by Marcy McKay
Turdmouth leads us behind a parked car across the street from Diablo’s hangout, three doors down. We can see there, but they can’t see us here. Perfect. The Barrio Brothers’ headquarters is inside an abandoned hotel, The Whorton. It’s five stories tall, with broken windows. The faded, dark green canopy over the front door with pale, white letters. Mama always laughs ’cause now it reads, The Whor.
I’ve heard the lobby is still super fancy, even though it’s old: red velvet walls, giant golden mirrors and a chandelier dangling from the middle. They blare Tejano music so loud during their gangbanger parties that the whole building shakes. Me and Mama have never been inside, but I wonder if that’s really true for her. I mean, where’d she steal that meth? How’d I let that happen?
The two Barrio Brothers guarding the front look like short, squatty doormen. I don’t know ’em.
I give my lucky penny a quick rub, then sit on the curb. He pulls out his pocket knife, then opens and closes it. Back and forth. We’re both trying not to worry. I hope he’s having better luck than me.
He whispers, “It’s probably that preacher Carmella overheard since it sounds like Noblitt had already left.”
I nod and peek past the car bumper. Nothing’s happening at Diablo’s. I feel like someone keeps watching me, but of course, we’re alone.
Turdmouth says, “Show me that picture of your mom again.”
I set the photo between us of the happy teen in a short, white dress. Her grin looks ready to go to Hollywood and be a big star. She looks so young, and beautiful and sure of herself. I’d give all the cash in our hidden envelope to know what she was thinking that day.
Turdmouth studies it a while, then goes back to messing with his knife. “She’s not the same kind of pretty as you, but she’s still good looking.”
I would believe in donkeys falling from the sky sooner than that. I’m not sure what to say to him, so I don’t say a thing and put the photo away to change the subject.
Still, no action across the street. This is getting old. Turdmouth splays his left hand out across the sidewalk now, poking his pocketknife in between the empty spaces of his fingers. The game is called Stabscotch.
“Stop,” I whisper, but he doesn’t.
A few Barrio Brothers come in and out of the building. Sometimes they chat with the doormen, but that’s pretty much it. This stakeout stuff is way more boring than on TV. I stare at the hotel’s broken windows, trying to imagine what it looks like inside.
Are the rooms still beautiful? Is Diablo’s drug lab here? Does each gangbanger get his own bedroom? I regret that last thought immediately since Eddie Loco wants in my panties.
A white creeper van zooms by, whips a “U” in the street, then parks in front of the hotel. I break out in a cold sweat ’cause that’s the same car from last night. I recognize the license plate. I almost expect ’em to herd more Mexican girls in or out, but nothing happens.
Turkey hops out from the driver’s seat, while some other dude leaves from the other side. Normally, it’d be Little J.J. with him, but he’s in a wheelchair now, thanks to the drug wars.
That is, if he survived. My body starts shaking. Maybe coming here wasn’t so smart after all, but I’ve got to go where the clues lead me. The problem is, they keep leading me to trouble.
Turdmouth glances my way, then goes back to his game. “I’ve thought about why Noblitt had your mom’s picture.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well,” he jabs his knife at his fingers a few more times. “Do you think, maybe, he could, I don’t know—be your dad, or something?”
“What?” I grab his blade away from him.
“Hey. Give that back.”
I don’t, holding it even farther from his reach. “Why would you think that? It’s so retarded. We don’t even look alike.”
“Yeah, but Pops and me don’t look alike, but it was just an idea. Shut up already. Forget I said anything.”
I wish I could, and give him back his stupid knife. A wall of mad goes up between us, brick by brick. Turdmouth starts up his stupid game again, and I’m left alone with my irritation.
Time crawls by slower than a snail. I’m not sure how long we’ve been here, but it feels like forever. I undo my jacket ’cause it’s too hot, then get chilly right away and zip it back up.
Turdmouth’s still grumpy, too. He says, “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“What do you mean?”
“That Asian girl you sneak off with every day?”
Mai Wong. My heart sinks, while my worry rises. Those meatballs turn in my gut that he knows my secret. He could ruin me and her both. “You can’t tell anyone. I’m serious. If Zhi Peng finds out—”
He shouts, “She’s an Asian Assassin? Are you crazy?”
“Shhh, no. Of course, not.” I smack his shoulder, hoping Diablo’s boys don’t hear us. “Zhi Peng’s her brother, but that’s not her fault. Still, you can’t tell anyone. Swear to me.”
“I swear, but if I’ve noticed you two sneaking off into that phone booth together, then I bet someone else has, too.” He wags his knife at me ’til I knock his hand away. “You know Zhi Peng or Diablo would kill you both just to prove a point.”
That shuts me up.
“You tell Mai Wong that if she’s really your friend, then she’ll stop coming over here to get you killed. It’s a death wish.”
“I can’t do that. We’re friends.”
“Some friend.” He folds up his knife, then crams it into his jeans pocket. “Oh, and as your friend, you shouldn’t meet Diablo alone tomorrow unless you want to die, and I guess you do, or we wouldn’t be here now.”
“I’ll be fine since I’ve got the cash,” I say, but even I don’t believe me.
If looks could kill, we’d both be dead right now. I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever told him. He’s probably going to use it against me. Turdmouth wouldn’t know a best friend if it bit him in the butt. He’s not the boss of me.
A black SUV with dark windows and shiny spinners on the wheels parks behind the van. Must be someone important ’cause no one’s got wheels that nice in Paradise.
Turdmouth whistles. “That’s the Range Rover Supercharged.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, I know. I want a gray one.”
Spook leaves the driver’s side and, of course, Eddie Loco rides up front, too. Scared fills me up like the blood rushing to my head as they dangled me from the bathroom window yesterday … all their cussing … feeling Eddie Loco’s hunger for me.
Eddie Loco opens the passenger door on the other side, but I can’t see who it is ’til they’re heading up the sidewalk.
Mr. Jesus.
The preacher still wears his navy blue suit from chunch, but he’s added sunglasses. He struts alongside Spook and Eddie Loco. So, the preacher and the gangbanger are tied together. They’re both dealers, but sell different kinds of drugs.
Tires screech so loud that me and Turdmouth duck, then it sounds like firecrackers: pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.
Gunfire.
We scream together, then Turdmouth throws himself over me, burying us to the sidewalk. My heart hammers louder than those shots. I start to cry. He’s hollering, too.
There’s screaming and cussing across the street in Spanish and Chinese. It’s the Asian Assassins. A bullet hits the building behind us. We’re yelling louder. I don’t know if that was a stray, or if we were the target.
Turdmouth cusses. I’m bawling. The shooting seems to last forever, along with the terror. Then, tires skid and peel away.
We see the back of a nice, black Suburban speed by. Their machine guns disappear back in the car. The guys wore red bandannas over their faces like bank robbers, but they were Zhi Peng’s boys all right. I recognize ’em.
They’re gone, so it’s just shouting in Spanish now. It’s too fast for me to understand, but terror sounds the same in any language. My heart might burst from my chest.
Turdmout
h lets go of me and we both sit up, but I can’t stop shaking. His face is teary, too. Peeking from behind this car, a bazillion Barrio Brothers and their women pour out from everywhere: the hotel, cars, around the corner. They crowd around a body lying in the middle of the road.
Blood. It’s pooled together in a dark, red puddle in the street. A black pistol lies nearby.
My eyes make their way from the gun, to the hand, up the extra-long arm attached to a body I know. Blood oozes from his mouth like a trail of death.
Spook is dead.
CHAPTER 26
The air burns like hot metal, while Spook’s bloody face watches me in a forever stare. I’ve stopped breathing, but can’t quit watching him, either. There’s no life left in his eyes. That spark is gone. I didn’t like Spook. Hated him, in fact, but at least he always stopped Eddie Loco from hurting me. Spook’s still a bazillion times better than any other Barrio Brother out there.
Was.
Now, he’s gone across the street, lost like a penny, passed like a bus.
Dead.
So many Mexicans circle around Spook now I can’t see much of him, ’cept for his blood pooled between Turkey’s feet. Sirens squeal in the distance, whirling my thoughts like flashing red-and-blue cop lights.
“Let’s go.” Turdmouth yanks me to my feet. Both our palms feel clammy from sweaty scared. We crouch down and hurry along the sidewalk, hoping the tents and cars block us. I’m hobbling along as fast as I can, but it’s not quick.
“Roja!” My nickname’s yelled above the other voices.
Glancing back, it’s Eddie Loco chasing me, along with Turkey and several other Barrio Brothers. Their Spanish is too fast for me to understand.
Turdmouth slows down, reaches back and tugs me up to him to run.
“What’d they say?” I shout.
“‘Roja is friends with those chinks.’ They think you set them up.”
Terror torches my body. The Barrio Brothers blame me and Mai Wong for the Asian Assassins murdering Spook. I command my legs to run harder.
Eddie Loco stays hot on our heels, shouting, “Puta! You’re dead for killing Spook.”
I don’t want him taking his rage out on me over his best friend. Especially since Spook can’t save me anymore. Those sirens squeal louder, closer. For the first time ever, I run toward the cops.
“What are you doing?” Turdmouth follows behind.
There’s no time to explain. My breath coils through the cold and my tired feet ache, but I force ’em to sprint on. Eddie Loco keeps gaining on us. He keeps shouting all the terrible things he’ll do to me. Each sick threat sinks deeper into my skin.
In passing the alley by the Salvation Army, a woman yells my name. “Copper.”
Miz Jesus motions me to her, then disappears back into the shadows. She’s changed into jeans.
While her husband’s hanging out with gangbangers, she’s here feeding the hungry and helping the poor. Every part of me wants to rush to her and be safe, but she’s got no idea how bad these guys are. I’d never forgive myself if Eddie Loco hurt her and keep sprinting. I’ll get my cash this afternoon.
Me and Turdmouth cut through a parking lot, but so do the homies. The sirens screech right behind us, then two cop cars whiz by so fast I can’t tell if it’s No-Brains or not. They don’t stop.
Eddie Loco and the others are gone. My plan worked.
A third one screeches around the corner, then speeds by, too. I think we’ve made it when that last car slams on the brakes.
No-Brains leaps out and starts chasing us. I’ll say this—that guy can run. His long legs will catch us in no time.
Since I made this happen, I’m hating myself for it. Me and Turdmouth both skid to a stop, then start hauling the other direction. Of course. I got rid of one problem, but now we’re in the middle of another, the size of a mountain.
My only hope is to find somewhere to hide. I follow Turdmouth down a side street. There’s lots of Nobodies to get lost in the middle of here, so we zigzag through the tents and street sleepers. The stink hangs heavy above, mixed with our fear.
No-Brains rushes ahead of us and in one quick spin, turns, then grabs both of us by the back of our jackets. We’re caught.
I’m headed to juvie.
Or worse.
Me and Turdmouth try to squirm away as the detective drags us back to his car, but we can’t break free. People turn around or scramble into their tents as we pass. Nobody wants this disease we’ve got called jail.
I scream and swing a punch at him, but his arms stretch out way too far for me to touch him. “Let us go! We’re innocent!”
“You, young lady, are far from innocent. You’re in trouble for …let’s see, attempted robbery, evading arrest, theft of my photograph. Plus, you’re about to add assaulting a police officer. Congratulations. You are your mother’s daughter.”
My throat chokes up. I hate him acting like he knows Mama.
Turdmouth tries to skid his feet. “Stop. I didn’t do nothing.”
“You’re an unaccompanied minor on the streets.”
He tosses us both in the backseat like pennies, then slams the door. Next, he leans through the passenger side and bolts the tiny glass window between the seats, glaring at me the whole time.
My cheeks heat up. He won’t let me escape him again. At least I’m not cuffed. Yet.
Me and Turdmouth are both red-faced, snotty and teary. Neither of us can seem to catch our breaths. I want to puke I’m so scared.
No-Brains gives me a serious finger-wagging through the glass. “Do not move. Do not touch anything. Do not so much as even think.” He locks the door, then sprints toward Diablo’s hangout like a giant, moving mountain.
Turdmouth sniffs, wipes his nose, then stares out his window. His grimy face has sad written all over it. I’ve taken him away from searching for his pops again. I’ve done the same to my family. I’m screwing up everywhere I go. “Sorry I keep getting you into trouble.”
“It’s my fault we ran. We should’ve stayed hidden ’til things calmed down.”
“Yeah.”
“And forget what I said about that cop being your dad. You’re right. You two don’t look alike at all.”
“Thanks. Hey, check your door.”
We both do. Locked. The glass window won’t budge. It seems like there’s less air now. We may die from suffocation.
I sit back down with a huff. “Did you see Miz Jesus back there?”
“What? Where?”
“By the Salvation Army. She called to me from the alley.”
“No.”
“Yeah, she waved …”
His worried face shuts me up. I wonder if I didn’t make her up like the Warrior Angel saving me last night. I really am losing my mind. “You think the cops caught Eddie Loco?”
“Only if your lucky penny’s still on a roll.” He gives a small laugh, then stares back outside.
The winter sky grows darker by the minute. It’ll be pitch-black by the time dinner chunch starts. I need to get back to the shelter for my hundred and to see if Miz Jesus really was here. They’ll be in Honduras this time tomorrow. Wherever that is.
Me and Turdmouth don’t really say much more. He’s got us and there’s nothing we can do about it. We both just kind of sniffle to ourselves.
Closing my eyes, I still see Spook watching me in his forever stare. That look says he knows I’m next. I’m about to be a Disappeared. I’ll wind up like him with blood pooling from my mouth. No-Brains will stuff me in a body bag, with the sunny, yellow CAUTION tape warning the world to not end up like me.
The streetlights have turned on by the time No-Brains climbs back into his driver’s seat. It’s still just late afternoon. He looks sweaty and tired as he twists around to unlock and slide open the glass window to talk to us.
I move to the edge of my seat. “Did you see Brother Sanborne at Diablo’s hangout?”
“No. Why?”
“’Cause he was there earlier.
”
No-Brains looks to Turdmouth, who nods, too. “It was him, all right.”
“Interesting. I’ll pay him a visit.”
“What time is it?” I say.
He glances at his watch. “It’s 4:57. Why? Do you have an appointment?”
“No reason.”
“Well, your face says otherwise.” He eyeballs Turdmouth, then pulls out a little pad from his shirt pocket. “What’s your name, son?”
Turdmouth doesn’t answer. He gives him a good, hard glare then scowls out the window.
“Hmmm.” No-Brains scribbles in his little notebook. “Tommy Tucker.” That gets our attention. He looks Turdmouth square on. “Yeah, I’ve been looking into you. If you’re with her, then I want to know all about you.”
What the?! I sink back deeper into my seat. He acts like he owns me. Nobody is the boss of me, ’cept for me and Mama.
He says, “Where’s your dad, son?”
Turdmouth doesn’t answer. His lips twist tighter, debating whether or not to talk.
I don’t want to even look at that detective, but One-Leg Larry is too important, so I do the talking. It’s not narking. Turdmouth needs his pops. “His dad went missing sometime last night. His name is Larry Tucker, but people call him One-Leg Larry.”
Turdmouth nods his thanks, while No-Brains writes it all down. When he’s done, he sets his pen aside. “I can’t discuss the case, but I can tell you all the victims have been women.”
That catches my breath, while I hear Turdmouth sigh his relief. I just see No-Brains from his chest up, but he’s hardly stopped watching me. His radar is set full-tilt my way. I’m almost afraid to move he’s staring so hard. I don’t want him to be into me like he is with Mama.
He adds, “Let’s suffice it to say that it’s extremely dangerous for two children to be roaming the streets alone these days.”
“Thanks to you, I’ve got to roam alone. You keep stopping me from finding Mama.” I whip out her picture and press it against the glass. He flinches like I slapped him and wish that I could. I’m glad to know how to rattle him, but hate that she’s the reason. He doesn’t deserve her, so I put her in my coat pocket to keep safe from him.
