Sideburns passed the gun from hand to hand. “I ought to plug you, but I tell you what. Hand over that ride, and we’ll call it square.”
The fact that he hadn’t shot me already meant that either he wasn’t locked and loaded, or else he had a reason to believe he couldn’t get away with it at this moment. Maybe too many cops around, not that I had any faith in the law enforcement in Zona Norte.
“Let’s take a look at it, see if it meets your high standards.” I pushed away from the wall and backed up to the bike.
Sideburns narrowed his eyes, and I gave him reason to be very nervous as I ran my hand along the leather saddlebag. He was assuming the gun was in there, and now I was close to it.
Still, he didn’t pop me when he could. Something was holding him back.
“Built it myself,” I said.
He took only one step when I charged. How stupid could he be, when I shut him down so handily a couple weeks ago? I brought him to the ground, and a sharp crack of my elbow against his wrist forced him to drop the Glock.
Rosa stepped out right then and screamed.
This made Sideburns go manic, kicking and punching at me like a tornado. The boy definitely had something to hide.
I delivered a bone-crushing blow to his jaw to slow him down and pinned his chest with my knee. Rosa, to her credit, calmed down instantly and went for the gun. I could see she knew her way around a weapon, so I jumped off Sideburns and let him stand as she aimed the Glock at his head.
“Puta,” he spat at her.
“Su madre es puta,” she said.
“Ay yi yi.” Sideburns held out his hand to receive his gun back.
“Don’t give it to him,” I told Rosa. “It has your prints.”
She shook her head at me as she pushed the release and deftly snatched the magazine in her left hand. She tossed it my direction, and I caught it.
I was about to remind her of the round in the chamber when she jerked the slide and cupped the last bullet in her hand. She threw the gun at Sideburns’s face.
He backed up and trapped it against his chest before it could fall and hit the ground.
“Vamanos,” Rosa said and pushed me toward the Harley.
I swung my leg over and waited for her to settle behind me, shoving the magazine in my jacket. The engine noise was deafening in the covered space. I turned around and passed Sideburns. I’d had just about enough of Tijuana.
We only went a few blocks before Rosa leaned forward and shouted, “Turn aqui,” and pointed down another, larger street. We followed it for a long while, then she tapped my shoulder. “Stop.”
I pulled up beside a rundown pickup parked by a line of cinder-block buildings that looked occupied. My heart hammered since this might be where the boy lived, beating harder than it had during the fight. Rosa jumped off the back, came around, and punched me in the chest.
“What?” I asked.
“You cabron! You idiot!” She was hysterical now, crying and screaming.
I grabbed her and pulled her against my chest. “Hey, hey, we’re okay. We’re fine.”
Rosa kept hitting me, the blows getting less and less energetic, until she finally settled down.
“Do you know that guy?” I asked.
“¡Por supuesto! Of course! Everybody knows Antonio. Big jerk. Big asshole.”
I’d never heard Rosa curse or even be upset. I guess in the context of how we saw each other, it didn’t come up. “Will he bother you?”
“No. He will not admit a woman hold his gun.”
“I had a fight with him before.”
She pulled away and looked up at me. “Everybody fights with Antonio. It is his way. He thinks he owns our street.”
I let go of her. “Rosa, what is going on?”
She looked past me at the houses, and I felt certain he had to be in one of them.
“Is the boy here?”
Rosa looked at me questioningly, then shook her head. “No, Manuelito is with my cousin in Ensenada. This is where I used to live.”
I turned back to the crumbling facades. Gray blocks kept the dirt from cascading down the slopes that the structures seemed to spring from like caves. Scattered cars were parked half on the road, half in the dirt and debris. Rambling steps thrown together with wood scraps led to doors.
“Are we going to see your family?”
Rosa kicked at the dirt. “No. No family here. I just know what is safe here and what is not.”
I got off the bike and pulled her over to the pickup so we could sit on the edge of the rusted-out bed. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
Rosa ran her hands up and down the legs of her jeans. I had never seen her dressed so simply, a plain blue T-shirt and worn-out windbreaker. Her hair was pulled back in a long black ponytail. She seemed younger in this outfit than in the getups she usually wore for me — lacy skirts and cinched-up tops.
“Where I live is my brother’s,” she said.
“You mentioned that.”
“He not come there much now that he has wife, but he has the key. He watches me.”
“Does he know what you do?”
She twisted the corner of her jacket. “The farmacia — it is his.”
That’s not what I meant, but I let it go for the moment. “Is he the man who works there, in the back?”
She nodded.
“So does he know the other things you do?”
She shook her head. “He know nothing about you.”
“But the others. How do you keep it a secret?”
She stared at her hands, working the zipper up and down at the bottom of her jacket. “Gavin, I not say truth to you.”
There it was. Now she would tell me the boy wasn’t mine. I could already feel the relief relaxing my chest. “So what is the truth?”
Rosa inhaled deeply. She sat up and looked right at me. “I am not what you think. I do not do sex for money. I am not a bad woman.”
I couldn’t quite grasp what she was saying. “But you have sex with me. For money.”
She held my gaze, steady and certain. “You are the only one.”
“But I saw you, that first time, on the corner.”
She slumped down again. “I try it. I try every night for a week, but no one come for me. No one want to pay for me.”
Well, that explained how innocent and uncomfortable she was that first night. “Why wouldn’t anyone want to pay for you? You are beautiful and kind.”
“I am not.”
In any other circumstance I might have done more, hold her or kiss her or convince her she was wrong, but not now, not with Corabelle back. I just sat there numbly, waiting for her to explain why I had been her only customer.
“My family is not happy for me. I cause big problem. My brother was the only one to help me.” She had gone back to tugging at her zipper.
“If you had a job and help, why were you on that corner?”
“I needed money he did not know about.”
“What for?”
“For protection.”
“From what?”
“My cousin, another cousin. He — he wants me. He — has me. I do not want him.”
My anger flared. “Why didn’t your brother help?”
“My family does not believe me. I cannot keep him away.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Yes. Many times.”
“And you told your family?”
She looked down the street, her dark eyes so lost. I wanted to cream somebody, smash them into the ground.
“It is not easy. He is very smart. He talks very pretty.”
“Is he the father of the baby?”
Her head snapped around. “No!”
“How do you know?”
Her face blossomed red. “I bleed before you came. I not bleed after. He did not come then.”