On the way to Lorena’s house, Waldo downloaded her on the seventy-nine and what he learned from Don Q and Cuppy. “Maybe when you’re messing around with a student you want to keep it secret, but there’s no point being a dealer without anyone knowing you’re a dealer. So I’m thinking tomorrow we—”
Lorena groaned exasperation.
“What?”
“Listen to yourself—you’re like a pretzel, trying to twist this into something that lets her off the hook. You’re in denial.”
“No,” he said, defensive, “I get that she’s probably involved. She could be part of Ouelette’s connect to Orange County—”
“She murdered him. And she planted the designer shit in his apartment, before or after, to throw off the investigation. Took his keys to get in, then went back and left them next to him.”
“A fifteen-year-old came up with that.”
“It’s not that brilliant.”
“And Marwin Amador just gave her thirty grand worth of junk, to plant.”
“We don’t know he gave it to her. She could have bought it.”
“With whose money?”
“Maybe her cousin, with the lobster Postmates.”
“And he gave it to her, why . . . ?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she put on her little red swimsuit. Turns men stupid, apparently.”
The fuzzy logic wasn’t remotely like her. There was some burning anger driving it, an anger Waldo didn’t understand—at him, it sure felt like, and definitely more than was warranted by whatever Lorena thought she saw in the pool house.
She didn’t turn right on Vine like he expected her to. “Where are we going?”
“Santa Ana. Talk to Amador.”
“Now? For what?”
“Find out if he’s dealing seventy-nine, and if he gave it to Stevie.”
It was all upside down: maybe his own objectivity was compromised, but she seemed hell-bent on proving that their own client was guilty.
He sighed and settled in for the ride. He had no choice. Nothing made a man feel less in control than riding shotgun when Lorena Nascimento had the wheel.
Amador’s house was dark. Lorena reached for the doorbell. Waldo told her it was broken and gave the bars a violent rattle like Daron had. No answer. They got back in the car.
Waldo said, “Costa Mesa? See what Daron can tell us?”
All she said was “Nah,” and started driving again. Daron was the obvious next move; she was only rejecting it because Waldo suggested it. Her pique itself was now steering the investigation. He closed his eyes and settled in for the return drive to L.A.
A few minutes later he realized they were back on Harbor Boulevard. “What’s here?”
“Maybe Amador’s with Tesoro.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Her opposition was automatic by this point, not to mention wearisome.
They cruised the Burger King from the far side of the street. He didn’t see the pimp, but one of his thugs was in the parking lot again. “That’s Tesoro’s guy. Probably the one you didn’t run over.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, not interested, peering down the sidewalk. “Tell me if you see that girl.”
“Who, Alice?” Suddenly he got it. “You’re not looking for Amador.”
“I’d talk to him if we saw him.”
“What do you want with Alice?”
Lorena hiked a shoulder. “Help her.”
“Jesus.”
She snapped. “What’s wrong with that? How about we start doing something for a girl who needs help?”
“Like what?”
Lorena took a U at the light and headed back toward the Burger King. Waldo saw the girl and shifted in his seat. Lorena read it. “Is that her?”
Alice was walking alone thirty yards ahead. Lorena decelerated. The girl turned, like she might have a customer. Lorena pulled up to the curb. Waldo got a better look at Alice as she leaned toward the car: there were new bruises around her left eye. Lorena powered down his window. But when Alice saw Waldo she frightened and backed away, then started again down the block.
Waldo wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. “Hey,” he called to her, feeling foolish.
“Leave me alone,” said Alice, eyes averted, walking faster.
Lorena put the car in park and jumped out. “Whoa,” said Waldo, “what are you—?” Alice broke into a trot.
Waldo sat in the car, flustered and impotent, and watched Lorena race after Alice. The girl’s platforms weren’t made for running; even in heels Lorena caught her easily, seized her by the arm and talked at her. Alice retorted, the exchange escalated and soon they were shouting over each other in Spanish. Lorena let go of Alice’s arm. The girl didn’t run away this time, but whatever Lorena was trying to sell her, she wasn’t buying.
Meanwhile, sitting alone in the passenger seat of a high-end Mercedes with the engine running was feeling less and less wise, especially given the block party the locals threw the last time they were in the neighborhood. Waldo got out and crossed behind the car to the driver’s side. As he opened the door he glanced to the right and recognized Tesoro’s squat frame almost a block away and heading in their direction. When the pimp spotted Waldo he pulled out a phone and made a quick call, then picked up his pace.
Waldo slid in behind the wheel. Beyond Lorena and Alice he could see Tesoro’s goon come out of the Burger King lot and head their way from the other end of the street. Waldo pulled the car even with Lorena, reached across to the passenger door and threw it open. “Get in! Goddammit, let’s go!” Lorena grabbed Alice by the arm again. “Leave her alone!” he shouted.
Instead, Lorena tugged hard, pulling Alice right off her platforms, then shouldered the stumbling girl toward the open door and bulldozed her into the passenger seat. Alice screamed.
Lorena jammed her way into the car too, squeezing in on top of her. “Drive!”
Waldo tore away from the curb with the passenger door still wide open. Lorena was reaching for the handle when it clipped a parked Jeep, slamming it closed.
“Shit!” Lorena said.
“You okay?” Waldo shouted over the girl, who was caterwauling a torrent of Spanish.
Before Lorena could answer him they heard two gunshots. Waldo swung left in front of an oncoming pickup at the next break in the median.
“Go back!” Lorena shouted. “Run that fucker over!”
“We’ll come back and do that another time.”
He ran surface streets until he saw a sign to the 22 and hopped on, hoping he remembered correctly that it would run them into the 405. Alice was shrieking in the passenger seat and Lorena, atop her, was bracing herself with an arm on the dash. Waldo tried to hold a steady forty-five in the right lane.
Eventually, Alice’s protests receded to a whimper. Waldo glanced over: the girl was terrified. Lorena kept talking to her in Spanish, her voice dropping lower and lower. In time the girl calmed and even answered a couple of Lorena’s questions. Coming into Long Beach, Lorena told Waldo to look for a place to eat.
He found a Denny’s past the airport. When they got out of the car, Alice looked around and Waldo thought she might run, but she didn’t. Inside, she asked for a French Toast Slam. Waldo ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and when it came pushed it in front of Alice; she tore through that too. They ate in silence: Waldo had eyes only for Lorena, Lorena only for Alice, Alice only for her food. Waldo had no idea what Lorena had in mind as a next step, let alone an endgame. But she was so focused and fearsome right now that he didn’t dare ask.
In the parking lot she and Alice had another brief discussion in Spanish, this one hushed and tranquil. The two of them looked over at Waldo like there was a question on the table; then the girl answered it. Lorena said to him, “You drive again.”
Apparently by agreement, this time Lorena got in the car first and told Waldo, “Drive to Hollywood. I’ll tell you where to go.”
The girl wedged in and folded onto Lorena’s lap. Waldo checked her before backing out of the space. He said, “You going to be all right there, Alice?”
Lorena said, “Her name is Mariana.”