CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

 

Manuel hotwired the car, shifted it into drive, and sped off. In the rear view mirror he could see the owner standing on the sidewalk—some dumb ass old white man—shaking his fist at him.

He laughed. Idiot!

Manuel headed south, not exactly sure where. He knew he needed to ditch his old lady’s car when he’d heard over the radio that they had found her and were now looking for his golden ass.

Problem was he liked his freedom. He hated the sound of a cell door slamming behind him. Possibly for the rest of his life...or till they stuck the needle in his arm.

He definitely didn’t want to be some bastard’s prison boy toy.

And the food in the joint was poison. Even the rats avoided it like the plague, preferring to feast on the inmates while they slept and had bad dreams.

Before he went back to prison, Manuel would sooner kill himself.

But that wasn’t in his immediate plans either. That’s why he’d stolen the old white dude’s Buick LeSabre.

Too much to live for. He giggled like a teenager. Yeah, he was high as a kite and loving every damned minute of it.

The cocaine left Manuel seeing stars, but still in control. At least he knew that he had to hide out till things cooled down. Later he’d probably head back to L.A. He could get lost in the Latino hood and no one would ever find him.

Right now he had to lay low. Think about life without Claudia. She was a waste anyway. He increased his speed without being the wiser. The bitch could never satisfy him. Always a complainer and a lousy lay.

She had finally gotten what she had coming.

Manuel took note of the speedometer as the car neared ninety miles per hour. Though the fast speed thrilled him, made him feel like he was flying like a plane—he pushed down on the brake till he had fallen within the normal limit. It would be just his dumb luck to get stopped for speeding, only to have the cop find out that was the least of his troubles.

Or the cop’s once he pulled out his blade and cut the son of a bitch up.

Manuel laughed again, enjoying flirting with death. But he didn’t feel it was his time yet.

Not when he still had some unfinished business.

He had a date with the Latina attorney, Beverly Mendoza. He’d watched the house as a security system was installed. Even seen when she and the boy fled the house that night with the black man they were with earlier. Manuel suspected he had probably offered to put them up for the night or however long they needed to feel safe.

But the boyfriend can’t protect you forever, bitch.

And neither could some two bit alarm.

Not if he had his mind made up to go after her.

Which he had.

He always got what he wanted from a woman. Why should she be any different?

When he was done with her, she would wish he had never been born.

Or that she hadn’t been.

Isn’t that what the judge’s wife wished after she had been forced to submit to sexual acts—or die?

Only the attorney wouldn’t be so lucky, Manuel promised himself. When it was over, she wouldn’t live to tell her story to anyone who would listen.

* * *

Manuel arrived at his auntie’s apartment.

The truth was he had no more desire to be there than she wanted him there. But he needed a place to chill. And he doubted anyone would look for him there.

After all, he had only been in touch with her twice in the past ten years.

Both times he had only been trying to look out for her.

Now he had to look out for himself.

He heard the lock turn. When the door opened just enough to allow air in, he saw a frightened old woman. She tried to shut the door in his face. But he was quicker, forcing it open, so that the chain lock ripped from the wall.

She fell to the floor from the impact of the door crashing against her feeble body. He saw that she was dazed, but still conscious.

He closed the door, turning the dead bolt lock that was still functioning.

He faced the pitiful sight beneath him. “Sorry, Auntie,” he said without remorse. “I need to spend some time with you for a while. And since I don’t see nobody able to stop me, looks like it’s just you and me—”

He watched as she tried to speak, but nothing came out except for a gasp or two. As if she had asthma.

He wondered if she was having a heart attack or something.

It would serve her right, Manuel laughed to himself. Family shouldn’t reject family. Especially when he was all she had left now that her dumb assed son Rafael had gotten himself locked up again!