I could sense my words running through her like a hand-forged stiletto. Her eyes narrowed and she saw me for what I was, with all my flaws.
“Why do you tell me this?”
“I don’t know; it bothers me sometimes. I never told that to anyone, ever. Can you be trusted?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s why I told you.”
Outside, the rain had eased and the faint rush of tires reached me. After Amanda had jammed, I answered a few personal ads and hooked up with women who didn’t care what I did to them as long as they felt something. Some scenes were sick, and when I started enjoying them I decided to quit. Since then I’ve more or less lived the social life of a monk.
I touched her shoulder and she turned to me. A pale vein in her throat pulsed wildly. She brushed her hair back from her face. The lamp light seemed like a witness to the crime. I reached to turn it off but she stopped my hand.
“I want to see your face.”
“Wait.” I held her hand. “So what’s this about? Who is this Señora Lopez at whose house I met you…?”
“Are you still thinking about that?”
“I don’t know. It’s all related. I can feel it.”
“Everything is related, Roberto. After the last time I saw you…”
“The summer of Puerto Escondido. You were with Raymond then.”
“We were engaged but we never married. It was my last year in law school. A weekend trip to Napa. We’d both overdone it. An accident along the side of the road. It was my fault Raymond was killed…”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You don’t understand.” Her voice was soft and pained in the shadows. “…If I trust you?”
“I’d do anything for you.” I said that, but I didn’t know for sure. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to go on. She didn’t give me a choice.
“I’m being blackmailed. The classic story. A young, gullible, ambitious young woman sells her soul to stay out of jail. I was scared after the accident. In shock, really, for months. Clearly it was manslaughter, but she quietly cleaned it up. She has that sort of power. So instead of being a jailbird, I’m an accomplice. She provides the fronts and I cook the contracts, make sure everything is legal.”
“Your aunt?”
“Who else? Señora Lopez, when she comes out of the shadows. Oh, Roberto, I want out of her grip. It’s like someone is violating you every day. It never goes away.” She took a long drag from the cigarette. “And she’s Felicia Delgado. It’s one of her pseudonyms. Her full name is Aura Felicia Delgado Lopez. I think she ordered the fire.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s an insurance scam. Plus, with the hotel down they can build something new, make a few extra million.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. A fire like that will cause them lots of trouble, there’ll be an investigation, and…”
“Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Her eyes flashed with righteous anger. “My aunt is rich and powerful and evil. She has the mayor in one pocket and the chief of police, the next mayor, in the other. If you stand up to these people, if you mess with their plans, they’ll hurt you. They’ll hurt you bad, Roberto. There is lots and lots of money involved. The Builders Association? Their whole blueprint for the Mission?”
“I’m familiar with Callahan. I just had a relaxing chat with him last night. But look, it’s a matter of conscience. You have to decide for yourself.”
She was quiet for a minute. “I have the documents in my office.”
“And I have a witness. Tomorrow I’ll speak with La Jessica. Maybe all of us together can bring this vieja Lopez down.”
She shook her head like she wasn’t too convinced and lit a row of votive candles on the mantlepiece. They lit up an eighteenth-century painting of La Anima en Purgatorio, the fires licking up her chained wrists. I couldn’t help but comment.
“What’s up with the burning lady?”
“Oh that? A gift from my aunt.”
“You mean…?”
“The very same…”
“Why do you keep it?”
“Purgatory. Where souls have their sins cleansed by fire.”
She stared at me with those dark eyes that will stay with me a lifetime. Then she said something that changed my life.
“Did you love me then, Roberto? In Puerto Escondido?”
“I love you now.”
“Would you really do anything for me?”
“Double back-flips on a high wire.”
“I’m not joking,” she hissed. Without breaking her lock on my eyes, she held the burning tip of the cigarette an inch from my skin. When I didn’t pull back, she pressed the hot ember against my forearm and held it there for a quick second, just long enough to leave a red ring tinged with ashes. I didn’t flinch.
“Do I pass the test?”
She sat back and took another hit of the cig. “Why don’t we just leave? Turn over the evidence and get out of Dodge?”
“I don’t have it on me. The photos are stashed on Twenty-fourth Street. I’m thinking that’s what those thugs were after. And who would follow up on it? No, I have to stay.”
“Then I’ll stay with you.”
I flicked away the ashes on my forearm and grabbed her hair. I knew this scene. Knew it very well.
“Now it’s my turn, cariño.”
I pulled her to me, and she was on fire. Our mouths kissed, hot and angry.
I finally let her up for air and she said, “I’ve never kissed a man with a mustache before.”
Then I unzipped her dress, stopping my hand on the curve of her nalgas. She turned to face me and shrugged the top half of her dress off her body. She was naked above the waist, without a bra; a string of candlelight danced around her breasts, small as pomegranates. I placed one in my mouth and sucked the juice from it. We undressed each other before rolling onto the rug, the two of us twined together like serpents. I slipped my hand under her back and flipped her on her stomach, pulled her hair, and hissed in her ear-“I want you to be my puta.”
She didn’t hesitate in answering-“Make me do what you want.”
And I did, over and over, all night long.
I woke up alone in her bed Sunday morning. I didn’t have time to relish the night before. There was a note on the pillow and the morning paper. Call me on my pager-and her name scrawled in red. The headlines sent a shock through me: La Jessica had been found stabbed to death in her hotel room. The paper speculated that a john, angry at having discovered Jesus instead of Jessica under the wig, had taken out his rage with a twelve-inch blade. Somehow I was left unconvinced. La Jessica had struck me as flamboyant, a tease, maybe even a tramp, but not a whore.
I still had to wait for Miss Mary to open, so I went to the little hotel down the alley from Esta Noche. That’s where La Jessica had lived, and I wanted to hear what the street had to say about her murder. There was an altar set up in the hallway and her friends were there, weeping and sobbing. They all knew me and they spoke frankly.
“Those cabrones, why did they have to kill her?”
“Because she saw too much. Everyone knows that building was torched. And that’s why they killed her, Mr. Morales.”
“She went home alone that night. Pobrecita. So there wasn’t any john, that’s just lies. Puras mentiras.”
I left the mourners to their grief and called Sofia but could only leave a message on her voice mail. “I turned up some interesting info. Meet me where I told you. Bring the documents.”
I waited in a café till about 6 p.m., Miss Mary’s opening time, and then hurried over to Twenty-fourth Street. As soon as I reached the bar I sensed something wrong. The door was ajar and the lights were off. I stepped in and Johnson and another cop were waiting for me. The place had been turned upside down and Miss Mary was in a corner, frightened to death.