“That fucker! I’ll kill him! That fucking pendejo , I’ll kill him!”
The old adversaries stared at each other, even as the little girl on the couch and the toddler picked up their mother’s wailing, even as Gloria fell to the floor and her brother rushed to Frank demanding to know where Placa was and how she was. Both women had done this too many times. Stoically they shared the silence of bad news delivered and bad news received.
As if in confirmation, Claudia said, “She’s dead.”
Frank nodded. Seemingly without effort, Claudia rearranged her face into a quiescent tableau, a still brown desert that revealed nothing across its landscape but the inevitable play of time and gravity.
Taking a knee next to Gloria, Frank asked, “What pendejo are you talking about, Gloria? Who did this?”
Rocking and sobbing, she moaned her sister’s name. Frank repeated her question, with no effect. Finally she asked, “Is it the same pendejo that shot Julio and his family? Is that who you’re talking about?”
Gloria halted her hysteria, staring at Frank through her tears. Then she laughed, crying, “You don’t know nothin’! You fuckin’ jura don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what’s goin’ on. Get out of here! Get out of my house! Leave my family alone!”
She resumed her moaning and Frank stood. Claudia opened the door, staring implacably at Frank. Frank hovered over her.
“She called me. She wanted to meet me tomorrow morning at Saint Michael’s. Said she had something to tell me. What was it, Claudia? What was she going to tell me?”
Claudia’s only response was to close her eyes.
Quietly, tenderly, Frank said, “Claudia. You and me, we go back a long way. And Placa, too. What do you know about all this?”
Claudia said nothing, just gnawed on her thumbnail. She looked old. Older than she should have.
“Look at me,” Frank said, so low only Claudia could hear. “Look at me.”
The woman’s dusty eyes flickered across Frank’s but she couldn’t maintain the gaze.
“What’s going on?” Frank whispered. “Tell me.”
Like a lover denied, Frank implored, “Give it up, Claudia. Talk to me.”
She waited, but she may as well have been talking to the table. Frank nodded, her hand on the doorknob.
“Okay,” she said gently. “I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back. You know something. And until I find out what that is, I’m gonna be here every day. Claro?”
Placa’s mother stared tightly and Frank opened the door. On her way out, she paused.
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry on this. I got eight more years before I retire, entonces,” she shrugged, “if I have to be here everyday that’ll just be another part of the job.”
Chapter Nine
The night had cooled and felt good on Frank’s tired face. She lifted her head to search for a sign of stars or the moon, but the LA sky reflected only a dull red pall. It was as if heaven had turned its back on the City of Angels, leaving it in a fiery, Stygian gloom. It was reminiscent of the night Kennedy had dragged her to the beach and they’d lain on their backs, trying to catch sight of the elusive gems in the sky. For a moment she missed Kennedy. No, that’s not true she told herself, you miss being in bed with her. That was true. It would have been nice to find Kennedy and hold her tightly enough to forget everything for a while.
Frank pulled in a lungful of the tainted sky. She was beat. She should go home and grab some sleep, but she knew that history would overtake her the minute she stopped moving. She wasn’t ready to face all its ghosts. She would, she promised herself, just not yet.
Firing up the Honda, Frank caught the freeway, merging smoothly with the cars and trucks that flowed at all hours. She drove and listened to the talk on KFI, Tammy Bruce sparring with a homophobe. Frank tried to listen to the banter, but kept seeing Placa on the sidewalk, and Claudia’s calm, prescient acceptance of her youngest daughter’s fate.
The old adversaries stared at each other, even as the little girl on the couch and the toddler picked up their mother’s wailing, even as Gloria fell to the floor and her brother rushed to Frank demanding to know where Placa was and how she was. Both women had done this too many times. Stoically they shared the silence of bad news delivered and bad news received.
As if in confirmation, Claudia said, “She’s dead.”
Frank nodded. Seemingly without effort, Claudia rearranged her face into a quiescent tableau, a still brown desert that revealed nothing across its landscape but the inevitable play of time and gravity.
Taking a knee next to Gloria, Frank asked, “What pendejo are you talking about, Gloria? Who did this?”
Rocking and sobbing, she moaned her sister’s name. Frank repeated her question, with no effect. Finally she asked, “Is it the same pendejo that shot Julio and his family? Is that who you’re talking about?”
Gloria halted her hysteria, staring at Frank through her tears. Then she laughed, crying, “You don’t know nothin’! You fuckin’ jura don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what’s goin’ on. Get out of here! Get out of my house! Leave my family alone!”
She resumed her moaning and Frank stood. Claudia opened the door, staring implacably at Frank. Frank hovered over her.
“She called me. She wanted to meet me tomorrow morning at Saint Michael’s. Said she had something to tell me. What was it, Claudia? What was she going to tell me?”
Claudia’s only response was to close her eyes.
Quietly, tenderly, Frank said, “Claudia. You and me, we go back a long way. And Placa, too. What do you know about all this?”
Claudia said nothing, just gnawed on her thumbnail. She looked old. Older than she should have.
“Look at me,” Frank said, so low only Claudia could hear. “Look at me.”
The woman’s dusty eyes flickered across Frank’s but she couldn’t maintain the gaze.
“What’s going on?” Frank whispered. “Tell me.”
Like a lover denied, Frank implored, “Give it up, Claudia. Talk to me.”
She waited, but she may as well have been talking to the table. Frank nodded, her hand on the doorknob.
“Okay,” she said gently. “I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back. You know something. And until I find out what that is, I’m gonna be here every day. Claro?”
Placa’s mother stared tightly and Frank opened the door. On her way out, she paused.
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry on this. I got eight more years before I retire, entonces,” she shrugged, “if I have to be here everyday that’ll just be another part of the job.”
Chapter Nine
The night had cooled and felt good on Frank’s tired face. She lifted her head to search for a sign of stars or the moon, but the LA sky reflected only a dull red pall. It was as if heaven had turned its back on the City of Angels, leaving it in a fiery, Stygian gloom. It was reminiscent of the night Kennedy had dragged her to the beach and they’d lain on their backs, trying to catch sight of the elusive gems in the sky. For a moment she missed Kennedy. No, that’s not true she told herself, you miss being in bed with her. That was true. It would have been nice to find Kennedy and hold her tightly enough to forget everything for a while.
Frank pulled in a lungful of the tainted sky. She was beat. She should go home and grab some sleep, but she knew that history would overtake her the minute she stopped moving. She wasn’t ready to face all its ghosts. She would, she promised herself, just not yet.
Firing up the Honda, Frank caught the freeway, merging smoothly with the cars and trucks that flowed at all hours. She drove and listened to the talk on KFI, Tammy Bruce sparring with a homophobe. Frank tried to listen to the banter, but kept seeing Placa on the sidewalk, and Claudia’s calm, prescient acceptance of her youngest daughter’s fate.
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