“Miss Cain, this is Nicolas Costa,” a man’s voice on the line said. “You’ve been leading everyone on quite a chase.”
“Had to,” I said.
“Actually, that’s not true,” he said, his voice more animated. “That’s the funny thing about all this. Nobody on our end can figure out how you got involved. You have no discernible link to Nidia Hernandez or anyone else in this matter.” When I didn’t say anything, he prodded, “You have no response to that?”
“It wasn’t a question,” I said. “Mr. Costa, I’m calling to ask you a question: What’s it going to take for Nidia and her baby to be allowed to live together? She’s the mother. She has a right to that. There has to be a way that can happen.”
When he didn’t answer right away, I added, “This line’s not tapped, and I’m not recording this conversation for anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I never thought you were working with law enforcement,” Costa said. “Your unorthodox methods make it clear that you’re not. In fact, I think you have no better position here, in terms of the law, than we do. You came into a private home with guns, assaulted one of our employees, and took a defenseless young woman away with you. And then, if I’m reading news reports correctly, you tried to kill a California Highway Patrolman.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Let’s stop wasting time here,” he said. “You called to find out what it’s going to take for Skouras to give up on having his grandchild. The answer is, nothing. Our position is completely nonnegotiable. We will call with instructions for where you can bring Miss Hernandez, and in exchange, you and she will be allowed to live. If we have to track her down ourselves, Miss Hernandez will be killed, as will you. Quentin, the young man you unwisely taunted in Gualala, has expressed some interest in spending some private time with you, and Mr. Skouras has already given his approval for that.”
Next to me, I felt Serena stiffen.
Costa said, “You do understand the implications of the words ‘private time,’ don’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s a rape threat,” I said. “Excuse me if I don’t worry about it too much. He and I spent a little time together that day in Gualala, and he came out of it second best.”
“Spare me the youthful bravado. You’re in over your head, firstie. I’ll call in twenty-four hours with instructions. If you don’t accept them on receipt, the mother’s survival and your survival are off the table.”
He hung up.
“Holy shit, Insula,” Serena said.
“Yeah.” I jumped off the fence. “Well, we’ve got a little time to think.”
As we were heading back down to Julianne’s trailer, she said, “Why’d that guy call you thirsty?”
“He didn’t,” I said. “He was calling me a ‘firstie.’ It’s a fourth-year student at West Point, or a cadet first class. It’s a good thing I didn’t wash out in my third year. I’d be stuck at ‘cow.’”
forty-four
“No fucking way,” Payaso said.
We were back at the trailer, on the porch, and I’d just let him in on my conversation with Costa, including the callback in twenty-four hours with further instructions. Payaso’s face was again a mask, but an angry mask, not the least bit clownish. Iceman was sitting nearby. It was another war council.
“We’re running out of options,” I said. “Nidia wants to keep her child; Costa says Skouras will never stop coming after her, and furthermore, if we don’t at least agree to give up the baby when he calls back tomorrow, the stakes go up. Nidia’s life and mine are going to be forfeit.”
Payaso was still shaking his head. “He’s not getting the kid.”
“My question, though,” I said, “is how we’re going to deal with him. We can’t just throw Nidia and the baby on a Greyhound and hope for the best. She’s not capable of protecting herself and her child.” My throat felt dry from so much talking, first with Costa, now here. “And we can’t keep guarding her and the kid around the clock, long-term.”
Everyone was silent. We could hear the faint throb of music from inside Julianne’s bedroom, where Nidia was with Cheyenne, like yesterday. I said, “Nidia should be a part of this conversation.”
“No,” Payaso said. “She’s pregnant and under a lot of stress. I don’t think she should have to think about things like this.”
Serena said, “It’s her baby and her life. If Nidia shouldn’t have to be in on this, who the hell should?”
Payaso ignored her. “You said that she and the baby would have to be separated until the old man dies, right?” he asked me.
“Yeah,” I said. “And who knows, that could be soon.”
“What if it was really soon?” He smiled slyly. “Like, extremely soon.”
Iceman smiled. Before that, he’d been as impassive as an Easter Island statue.
I had to swallow before I could speak. “You mean an assassination.”
“You saying he doesn’t deserve it?” Payaso asked. “You know he does. If you want to keep your hands clean, Trece and I can TCB on this. You wouldn’t have to be involved, except in the planning, like you did with finding Nidia. But not in the actual-” He made a gun of his thumb and finger and mimicked shooting.
He was making a good point, in his way. If Trece went after Skouras and succeeded in killing him, it wasn’t like the old man wouldn’t have brought it on himself. Everybody knew what happened when you lived by the sword.
But there was a problem. “I doubt you could get near him,” I said. “He knows a Hispanic gangbanger was involved in the mission in Gualala. He’ll spot one of your homeboys a mile away. You guys aren’t gonna blend in, not in Skouras land.”
“Guys? Maybe not.” Another sly smile. “But a nice innocent Mexican girl, dressed like a maid or a janitor? One of Warchild’s homegirls could walk right up to him and blast away. Some of them are as good with a gun as my homeboys.”
Serena shot me a look that, in anyone else, would have appeared to be mild consternation. In her, it was alarm.
I said what she was undoubtedly thinking. “They could get in to do that, sure. But could they get out?”
Payaso didn’t look like he had considered this, but he lifted a shoulder. “Under the right situation, yeah, I bet they could.”
Finally Serena spoke up. “She’ll have other kids.”
“What?” Payaso said. “What are you taking about?”
“Nidia will have other kids,” she repeated. “And the old man doesn’t want to kill this one, he wants to raise it.”
Payaso started to speak, but Serena didn’t let him: “Listen to what we’re saying. We’re talking about killing someone, with one of my homegirls doing the shooting, and maybe not coming back, and for what? All so Nidia can raise this kid instead of giving it up? It’s too high a price.” She jumped off the porch railing. “I’m going to get her. I want to hear her say it’s worth one of my homegirls’ lives for her not to have to give up her baby.”
“No,” Payaso said. “She doesn’t need to be in on this decision. This is gang business.”
“No, it’s not, Payaso,” she said. “That’s what we’ve been pretending so that we can tell ourselves we can handle this, but it’s not. In case you didn’t notice, we’re like five hundred miles out of our territory, the enemigos are rich white guys we didn’t use to ever have to think about, and she’s”-Serena gestured toward me-“not really even one of us, like Trippy was saying. This isn’t just Trece business, and Nidia needs to be in on it.” She headed toward the back door of the trailer.
When Payaso stepped in front of her, I thought it was just to block her way, until his hand whipped out and he slapped her face.