by Toni Andrews
“I got a message,” Tino said, punching a couple of buttons. “It must have come in while my phone was in the trunk.”
I knew that very few people had Tino’s cell number, and watched while he held the phone to his ear. His face went white, and he closed his eyes. I saw muscles work in his jaw. “Fucking Joaquin,” he said. “That motherfucker is dead.” He punched a button and handed me the phone.
“Tino, it’s Mami.” It was Teresa’s voice, clear and tense, with no hint of panic. “I’m calling with a message from Joaquin.” There was a pause, then muffled voices, as if someone was holding a hand over the receiver. Then Teresa resumed. “Joaquin says that if you name Gordo the new jefe, he’s going to kill me. You need to call off the sit-down. Call him back after you do that and I won’t be hurt.” She drew an audible breath, then said, “He also says—”
She was interrupted by a loud male voice, which yelled, “Watch out, Nestor, the bitch got a knife.” There was a clunk, as if the receiver had hit the ground, then more yelling. I could make out Teresa, screaming Spanish curses, then what was undoubtedly a gunshot.
“Fuck, Joaquin, you shot her,” said a different male voice. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” What sounded like a chair scraping on linoleum was followed by a silence. The message ended.
I looked up at Tino’s grim smile. “She pulled a knife on them,” he said, and his voice almost broke. “I can see it—there’s this big fucking knife, stuck in the butcher block right by the phone. If she was standing the right way, she could hide it with her body.” He swallowed, and I saw proud tears threatening to leak from his eyes. “She pretended to go along with what they wanted, then she eased over and got that big machete….” Finally he choked. “Ah, fuck, Mami, why you always got to be so stubborn? Why’nt you just go with them, man? I’d get you back. You know I’d get you back.” He ran the back of his hand roughly under his nose, stifling a sob. I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but I was tangibly aware of all the carefully averted gazes.
“I gotta get out of here, man. I gotta find those cabrónes and fucking kill them.” He got to his feet, and I reached for the sleeve of his jacket, ready to press him if I had to.
“Tino, I don’t think—”
“Excuse me.” We turned to see the nurse from the admitting desk. “You wanted to know if something was happening with Señora Pelón.”
“Is she okay?” Tino and I said, simultaneously.
“They’re taking her into surgery. There’s a waiting room on the fourth floor.” She pointed toward the elevator, and, plans for revenge temporarily abandoned, Tino sprinted for it. I caught up before the doors closed.
The doors opened onto a foyer in front of a wide reception desk. “Teresa Pelón,” said Tino, running up to it. “She’s here for surgery.”
The male nurse looked at a computer screen. “Yes, she’s in operating room four-C. There’s a waiting area across the hall, down there.” We headed in the direction he pointed, and, as we walked, we heard a bell from another elevator at the opposite end of the hall. A gurney, pushed by an orderly and with another walking alongside, rolled into the hall and turned toward us.
“Mami?” Tino recognized the figure on the gurney before I did and dashed to her side. “Mami, you okay? I’m here, Mami. Tino’s here.”
I caught up with him in time to see that her eyes were open. The hand without the intravenous hookup groped for his.
“I’m okay, Tino. I’m gonna be okay. They just gotta get this bullet out of me.”
“I’ll get them, Mami. I’m gonna get the cabrónes that did this to you.” All pretense of macho was gone—tears ran down Tino’s face, and Teresa reached up to brush them away.
“Shhh, hijo. I want you to stay here, wait for me. Okay?”
“I’ll be back before you wake up, but right now—”
“But right now I need you to stay here.” Teresa’s weak voice still managed to carry authority. “Promise me, hijo, that you’ll stay here until I wake up. Promise!”
“I promise, Mami.”
Her eyes shifted to me. “You.”
“Hello, Teresa,” I said. Her gaze pierced me.
“We gonna have a talk, you and I, soon as I’m better.” She nodded toward her son. “Keep an eye on him—make sure he don’t get any ideas about going after those guys.”
“He won’t.” I looked over to where Tino stood with his back partially turned to us, wiping his eyes. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have to press him. I’d felt the sincerity of his promise.
“We need to go in now,” said the orderly on the other side of the gurney. We stepped back and watched as they pushed her through a set of double doors that swung silently back into place behind her.
We settled down to wait. Tino fidgeted, actually seeming to vibrate. He picked up a magazine—Entrepreneur, I noticed—and thumbed through the pages before tossing it down. He looked at his watch about fifty times.
He called Hilda a little after 1:00 a.m. and managed to convince her to stay at home until he called back, and then resumed fidgeting. He got up and paced, sat down, got up again.
Watching him exhausted me, but I wanted to know what was going on, too. I looked at my own watch. Teresa had been in surgery for over two hours. No wonder Tino was a mess. How long did it take to get a bullet out? If Sukey had been here, she might have been able to listen to the surgeon’s thoughts.
Of course, maybe I could, too.
Tino walked over to the window to have conversation number three hundred with Gordo, who kept calling in with updates from St. Gertrude Place. After assuring myself he was occupied for the moment, I closed my eyes and tried to listen with my mind rather than my ears.
All I could hear was Tino’s muffled phone conversation, definitely auditory. I settled myself more comfortably into my chair and called upon a breathing exercise from my long-abandoned yoga class. I counted as I inhaled and exhaled, willing my heart rate to lessen and my mind to empty. I’d never really gotten the hang of this but, at one time, I’d worked at it regularly.
Something…what was it?
It’s that gang guy. José pointed him out to me when we were at the club that time. The surgical team better not mess anything up—I’d hate to be the one who made a mistake with Mad Tino’s mother.
I opened my eyes and looked around. The voice had been male—or had it? Had I just assumed masculinity because the last person we’d talked to had been the male nurse? The reception desk was out of sight from where I was sitting, but whoever was there would have a clear view of Tino, who was still on the phone next to the window.
I got up and crossed the narrow space, and looked toward the desk. I saw a sign that said Vending and signaled to Tino, who nodded and returned to his conversation. An alcove on the other side of the reception area housed three machines, selling, respectively, soda, snacks and hot beverages. The nurse glanced at me and back at his computer screen as I passed the desk, and I watched him surreptitiously as I pretended to scan the snack selections.
She came in with him, but he doesn’t act like she’s his girlfriend. I jumped—he was thinking about me.
Okay, so I could hear him. Could he hear me? I hadn’t spoken when we were at the desk, so he wouldn’t ever have heard my voice. Would that make a difference?
I tried to focus my thoughts on him, the same way I did with Sukey. It felt awkward eavesdropping on a stranger. Sukey’s mind was so familiar, it was like turning on a television that only had one channel. Now what I had to do was figure out how to use the remote control.
You dropped something, I said. Or tried to say. There was no reaction. I was starting to feel self-conscious—I’d probably been staring at the vending machine just a bit too long. I steadied my breathing but didn’t close my eyes, as I had in the waiting area. I moved my eyes without turning my head and tried to zero in on the unfamiliar mind of the man at the desk.
You dropped something.
The man frowned, then pushed his rolli
ng chair away from the desk and looked at the floor.
Oh, shit, it had worked. I hadn’t actually expected it to. I looked away, digging in my pocket for change, which I stuck into the slot without counting. I made a random selection, and something fell into the compartment at the bottom of the machine. My pulse pounded in my ears as I bent over and picked up—what? Pretzels.
As I returned to the waiting area, I hazarded a glance at the nurse, who’d returned to his computer, a vague frown still creasing his forehead. I felt like I had when, at age nine or ten, I’d made a prank phone call on a dare.
I sank back into my seat and opened my pretzels. Too salty—I wished I’d had the foresight to get a soda, as well. I could have gone back to the machine, but I felt absurdly self-conscious. And I was no closer to my original goal of overhearing what was happening in the operating room. I was about to try again when Tino, having finished his call, flopped into the chair next to me.
“Gordo says the neighbors didn’t see much. Just a couple of guys running out of there, which they probably didn’t say to the police.”
“Who called the ambulance?”
“Old guy next door. He knows I hang out at Papi’s, so he called there and told Papi there were gunshots. Papi told him to get an ambulance, then he called Jaime.”
I tried to picture the phlegmatic Papi taking decisive action in a crisis and failed. There must be more to the old guy than I’d guessed.
“Pelón family?” I looked up to see a woman in scrubs, a mask dangling around her neck. Tino and I both stood.
“Are you done? Is she okay?” asked Tino.
“She’s in recovery. It took longer than we expected—we had to repair some intestine, and that takes time. But it went well, and I think we can expect a full recovery.”
“Can I see her?”
“As soon as she wakes up, we’ll move her to a regular room.”
“How long will that be?” I asked. I was afraid if it was too long, Tino wouldn’t wait, now that he knew Teresa was going to be okay.
“Not too long—a half hour, maybe.”
“What floor?” asked Tino. “Or should we wait here?”
“She’ll probably be down on three. Why don’t you wait here, and someone will come for you when they’re ready to move her.”
Tino thanked the doctor, then took out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hilda? Yeah, she’s in recovery. Doctor said everything’s gonna be fine. No, don’t come down. I mean it, Hilda. I got enough to worry about without—” He looked at me and rolled his eyes, and used his fingers to mime talking. His grin was almost normal. “No, baby, I didn’t mean you make me worry, I just rather you stay home, get a good night’s sleep. I might need your help tomorrow.”
He said goodbye, ended the call and immediately called Gordo with the same news. He was still on the phone when two uniformed police officers walked into the room.
One was Hispanic and proportioned about like Gordo, without the tattoos and the gut. The other, a blond woman who, though shorter than I am, had the kind of neck muscles that made me suspect steroids. The man spoke.
“Mister Pelón?” he said.
“You know who I am.” Tino’s tone was matter-of-fact, not belligerent. “How’s your abuelo, Frank?”
“Pretty good. Still works in his garden most days. He’s going to be sorry to hear about your mother getting shot.”
“Mister Pelón, we have a few questions for you,” said the woman, putting her shoulder between the man and Tino, who continued to look at Frank.
“New partner?”
“Yeah. Officer Cynthia Nelson.” Frank turned to the blonde. “This is Tino. Tino, Cindy.”
“Nice to meet you, Cindy.” Tino grinned but didn’t offer his hand. He was probably smart enough to know she wouldn’t shake it. I’d seen her give Frank a nasty look when he used her first name.
“Javier Augustín Pelón, aka ‘Mad Tino.’ Jefe of the Hombres Locos. Over twenty arrests, three convictions, currently on probation for—”
“The man knows his own sheet, Cin,” said Frank.
“It’s okay, Frank. Nice to know she’s taken an interest in me.”
Cindy went on doggedly. “Where were you between ten and eleven p.m. yesterday?”
This took the good humor out of Tino’s expression. “Frank, you think I shot Mami?”
As if the question had been directed toward her, Cindy answered. “It’s pretty common for family members to assault one another. Or you could have been a witness.”
“No one saw anything, right?” Tino’s smile was back, but it had a mean edge to it. “Hate to tell you this, but I got about twenty witnesses, tell you I wasn’t anywhere near Mami’s house.”
“And I bet all of them are known gang members and have felony records.” Cindy didn’t back down, and Tino again turned to Frank.
“Serious, ain’t she?”
“As a heart attack,” said Frank.
“Well, she’s gonna lose that bet. Mercy—” He turned to me. I’d taken a step back but hadn’t seen any practical way to flee. “Meet Frank and his new partner, Cindy.” Both pairs of eyes cut toward me, and I saw the speculation in Cindy’s.
“Mercy ain’t got no affiliation with the Hombres, and she ain’t got a felony record. Not that I know of, anyway. Mercy, you ain’t got an arrest or two I don’t know about, do you?”
“No.” One of the few things I’d liked about the press, especially during my teen years, was that I was pretty good at getting policemen to stop asking questions and let me go.
Okay, so I’d even done it once in the past year. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to tonight, but I didn’t want my name in a Santa Ana police report if I could avoid it.
“I’ll need to get a statement. What’s your full name?” Cindy took out a notebook, but Frank interrupted her.
“Actually, we came down to see if we could talk to Teresa. If she tells us who shot her, how it went down, we may not need Mercy’s statement.” He glared at Cindy, who, to my surprise, put away her notebook.
Tino was shaking his head. “She’s still in recovery. I ain’t even seen her yet. She ain’t gonna be in any condition to answer questions. Come on, Frank, cut me a break here.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to mention the phone message, but I thought better of it. Tino would be furious if the police got to Joaquin before he did.
Frank looked apologetic. “Sorry, Tino, it’s standard procedure for anyone admitted with a gunshot wound.”
“She won’t tell you anything.”
“We still have to ask.”
Tino obviously didn’t like this answer, but, as a veteran of hundreds of conversations with the police, he knew the drill.
“Okay, Frank. But just you, okay? I don’t want your partner all up in her face.”
Frank looked uncomfortable. “It’s her case, too. Don’t worry, she’s a professional. She’s not going to act inappropriately with someone who just got out of surgery.” He turned his head toward Cindy, and she frowned, but nodded.
We all stood around and looked at each other. Shit, were they going to stay here and wait with us? That ought to be comfy.
“Excuse me,” I said, and headed toward the ladies room. I was afraid Cindy would follow me, but I made it around the corner and exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
I took my time, washing my face and finger-combing my hair. When I returned, I was relieved to see only Tino in the waiting room.
“Where’d they go?”
“Frank managed to get Cindy to go to the cafeteria, get some coffee. He told the nurse to call them when Mami’s out of recovery. Man, that Cindy is a piece of work.”
“You obviously know Frank.”
“Yeah, he grew up down the street from me. His grandfather brings Mami vegetables he grows in his own garden.”
“Is he…friendly to the gang?”
“You mean is he bent?” Tino shook his head. “No, man, Franco’s as
straight as they come. He just knows how shit works in the barrio. He ain’t Chicano, neither. He’s Cuban. In our neighborhood, his family were, like, foreigners. We used to give him shit because he couldn’t eat anything with hot peppers without choking.” He smiled, probably remembering some prank involving jalapeños.
“Will Teresa tell him what happened?”
“Mami? No way. She knows this is Hombres business, not the police’s, and that I’m gonna take care of it.”
I thought about what that meant.
“Tino, if you’re going to go after Joaquin, I won’t have anything to do with it.”
“What you mean, if? Of course I’m gonna kill Joaquin. Mami knows it, too.”
“I want you to promise me you’re not going to go after Joaquin,” said Teresa. “I mean it, hijo. I want you to let the police handle it. I’m going to make a statement, tell them everything.” Teresa was so pale she was almost gray, and it was costing visible effort for her to speak. Yet her voice, though quiet, carried a strength of will that was daunting to witness.
Tino was incredulous. “Mami, you know this is for the Hombres to take care of. Since when do you go to the police?”
“Since you’re getting out of the Hombres. Since you’re taking Gus with you.”
“But, Mami—”
“Don’t argue with me! I spent my whole life worrying about the men in my family. First my father and brothers, always in some kind of trouble. Then your father, when he got sick.”
“Mami—”
“Silencio. I’m not done talking.” She swallowed, and I could see she was sweating. How much pain was she in?
I shifted uncomfortably where I was leaning against the wall next to the door. I’d accompanied Tino into the room, figuring it would be the lesser of two evils—Frank and Cindy were waiting in the hall. Right now I was thinking I might prefer hanging out with Cindy.
“When you started working for Flaco, I was crazy all the time. I started going down there so I could see for myself you were okay. I—I thought if I was nice to Flaco, friendly, it would be easier to keep an eye on you. And that, if he liked me, maybe he’d make sure you were safe.”
