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“Yeah, don’t make so much noise, huh? You gonna wake up the neighborhood.”
* * *
Killing the lights, Sergio pulls alongside the curb in the back of Our Lady of Guadalupe. To keep from being too hasty about this, Sergio and I start with the rectory, climbing in through the same, damn, cracked window I broke into before, and we search every room for any sign of Damon. A single clue as to where he might be.
There’s nothing. The house is meticulous and eerily silent.
We head back down the sidewalk, toward the church, and through the glass door of the offices at the rear of the building, I can see one light still on.
I’m hoping it’s the other priest.
“Hang on a second.”Sergio stops at his car on the way, swinging the passenger door open, and rifles beneath the seat, from where he pulls a gun.
Eyes wide, I shake my head and set my hand on his arm. “Are you crazy? What are you going to do, shoot a priest?”
“He could be one of them, you don’t know. They could all be in there, too.”
A quick glimpse of the office shows it’s mostly empty. “I think we’ll be fine.”
“I’m not taking chances. You don’t know these guys, Ivy. They’re tricky.”
“Okay, well, do you have something a little less …killy,and maybe just intimidating?”
He looks thoughtful for a moment and huffs, before stuffing the gun back beneath the seat. Out of the vehicle, he rounds to the back and opens the trunk. With reluctance, I follow him, thinking he’s going to pull a crowbar, or something.
Instead, he points to a box and holds up an object that looks like a small stick of dynamite.
“What is this?”
“M-eighty. He gives us trouble? We light it and stuff it down his pants.”
“A firework?”
“Yeah. What do you think? He’s just gonna come out and tell you where to findEl Cabro Blanco? You’ll need to coax him a little. You can blow a man’s junk clean off with one of these things.”
Waving a hand in the air, I shake my head. “Whatever. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, and I can just erase the visuals.”
Sergio follows behind, stuffing two M-eighties into his pocket.
“Do you even have a lighter?” I whisper over my shoulder, still repulsed at the image of a man’s exploded crotch.
With a smug grin, he holds up his Zippo, and I roll my eyes, remembering the kid smokes.
“Let me do the talking, okay?”
“Whatever you say, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby, either.”
“Whatever you say,mamacita.”
Stopping mid-stride, I spin around, hands on my hips. “I have a lighter, too. Keep it up, and I’ll setyourdamn pants on fire.”
Tongue sweeping over his lips, he wears the kind of expression that tells me he found something sexual in that remark.
“Don’t test me.” Spinning back around, I head toward the entry door of the church’s back offices and knock. There’s no movement at first, so I knock again, while reaching inside my pocket to power down my cellphone.
A man peeks his head out of the office, wearing the frown of a person who shouldn’t commit his life to serving the people, if he doesn’t like to bothered so much.
