I would do anything for you, you know that.”

  There was so much Javier could have said in response, but there was no time for that. He took a deep breath. “Something might happen tomorrow night at Carlos’s party and I’m going to need you.”

  “Yes…” She was clinking the large ring his father had given her against the glass-covered table, the almond-shaped yellow stone matching the gold of the champagne. He could see the wariness grow in her eyes, could hear it in the one-word response.

  She sensed that his request was not the sunny kind.

  There was nothing for it; he had to just get it out. “There’s a chance that what happened to Vico, Izzy, and Memo—”

  And she was up and going. “I should have known that was why you invited me tonight. I do not want to talk about those incidents!”

  Javier was losing her. If he was going to get through to her, the gloves had to come off.

  “I don’t know why we can’t just have a nice dinner without—”

  He stood up and turned her around as she tried to walk away from the table. Was this going to be the last time he’d see her? No matter what, she was his mother. “Okay, Mamá, then I better say goodbye now. Just in case.”

  She started to pull away, then hesitated. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But she turned back. “In case of what?”

  “In case I die tomorrow night. Izzy’s dead now, too. I’m the last cangrejo to turn eighteen.”

  Her gaze settled on him then and he felt she was seeing him, really seeing him for the first time in a long while. He watched a huge wave of emotion crest and fall in her hazel eyes, her hands frozen around the straps of her purse. Then she just dropped back into the seat, as if the bones had suddenly abandoned her legs.

  He crouched in front of her, putting his hands over hers. He felt that if he broke the connection she would take off like an untethered balloon.

  She was looking off into nothing as she spoke. “We didn’t mean for it to happen. I actually thought it was silly. I had no power over anything then, especially not you … or your father.”

  Her eyes landed on him and they had a desperate quality to them. “You don’t know, Javier, you can’t know what it’s like to see your baby, your only baby slipping away. You have all these hopes when you hold this perfect swaddled creature in your arms, you imagine academic awards, nice little friends, Ivy League colleges, marriage to a girl from a good family, grandchildren. And then one day you realize you have no control, that any control you thought you had was an illusion. You realize you don’t know how to save them as they teeter on the edge. We were all feeling that, all of the mothers. And then I found you all with those … drugs.” She shuddered. “That night we would’ve tried anything to get you all back. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he came. In order to save you I would’ve sold my soul to el diablo if he were there that night. I guess he was.” She looked at the floor and started to cry. “We just wanted to scare you. He was a fairy-tale monster. Never, never in a million years did we expect him to come, for him to…”

  He wrapped her hands with his own. “I’m sorry, Mamá.”

  She wiped her eyes as she looked up at him. “I am, too, mi amor.” She put her palm against his cheek like she had when he was little. He put his hand over hers and closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar sandalwood scent of her Spanish soap. They held each other as the restaurant buzzed around them.

&
nbsp; He knew it was time. It was time to ask. “I need your help.”

  She sat up in her chair, shoulders lifted, chin up. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

  He took a deep breath. “Bueno.”

  * * *

  After walking his mother to her car, Javier wandered around the old city in a daze, wondering if it was the last time he would walk the cobblestone streets. He didn’t have a destination in mind, but gravitated toward Fortaleza, the most populated avenue. He weaved in and out between the shopping tourists, comforted by their anonymous company, the ordinariness of it all. As he passed the small side street that connected Fortaleza to Calle San Francisco, he saw a large crowd of people straining to see into the Nuyorican Café. It was early in the evening for the salsa he heard blasting out of the club’s front doors, so Javier was curious. He walked up the narrow street and fell in behind the crowd. He couldn’t see what everyone was pressing toward, but camera flashes bounced off the surrounding buildings like lightning.

  He turned to the guy next to him and nodded toward the building. “What’s going on in there?”

  “Papi Gringo’s in the house!” His eyes were lit up as he tried to press forward to get a better look.

  Javier chuckled. He never could get used to the idea that his childhood buddy was a star. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started up toward San Francisco, thinking about having his last sugary mallorca pastry at the bakery a few blocks up when he heard his name being called above the crowd.

  “Yo! Javi!”

  He looked back at the front of the club to see Carlos standing on the top step, waving him over.

  Javier made his way back and the crowd parted before him like the Red Sea, onlookers gaping at him as if he were a celebrity, too.

  Carlos pulled Javier into a tight hug. “Good to see you again so soon, hermano.”

  Javier pulled back, looked in Carlos’s face, and grinned. God, he loved this guy. “You, too, man. You, too.”

  “Come inside with me.” Carlos turned back to the crowd. “Good night, mi gente! And God bless!” They hooted and hollered as Javier was swept up in the wave of Papi Gringo’s entourage. The owner escorted them to a table on a raised platform, beaming at Carlos as if the singer were giving him a gift. With all the press perched around the club, Javier supposed he was. Having Papi Gringo at your club was sure to get in the news.

  They settled at the table and the beautiful girl Javier had seen at the apartment slid in next to Carlos while another girl slid in beside Javier. He nodded at her shyly.

  “Javier, this is my girl, Carmela, and her friend Jeanine. Jeanine, this is the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had.” He thumped Javier on the shoulder and pulled him back into a hug. Ever since they were little they’d had a wrestling, tumbling friendship, warm and affectionate like puppies from the same litter.

  Jeanine nodded coolly and didn’t even glance at Javier. He looked at her under the club’s low lighting. There were bumps all over her skin, probably from all the makeup. Her hair was a huge cascade of brown curls, but they moved as one mass and he imagined touching them would make a bell-like dong. She had four feet of legs tucked under the table and a short, tight skirt designed to show them off but she probably couldn’t breathe much. Javier knew that, seeing her from a distance, most everyone would think this girl gorgeous, and close-up she was indeed beautiful, under it all, but she had to hide beneath the smoke and mirrors fame required.

  “What’re you doing in this part of town, Javi?”

  “I had dinner with my mom. Had to talk to her about tomorrow night.”

  “She coming to the concert?”

  “Yeah, man. Lupe and I—I mean, we have a plan and we need you and the cangrejo mothers.”

  “Lupe … that gringa reporter chick?”

  Javier could feel his cheeks warm. “Yeah.”

  A smile snaked across Carlos’s face. “You dog.”

  “It’s not like that.” But of course, just saying that made it seem as if it was exactly like that.

  “What plan?”

  A waitress arrived at the table and put a round of rum and Cokes in front of them, never taking her eyes from Carlos. Carlos called her back. “Amor, can you get my friend here a plain Coke? No rum. Thanks, sweetheart.” A wink, and the girl swooned. In contrast to his mother, Carlos remembered and was supportive of Javier’s sobriety.

  “Well? What plan?”

  Javier noticed that Carlos’s date was listening and he felt uncomfortable talking about El Cuco. “You know, what we talked about at your apartment? With Vico and Memo? And now Izzy.”

  Carlos put his drink down at that, his carefully arranged face turned serious. “Yeah. I heard about Izzy. I tried to track him down, but I guess that cop even got there too late.”

  “Yeah, that’s Lupe’s uncle.”

  Carlos’s eyes shot up at that. “You’re doing the chief of police’s niece?”

  “I’m not doing her. I told you, it’s not like that.”

  Carlos brought the drink to his lips and added in a low voice, “Still. Be careful, man.”

  Javier was suddenly aware that every eye in the club was on them. With all they were talking about, it made him uncomfortable. How did Carlos deal with this? “What a life you lead, pana.” He nodded toward Carmela, who was talking with Jeanine across the table, both very aware of everything around them, their eyes scanning, their movements studied. It was as if everyone at the table was in a fishbowl. Except him. No one paid attention to his scruffy ass and he liked it that way. The girls seemed smart and were certainly beautiful: angelfish swimming in circles. He found himself feeling empathy for them. “Is this serious? You and Carmela?” Javier whispered.

  Carlos scoffed. “No, man. This is what’s expected.” He made no effort to lower his voice so his date heard every word. “The only thing that’s serious is my music and my family. En punto.”

  “I feel you.”

  “You and that gringa serious?”

  “No, man. But I like her. A lot. In a different way than I’ve ever felt, you know?”

  Carlos stared into Javier’s eyes as if looking for something. He finally said, “I wish I knew. But that’s why I can’t get serious about no chicas, you feel me? It can only be about the music. It wouldn’t be fair to put someone I really cared about through all this shit.”

  Javier looked around at the crowd of people entirely focused on Carlos and nodded. A man and a woman in expensive clothes leaned over the back of the booth as the owner introduced them to Carlos, and Javier thought about what his friend had said. If it wasn’t fair to put a girl through Papi Gringo’s stardom, it certainly wasn’t fair to put Lupe through the supernatural probably fatal shit he was going through. In that moment he realized that if he really cared about her, he would end it, tell her not to come tomorrow. The thought made him feel slightly sick to his stomach and he considered downing the cocktail in front of him. She wouldn’t listen to him anyway. He hated that about her. And loved it.

  While Carlos posed for a photo with the grinning couple, Javier excused himself and made his way to the men’s room. He was having trouble breathing in the club, the air felt so close. There was a guy at the far sink so Javier ducked into a stall to try to slow his heart rate. The whole wild day had left his head spinning. After a few minutes he started to feel better and figured he’d better get back to the table. He made his way to the sink to splash his face while the other guy messed with something on the marble countertop. As he grabbed a paper towel, Javier noticed lines of white powder the dude was snorting up one by one like it was his job. When the guy rose to standing and held his head back to ensure all the drugs made their way to his small brain, Javier dried his face and started to make his way to the door.

  “Hey, bro.” Gringo, probably Midwestern from the accent.

  Javier stopped and paused before he turned around. It was as if everything were going in slow-motion.

  “Wanna do the last line?”
>
  Javier glanced down at the single line of coke pointing toward him like a finger. He stared at the rolled-up fifty in the guy’s hand. He felt the sweat bead on his forehead and begin to roll into his eyes.

  “No, man. And it’s not cool to be doing that shit out here in the open.” But his eyes still hadn’t left that line of powder.

  Javier rushed for the door and as it swung closed behind him he heard the cokehead say, “Fuck you, man. More for me.”

  The sound of snorting followed him like a shadow.

  July 9, 9:15 P.M.

  Sebastian

  PADRE SEBASTIAN TIED the last sneaker, and piled his clothes and clerical collar in a neat stack on the counter. He’d been looking forward to this run all day. His nerves had been tense since Javier and Lupe left.

  The conversation with Esteban Dávila had put his mind somewhat at ease. He was worried about Javier, that the boy was more willing to put the blame on the supernatural instead of the real monster here. He’d given Dávila Keno’s name, knowing all too well what the dealer was capable of. Three young boys who had grown up playing in the church rec center had been arrested for dealing Keno’s junk. One twelve-year-old overdosed. Twelve! Sebastian would never forget the look on the parents’ faces when he’d told them about their son’s death. Well, now all that was in the hands of the proper authorities, gracias a Dios.

  He switched off the lights, then realized he didn’t have a water bottle. He opened the old, humming refrigerator, its yellow light spilling out on the dusty floor, and grabbed a frosty bottle of water.

  As he closed the fridge and darkness returned to the room, the outside door swung open. The figure was silhouetted by the glow of the parking lot streetlamp behind them, their front totally in shadow.

  “Padre.” A girl’s voice, calm and clear in the quiet room.

  “Yes, who’s there?”

  “Why did you have to go and call the police, padre?” The figure stepped forward and, in the pool of dark yellow fading sunlight coming through the high windows, he saw Marisol. “Marisol, joven, you scared me.” He put his hand to his chest. “I was just going for a run—”