Jason Gonzalez’ heart raced as he squinted past gaps in the blind slats. The man outside gazed back at the street, then poked the doorbell again, finger jabbing the buzzer repeatedly. Tattooed letters ringed the stranger’s neck. The outline of a shoulder holster bulged beneath his jacket.
He sure as hell isn’t selling insurance. Jason barefooted it to the back door off the kitchen, stepped into his running shoes, and snapped up keys and backpack.
The backyard looked empty from the kitchen window. His stomach roiled as he unbolted the patio door and stepped outside. After locking the door, he trotted to the back gate and peered up and down the alley.
Tattoo man might know him by sight, so Jason had to avoid the street in front of his aunt’s house. He spurted across the alley to a back fence. Praying no one saw him, he hopped over the wobbly pickets and landed behind a grapefruit tree.
He sucked in a breath, hurried out front, and hustled down the sidewalk toward where his car was parked a few blocks away. The black Acura started right up and he took off.
As Jason blended into heavy traffic coursing down Whittier Boulevard, a mantle of despair descended onto his shoulders. His parents were dead because at one time he’d thought it would be cool to join a gang. His girlfriend back in Albuquerque might be in danger. Now he’d put Mirabel, his father’s sister, in harm’s way by staying at her place just one night. He couldn’t bear it if something happened to his sweet widowed aunt. How many people would suffer because of his screw-ups? And how did they find him so fast?
Mirabel didn’t have a cell phone, so he couldn’t call and warn her. He didn’t want to leave a message on her answering machine at home, in case tattoo man broke in and played it back.
The only thing he could do was find his aunt at the Dollar Fun store she worked at. One eye on traffic, he tapped on his smart phone screen and looked up store locations.
The closest one was several blocks away. He took a convoluted route there while checking the rear view mirror for suspicious vehicles. He parked and scanned the lot before heading in.
His aunt was busy at a cash register ringing up customers. He picked up a pack of gum and got in line.
“Mijo, what are you doing here?” A smile spread on Mirabel’s face.
“Aunt, can we talk somewhere? It’s important.” He stepped aside to let a woman with a shopping cart take his place in line.
Mirabel nodded. “Let me help her first.”
After finishing, she joined her nephew in the housewares isle. “I’m on my break. What’s up?”
“There’s a problem, a big one.” His voice dropped to a whisper. He was about to reveal an ugly part of himself that made him feel ashamed. “A while back, I got involved with some bad people. I realized my mistake and tried to get away from them. It didn’t work, and they kept coming for me. My parents . . .” His eyes glistened. “I think those people followed me to LA.”
“Dios Mio! What happened?” She took a step back.
“This morning, a guy rang the doorbell. I didn’t answer and he didn’t see me. I’m convinced he’s from Los Brutos. I have no idea what to do. I can’t go back to the house. I’m worried I brought all this on you.”
Mirabel closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross. “God in heaven. You think the man is from a gang?”
Jason wasn’t sure what to say. His aunt was old but she wasn’t stupid. She knew his history, had heard from his parents about the people he had hung out with, how he had spiraled into drugs and street crime. He’d gotten away from the bad element, or so he thought. Unfortunately for Jason, the gang wouldn’t let him go.
“So now what? I can’t go home?” Fear shone in her eyes.
“I don’t know. I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “Maybe you should call the cops.”
“Let’s go see Alfredo. He was my husband’s best friend. He’ll know what to do. He’s got enough guns in his pawn shop to arm a militia.”
***
“Very nice.” Cait took in the view from the front porch of her brother’s living quarters, a small brick casita behind a maintenance building in Saguaro National Park East, within walking distance of the visitor’s center.
An exterior staircase led to a flat roof. Cait, Jack and Chris went up the stairs and took in the million-dollar view.
“How beautiful.” Cait counted the mountain ranges surrounding Tucson. The Catalinas jutted skyward like broken dinosaur bones, untamed ramparts looming above the city to the north. In the east, the Rincons dominated the horizon like a procession of squat, heavy-bodied lizards. The metropolis was flanked in the south by the Santa Ritas, and in the west by the Tucson Mountains.
“I heard there are jaguars in southeast Arizona,” Cait said.
“They’ve seen one in the Santa Ritas, unfortunately near where a huge copper mine is proposed,” Chris said. “Jaguars and ocelots have been spotted in a number of Arizona mountains near the Mexican border.”
“I bet people try to hunt them,” Jack said. “The wildlife people should safeguard those animals by keeping that information to themselves.”
“I agree. Arizona had a population of jaguars until they were eventually hunted out,” Chris said.
“Imagine going hiking and coming face to face with a big jungle cat,” Cait said. “I thought this part of Arizona was arid and dusty. But it looks so lush, and listen to all the birds. Noisy ones, too. What’s that screeching over on that big saguaro?”
“A Gila woodpecker. Southeast Arizona is a birding hotspot. Many migrating species winter here,” Chris said. “You guys hungry?”
“I could eat,” Jack said.
“There’s a place down the road that’s good,” Chris said. “It’s just outside the Park.”
“Lead the way,” Cait said.
In the driveway, Chris did a double take when he saw the Jeep’s dented driver’s side door. “Are those bullet holes?”
“We had a problem on the way here,” Cait managed. “A white SUV sideswiped and shot at us coming out of the Salt River Canyon. Jack thinks it was Los Brutos.”
“Incredible! Did you report it?”
“Yeah, but they got away. There’s no way they could have followed us here.” Cait caught Jack’s eye.
They squeezed into Chris’ work truck for a short drive down Old Spanish Trail to the Desert Brew café. They sat at a patio table and ordered burritos and ice tea.
Jack was quiet, looking out at the desert, his thoughts miles away.
“So, do they know who set that bomb?” Chris addressed Jack.
“Not a clue.” Jack snapped out of his contemplation. “It had to be someone working for Sonny Para, but there were no witnesses or evidence. It’s hard getting anything on him, because he’s murder on informants.”
“Well, stay as long as you want at my place,” Chris said. “Let me give you a tour of the park.”
“I’d like that. What do you think?” Cait turned to Jack.
“Sure.” He rubbed an eye with a knuckle. “I feel like a coward, bailing out of Albuquerque, playing tourist here. I want to take Para down, not run and hide. Sorry if I seem rude. I’m just frustrated.”
“You don’t seem like a coward to me. You’re up against some bad hombres.” Chris slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t be so rough on yourself.”
Cait hated hearing Jack’s frustration. Used to his confidence and patience, she was seeing a new side of him. “You’re the bravest man I know. You’re a fighter. Your arm needs to heal first before you get back into action.”