Read Online Roachkiller and Other Stories by R. Narvaez - Free Book Online

said.
    “Ten Gs,” Jesus said.
    Vega’s big bull-like face popped open with surprise. He turned to Cookie. “You got a picture of Danny?”
    She did. Danny Cortez looked surly, with doleful eyes half closed and his mouth half open.
    “His junior high graduation,” she said.
    “Would he have any other reason to run away?” Vega said. “Since you say he didn’t take the money?”
    “Well,” Cookie said, raising her dark eyebrows. “There’s this girl, and you know how that is.”
    “Oh yeah.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Valiant Security International occupied the entire fifth floor of an office building on East 43rd. The information technology department took up a corner of the office, and Vega’s cubicle was in a corner of that corner.
    At work he wore a thin black tie and a short-sleeved shirt. When the phone rang, he picked it up and said, “Help Desk.” He listened a few moments, then explained to the caller the process of rebooting.
    After that, he played a halfhearted game of Minesweeper. On the wall above him was a picture of Vega in a military police uniform standing next to another soldier, a thin black man wearing shades.
    The man from the picture popped his head over the wall of the cubicle. He had on a pair of shades.
    “You looking at porn again?”
    “Hey, Reid,” Vega said, smiling. “How’s it going, old man?”
    “Can’t complain,” Reid said. “I got your message. What’s the good news?”
    Vega told him about Danny Cortez, and Reid said, “He could be a gigolo in L.A. by now, or eating origami in Japan.”
    “Sushi.”
    “Sushi. That’s it.”
    “My cousin comes to me with stuff like this all the time. ID theft, find out where my ex-husband moved, like that,” Vega said. “But this is much more serious. I think that kid took the money, and that money don’t belong to Jesus. It belongs to the local mob.”
    “I hear that.”
    “You think I should back out of it, then?”
    “Eulie. You may not admit it, but I know you get itchy sitting in that chair all day long. Your father was a cop. Your uncle was a cop.”
    “They were both killed on duty.”
    “The point is they were heroes,” Reid said. “And you got cop in your blood. I think this thing will do you good. Get you off your fat computer-tech ass.”
    “Thanks a lot,” Vega said, turning back to his computer screen. “Probably a simple runaway case anyway, right?”
    “I didn’t say that. But I’ll keep this on the down-low, chief. Let me know how it comes out.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    That night Vega took the J train to Marcy Avenue, then he walked the half mile to the Clemente Projects on Division Avenue. It was a cool early summer night, but he was sweating when he got there.
    The security desk stood empty in the lobby. The elevator smelled of urine, the hall of boiled brussels sprouts. The doorbell didn’t work. Vega knocked and got no answer. He waited. Looked up and down the hall.
    Knocked again. Nothing.
    He pounded on the door and finally a short bald man with a thin mustache answered. His face was angry until he looked up at Vega.
    “I’m Eulogio Vega. I called before.”
    The man nodded, limply shook Vega’s hand, told him to take a seat. Down a brief narrow hallway was the living room. A woman sat there watching a giant flat-screen TV. She didn’t get up.
    The furniture was covered in yellowing plastic, and when Vega sat it made a crumpling and a whooshing sound. A coffee table in front of him was littered with dinner plates, magazines, Magic Markers, and potato chip wrappers.
    The man joined her in staring at the TV. The man whispered to the woman. The woman yelled, “Lissette! Get out here! A man wants to talk to you!”
    A thickset girl of about fifteen walked in and sat opposite Vega on the couch. She had a bag of potato chips in her hand.
    Vega introduced himself and said, “I’m looking for Danny Cortez.”
    “You gonna arrest him?” she answered between crunches. There was bright red