AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You said you barely knew him, though. He’s not your boyfriend. What do you care?”
“You don’t understand. And it’s hard to explain.” Her long and slender, perfectly manicured fingers fidget as she talks. “Exilio is associated with Sinaloa. They run this town.”
“Exilio? What is that? A gang?”
“They’re foot soldiers. Kids, mostly, but they have ties to bigger cartels. And if you piss one of them off, they will come for payment.” She sniffles, looking away toward the window beside her. “He won’t let this go.”
“Hey.” I tip my head to get her attention while keeping an eye on the road. “Promise me you’ll go to the police about this, okay? Don’t let him get away with this. Your father is an important man in this city.”
“He’s a puppet.”
I’m taken aback by her words. They’re far too wise for a teenager who shouldn’t know that level of corruption yet. Then again, I never grew up with a politician for a father. Mine pulled strings like any other criminal. “He can keep him from hurting you again, though. Puppet, or not, he’s your father.”
She doesn’t appear to be convinced, but nods, anyway, and points toward the windshield. “The house on the corner there.”
Even in darkness, I can see it’s a nice three-story home, with a private fence and lights strung over a cedar pergola in the back.
A few seconds pass before she sets her hand to the car door. “Father … if you hadn’t been there … he would’ve ...” It’s starting to seep its way into her sobriety, and soon, it’ll be all she sees when she closes her eyes.
I only hope I was able to stop it before it went too far. Leaning toward her, I wrap my arms around her, giving her the opportunity to cry before she has to explain the evening to her parents. “If you need me to go with you ...”
Her head rubs across my chest as she shakes it. “It’s okay. You’ve done enough for me. Thank you again.” She finally pushes away and opens the car door.
For the next minute or so, I wait to watch her slip through the front door of her house, then put the car in drive.
My head is swimming in a number of thoughts on the drive back toward the rectory, so I flip on the radio to clear the chaos.
“In the wake of Machete Mac’s murder, witnesses have come forward with new information that may link the late MMA fighter to a cartel operating out of Southern California and Mexicali. Authorities are investigating claims that Mac’s execution was allegedly carried out by one of the members, who has been identified from the FBI’s Most Wanted List. We’ll keep you updated as more information becomes available.”
I knew it. It wasn’t coincidence that I saw Mac’s name written down on Javier’s notepad. He had it written down for a reason.
35
Ivy
Glancing around the quiet neighborhood, I press the doorbell to the rectory, hoping I heard the church secretary correctly when she said only one priest lived here, during my call earlier. Damon told me he lived right behind Our Lady of Guadalupe, and I’m praying I’ve got the house right, otherwise some poor sap is going to hate me for ringing the doorbell at midnight. I wanted to surprise him, but I’m the one surprised on finding he’s not home at this hour.
Peeking to the side, I notice one of the lower windows is cracked, just a bit. There’s a folding chair set against the house, and I can easily use it to climb inside , from the looks of it.
What the hell is wrong with Damon, leaving his house open for intruders like me? Being a rectory doesn’t make him exempt from burglary, and after the recent attacks he’s mentioned, it doesn’t make sense he’d take a chance like that.
The rusty chair creaks as I unfold it just below the window. One light shake makes me a little uncertain that it’s sturdy enough to hold me, but I only need a quick boost, and I can pull myself inside. Foot set on the chair, I take one hop upwards, reaching up for the window ledge, and push the window open a bit wider. Takes a few hops to break it loose from whatever has it stuck. Once it’s widened, I climb fully onto the rickety old chair, ignoring how it wobbles beneath my weight, and with both hands on the window sill, I try to steady myself. As soon as I give a light pull on the sill, a sort of pre-lift, the chair tips to the ground beneath me, leaving me to dangle from the window.
A small shriek escapes me while my shoes scramble for purchase against the vinyl siding of the house. I manage to gain my footing and hoist myself up, climbing the side of the house, until I’m able to pull myself in through the window.
Muscles shaking, I flop like a seal, half in and out, until the balance is broken, and I fall headfirst onto what feels like the soft brush of carpet below me.
Groaning at what is surely carpet burn on my cheek, I crawl deeper into the darkness of the room, patting around the floor for furniture. My fingers hit a hard surface, and I trail my hands over the smoothness, until I feel the dangling chain of a lamp. One click, and the room comes into view.
Small and plain, it seems fitting for Damon, but none of his things appear to be in this room, which is starting to give me hives at the thought that I might have the wrong house. Once upright again, I tread carefully from the room, eyes scanning for movement, ears piqued for any noise that might not be Damon. A click from somewhere behind me skates down my spine, and I pause, turning toward the room I just left.
Voices strum a panic in my chest, and eyes wide, I search for a place to hide. The bathroom across from me serves as my cover, from where I watch strangers emerge from the bedroom.
How the hell …
Did they come through the window, like me?
I’m certain I have the wrong house now.Shit.
