The boy guffawed and Frank grinned, "Is that how you do it?"
Frank was trying to build Tonio's confidence, his trust.
"No way," he snorted. "You gotta make somethin' to step on, you know. You stick screwdrivers into the cracks. Or branches off trees. You can step on 'em."
"Man, that's dangerous."
The kid shrugged dismissively, "You gotta be careful. But I don't weigh so much. Some of these guys, they can't do it, you know? They're too big."
"Do you ever fall?" Frank asked, seemingly in awe.
Twisting his back, he pointed proudly to a large, bruised scrape.
"I did that last week, doin' the one on 58th Street."
Bingo, Frank thought. Tonio had done the hard part for her.
"Oh yeah, I know the one you're talking about. That's a good one too. But why you'd strike out the LAPD?"
Tonio's enthusiasm was quickly replaced with sullen wariness. He just stared at the porch floor.
"Is it me? 'Cause I'm hanging around so much? Is that it?"
When he didn't respond, Frank sighed loudly, and hung her head too.
"I'm just trying to figure out who did this to your sister. I want the maricon did this caught and put in the 'Dad for a long time. And I hope he's real pretty and that all the guys like him. A lot."
Frank dropped her voice, appealing to Tonio's Latino pride.
"I know you know who did it. I can't blame your mom and Gloria for not talking. They're women. They're scared. I understand that. But you're different. You're a man. You're not a coward. You're not a little boy anymore either, even though your mama tries to protect you. I respect you, Tonio. And I respected your sister. She had a heart like a man."
In the barrio, where masculinity and strength were admired above all else, that was high praise. Tonio was still staring down. His features were fine and sharp, offering no hiding place for his distress.
"She called me a couple days before she died, wanted to meet with me. Said she had something to tell me. It must have been hard for her to call. I could tell from her voice that she was scared. But she did it anyway. She didn't give in to her fear, she didn't let it beat her. Whatever Placa was afraid of, she was facing it like a man. Are you? Would she be proud of you, Tonio? Are you respecting her memory?"
She gave him time to consider, then gently slipped her card into the door frame.
"Keep that. You're Placa's baby brother, but I think you're just as brave. Tell your mom and Gloria I said hello."
Next, she cruised southeast, into 51st Playboy territory, keeping an eye out for Lydia. The girl didn't have a phone so Frank couldn't call her, but wouldn't have anyway; announcing her visits gave people time to think of answers or disappear. There was no reply when Frank knocked on Lydia's door. A thick, older woman taking out garbage, eyed Frank suspiciously, then said, "The tramp ain't home. I seen her go out about lunchtime."
She wheezed on a cigarette and Frank asked if Lydia had left alone.
The woman hacked up a lung, adding, "She was with those hoodlum friends of hers. They're none of 'em no good. Robbin' old ladies and children."
She spit in the hallway, narrowly missing Frank's expensive loafers.
"I seen you here before," she said, taking in the ID clip and badge on Frank's belt. "What did she do?"
"Afraid I can't tell you that," Frank played up, "But let's just say it ain't good."
The old lady nodded, snorting, "That don't surprise me."
Frank returned the nod, adding, "Yeah. And I'll bet you've seen a lot."
"Oh!" the old lady coughed, flourishing a chubby hand, "I could write a book."
"You ever see her with a real tough looking girl? Got her gang tattooed on her forehead, a devil on her arm?"
The old lady was nodding before Frank even finished.
"You ever see them go out together?"
"No, I only seen that other one going into her apartment. That girl was trouble."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, just look at her!" she sputtered. "That girl couldn'a been up to no good. Uh-uh."
Then she went into the diatribe Frank knew by heart. How this used to be a nice place to live until the gangs started taking over and why didn't the police do anything about them? Always disposed to recruiting snoopy neighbors, Frank sympathized for about two minutes before taking a firm but graceful exit. She tried a few more places where she thought she might find Lydia, then tried the apartment again. Frank's luck was good because Lydia was just slipping the key into her lock.
"Hey."
Lydia jumped. She relaxed slightly when she saw it was just Frank, but didn't finish opening her door.
"Got a couple questions for you. Want me to ask out here or some place private?"
Lydia grumpily clicked the lock, allowing Frank into a dime-sized but tidy apartment.
"How you afford this?"
"Ocho pays for it."
"Damn. He pays for the place where you're knockin' boots with an off-brand. You got some nerve," Frank praised. "Let me ask you something personal. Did you and Placa ever do business together?"
"What do you mean," Lydia asked, her dark eyes narrowing to slits.
"You know, like hustlin', going somewhere to do business outside the 'hood?"
Lydia cracked her gum, eyeing Frank with obvious disdain. She made a grunting sound, "You mean like those low-class putas that hang out on the corner?"
"No, not like those skanks. I mean real nice, high-class work. None of that strawberry shit."
"We don't gotta do that," she said, her disgust becoming disbelief. "Why you askin' that for?"
"It's just something I heard. I just-"
"Who you heard that from?" Lydia cried. "I'll lay that fuckin' chingona out on the sidewalk. Who tolt you that? Don't nobody know nothin' about me and Placa."
Lydia's indignation was real, and Frank calmed her, lying, "Hey, it's no big, just some trash I heard from a kid in lockup. Did you ever meet her anywhere outside of here? You know, where no one would see you together?"
"People can see you anywhere," Lydia said angrily. "I tolt you, we hooked up here."
"Nowhere else?"
"No."
"What happened when you two saw each other on the street?"
"We'd flash each other. We'd dis each other, but not too much. We didn't want to start no trouble."
Frank nodded, "Tell me again about the drugs. Did she ever tell you who she sold to, or where? Anything like that?"
"I already tolt you that too," Lydia explained.
"I know. I'm stupid. Tell me again," and she did so, exaggeratedly patient, like Frank was a slow child. Frank again asked where Placa was going when she left her that last day. Lydia again said she didn't know.
"She did that sometimes. Just said she had to go somewhere. She'd get real sad and mad like. I asked her once or twice but she never tolt me. Said she couldn't, so stop askin'.
Lydia was wistful when she added, "She was different like that. Cholos always be talkin' about what they done and what bad-asses they are, but me and Placa, we din' talk about where we been or where we are. We liked talking about where we wanted to be."
"You knew she wanted to go to college, right?"
Lydia's animosity softened, "Yeah, that was her dream. She used to say she had to get out of here. She said she'd take me with her when she left and that we'd leave this vida loca foolishness. One time," Lydia smiled behind her hand, "she said she wanted to be a cop and come back and arrest all the P51s."
"What was your dream?" Frank asked.
"To go with her," Lydia whispered.
"All right," Frank said, feeling a pang of tenderness. "You be careful out there. Don't make me have to be asking questions about you someday."
"I can take care of myself," Lydia huffed.