Watcher

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Fucker’s gotta die, Dev.” There was a growing rumble from the side of the building, and one of his Soldiers appeared, driving a car. Watcher had a thought on how to deal with disposal, and got a nod in response to his question, “Car belong to the asshole?” He sucked in a breath before turning back to Devil. “Carmela”—instinctively he renamed the girl, afraid she would have bad associations with strange men using her given name—“comes with us,” he continued, reading the lifted chin Devil had in reaction. “Brother, I can’t leave her behind. Not like this.” He pointed to the building behind him. “Her owner’s dead, so what’s she got here? Nothing waiting for her at home, either. We all know that’s true from everything we’ve learned. Her family probably won’t take her back, and in any case, her family is who dealt her this life. We bring her back with us, we buy her better. No matter what, it’s gotta be better than what she’s had.” Watcher shook his head, thinking about the church they’d teamed up with to shelter rescues. “The mission gives her better odds.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned and went back inside. It startled him to see Carmela had evidently bonded with Andy and was clinging to his side. She cringed in genuine fear whenever she looked at any of the other men, but trusted the kid. Quietly, Watcher issued orders to deal with the dead man and then approached Andy and the girl slowly. Wouldn’t do to spook her now, not with the sick look on Andy’s face which said she’d evidently shared some of what Watcher knew she had to have lived through.

  He’d need to give her the illusion of choice, to gain her cooperation to get her across the river. “Little one, where do you go?” He squatted as he would with Bella, resting one knee on the floor, grounding himself and making it so she knew he couldn’t move fast if she decided to evade. Giving her the power in their conversation.

  Andy’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and Carmela leaned back, letting him take her weight, using that connection to anchor herself before she answered. Softly, her voice quavering on the cusp of losing control, she said, “I have nowhere, señor.” Her dark brown eyes swam with tears, but she bravely held his gaze. Steady. Waiting. Having been taught life wasn’t fair by the same people who were supposed to protect you. Like Juanita and Bethy, he thought. Like Tabby.

  Never again. Not for this one.

  “Devil, I want you to put her on your bike, nice-like.” Watcher held her gaze, willing her to trust him. Trust him and by extension trust these rough men who surrounded her. Trust them to be kinder, gentler, more human than the filth to which she’d been given. After a long minute, she twisted her torso, staring up at Andy who nodded. Without looking away, holding Andy’s gaze, she reached out one trembling hand, and Watcher saw it swallowed up by Devil’s gentle grip.

  Andy then took away any ease Watcher had by showing he didn’t have faith in them, not really. Not yet. “I promised her safety, Watch. Don’t make me sorry I trusted you.”

  Do I give him this? Do I hand him the knowledge of what was done to her? What was done to my Juanita? Watcher gave it a minute, then stopped Andy when it looked like he was about to speak, deciding to ride the middle road, giving him a little honesty, but not more than he could handle. “It’s not like that, fucker.” Watcher shook his head, willing the man to understand. “Her uncle told me to bury her with her patrón, Ice Man. I can’t do that. We’ll get her safe, hear me?”

  Without giving Andy time to respond, he walked out, yelling directions and instructions to his men. My men, he thought proudly. My brother’s legacy. Andy needs to understand how we are. Needs to believe in us. The club. Family. Kids and family, they’re why we do it all. So fuckin’ important he understands what it all means. Honor. “Diamond,” Watcher called, “you good, brother?” This started the process of cleanup and staging to roll. Between him and Opie, they sorted the men, waiting for the ones who had driven off to return, Watcher knowing whatever gully or ravine they found would serve here. Once everything was settled, it only left Andy to deal with, and Watcher found he’d grown impatient. Unwilling to wait any longer, he needed to know where the man stood. Andy’s injury gave him an in, so Watcher walked over to where he sat on his Indian. “Are you sure you’re okay to ride, Ice Man?”

  “Yeah, it’s good. I got this,” Andy responded. Watcher nodded, looked down at his bloody left leg, and laughed at the lie. No way would the leg support him to stand and start the bike. Watcher kicked the Indian to life and gave him a chin lift. “You did good with Diamond, thanks.” Watcher raised his fist to meet Andy’s in a bump, then turned and mounted his own bike. A whirl of his finger in the air and they were off, headed home. To Juanita, he thought, and my Bella. Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw Devil in line behind him, tiny Carmela wrapped around his torso, seated on the gas tank. With our Mela.

  ***

  “Papa,” Bella called across the yard. Even without looking Watcher knew her shadow would be with her. Mela still hadn’t opened up to any of them, but it had been only a couple of weeks. Not surprising she’d be keeping her own counsel, still. For the first few days, her smiles had been a rare commodity, but recently she’d loosened up, and every grin fed his joy. Each time he witnessed proof of her healing, he thanked God he’d brought her home. Straightening from where he had been crouched down next to his bike, Watcher wiped his hands on a rag, smiling as he saw the girls running pell-mell across the lawn towards him.

  “Slow down,” he called, warning Bella, but his princess didn’t listen, running into his legs full force. He reached down, cupping the back of her head, keeping her from a rebound tumble as Mela rocked to a stop nearby, her approach significantly more sedate and controlled. “What are my girls doing?” In discussing how best to help Mela through what had happened to her, he and Juanita had decided to treat her as their own, including her in everything like family.

  Bella’s eyes turned up to him, love shining strongly from her tiny face and he basked in it for a moment before turning to Mela, thrilled to see a wary trust in her gaze. “Gone help joo.” Bella’s mouth curved, and he smiled in response at her gap-toothed grin. Her first bottom tooth had come out two weeks ago, its partner hanging on by only the narrowest of margins.

  Growing up, he thought with an inward wince. Dances and prom and learning to drive will be next. Pushing those thoughts aside, he asked, “What are you helping me with?”

  “You bike, siwwy.” Bella’s lisp was ridiculously cute, and he couldn’t help himself, he bent over and picked her up, cuddling her close for a moment, her impossibly long legs wrapping around his waist.

  Glancing back at Mela, he tipped his head to one side. “Do I get two helpers?” She nodded solemnly. So old. Age rested there in her eyes, in her distrust of everyone around her except Bella. Bella she had adopted immediately, and it wasn’t uncommon for him or Juanita to find the girls sharing a bed, a bath, and on one hilarious day, one of his shirts. Both their heads had poked from the neck hole, each girl had an arm extended through a sleeve as they’d jumped out from behind the couch, shouting in unison, “Ta-dah!”

  “Right. Bella—” He bent over, setting her feet back on the ground. “—I need a wrench from the blue toolbox. The wrench I need’s got a green handle. Can you get it for me?” She nodded and turned, racing off on the errand he’d made up on the spot. Mela’s head turned to watch her go, then she looked back up at him. Waiting. Wanting her own task. “I need a rag holder, too. Can you do that for me?” He extended the greasy rag, half expecting her to screech and pull back, but she simply took it from him, holding it without breaking their stare. “I’m adjusting my chain. Means I gotta sit on the ground.” She was right beside the bike, nearly exactly where he needed to be, and he needed her to move, trying to find a way of sitting down without scaring her by getting too close.

  From the first night, she’d watched his easy affection with Bella, but hadn’t initiated anything with either him or Juanita yet. He still hoped it would come, but for now, he’d settle with just not frightening her
. She nodded and took a step to the side, then surprised him by folding her legs to sit down. Patting the ground next to her. A clear invitation, he accepted and knelt, then sat. Tools still on the rag underneath the bike where he’d laid them when he first heard the girls, he picked up what he needed, and started to work.

  A minute passed, and then, “Papa Watcher?” Mela’s voice was soft, her interrogatory tone was unexpected, and his heart caught, jolting in his chest.

  He didn’t turn to look and tried hard to ignore the thrill he got from her name for him, one he hadn’t heard before, steadying his voice so he could answer. “Yeah, my Mela?” He leaned back, elbow to the ground so he could reach up to poke at nothing with the wrench in his hand. He wanted to look busy, giving him a chance to focus on her without seeming to do so.

  “Am I here forever?” She took in a sighing breath, and he forced himself to stay as he was. “Will you make me leave?” Another heavy breath in with a controlled exhale. “I’m happy.” This last was said in a whisper, almost like a guilty confession, as if she didn’t believe herself worth happiness.

  “Mela, you’re tearin’ my heart out, honey.” Without moving, he spoke, staring at the bike. “You deserve happy, honey. Deserve to be a kid. You can be my kid, if you want. Stay here forever.” She made a noise, and he looked back to see her focused on his hands. Clenched tightly around the tools, they were discolored from the chain lube he’d been working in, stained by the work he’d done, but they’d wash clean, if he used the right kind of cleanser. “Look at my hands, Mela. See how dirty they are?” She nodded, and he dropped the tools, letting them clatter to the ground. “Hand me the rag, honey,” he held out his hand. “Watch me.” She did, and as he wiped his hands, she remained focused. Each stroke of the rag took a layer of dirt and grease away. Each pass left his hands cleaner. “Nothing is so bad it can’t be wiped away. You let Juanita and me, we’ll help you clean everything away, honey. Everything, until you’re new again.” Not a lie, he promised himself, we’ll get her there.

  “Papa, there’s no gween wench.” Bella flung herself on the grass next to the driveway. “I’m tired.” She laid back, staring up into the sky. “Stayin’ here forevah.” Her words unconsciously mimicked the just-interrupted conversation, and he glanced to see a grin cross Mela’s face right before she settled herself on the ground next to her friend.

  “Me, too.” Mela laughed, for the first time sounding like the child she was and he marveled at the way she so easily moved from a tough discussion to being silly with her best friend. Only six years separated the two girls in age, and his mind shied away from traveling down a path where he imagined his Bella in the same situation. Instead, he chose to drop to the ground next to his daughter, closing his eyes so he could listen to the beautiful music of children’s laughter ringing through the air.

  “I’m a fish,” Bella declared, and he turned his head, smiling as he watched her sucking in her cheeks, trying to make fish lips, failing due to the gap in her bottom teeth. Mela hooked her thumbs together, folding her hands and then inverting them so they formed fish fins underneath her chin.

  “Glub, glub.” Mela sucked air as she tried to talk through pursed lips, laughing through it all. “I’m a fish, too.” Grinning wide, she waggled her fingers. “Fishy, fishy.”

  “My favorite kinda fish,” he laughed. “Tickle fish!” Fingers to Bella’s sides, he started his campaign, falling to his back again when Mela came to Bella’s defense. Moments later, both girls descended on him, fingers at the ready, drawing peal after peal of laughter from them all.

  ***

  “Hand me the sugar, bebe.” Juanita was trying to be quiet and knowing the effort she would put into it made Watcher grin. She knew better. Should know, anyway. Quiet would wake him every time. He could sleep through a mine detonating, but you let someone whisper, and he’d be upright and alert in an instant.

  He stretched and sighed. It was Sunday, and from the slant of the sunshine coming through the blinds on the front windows of the house, it was late in the afternoon. After lunch he’d sat to watch the game for a minute, ankles propped and crossed on one arm of the couch, head to the other end, and he’d apparently fallen asleep.

  Juanita would be in the kitchen rustling up supper. At least one and maybe both girls with her. A month since they’d brought Mela home, and she had finally been settling. Until yesterday, when Andy, who she’d begun calling Tío, had come out to say good-bye. A rolling stone to the bone. Devil had called it during church a week ago, said he’d seen signs in their friend that he would soon be moving on. Not destined to be a Soldier, after all.

  From the time they returned from Old Mexico, Mela had locked onto Andy every time he was near, the bond created between the two seemingly unbreakable. Watcher had seen her chin quiver when Andy had sat her down to talk. Then she’d collected herself, bringing out the serene composure Watcher hated to see, that of a woman when she was still only a child.

  A camera shutter clicked a dozen times, and he knew Mela was capturing another moment on film. She’d found an old 35mm camera in a box, and always kept it near to hand. She’d have him at the pharmacy every day developing rolls if she could, excited to see every image, discovering beauty in even the blurry ones. Making memories for herself, and he loved seeing her find something she could enjoy.

  “Mama ‘Nita, do you think my family misses me?” Watcher’s breath clogged in his throat at the question. God, what can Juanita say to that? He didn’t know how he would respond, and he wasn’t a woman tortured and abandoned by her family, much less a child.

  “Bebe, look in your heart. What does it say?” A chair scraped across the floor, then a thump as something heavy was placed on the counter. “When you think of your mama and papá, what do you hear in your heart?”

  Thin and weak, Watcher still heard the response. “They do.” Voice soft and quiet, Mela asked, “Could I call my papá sometime?”

  Watcher and Juanita had discussed this. Multiple times. At length. They disagreed in a way which meant they’d never see the same side. He was in favor of looking for the girl’s family, knowing in his soul he wouldn’t rest if his Bella were missing. Wouldn’t rest until she was back with him, whole or not. Juanita felt differently, and her strong reservations and objections were what had swayed him, ultimately. She believed the girl’s family was better off believing her to be dead than find out what had happened.

  Surprising him, Juanita didn’t respond negatively. Instead, she asked a question, “You think your papá can see what’s in your heart?” A pause, then Juanita continued carefully, “Instead of what’s on your skin?” Another thing they disagreed about, and on this one he felt more vehemently against leaving things as they were. If he had his way, Juanita’s brand would be history, taken away by a surgeon’s knife, leaving her skin blemish free. She’d told him, carefully, but repeatedly, what was on her skin didn’t matter, the surgeon couldn’t excise her memories. They’d had a first consultation, and the doc said Mela would be a good candidate for removal of her brand.

  Voice soft and quiet, Mela answered, “Mama ‘Nita, Papá is a good man. He would…not…” A frustrated noise, then a burst of Spanish followed by Juanita’s admonishing, “English, bebe.” Bella would be bilingual because she’d been raised from birth in a home where language usage flowed smoothly back and forth. Mela had to work harder with English, so Juanita wanted her focusing on the foreign language until she was thinking in it, and no longer translating in her head. “Papá would want to know. Papa Watcher is like him, and Papa Watcher would want to know. I know, Mama ‘Nita. I know.”

  “Then we’ll call your papá, when Watcher wakes up.” Juanita sounded calm, but Watcher knew it had to be a struggle for her to hold her composure. If Mela’s family wanted her back, he and Juanita would lose their little girl. It would be a blow, because Mela had folded into their family and they both loved her. Not only that, but he knew Juanita would forever wonder if she’d done right by turnin
g her back on her own family.

  “I go see Papa’s wake.” That was his Bella, and her light footsteps raced towards him through the house. Closing his eyes, he rolled his head towards the back of the couch, feigning sleep. In a not-so-sneaky tiptoe, she approached the sofa, then called back towards the kitchen, voice far louder than she intended. “Nope, still seep—” Her words cut off in a squeal as he rolled and grabbed her, tossing her into the air and catching her, then bringing her down for a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. “Papa’s wake, Mama!”

  ***

  Watcher twitched the curtain back from the office window in the barn, phone to his ear, watching as his two girls played in the pool. Double ringing in his ear, signaling an international call, then a connection, and a woman’s voice, “Hola.” His Spanish wasn’t up to the job of wading through staff to get to the man, but he suspected the information found out by Mason’s boys about who Carmela’s father was would mean they had multilingual staff.

  “Hello, is Mr. Estavez available?” He paused, then when there was no response, reverted to a secondary position. “Hablas Ingles?”

  “Si, un momento, por favor.” Silence on the line, and then a heavily accented male voice spoke.

  “Hello.”

  Watcher took a breath, all his patient scripting having flown from his head. He’d gone over what this conversation would be dozens of times, wanted to do it fast but thoughtfully, so as to cause the least pain. Unless this man was in cahoots with his brother, and the word was he was not, what Watcher had to say would be torture.

  “Hello? Hola?”

  “Mr. Estavez? Raul Estavez?” Best to make sure of which brother, because he wanted Raul, not Carlos. Carlos was the man he’d spoken to on Carmela’s phone, the man who had earned a lifelong enmity with his words.