I took the single block of money, my rucksack, and the empty grocery sacks into the house and dropped the block of cash on the kitchen table—next to my laptop.
I still need to trash the hard drive.
The thing was, it wasn’t quite time to do that. One last task remained.
I took the bags into my bedroom and started to re-pack them with my “bug-out” supplies. Because of its size, I filled the rucksack with small items. I left space at the top for the bundle of cash I’d kept out of the suitcase. Then I sorted through the rest of my supplies and stuffed what I could into the grocery bags.
Finally, my bug-out supplies were packed and ready, leaving only the suitcase to deal with—the suitcase now filled with blocks of cash. The mites could cover the packed bags, but not the suitcase. I had to move the suitcase elsewhere and soon.
With curtains drawn over all my windows, I cut the thin plastic wrapping from the block of money. It fell apart into a wealth of five, ten, and twenty dollar bills. I separated the three denominations and counted how many bills were in each stack. The total came to exactly ten thousand dollars.
Ten thousand dollars! I scrubbed my face. The amount was more than I’d imagined. I calculated how long it and the other twenty-two bundles would keep me going.
Years! my intuition shouted. Yes, I could live for a long time on two hundred and thirty thousand dollars—if. If I managed to keep the money by moving and hiding it ahead of Cushing’s impending visit.
I was re-counting the block of money when I heard the pounding beat of Mateo’s car stereo. I peeked through the curtains and saw his Camaro skid into his driveway. He had hardly turned off the engine before he leapt from the driver’s seat and hustled to his side door.
I envisioned the consternation and fury brewing in Mateo’s gang, and I wondered what blame might fall on Mateo over the loss of the drug house, the money, and the drugs themselves. I was still watching Mateo’s house when a familiar twosome of silent vehicles entered the cul-de-sac.
Dead Eyes.
I swept the money into a plastic sack and dropped the sack behind a bookshelf. Then I slipped out the side door and across the cul-de-sac. A deferential Mateo was waiting on his porch. He held open the door for Dead Eyes and his crew to enter.
I delayed until they were all inside before I snuck up to the living room window to eavesdrop. As my eyes adjusted to the light inside, I saw that Dead Eyes was the only one sitting down—the only one looking relaxed, for that matter.
Mateo was talking, making a valiant effort to control his nervousness. “—got the whole skinny from the crew. They will vouch that we followed normal procedures. The money, the guns, and the product were locked inside the safe when we left. No one was in the house at quitting time except for the three night men.”
He shifted his feet. “The guards locked the door and took up their positions outside. They were outside, on their stations, when they all say the door just opened. So much smoke came out the door that they couldn’t go back in. They said the fire had already taken over.”
“The door just opened.” Dead Eyes repeated Mateo’s words in a soft, sarcastic drawl that made me squirm as much as it made Mateo.
“As you know, sir, the door is keyed inside and out. The guards had locked it from the outside.” Mateo swallowed and forged ahead. “Even if someone was on the inside when they locked the door, the only way it could open was with a key.”
Dead Eyes’ tight smile grew tighter. I felt my own nerves quiver in response to the coldness in that expression.
“You said it yourself,” he answered softly. “The only way that door could open was with a key. That leaves just one possibility, don’t you agree?”
“You mean the guards? But . . .” Mateo chose his words with care, “See, I suspected that at first, too, but Jorge holds the only key. The other two guards swear that Jorge locked the door and was at the far end of the alley when the door reopened. On top of that, you and I are the only ones with the combo to that safe.”
Mateo hesitated and then added, “I vouch for my men, sir. They are loyal—it had to be an attack.”
I had to give Mateo credit—at least he was trying to save his men. And apparently (and fortunately for him), Mateo had his own alibi?
The nanomites, who had been so quiet of late, sounded an alert before I sensed a presence nearby. I stepped away from the window just as Emilio crept up to it.
You stupid kid!
I was yelling at him in my head, so he couldn’t hear me, but the mites’ chatter grew louder as Emilio cupped his hands around his eyes and stood on tiptoe to peer in the window in the manner I had.
The difference between his doing that and my doing that? I was invisible—he most certainly wasn’t.
I didn’t know if the mites were complaining because I was too close to Emilio or because they were worried he would be spotted. My only concern was that the kid’s actions were just plain stupid.
I grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him down to the patch of snake grass Mateo called a yard.
Emilio yelped and tried to skitter backwards on his hands. He was maybe a couple of yards away from me when he collapsed and just sat there, frowning and searching in my general direction.
“Why you do that?” he whispered, still looking for me.
The mites were blaring their objections inside my head and I had to agree with them. I blew out a big breath and asked myself the same question: Really, Gem. Why did you do that?
Emilio crawled up to the house until he was under the window again. I backed off a few feet and was surprised when his wide-eyed gaze followed me.
“Why you do that?” he repeated.
I shrugged and sighed. I guess he heard me sigh because his eyes opened wider.
The mites ratcheted their protests up another notch. I squeezed my eyes closed and rubbed my pounding temples. It had been a while since they’d caused a headache this bad.
“It’s true,” he whispered to no one in particular. Then he twitched his chin at me and demanded a little louder. “Why you pull me down like that?”
I was growing seriously alarmed at this point. The mites were agitated beyond my control, and if any of Dead Eyes’ crew heard Emilio talking to someone just outside the window, they would come investigate.
“Shut up,” I hissed. “Do you want them to hear you? Just shut up so I can listen to what they’re saying.”
Emilio’s mouth plopped open and then snapped shut, but he knelt down and was quiet. The mites must have thought I was talking to them, because they, too, simmered down.
I returned my face to the window. Mateo was now repeating what the local news had reported, that the APD gang unit believed the arson to be the work of a rival gang. Dead Eyes looked less than impressed.
Mateo gave it one last shot. “If it wasn’t another gang, if my guys were responsible, why would they stick around when they had to know that the blame would fall on them? And why wouldn’t they take the guns, too?”
Dead Eyes frowned. Mateo had, at last, scored some valid points with him. Even Dead Eyes’ men shrugged, coming to a reluctant consensus.
“Look, I got a source inside the gang unit,” Mateo confided, padding his win. “He says the fire chief found traces of money and drugs where the fire started—right there with the guns and ammo. They think whoever burned the place piled everything from the safe on the floor and burned it all.”
Dead Eyes stared at Mateo. “If that’s true, then would it be one of our competitors? Wouldn’t they have taken the money and drugs, rather than burning them?”
Mateo looked confused. “But if it wasn’t my guys and it wasn’t another gang, then who?”
Dead Eyes didn’t say anything more. He stroked his chin with a forefinger, his appraising eyes considering Mateo. At last, he stood and gestured to his men. “We’ll talk again after I’ve heard from our associates down south, but the situation is serious. If another gang messed with us, they will be sorry that
they did. In the meantime, keep your people armed and ready. Ready for war.”
I winced. Mateo nodded. “I will.”
It was time for us to move—more specifically, for Emilio to get out of sight. “Go,” was all I said.
Gesturing for me to follow, he raced alongside the house and turned the corner toward the side door. I sighed and trailed after him.
He sat on the back steps waiting for me, looking for me. When I didn’t say anything he whispered, “You here, lady?” Doubt had crawled back into his voice.
“Yes.”
The mites were not thrilled. “Nano! Silence!” I whispered.
“Who you talkin’ to?” Emilio asked, still spooked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Why can’t I see you?” he demanded.
I dithered. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
The mites chirped and I chose to put Emilio off. “It’s a long story, and I don’t have time for a long story today.”
I spun the questions back on him. “What were you thinking, sticking your head up like that? They can’t see me, but you don’t think Dead Eyes would see you, poking your stubbly little head up in the window?”
Emilio didn’t seem to take offense. “You calls him Dead Eyes? That’s a good one,” he laughed into his hand.
“Do you know his real name?”
Emilio nodded. “Arnaldo Soto. He’s one mean hombre. The gang sent him here to take over after Mateo lost some money and drugs.”
“Was that when Corazón left?” I should have been more sensitive to Emilio’s feelings, but the question just popped out before I gave it much thought.
He lowered his head. “Yeah.”
All the pathos in the world was twined around that one weak response.
I sighed again. “I’m sorry she left, Emilio, but Mateo was hurting her. She had to go.”
He glanced my way, surprised and a little hopeful. “She left? On her own?”
Now I was nonplussed. “Um, yeah, she did. On her own.”
He scratched at his shaved head a minute, thinking. “I thought maybe . . .”
Now I understood. “You thought maybe Mateo had done something with her, that she was, um, dead?”
He nodded just once.
The kid had come home to a busted-up house and no Corazón. I suppose that, with no one to fill in the blanks, he’d drawn his own conclusions. Wrong ones.
I didn’t mind setting him straight.
“Mateo woke up in a really bad mood that morning and started in on her. You’d seen that before, hadn’t you?”
He shrugged and hung his head, ashamed.
That really ticked me off—it ticked me off that he was the one filled with shame for what a supposed adult—especially one who’d shirked his responsibility toward a child—had done.
I was incensed, and my temper came out in a gush of words. “Look. Mateo didn’t beat up on Corazón that day, Emilio. Instead, I beat him with a chair. I beat him unconscious. When he was out, I told Corazón to take the money and go somewhere safe. Then I called the police from Mateo’s cellphone.”
This was a whole new perspective for Emilio, who cocked his head and considered it. “You beat up Mateo?”
“It’s not my fault the cops found drugs on the table when they responded to my call. I didn’t leave them there.”
His face split into a grin. “Wished I’d been there to see it.”
“Can’t abide men who beat on women and kids,” I added in a growl, still half-angry.
“Was you sneaking around in the house, then?”
“I guess I was.”
He scratched his head again and I wondered when the kid had showered last.
Who would care if he had or hadn’t?
“I’m sure Corazón misses you as much as you miss her.” Now where had that come from? “But she, um, she had to go. She really didn’t have a choice. Mateo was going to hurt her really bad if she didn’t leave.”
Especially after what I did to him, I reflected.
The kid nodded and returned to our former topic. “Why was you listening at the window?”
“Who says I was?”
He blinked. “I-I thought I saw you there.”
That was news to me. “You saw me?”
“Not you, not the real you, but sometimes you, you wear glitter stuff.”
Ah.
“You see the shimmer around me sometimes?”
“Yeah. A little sparkle thing. Not all the time. Just once in a while.”
Good to know.
Uncomfortable with our conversation focusing on me, I again turned it around. “I’m more concerned about you, now that Corazón is gone.”
How to put this?
“I mean, you are definitely a bright kid and fast on your feet. You stay out of Mateo’s way—which is a good idea—but, well, he isn’t taking care of you. You need, you know, regular food and stuff. A warm, safe place to sleep. And someone to see to those things.”
Emilio folded his arms at that and set his face in lines I was more familiar with: Dark, frowning brows, glowering eyes, and a pinched, puckered mouth. “I don’t need nobody, lady. And you’d better not be calling the welfare people—not if you want me to keep my mouth shut ’bout you.”
Well, I’d stepped right into that, hadn’t I?
“I see.” That was all I could think to say.
The corner of his mouth twitched. He thought he had me.
As if.
“So how well have you been eating lately, Emilio? Your bones are going to stick right through your shirt if you don’t get some good, hot, meals soon. You know, stuff like all-you-can-eat spaghetti. Hamburgers. Pizza.”
Right on cue, Emilio’s stomach lurched. He snarled at me in tune with his growling belly, but I’d hit on an idea.
“Winter’s coming,” I added offhandedly, “and those bushes aren’t going to keep you warm much longer. Like I said, you need a better place, a home—a real one. We just need to find someone nice who’s willing to share theirs with you.”
He snarled again. “My folks are dead and ain’t nobody got a ‘real home’ for me. That ‘we just need to find someone nice’ is a bunch of—”
He capped his short tirade with a colorful curse word. I dropped down on the dead grass near the steps, sat cross-legged, and thought about what he’d said—not the cursing part, but the part before that. I thought about my own circumstances around his age. How I’d felt.
“How old are you, Emilio?” I finally asked.
“What’s it to you?” he spit back.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” I admonished him. “Answer the question: How old are you?”
He frowned and pursed his lips again. “I’m ten. What of it?”
“Well, I was nine when my folks died,” I told him. “I have a sister, a twin. She and I didn’t have anybody either, except our Aunt Lucy. See, we didn’t really know her when we came to live with her and she didn’t know us, but it worked out okay.”
Emilio kicked at the step with his toe and I noticed the holes in his shoes.
“Sure, it was hard at first,” I soldiered on. “Lucy wasn’t used to kids—didn’t have any of her own. Didn’t know the first thing about little girls, but she promised to love us and to do her best.”
“Yeah, but she wanted you, right?”
“Yes. That makes a big difference, for sure,” I answered him.
“And she weren’t crazy, didn’t beat on you. Kick you in the head.” He was warming to the topic. “Punch you in the face.”
“No. She wasn’t crazy and she didn’t beat on me,” I replied, “But my sister was, and did.”
Emilio’s head jerked up.
“Even though we’re twins, my sister Genie was always different from me. I didn’t know why. Now, if I had to put a label on how she is, I’d call it Narcissistic Personality Disorder.”
I watched Emilio frown and mouth the long words.
“Yeah, that’s a
ll gobbledygook. Psychobabble. It means she cares way too much about herself and nothing for others,” I explained. “While we were growing up she was always doing stuff, causing trouble. But she was very good at hiding what she did and good at pointing the blame for what she did at me. If she didn’t get her way or she got angry, I was her punching bag.”
Emilio’s eyes went wide.
“I should probably go,” I murmured. I had said too much. More than I’d ever told anyone.
Emilio stood up. “Can I—” He hesitated. “Can I feel you first?”
I didn’t answer right away . . . then I reached out my hand to his shoulder. He stiffened at my touch until, with his other hand, he felt mine as it rested on him.
I don’t understand what came over me. Perhaps it was the look of wonder on his face, maybe it was more the longing I saw there. I took his hand and drew him toward me, wrapped my arms around him, and squeezed him tight.
How long has it been since I’ve hugged anyone? The warmth of his thin shoulders felt good. Right.
“I’m sorry for all the things you’ve gone through, Emilio,” I whispered. “I’m sorry you haven’t had anyone . . . for a long time.”
I choked on the next words. “You do now.”
We cried a little then, and I can’t imagine how it might have appeared if anyone had seen us—a young boy holding on to and being held by thin air.
He stepped back and sniffled when I finally loosened my hold on him.
“You see I’m in a bit of a pickle, don’t you?” I tried to make light of our emotional moment by changing the subject. “I can’t let anyone see me—er, not see me, I mean. So far, nobody but you knows about my, uh, condition. It’s a long story, but people, bad people, will come looking for me any day. Come looking for something I have that they want.”
The nanomites hummed softly. Emilio looked aside and appeared worried.
I caressed his cheek. “I can’t be the one to take care of you, Emilio. In fact I’m going to have to leave soon.”
Now his mouth was working, protesting.
“I have to hide from those bad people who want to catch me. You understand, don’t you?”
He managed to jerk a nod.
Stealthy Steps Page 31
