Hiding

by N. M. Catalano

  “Rico, I understand, I saw the photo feed, watched them all as they came in. Believe me, there’s nothing more that I’d like to say than, ‘Go get that asshole,’ but that’s not the assignment. The assignment is…”

  “I know what the fucking assignment is, or I wouldn’t have called.”

  Tension crackles over the line.

  “Good, then there won’t be any misunderstandings. Let me know if any other visitors show up.”

  I don’t bother to click end call. I know the captain hung up on me.

  “GODDAM IT,” I growl, smashing my fist into the dashboard.

  Restless and with nothing better to do than wait for time to pass, focused on the store and parking lot in front of me, memories of a sixteen-year-old girl from a long time ago come back to life.

  “Jesus, Isabelle, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”

  A momentary break in the walls of the past crash down.

  The same gut wrenching heartache slams into me as the sounds and images of that day in the alley spring to life just as vividly as if everything had happened yesterday. Memories flood me as I sit in the quiet of the car, battering me like blows of a bat to my body.

  Shouts, the sickly sound of fists pounding relentlessly, grunts, curses, wails of pain, replay themselves on a loop repeating, and repeating, just like every time the ghosts of the past break free. Until the boom of the gunshot echoes off the brick walls of the alley. Everything slows, so horrifically slow, so that every tiny detail is noticed, the car horns from the street, the rain, the crying baby from some apartment far off, the acrid smell of finality. And my scream, my howl of terror. The sick feelings of rage and hopelessness fill me again just like that day.

  Finally, memories of the attack vanish back in their cell when the group of slaves emerge from the store and head back to the bus. I watch and wait, hoping that Pedro is going to get a visitor.

  I hope he shows up. I could use something to take my aggravations out on.

  With Pedro standing guard at the door of the bus, they climb back on board, each of them clutching their little plastic bags filled with more than daily necessities. Each sack represents a moment of false freedom, a break in their imprisonment, a flashback to a life they no longer have.

  I know why these people stay. If they didn’t, the drug lords who’d arranged for them to come here would kill their families back home. They’ve been warned repeatedly, it’s beaten into their heads, and probably their bodies.

  A life for a life.

  So they stay and make their little Saturday trips, live an hour of fantasy freedom for a little while, so their loved ones can survive.

  Pedro climbs up the steps after the last worker disappears inside the bus and the door closes. The bus starts and chugs slowly away.

  No one else is coming. That’s it. That’s always it, I’ve watched every single tape to know the routine by heart. There’d only been once that routine had deviated, the day the man we couldn’t identify showed up.

  I turn the key in the ignition of the Charger and pull out of the parking lot, but instead of heading right, I decide to follow the bus, at least until they turn off onto the farm.

  Maybe I’ll get lucky.

  I think of that girl, the one who’d been shoved to the ground, and the scumbag who’d done it.

  Yeah, maybe this time I’ll get lucky.

  RICO

  CHAPTER 3

  “Rico, you’re coming tonight, right? Elsie’d kick my ass if you didn’t show,” John Wolfe asks.

  Holding the phone to my ear, I roll my eyes.

  Shit, I forgot about dinner tonight.

  There’s no way I’m going to stand-up Elsie and everybody else, not after what everyone has been through.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. It’s for Brian, right, kind of a welcome home, and all that happy horse shit,” I smile.

  It’ll be good to get out with real people instead of the filth I have to deal with on a daily basis.

  “Hah! Yes, something like that,” John laughs. “You forgot, didn’t you, dude?”

  “No I didn’t forget, asshole, I’ve been working all day, after going to a crime scene last night. My mind apparently hasn’t gotten home yet. I’m good, I’ll be there. Your place?” I scrunch my eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to get my shit together.

  “No, Elsie found this new Spanish restaurant she loves, hasn’t shut up about how good it is,” I can hear John’s girlfriend, Elsie, yelling at him in the background, reminding him she could hear every word he’s saying. John laughs. “Elsie says you’re going to love it because, well, you know…”

  “What? Because I’m Puerto Rican? Damn right I’ll love it, if it’s authentic. Text me the name and I’ll pull it up on GPS.”

  “Alright. We have reservations for seven. Don’t be late.”

  “Go play house or whatever it is that you do. But pencil me in for a workout, I need it, man. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  It’s been a rough couple of decades.

  He pauses. “You sound beat. Tough case, huh? I’ve been watching the news.”

  John knows me.

  Things were rough initially. Working undercover when I first arrived, I’d been a total dick. I had to be. And I zeroed in on John to be my fall guy. He was the biggest dude, it had to be him by default. He kicked my ass, and I deserved it. I knew even at the time it could have been a lot worse. But he’d held back, probably because I have no doubt he could have killed me if he’d let the fury he’d had toward me loose.

  A lot like me.

  We’d developed immense respect for each other after that.

  That’s one thing I won’t take for granted.

  “Yeah, another kid dead last night who didn’t have to be. It sucks.”

  I won’t let it get to me.

  “I’m sorry, man. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Maybe tomorrow the four of us can go to the gym. We’ll talk about it at dinner.”

  “See you later, John. And leave the pink at home.”

  I can’t do pity, it’s worse than anything else.

  As John’s telling me to kiss something, I hang up, throw the phone on the bed and head to the kitchen to grab a Heineken. I hear the alert for a message as I pop the cap and turn up the bottle to take a long pull off the beer.

  Smacking my lips, “Damn, that’s good.” Back in the bedroom, I pick up the phone to read the message. “La Cocina, huh? Let’s see how good this little Spanish kitchen is, can’t be as good as back home.”

  A pang for a life a boy once knew reverberates in my chest.

  Three hours later, after some hits to the gym style bodybag I’ve got at home to vent some frustration, then a hot shower, I’m pulling the door open to the restaurant.

  Cute place, not your typical Spanish restaurant. Nice.

  It’s bright with a tropical beach mural painted along a whole wall, red and white checkered tablecloths, soft lighting, and contemporary Spanish music piped in through surround sound.

  Not slowing my stride, I walk in the direction of Elsie’s animated voice going on about something in the next dining room.

  It’s so good to hear her happy.

  “…Brian was attacked by a shark and Brooke was out there trying to find the damn thing.”

  I smile. Elsie’s introducing Brian and Brooke to somebody.

  She’s probably confusing the hell out of them.

  I walk into the next dining room and up to the group of people who welcomed me into their circle.

  Janie’s taken over the conversation. She’s a bit more levelheaded and not quite as emotional. “This is Brian and Brooke. He was attacked by a shark, and Brooke is a Marine Biologist. She was part of the team tracking the animal.”

  Somebody needed to clear that up.

  The woman they’re talking to is directly in front of me with her back facing me when I approach.

  Pretty hair, my gaze skims past the length ending midway down her ba
ck, nice ass, round, plump, and legs for days.

  A stirring begins to unfurl within me.

  It’s been a while since I’ve felt it.

  “You know John, Marco, and Elizabeth,” Elsie cuts in speaking to the shapely stranger. “The guys work-out at Evolutions gym, we go to classes there, you’re coming with us next week.”

  Still bossy.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I announce behind the woman.

  Elsie looks at me and grins, “And this is Rico.”

  The unknown woman slowly turns her head first, glancing at me over her shoulder, then her body follows, moving in perfect choreography and grace.

  Thunder. Lightning. Sonic boom.

  She’s stunning. Exquisite. Fucking Aphrodite in the flesh. A Latin exotic beauty ballads are written about.

  Just like Isabelle was.

  Fuck!

  Maria

  A Spanish man, and not Mexican!

  The first hints of panic begin. Even before I laid eyes on him, my fear awoke with his name alone. Everything inside tells me to run, get the hell out of there, and fast, before it’s too late. The first time in a long while.

  Then I see him.

  I can’t move. His dark eyes capture me and hold me prisoner, immobilizing me with the intensity of his look. As we stare at each other, his sharp jaw clenches and his nostrils flare while my gaze slips down his aristocratic nose, down to his lips, lips that I couldn’t help but follow the outline of with my eyes, only to be drawn back to the heat of his gaze. It’s his eyes that hold me. They squint fractionally as we stand transfixed, locked in the stare, like he has a question or something he wants to say. Stories hint at me behind his peering eyes. They know things, saw things, have their own secrets, and I feel like he can see all mine. In an instant I feel him stripping me with his look, penetrating beneath my skin, delving deep down inside me, trying to open all of my hidden doors. Can he know I’m hiding something? Can he read me that easily? Am I so obvious?

  What disturbs me most about him is the natural arrogance he has that I know only too well. It’s a look that’s born in only one place.

  The streets.

  An arrogance I hate because the gangbangers used it as a weapon.

  And hate to love because it is a badge of survival.

  Which one are you?

  My first thought had been to run.

  My second is Who are you and where did you come from? I can’t deny I’m intrigued by him, trapped by the scrutiny of his stare.

  The longer it held me, the deeper I fell.

  He’s more than handsome, an almost sinister masculinity of different shades of darkness, from his blue black hair, longish and sleek, taunting as if saying, ‘Rules don’t apply to me.’ His pale olive skin looks soft, almost like powder, even with the midnight scruff along his angular jaw and above his lip. He wears secrets and sensuality just like the clothes on his back, deliberately and with no apologies.

  He’s riveting, hypnotic, a lethal combination of danger and strength, it rolls off him in waves, from the ink on his arms disappearing beneath his t-shirt, to the slight smirk now playing on his mouth. He makes me want to tremble with apprehension and feelings I long since thought I’d never feel again. The contradiction is completely unsettling and is making me confused. His height makes me feel delicate, breakable, and very, very feminine. My skin burns not from the heat of his body so close to mine, but by his immense presence.

  I watch him soaking in everything about me that he’s seeing and reading in my eyes. It unnerves me, but I can’t stop him.

  What bothers me the most, I’m not sure if I want to.

  My whole existence, the existence I’d hated but had found comfort in, has just irrevocably changed. I don’t know how, but it has, and I’m not sure I’m happy about it.

  It doesn’t matter. I can’t take any chances.

  Elsie clasps my elbow and breaks the spell.

  “Rico, this is Maria. Her grandmother and aunt own the restaurant, and do all the cooking. You’re going to love it. She’s from New York.”

  No, no, no! Gang members are like the plague; they’ll find you anywhere!

  I need to keep my secrets hidden, I can only be a face and a first name, nothing more. I gave up my identity when I stepped on the bus, I’d had to. That was the one thing that held me prisoner, who I am. I have to be no one.

  “Really?” the man with the eyes full of secrets who reeks subdued danger asks, “I’m from New Jersey. What brings you down south?” His voice is casual and confident, masking what he’s really doing.

  Delving, searching, probing. Just like his eyes.

  Everything about him breathes command and leaves no room for question.

  The heavy weight of his complete attention is laser focused on me.

  It makes my heart beat faster.

  Along with the question.

  It’s a simple question really, one that any normal person would ask in any normal circumstance.

  My situation and circumstances are so far from normal, I’m not sure I’ll ever remember how to act that way again.

  I want to escape, but I’m drawn to him. This only compounds my confusion. His voice and attention are like a finger that strokes me and leaves a heated trail of sparks along my flesh, tightening his hold on me. His eyes peer deeper into mine daring me to give him all I have, his lips say without words they would devour me.

  An earthquake begins to rumble beneath my feet, heat flows through my veins, hot and thick like brandy seeping through me. It shocks me. I’ve never felt this. Not even with Raphael.

  I’m stunned and totally out of my element.

  I have to get out of here.

  “Same as everybody else, a car, plane, take your pick,” it’s a snide comeback, and absolutely bitchy, but I have no choice.

  It isn’t noticeable, but because I’m studying him, I see the flash of surprise in his eyes, then watch it morph into something else. A gradual smile lifts a corner of his lips, his eyes crinkle with it, but it’s not because of amusement.

  Not by far.

  As much as I’m wound tight, apprehensive and ready to run, I can’t help but stare back at him, he’s intoxicating. The layers that he is have slowly begun to peel away, each one an arsenal he undoubtedly uses at whim. Power, sexuality, and seduction is the air that surrounds him. He is the master, and could beckon them simply by smiling.

  This man burst into my life like a meteor, explosive and threatening to scorch anything in its way.

  I have to get out of here!

  “That’s funny, I could have sworn your mode of transportation would have been your broom, much more suitable for you,” the statement flows smoothly from his lips.

  Prick. Good for you for not taking my shit.

  As much as I wanted to be rid of him, I found myself enjoying the banter, feeling enlivened by it, stimulated.

  This isn’t a good thing.

  “Original. What? Did you make it all the way to fifth grade? Impressive,” the comeback comes just as smoothly, the bitch in me had been dormant for far too long.

  His lip twitches slightly.

  Amused?

  Surprised?

  Insulted?

  “I don’t want to brag, especially to someone from your neighborhood.”

  That was a low fucking blow.

  Boom! He shot me down with precision and perfection.

  He’s good, read me like a damn book, he knew exactly where I was from. The hood. Immediately he pegged me as dumb, and a low-life. Just like everybody else.

  He instantly found my weakness and effectively shut me up.

  My spine stiffens as I straighten my shoulders, then turn my attention to Elsie, “Someone will be back to get your order when you’re ready, Elsie.” I glance at the others, gathering all the pride I could. All of them are staring at me in shock. Yeah, bitch move. Couldn’t be helped, but he was a prick right back.

  It hurt.

  Bad.

  “I
t was very nice meeting everyone.”

  I walk away. Fast. Straight into the kitchen.

  “I’m not going back out there until Elsie and her friends are gone!” I announce as I plop myself down on a stool at the far end of the center table in the kitchen, refusing to budge.

  “What is it? You’re as pale as a ghost,” my aunt Julie asks.

  “Oh, nothing. Just a guy, a Puerto Rican if I’d have to bet, from New Jersey. He looks just like any thug, only dressed better.” My pride is shredded, my determination gone.

  But it’s more than that. He possesses authority, yes. He’s also street, but refined, and can command you with only a look.

  I can feel the danger simmering beneath his reserve.

  “Maria, you can’t possibly believe…,” Julie questions.

  “Oh, yes I do believe. They’ve got this…,” I wave my hands in the air, “thing about them, this attitude. It’s just pouring from him. Make him leave. Kick him out. You’re the owner, make him go away.”

  And he made me feel like shit.

  But I begin to question myself and my reaction.

  Maybe I am being ridiculous. But that guy is gang, I know it. I can feel it. They’re all connected one way or another. I can’t take any chances.

  Julie puts her hands on her hips and stares down at me. “I can’t do that; this is a business. And a small town. There’s no way that one of Los…”

  “Don’t even say that name out loud! What if someone hears you?” I steal a look around wide-eyed to see if anyone is within earshot. “If he is connected, and finds out who I am, he could tell his friends in New York. They’ve probably got a price on my head, I’m dead!”

  “You’re overreacting, Maria,” my grandmother states flatly.

  “Maybe I am, but I can’t risk it.” I cross my arms over my chest in finality. “I’m not going back out there. I’ll help in the kitchen, you go out there,” I stand and take off my apron, grateful I don’t have to face him again. Reaching a hand out to my aunt, “Give me yours. You go.”

  The older woman huffs, “Fine. I’ll go, then I’ll tell you how silly you’re being.” She unties her full apron and grabs the other to put it on. “I hope you weren’t rude.”