30

The SUV drove down the side of the house. Hulking. Black. Tinted windows. Shotcaller riding up front. His wraparound sunglasses, steroid-tree-trunk neck and teardrop tattoos matched the driver’s. One other man was riding in back, bigger than both of them.

The SUV made the turn and parked directly behind the house. The three men got out, pistols slung low on their hips, and walked to the back door. The two men with Shotcaller held black canvas duffels.

Pony was waiting for them. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Shotcaller walked past him and inside without saying anything. The two other men headed straight for the bedroom. Shotcaller dug a brown pill bottle out of his pocket and tossed it towards one of the men. “Two each. It’ll take the edge off. Don’t want them getting hinky on the ride.”

The man who caught the bottle, popped the lid off. He tapped four white pills into his palm.

“You need some water?” said Pony.

“Sure,” said the man holding the pills.

Pony started to duck back towards the kitchen to fetch it. Shotcaller caught his elbow. “Where are the others?” he asked.

He had been hoping Shotcaller wouldn’t ask him. The rule was that there should always be at least two people in the house in case the Chinese kids tried to escape.

“They had to go out.”

Shotcaller’s features darkened. He raised his sunglasses so that they were perched on his head. He stared at Pony with coal-black eyes. “Out?”

“Princess hit her head. Joker took her to the hospital.”

Shotcaller shook his head. There were sounds of a struggle in the bedroom. Still staring with a deathly menace at Pony, he went into the room.

The girl had her lips clamped shut. Water spilled down her chin. A man held the back of her head, trying to make her take the tranquilizers. He grabbed her hair and yanked at it. She whimpered but kept her mouth closed.

Shotcaller took three long strides over to the boy, Charlie. He drew his gun and pushed the barrel into the kid’s temple. “Swallow the pills or I blow his head off. Your choice,” he told Emily.

He didn’t raise his voice. His tone was even. He had learned a long time ago that sometimes a person would sacrifice their own life before they would that of someone close to them. Blood was a powerful bond.

Emily’s lips parted. She stared daggers at him as the pills were forced into her mouth.

She sipped some water. Swallowed.

They made her open her mouth, lift her tongue, and wiggle it around to ensure she had taken them.

“We’re moving you,” Shotcaller told them.

“Where?” said Emily.

“Somewhere nicer.” He turned to the two men he had arrived with. “Get them ready. We’re out of here in ten.”

Shotcaller walked back into the living room where Pony was sitting on the edge of the couch. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills and a bag of weed and tossed them both onto the table. “Don’t worry. That’s just a down payment. You did good.”

“Princess is pissed,” said Pony.

“Women are always pissed. She’ll get over it.”

“So where they going now?”

As soon as the final syllable of the question had passed Pony’s lips he knew he’d messed up. The question hung in the air. Shotcaller stared at him.

“Sorry. None of my business,” Pony stuttered.

Shotcaller’s eyes didn’t drop.

“I just––”

Shotcaller took a step towards him. “You just what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Pony. He could feel his throat start to close up. His mouth was dry.

Finally, Shotcaller blinked. “That’s right. It doesn’t.”

“Where are you taking us?” said Emily.

Someone grabbed her, pulling her arms behind her back. She heard the rip of heavy silver tape, then felt her wrists being bound together.

Neither of the two men said anything.

She glanced at Charlie. He was staring at the carpet. His eyes were closed. He had started closing his eyes when someone came into the room. She had asked him why. He had told her that he wanted them to think he wouldn’t be able to identify the kidnappers. It was safer that way. It gave them a better chance of survival.

Emily wouldn’t do it. Every opportunity she had, she stared them down. She was going to let them know that she wasn’t scared of what they’d do. She was scared. She was terrified. But she refused to show it. If they wanted to kill her, they could do it while looking into her eyes.

Charlie spoke about Chinese pride. But when it came down to it he was a coward. That was, in some ways, what would linger long after this, that her cousin was what the Americans called a punk.

“Where are we going?” Emily repeated.

She could feel the pills they had forced on her starting to take effect. She wasn’t sleepy exactly. It was more that everything seemed otherworldly. As if she were watching herself underwater, and from behind a sheet of glass.

One of the men stood in front of her. He reached into his bag and pulled out a blue bandana just like the ones the kidnappers had worn back at the house. It seemed like such a long time ago. Another lifetime. Completely and utterly separate from the present.

The man started to fold the bandana and place it around her face. She shook it off.

He stood away, drew his hand back and slapped her hard. She felt something crack and pain surged in two lines up her face.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. He was so close she could smell his cheap cologne. He yanked her hair. She could feel her left eye start to close.

This time she let him put the bandana on. He put a ball cap on her head and pulled her to her feet. The other man did the same with Charlie.

They were led out of the bedroom and into the living room. Pain pulsed through her head. She thought she was going to pass out, not sure if it was the sudden blow, the pills kicking in or a combination of the two.

She was dumped on the couch, Charlie next to her.

There were two others in the room. An older man and the younger one who’d been with the three who’d taken them. The younger one looked scared out of his mind.

They had that much in common, she thought.

The older man paced in front of them. From the way the others watched him it was clear that he was in charge.

He crouched down so that he was at her eye level. “What happened to her face?” he said, turning back to the other two men.

The one who had slapped her shuffled his feet and stared down. “She was being difficult.”

“That true?” the man said to her.

She looked at him, struggling to keep her eyes open. Still defiant.

“ Get lost,” she said.

The man laughed. The others joined in, even the young scared one that she’d heard being called Pony.

“I can see why Princess liked you so much,” he said.

He drew his hand back. His fingers were bunched into a fist. Emily braced herself for another blow.

Before it came, the man’s cell phone rang. His fingers unclenched. He answered, speaking Spanish.

It was a short call, maybe twenty seconds. He gestured for the younger man to follow him back into the bedroom, telling the other two to stay where they were and keep guard over her and Charlie.

Charlie snuck a look at her. “Stop provoking them,” he said to her in Mandarin.

One of the men grabbed his shoulder. “No talking.”

In the bedroom, Shotcaller paced. Pony stood in a corner, one eye on the window. If it wasn’t for the bars he would have dove straight through it.

The call. It had been bad news. The kind of call that got people like him killed.

“You know anything about it?” Shotcaller said.

“No, I swear. He was taking her to get her head fixed.”

“This is messed up,” said Shotcaller.

“I know, I know, it’s bad. I can’t believe they’d play me like this.”

“They’d play you?”

“Play us,” Pony corrected himself.

“You know what you have to do, right?” said Shotcaller.

Pony did. Shotcaller wanted him to kill Joker and Princess.

“Me? Can’t you get someone else?”

“Hey, you just told me you were the one who got played.”

“I know, but they’re my homies. Joker and me, we grew up together.”

“Makes it worse in my book. A stranger playing you is one thing. But someone that’s close, that’s family . . .”

Pony’s heart sank even further. They should have taken the cars and left it at that. They’d gotten greedy. Moved into territory that wasn’t theirs. The two Chinese sitting a few feet away, it was like they’d come with some kind of curse.

There was an inevitability to this. It was inescapable. Pony would have to murder Joker and Princess. If he refused, or didn’t follow through, he would be killed, and so would his homies. Double-crossing, Shotcaller demanded it. Those were the rules. Shotcaller couldn’t let it pass. If he made an exception, his own life would be in danger. MS-13 was not an organization that allowed for weakness.

“I’ll take care of it,” Pony said finally.

“I know you will.”