nineteen

Lucas stood in a dark alley, his backpack on, bedroll under his arm. He swore quietly as he shoved the gun deeper into the bedroll. He’d have to sell it. Couldn’t believe he missed that fucker Mallen and hit Dreamo. There’ll be a lot of people pissed at him for that. Lots of junkies just lost a good dealer. Yeah, they won’t come after him themselves, but they’d not bat an eyelash at sicking someone who was capable of fucking up his shit if they could get a little something out of it. Shit shit shit shit! Maybe now was the time to leave this town. His shoulders sagged. He didn’t want to leave. This was a good town for street living. It was easy to get around, and if you kept your head down, you were pretty much invisible. Goddamn it! How the fuck did he miss Mallen? The gun sight must be fucked. It wasn’t me shaking, he thought, I was just too strung out. Should’ve waited until that prick came out. Shoulda followed him down the street and then put a cap in the back of the fucker’s head. How would he get a second chance now?

Then it came to him. He knew how to get his second chance. The fucker would eventually show up there. Had to. Everyone goes home at some time.

–––––

Gato got the text on his phone at 11:43 p.m. It was from one of Mama Lobo’s crew. Said, “Behind Treasure Island.”

Vague, but good enough. He left the hotel. Walked to the garage to where the Falcon was parked. No valet bullshit. Nobody drove this baby, nobody but its daddy. He hopped inside and roared down Ogden and made the turn onto the strip. Yeah, it was a crazy town, and he could see the attraction, but it just wasn’t for him. He’d take his city anytime. He did wonder what New York would be like. Maybe he’d see it one day, once he’d found Lupe.

He made Treasure Island and drove around to the back service area. The place was huge. Behind the building was an army of dumpsters. Jesus, he thought, how much garbage did a place like this make? Over at the edge of the lot, he spied an old Chevy Impala parked in the shadows. That had to be the guy.

The Falcon pulled up next to the Impala, driver’s window to driver’s window. Gato’s right hand was wrapped around his Sig 239. He’d taken to keeping it near at hand, no matter where he went. The guy in the car was bald, head completely tatted with biblical quotes in a bold, Gothic font.

“Gato, right?” the man said.

Gato nodded.

The man indicated himself. “Hector.”

“Okay. Why the text?”

“Found your sister, man.”

And here was that moment that he’d hoped for, for so damn long. But was it for real? “How you know it’s my sister, man?”

“She answered to Paloma.”

“Answered? That’s passed tense, vato.”

“She ain’t Poloma anymore, man.”

Gato’s first thought that he was about to be shown her grave. And if that were the case, he wouldn’t stop until the pendejos who did it were hanging from burning trees. His hand tightened on the handle of Sig. “What do you mean?”

Hector grinned there in the darkness. He had a gold tooth, inscribed with a fancy “H.” It caught some of the overhead light from a security lamp. Glowed and shined. “She not on the street anymore, by all accounts, man.”

“You hear why?”

He was met by a shrug. “Heard a lot of stories, man. Been out workin’ and listenin’. Some of the stories say she got taken in by a pimp named Metal Mike. Some say she left the streets on her own. Livin’ in a room outside Old Vegas.”

“Where is that place?”

“On North Twentieth. Some place that should be condemned. An apartment building that still looks like a hotel for people who can’t do better. Second floor, rear. Number six. Heard she barely goes out.”

“Barely goes out? What’s the reason?”

“Dunno. I was only told to give you leads. And there you are. Two of ’em. Follow ’em down, kitty cat.”

And Gato knew then and there he didn’t like Hector. “Thanks.” He rolled away quickly, wanting to get away from the man and follow up on the lead. She was close. Gato was beginning to feel it.

He put the car in gear and checked the GPS on his phone. It wasn’t far to north Twentieth. He went fast. It was late enough that maybe he’d even catch her there. Mama Lobo wouldn’t steer him wrong. He was sure of that. Those eyes weren’t the eyes of someone who would hurt him.

–––––

It took longer than he would’ve liked, but Vegas really never slept, so there was traffic all the time. Only when he got a way from the strip did the traffic thin out. As he drove, Gato wondered what he’d really say. When he first started tracking Lupe down, he thought he would let into her the minute they came face-to-face. Yell at her about how could she leave their madre like she did. But now? Now he just wanted to put his arms around her, tell her about their madre. About how much they needed her help.

He turned the corner onto Twentieth and pulled to the curb, cutting the engine. Looked up and down the street. Considered the information Hector’d given him. There was no way his sister would live here. Maybe Hector was setting him up for an emboscada?

The place put the worst halfway houses he’d ever seen to shame. Pulled his gun from under the seat. Sighed. Ran his fingers through his dark and stringy hair. Time for another shave job. He had to believe that Mama Lobo was playin’ it clean. That she wouldn’t send him to his death. She was Ali’s madre. He got out and walked to the lobby door. Hector had told him the second floor. It was suddenly feeling too easy. Maybe his time with Mallen had made him more paranoid than in the old days? Was she really here? He turned the knob on the lobby door. It opened. He would’ve felt better if it’d been locked. Wouldn’t have made it seem like such a trap. The other side of him told him that in a neighborhood like this, a locked lobby door would’ve been asking a lot, so don’t worry.

As soon as he was inside, instinct took over and he pulled the gun. Walked quietly up the stairs, gun held low and a bit behind him should he run into a civilian. But there was nobody. The place was as silent as an empty closet at midnight. He moved to the second floor and down the hall at “double stealth.” He found number six at the end of the hall on the left. His high tops made no noise at all on the thin, threadbare hall carpet. Got to the door. Stood off to the side. Tapped lightly with the barrel of his gun.

Heard movement inside the room. He tapped again. “Lupe, hermano pequeño de Eddie. That was the name they’d used on him when he was a kid. Always “Eddie.” Had always pissed him off. If he’d been able to choose, then Eduardo was the lesser of two evils. She would know it was him. No one else knew how much he hated the name Eddie.

Movement inside the room. Then nothing. Even ambient noise from outside had ceased to exist, it seemed so totally quiet. “Lupe?” he asked again, almost a whisper.

Then there was a voice from the other side of the door. Soft. Feminine. Young. “Eduardo?”

It was her. Her. It was. “Lupe!” he said urgently. “Let me in. I’ve come for you. I gotta take you home.”

Another pause. There was the rake of the safety chain. The release of the locks. The door opened … .

Her eyes were dark, but with the faintest mix of hazel. Skin the color of brandy. A face that, like her mother’s, was a face that artists would’ve used in their paintings of The Virgin, but with Lupe it would also include a touch of Mary Magdalene. Taller than Gato by just an inch, but that inch meant a lot to the both of them.

Her stomach was swollen. A large round globe. She carried her baby low.

Gato took one look at her, then at her stomach, and then threw his arms around her. “Oh Lupe! Lupe! I found you!”

She started to cry. He could feel her warm tears on his neck. All she said was, “Hermanito.”

He hugged her tightly. As tight as he could with the fact that she was indeed very pregnant.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s mama. She needs your help, Lupe. She’s not—” There were footsteps in the hall outside. He felt Lupe tense as she whispered, “Miguel.”

“Metal Mike?” was all he had time for as Metal Mike came round the hall corner and down toward them.

The man wasn’t large. Only a couple inches taller than Gato. Wasn’t more muscular, either. It was the eyes that set off warning signs in Gato, as if he needed more. They were pale blue, almost white. Gave the man an air of one who is beyond caring about the pain he inflicts. He dressed in a grey suit, tie a few shades darker than the suit. Gato could see the bulge of a gun under the jacket, under the left arm. He’d expected, with a street name like Metal Mike, for the man to dress like a street dude. The fact he was dressed the way he was put Gato even more on his guard. Mike wasn’t putting you on: he had money.

Mike looked from Lupe to Gato. “Paloma? Who is this?”

“I mentioned him to you once, awhile ago. This is my brother.”

A smile then. “Eduardo?” Came forward, putting out a hand. “What a surprise.”

Gato hesitated, but then took the hand. The man did not have a firm grip. That also set him on his guard even more. Like he was being set up to feel superior right before the takedown. “I would’ve called,” Gato said with a slight smile, “but I had no idea where mi hermana was.”

Mike smiled back. Put his hands into his pants pockets. “Well, she’s right here. Where she belongs, right Paloma?”

At that, Lupe didn’t answer. Instead she said to Gato. “You said something about our mother?”

“Yeah,” Gato said as he turned to face her. “She needs you, Lupe. Her mind … it’s not good. Leaving her with strangers only makes her feel worse.” Looked over at Mike for a moment, then said to her, “You have to come home.”

“Your madre is very sick … Eduardo, was it?” Mike said.

“Yes, very.” His gun was still at his side. Mike had noticed it and done nothing. Gato’s mind screamed at him that this was going to go south. Way south. Instead Mike only nodded.

“Well, then, Paloma,” he said to Lupe, sincere warmth in his voice. “You have to go.”

She stared at him for a second. Put a hand to her stomach. “Yes, Mike?”

“Yes, you can go.” He stepped aside to let them past. Gato put his hand on Lupe’s shoulder and guided her forward. That was when Mike reached out, his fingers just touching her shoulder.

“But the baby stays, Paloma. My son stays.”

“What the fuck, man?” Gato said and then three men entered the hall from the apartment opposite Lupe’s. They were all armed, all ready to throw down. Gato wanted to shoot it out but couldn’t, not with his sister so close. Motherfuckers had him stone cold.

Mike held out his hand to Gato. “The gun? Or guns?” Gato was forced to give up his Sauer to Mike. He said nothing about the small Ruger LCP he kept in his boot since he’d left San Francisco. If they missed it, that was their fucking fault, the pendejos.

Mike looked at the gun for a moment, then at Gato. Spoke over his shoulder to his men, “Take him outside.” Two of the men bull rushed him, taking him off his feet and slamming him into the wall. Mike went to Lupe, saying, “It’s my boy, Paloma. Once you’ve given birth you can go home, or go to hell. I don’t give a shit.” And here he pointed Gato’s gun at her face. “But you are NOT going to take my boy from me and go merrily on your way. No. Not going to happen, my Paloma.” Turned to Gato. “It’s only a month or so you’ll be out of commission, vato. You’ll have to stay here, too. I know my Paloma and if she knew you were out there, she wouldn’t stop to get a message to you, or bring you back into all this. Count yourself lucky.” He pocketed Gato’s gun. “This will be almost like a holiday for you.” He glanced at the men holding Gato and indicated the stairs with a nod of his head.

Gato was dragged kicking and fighting down the stairs. The two men were good. Held him tight.

“How we going to keep him cool for a long while, man?” one of the men said as they dragged Gato through the lobby. “Look at this little shit. He’s got a lot of fight in him.”

The other man looked at Gato for a moment, then spoke to his friend. “We’ll just dope him up to keep him quiet. No fuckin’ biggie.”