He hung up the phone and walked away. After a few minutes he stopped, turned around, and walked back to the 7-Eleven.
The guy behind the counter was named Randy. He was twenty-two. There were no other customers in the store when Luis walked in, trembling, clothes bloody, blood in his hair, head swiveling, glancing around the place.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Randy asked. “You need an ambulance or something?”
Luis pulled the Bulldog and pointed it at him. “Open the register. Give me the money. Don’t touch an alarm or I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Please don’t fucking kill me.” Randy opened the register, started taking the cash from it and putting it on the counter.
“Hey! What the hell!”
The voice came from behind Luis. He turned, saw a young woman who had come in the door and was now on her way back out. Her name was Laura, and her two-year-old daughter was outside in her car, fastened into the child seat. Luis pointed and fired. The sound of it concussed the air in the room. The bullet propelled Laura out the door—went in through her lower back, tore through her bladder, and exited through her side. She lay on the asphalt and cried for her child as the life leaked out of her.
“Please don’t fucking kill me,” Randy said again, but he was leaning over the counter, terrified, pawing at the gun in Luis’s hand. Luis fired again, and most of Randy’s face came apart.
Luis pocketed all the bills from the register and left the store. He knew where he was walking to, but he didn’t know if he would get there before a cop grabbed him. It would depend on how long it took before somebody found the bodies at the 7-Eleven, or the body at the parking lot. Even if that happened soon, he might still make it. He would have to elude the patrol cars, but there was a strong wind blowing, so there would probably be no police helicopters cruising tonight. It was out of his control, so there was no use in worrying about it. Better just to keep walking, stick to the dark residential streets wherever he could, just keep walking, and either he would make it to Hyde Park or he wouldn’t.
The stew was bubbling on the stove. Vanjii stirred it with a wooden spoon. It contained beef, carrots, tomatoes, and potatoes, and was seasoned with pepper, garlic, and cumin. Luis had shown her how to make it.
Carlos was out with his girlfriend. Vanjii was going to share the stew with Jaimie, who was in the living room taking a phone call that had been forwarded by the sex line. Vanjii could hear her talking in a put-on, lisping, little girl voice. “Yeah, honey … Feel me contracting my ass around your cock … Oh, yeah …”
Vanjii stuck her head in the living room, looked at Jaimie, and mouthed, Contracting? Jaimie grinned and shrugged. She had been watching TV when the call came, and she was still watching it, though she had muted the sound. The show was Beavis and Butt-Head.
Curled under a bush in Hyde Park, Luis thought it would be funny if he froze to death during the night.
The place was a preserve of mountain and forest right there in the city. Luis made it there without seeing a cop, and had spent an hour hiking up the mountain in the dark. He stopped near a spot where Miguel had sprained his ankle while walking with Luis about a year earlier. He hoped Miguel would understand his message and show up there in the morning.
It was now around 11. Luis’s intentions were simple. He was going to try to rest, and hope he didn’t die in his sleep. When he woke, he was going to talk to Miguel, if Miguel showed. If Miguel didn’t show, he would have to make another plan, but that was all he had right now.
He was shivering, huddled in his jacket, arms wrapped around himself. Coyotes howled off in the darkness somewhere, and Luis wondered if they would eat him if he died here. He didn’t know if he would be able to sleep in such cold, but he soon felt the shivering stop and the drowsiness come. That should frighten him, he thought; Luis had read that people who freeze to death feel like they’re pleasantly falling asleep. He knew it should frighten him but it didn’t. If this was a taste of the grave, it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t bad at all.
When he woke up he was cold, but he was alive. He looked at his watch. It was 7 in the morning. He stood up, stretched, took a piss. He wished he had a book to read, something to pass the time. He was still tired, but not tired enough to sleep anymore. He walked around in the woods, sometimes jogging a little, until he was warm. He wasn’t hungry, but he was very thirsty.
He wondered if Miguel would come. He wondered why he had told him 9 o’clock, rather than earlier or later. It had just come out of his mouth like that. Several minutes before 9, he headed back to the spot where Miguel had fallen. He wondered if Miguel would remember exactly where it had happened.
Then he heard his friend calling his name.
“Hey,” he yelled back. A moment later, Miguel came in sight.
They stood there in the grass among the trees and looked at each other, Miguel in his suit and tie, Luis in his bloody jeans and jacket.
“Jesus Christ, man,” Miguel said.
“You hear what happened?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about when I got your message, but it was on the news this morning. Three people, shit … Did you really do it?”
“Yeah.”
“What for, bro?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. You kill three people but you don’t know.”
“One guy clamped my car …”
“Yeah, it said so on the news.”
“And then I robbed the 7-Eleven. But I really don’t know.”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“Thanks for coming here.”
“Fuck you. What am I supposed to do, just forget about you?”
“I didn’t know if you would.”
“That’s because you don’t know shit.” Miguel started to cry.
“I need clothes,” Luis said.
“I brought you some, like you asked. They’re in my car. Wait here and I’ll get them.” Miguel walked to the road, got a backpack from his car, headed back into the woods. Luis was now sitting on the ground. Miguel dropped the backpack in front of him.
“Thanks,” Luis said.
“You better head for Mexico. There’s no way you can beat this. They got you on video at the 7-Eleven, and they got a body laying next to your car. White people. You’re looking at death row for sure.”
Luis didn’t say anything.
“Get to Mexico. You can just disappear there, they’ll never find you. The narcos’ll cover your ass if you work for them. But go. You gotta go.”
“I know. I’m gonna go.”
“How?”
“I’ll steal a car.”
“You know how to hot-wire?”
“No.”
“You gonna kill somebody to get a car?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Miguel was crying hard. He took out his car keys and threw them at Luis. “Asshole. Asshole. Take my fucking car.”
“Miguel …”
“Shut up. Take the fucking car. I’m still paying it off, so I guess insurance’ll cover it, maybe. I’ll wait a couple days before I report it stolen. At least you won’t get pulled over driving a hot car.”
“Thanks. You know the cops’ll probably figure it out that you helped me.”
“Fuck them. They got to prove it.” Miguel sat down on the ground beside Luis. “Asshole. What happened? I thought I was gonna be best man at your wedding for sure.”
“You would’ve been.”
“I know. And you would’ve been my best man. Oh my God. My God.”