CHAPTER FIVE

When Rod Garcia was leaving school the next day, Ernesto Sandoval confronted him. “I need to talk to you, man,” Ernesto said.

Ordinarily, Rod would have blown him off, but since the incident the night Griff died, he was subdued. “Yeah, what’s up?” he said.

“Something’s bothering me, man,” Ernesto said. “You know about the talk that Griff Slocum had something real valuable on him the night he was killed. Some guys are even saying he might have had some valuable baseball card. Well, your cousin and Rick and you were hassling him that night and—”

“Yeah,” Rod said ruefully. “We picked a heckuva time to get drunk and play stupid games with an old hobo. Who woulda thought somebody else would come along and murder him the same night! I’ve thought about it a lot. Maybe some guy was standing in the shadows, and when he saw how weak and confused Slocum was, he thought he’d make a good victim.”

“Rod, I don’t know your cousin, Humberto Gomez, except that he doesn’t come from money. He’s been at school a few times trying to bum a lunch off somebody else ’cause he said his parents were hard up. Well, he just went down to Osterman’s and bought a necklace for some freshman here at Chavez for almost two hundred bucks,” Ernesto said.

Rod Garcia stood there, shock spreading over his features. “You’re trying to screw my cousin, aren’t you, Sandoval? You’re playing detective, and you think you can nail Humberto. You’re not willing to let the cops do the investigating. I’m telling you, Sandoval, Clay is right. You got the biggest ego on the planet. You think you can run the world. Well, let me tell you something—Humberto makes a lot of money on tips when he works at the car wash ’cause he does a great job. Just because he bought a gift for a chick doesn’t mean—I can’t believe you, man! You’re practically accusing my cousin of killing the old bum for his stuff. Maybe you think Rick and I were in on it too,” Rod Garcia’s voice throbbed with emotion.

“I’m not accusing anybody,” Ernesto said.

“Yes you are,” Rod cried. “It’s all over that smug face of yours. Well, let me tell you something, Sandoval. Humberto is a great guy. He’s my mom’s brother’s kid. He’s got good parents, and he’s never been in trouble before. He’s not like those dirty wanna-be gangbangers you hang out with. Hey, you know what I think happened? I think Reynosa or Negrete doubled back and robbed and killed the old bum. Yeah, when they were fighting with us, they spied something valuable, chased us off, and then came back. One of them, or both of them, did in the old fool. So, you watch yourself, Sandoval, you tell lies about my cousin, and I’m gonna tell the cops what I think happened, okay?”

Ernesto turned and walked to his Volvo. Unfortunately, Garcia had a point. Ernesto was sure in his own heart that Dom and Carlos would never harm anybody, but they were on the scene, just as Garcia, Gomez, and Alanzar were. Maybe, while the five boys were going at each other, Griff Slocum reached for that leather packet on the chain to make sure his treasure was safe, and one of them noticed the gesture. Ernesto knew it couldn’t have been Dom or Carlos, but the police didn’t know those boys like Ernesto did.

Ernesto went over to the warehouse on Polk Street where Carlos and Dom were working on their mural of Padre Hidalgo. The boys had studied various paintings of the man, and they had chosen to portray him wearing a dark cassock, with a scroll in his hand and a look of determination on his bearded face. With his followers behind him, he was issuing the Grito de Dolores, the cry demanding Mexico’s freedom from Spain. It was September 16, 1810, the day forever after celebrated as Mexican Independence Day.

“Looking good, guys,” Ernesto shouted.

Carlos grinned. “Thanks, homie,” he said.

“Some gig, huh, man?” Dom said. “We’re getting like those big-shot muralists you told us about a long time ago.”

When Carlos and Dom stopped for lunch, Ernesto joined them. They all bought chicken tacos at a nearby little Mexican eatery.

“You know, dudes,” Ernesto said. “I keep thinking about poor Griff Slocum. Word is he had something valuable, and he died fighting for it.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said. “When we were driving those dudes off with the palm fronds, and Griff was bobbing and weaving to avoid them, I saw a chain around his neck. He had some sort of leather thing held by the chain. I figured it was a little wallet where he kept a few bucks.”

“But I guess it was something more valuable, huh?” Dom asked. “Some guys are saying it was maybe some valuable baseball card.”

“Do you think it could have partially fallen out or something and gotten the attention of somebody?” Ernesto asked.

“Nah,” Carlos said. “It was real dark. Only thing is, Griff had his right hand on the leather pouch the whole time, like he didn’t want to lose that. I sorta thought it was maybe a religious medal that he didn’t want to lose. A medal from his mother or something. I know my abuela has this medal of the Virgin on a chain, and when she’s walking, she’s always got her hand over it, so it doesn’t fall and get lost.”

“A lot of homeless guys keep a little stash of money in pouches on a chain or tied to their underwear,” Dom said. “I never dreamed Griff had anything real valuable.”

“Maybe it looked to those other three guys that he was protecting something valuable,” Ernesto said.

“Maybe,” Dom said, “but they were so drunk, man. I mean, when we whipped them off with the palm fronds, they took off running.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said. “I don’t think those dudes had enough sense to figure out anything.”

“The thing that got me wondering was that one of them, Humberto Gomez, he’s given an expensive jewelry gift to his freshman girlfriend. All the time I’ve known the guy, he’s been hurting for money, but now he’s suddenly spending big. I told Rod Garcia, his cousin, and the guy went ballistic. He claims Humberto made the money for the necklace working at the car wash and making big tips, but I haven’t seen him there since last summer. I think they fired him,” Ernesto said.

“Yeah, that sounds suspicious,” Dom said. “Hey, maybe Humberto happened to see the guy who did the crime and the guy is paying him off, you know?”

Ernesto nodded. The truth was he never thought of that, but it made sense.

On Sunday, Ernesto, Naomi, and Abel planned to do something for their ninth graders in the mentoring program. Ernesto had set that up when he became senior class president. The student Ernesto mentored was Richie Loranzo, who lived in a foster home after his father shot his mother. Naomi mentored Angel Roma, who was from a single-parent home with a disabled grandmother. Abel mentored Bobby Padilla, also from a single-parent home. Bobby had run away from his mother once when she threatened to send him to live with his father.

Ernesto borrowed Cruz Lopez’s wildly painted van for the trip to a tide-pooling and beachcombing expedition. The van had room for everybody, and the freshmen loved it.

Abel and Naomi had packed delicious sandwiches and apple pie, and Ernesto brought sodas.

“We like your sister, Penelope,” Angel told Abel as they drove. “She’s pretty cool.”

Abel made a face and said, “Good.” The Ruiz family had been in turmoil lately with Penelope expressing her hatred of school and everything about it.

“Penny eats lunch with us every day,” Richie Loranzo said. “I guess she wants a boyfriend. I like her, but I don’t want to be her boyfriend ’cause I like somebody else.”

Ernesto noticed that Angel Roma giggled and turned red. Ernesto figured she must be the girl Richie liked.

Bobby Padilla said, “Girls are needy. I don’t want a girlfriend.”

Angel giggled again and looked at Richie who turned red too.

“When the tide’s low like it is today,” Naomi said, “you get to see such interesting stuff. I came here the first time when I was about six, and I was blown away.”

They parked the van in a large parking lot between two grassy areas. Because Ernesto had been driving the van, the ninth graders assumed it was his.

“Ernie,” Richie asked, “why did you paint all the monsters and stuff on your van?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “And the different-colored snakes. I like them.”

“It’s not my van,” Ernesto said. “The dude who owns it is Cruz Lopez, and he likes to paint wild stuff on his van.”

Everybody had been instructed to wear good walking shoes, and they hiked single file across a sandy beach.

“What’re all those big buildings up there?” Angel asked.

“That’s a college where the scientists study the ocean,” Ernesto said.

“I’d like to study the ocean,” Angel said. “I love the ocean.”

“Maybe you will study the ocean someday,” Naomi said.

“Yeah,” Ernesto said. “You might be in one of those big buildings working as a scientist.”

Angel Roma smiled happily.

They walked under a pier, and the cliffs to their right got steeper. “Careful now,” Abel cautioned. “We’ll be walking on slippery rocks.”

“There’s the tide pool,” Ernesto said.

“Wow,” Richie said, “everything is wiggling.”

“Plants and animals,” Ernesto said.

“I think I see an octopus,” Richie cried. “Can I have him for a pet?”

“You can’t take anything from here,” Ernesto said. “Everything is protected. You can look and take pictures.”

“An octopus would be a bad pet anyway,” Abel said. “He’d grab at you with all his arms.”

There were tiny fish and sea stars in the water.

“What’s that?” Bobby asked. “What’s that thing crawling out of the shell?”

“That’s a hermit crab,” Abel said. “He lives in the shell sometimes. It’s like his second home.”

They walked on to where a finger of gray rock reached out into the ocean. “That’s volcanic rock,” Ernesto said. “This is the only volcanic rock on the whole coastline. It’s really old. Stuff from the middle of the earth pushed up and formed that finger about eleven million years ago.”

“Who was living here then?” Angel asked. “We’re studying California history now, about the Hupa and the Yurok Indians. Did they see the ground push up?”

“No,” Ernesto said. “That happened before there were people on the planet.”

They walked to a sandy beach and laid down blankets to sit on. Abel and Naomi brought the picnic baskets, and Ernesto brought the drinks. Abel produced ham and cheese tortilla wraps with cheddar cheese, sour cream, whole kernel corn, and red and green peppers. He brought the ingredients in a small ice chest so he could make everything fresh. Each wrap had a slice of ham with cilantro sprigs.

“These are so good,” Angel said.

“Well,” Naomi said, “I helped Abel shop for the stuff and helped pack the baskets, and I made the apple pies.”

“Are you really a chef, Abel?” Richie asked. “How could you be a chef? You’re just a kid. Aren’t chefs old men?”

“Who told you I was a chef?” Abel asked.

“Penelope did. She said she had a really cool brother who could cook better than anybody, and that someday he was gonna be famous all over the world and stuff,” Richie said.

Abel smiled. He looked touched. “Penny doesn’t say stuff like that to me,” he said.

“Your sister is jealous of old Lacey Serrano,” Angel told Abel. Angel recalled how she and her grandmother would walk down the street and how Lacey and her friends would walk behind them, making fun of them because Grandma was unsteady on her feet. Angel’s grandmother had Parkinson’s disease, and she needed exercise, but Lacey’s cruelty made everything harder.

“I hate Lacey,” Richie said. “She’s mean to everybody except her old boyfriend. She’s all gooey around him.”

“He’s weird,” Bobby Padilla added. “He’s a junior, and he wants to be with a freshman. Lacey is bigger than most of the freshmen girls, but she’s still only a freshman. We call her boyfriend Dumberto, but his real name is Humberto. Lacey calls him Berto.”

Richie, Angel, and Bobby joined in derisive laughter. “Dumberto, Dumberto,” they chanted, laughing until they cried.

“Guys, that’s not really nice. You should be an example and not call people names,” Ernesto stressed. He wondered why Lacey Serrano’s parents didn’t object to their daughter dating a junior. Even though Lacey and Humberto were only a year apart, it didn’t seem like a good thing.

“Well, whatever. He’s a jerk,” Angel said. “And I think the name suits him. Anyway, Dumberto gave old Lacey a real ritzy necklace,” she continued, “and she said she feels like a princess, but she’s really a witch.”

Richie had liked Angel from the first time he saw her, and it hurt him that Lacey and her friend, Candy, would march behind and mock Angel and her disabled grandmother. Richie knew Angel was mortified by the cruelty, and he thought many times of sneaking up behind Lacey and pulling her hair really hard, but he never did.

“I wish I was a wizard,” Richie said. “I’d put a spell on Humberto and turn him into a big spider, and then I’d have him bite Lacey.”

Angel giggled. “I bet she’d be scared if Dumberto turned into a spider.”

“A big furry spider like a tarantula,” Richie said with glee.

“Tarantulas are pretty harmless,” Naomi said. “I had one as a pet when I was a little girl.”

Angel stared at Naomi. “You didn’t!” she cried.

“I did,” Naomi laughed. “My poor mom didn’t like Theodore at all, so I had to get rid of him. Theodore was my tarantula’s name. I gave him to a boy I knew. The boy was really excited, and Mom was glad too.”

Bobby Padilla got a serious look on his face and he said, “My mom said Humberto is an evil person.”

Ernesto stiffened. He kept his voice calm. “Why does your mother think that, Bobby?”

“ ’Cause everybody knows he was one of the guys who made fun of the homeless man who was murdered. They jumped around with sticks and made the man dance. Like the bull fights where they poke the bull to make him mad. My mom says Griff Slocum mighta been a bum, but he had feelings too.”

“I saw Humberto in the car with old Lacey,” Richie said. “He wanted to go somewhere, and she didn’t. They were sorta fighting. He slapped her in the face really hard, and her cheek was all red. I was glad he hit her. She deserved to be hit for what she did to Angel. But later on, they were laughing, so I guess she didn’t mind getting slapped.”

Ernesto exchanged a look with Naomi.

“Lacey likes Humberto ’cause he’s rich,” Bobby said.

“I don’t think the Gomez family is rich,” Ernesto said. “They live in an ordinary house, and Humberto drives an old car that looks like it’s falling apart. The engine sounds like a threshing machine.”

“I see him peeling off bills from his wallet,” Bobby said.

“Yeah, he didn’t used to be rich,” Richie said, “but now he’s got like a lot of bills and his wallet is real fat.”

Ernesto glanced at Naomi again. Her eyebrows went up. They were thinking the same thing.

They all ate pieces of apple pie, finished taking pictures, and started back to the van. The freshmen took lots of good pictures of the tide pools and the volcanic rock. They seemed to have enjoyed themselves a lot. It had been a good day.

Ernesto took the freshmen home, and then he dropped off Naomi and Abel. He still had something important to do on his own, though. Ernesto did not like Lacey Serrano, but she was a fourteen-year-old girl, and she was in danger. She was hanging out with an older boy who was willing to physically abuse her. Ernesto hated that, and he felt the obligation to do something about it.

Ernesto double-checked the address of the Serrano family, and then he drove to the house on Finch Street. He had tangled with Mrs. Serrano before. He tried to get her to stop Lacey from harassing Angel Roma and her grandmother. It did not go well. Mrs. Serrano was the kind of a mother who found it very hard to think ill of her child. But still, Ernesto thought he had to try.

Ernesto rang the doorbell and waited. A nice-looking woman in a sweatshirt appeared. Ernesto recognized her immediately. “Mrs. Serrano, may I speak with you?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, of course. You’re Ernesto Sandoval, aren’t you? We’ve met before,” she was cold, but polite.

“Mrs. Serrano, we’ve got a policy at Chavez where the seniors sort of look after the younger students, especially the freshmen. We keep an eye on the ninth graders, and when something doesn’t look right, we try to alert the parents,” Ernesto said.

“And what is this about exactly?” Mrs. Serrano asked in an unfriendly voice. “We are having no problems at all with our daughter. Her last report card was super. She did not make less than a B in any of her classes, and her father and I are very proud of her.”

“Did you know that your daughter is dating a junior at Chavez? Somebody witnessed them in a car, and the boy slapped your daughter across the face,” Ernesto said.