Chapter 20

Dog grinned at me – the soulless, predatory grin of a shark. "My point, homes? You come down here, you think we gonna tell you whatever you ask, you don't gotta pay no price. It don't work that way, ese. You pay to talk to us."

"How much?" I asked, but I had a feeling he didn't have money in mind.

I was right. The guy to Dog's left stood up. He was wiry, wearing an undershirt, what some have called a "wife beater" for reasons I've never known, and baggy sweat pants with the Raiders emblem on them. He had no hat on, and there was a tattoo on his shaved head – a stylize B&I. "You bring a slut in here, ese," he said in a hoarse, very Hispanic voice, "like this is a police station. Man, you stupid." His cussing was even more prevalent than Dog's, though with even less variety.

"I'll let the insult slide," I said, though what I really wanted to do was put my fist through his face. "Just say what you got to say."

He swaggered forward a few steps, then turned to Cecelia – and swung at her. It was a wide, looping swing that a child could have seen coming, and she's not a child. She blocked it, and simultaneously put her right fist into his gut. He doubled over with a whoosh of escaping air, and sat suddenly down.

She must have pulled her punch, for he looked up at her, and then climbed back to his feet. I tensed up. If he knew what he was doing Cecelia might be in trouble, for as thin as he was he was still bigger and heavier than she was, and as a professional wrestling announcer used to say, a good big man will beat a good little man every time.

He didn't know what he was doing. He took in a huge breath and charged, his arms wide to grab. Cecelia danced out of the way – even as it happened I noticed that her feet were together and she pivoted on her toes, like pictures I've seen of banderilleros planting their barbs in a bull's hump of muscle – and hit him in the kidney with the side of her fist. He went down on his face, and that blow must have had some real force behind if, for he didn't do much for a minute or two but groan and try to catch his breath.

When the gangbanger began to try to stand, I looked at Dog. So far Cecelia had taken care of herself well, but the numbers weren't on our side and I wanted this to stop. But the voice I heard wasn't Dog's – it came from the guy on the far right, low and raspy and with less Hispanic accent than the rest. "That's enough."

Dog seemed to deflate a bit, and the gangbanger who'd tried to take Cecelia walked back to his seat – looking very much like he wanted to put his hand where she'd hit him but was too macho to do it.

I looked at the one who'd spoken. He gave me the barest possible nod, and I realized that Dog might be the public face of the gang, but this guy ran the show. I looked back at Dog. "Well," I said, "now that we've all proved how tough we are, how 'bout we get down to business." Dog might not be in charge, but he was the guy who would do the talking. He might not even realize, not fully anyway, just how much of a figurehead he was, and if I could get more by pandering to his ego then I'd pander and be glad to do it.

"Yeah, we tough, ese," Dog said. "That minivan ... yeah, we stole it. The word came that somebody wanted it, so we took it and passed it on."

"Passed it on?"

"Yeah, the Bridge Boys told us someone wanted a good car for shooting in the Heights, so we clouted it and passed it on to them."

I felt the mental equivalent of ah ha! I thought I know how things would go once I could follow up this new piece of information. "Who'd you talk to up there?"

"Davey Powder," Dog said.

That name rang a faint bell. If it had been someone from my part of town I'd have had all sorts of information ready to hand, but for now all I could think of was that I'd heard the name before. "Tell me about Davey Powder."

"He runs girls, sells rock ... he got his name when he sold a bag full of talcum powder to this dude from out of town – told him it was hundred percent Bolivian flake."

None of that sounded like I'd heard it before. "Where can I find him?"

"You know the Bridge Boys," Dog said. "They hang along Bridge, but he lives on Five Points Road. You ask around up there, tell 'em Dog sent you, maybe he'll talk to you."

"Coolness," I said. I was beginning to feel the reaction to the fight, and I wanted to get out – without letting the gangbangers know just how shaky I was getting. "Could you give him a call, tell him I'm coming? I'm not after him – I'm just following the minivan."

Dog looked at the leader, who barely nodded. Dog turned back to me. "Yeah, I'll call him, homes. Now why don't you go away? I'm tired of lookin' at you."

"The feeling's mutual," I said, and began backing away. Cecelia followed my lead, and once we were past the fence and in sight of the road we turned – just like a pair of allied gunslingers in a western movie – and walked back to the Blazer.

As I put the key in the ignition, Cecelia said, "Darvin, we must find a safe and quiet place."

"Reaction?" I asked.

"Yes. I have never been in a fight in my life, until today – and if I do not take some time to tremble I fear I shall fall apart completely."

"I know what you mean," I said as I turned the key. "I'll find us a spot."

The spot I found was the parking lot of the McDonald's where we'd eaten just a few days before. I found us a spot away from the building and other cars, and Cecelia released her seat belt and held out her hands. "I am striving," she said, "with all my might to hold myself steady. I am failing."

"Scared?" I asked.

"That word grossly underestimates the matter. It quickly became clear that your training made me a better fighter than my opponent, but there were six of them and just two of us. Moreover I was never satisfied that they would not resort to gunfire if fists failed them." She took a deep breath. "I had no choice but to defend myself – I understand why you did not intervene, I believe – but that didn't make it any less frightening."

"No, it didn't. And now I know something of why Sara divorced Rudy, I think."

"Or what I felt when Mrs. Martinson shot Jacob Bestwick, and I could not penetrate to you."