Chapter 25

"Well, it's real simple," I said. "A guy I'd been talking to walked out of my office, out of the building, and someone drove up in the van and shot him a bunch of times until he died. Then they drove off."

"So why do you care?" I wasn't sure, but I thought that the question was genuinely curious rather than sarcastic. I thought about asking Cecelia for her impression, but decided not to interrupt the flow.

"I don't know if I can explain it," I said. "But he'd been in my office. He'd been talking to me, he'd been trying to get me to take his case, and I'd turned him down. And somehow I feel an obligation to find out who did it."

"Man, if it was us, nobody will ever tell you."

"And if it wasn't y'all?" I noticed that Cecelia translated that southern plural pronoun into ustedes, as I'd expected she would. She knows the vosotros forms that are still common in Spain, but they're rare in the Americas and so she hardly ever uses them.

Domingo shrugged. "Maybe no one will tell you anything anyway."

I had a hunch, and followed it. "No one in the CC 25s was in on that drive-by." It was a statement, not a question.

Domingo looked at me. "No." That word is the same in both Spanish and English.

"Then why wouldn't you tell me? Look, we're both reasonable people." That was another lie, but if I could get him to tell me things by telling him stuff that wasn't true, I'd do it. "I'm not going to rat you out for drugs or guns or stolen vehicles or whatever. I just want to know where the van went."

"You know, I got a baby at home."

I nodded. "I know how that is – I've got a daughter myself, though she's 11 now. You got a boy or a girl?" I caught Cecelia's look as she translated – she had no idea what was going on.

"Una hija," he said, and I didn't need a translation – he had a daughter, and if his face and voice were any indication he was mighty proud of her. "Tiene seis meses." Cecelia didn't bother to translate that either – she knew that I could understand that the girl was six months old.

"Y creo que es muy mona," I said, telling him that I expected she was very cute. Then I switched back to English, for my Spanish was at its limit. "I expect that $100 would buy her a lot of food and a lot of clothes, and some toys too."

"Yes."

"All right, I got a hundred here." I stared at Domingo, hoping he'd know just how serious I was. "But I don't want it to go to drugs, or alcohol, and I don't want it to go to the gang. I want it to go to a little girl who deserves a better life than you've got."

He nodded, and looking at his expression I wondered if he might not have a little bit of conscience after all, in spite of being part of a violent gang of criminals. "I'll make sure it goes to her."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out money. Bribery is often part of my business, and I knew exactly where the bill was – I didn't have to show that I had more, much less how much more. I handed it to Domingo.

And then the point of the negotiation came. "Yeah, the van came through here. We didn't do the shooting, though. The guy who put in the order, the guy we gave the van to, I never knew his name. But he's a big guy, kind of fat, but tough, you know? He's got long hair, and he drives this old Volkswagen van, the one they call a bus. I don't know anything else about him."

I forced my face to remain completely expressionless, even as I felt my heart shrivel and quake. "I know who you mean," I said. "Thanks for the information." And I turned and walked away, my legs feeling like chunks of wood.

Cecelia walked beside me – at my right, since we were wearing our guns. After five minutes or so, she said, "He was talking about Straight, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," I said, and my voice sounded like a stranger's.

"Darvin, I am so very sorry."

"Please, Cecelia, don't take this the wrong way, because I don't mean it hurtfully. But you ain't nowhere near as sorry as I am."

We didn't say another word all the way back to the Blazer, nor on the way home, nor after we got into the house. I took a shower in our bathroom, while Cecelia went into Darlia's. I was done first, and sat down at the counter, looking at nothing. When Cecelia came out a few minutes later, she found me with tears running silently down my face.

Cecelia has her flaws – however difficult it might be for me to see them these days – but stupidity isn't one of them. She turned back to the hall bathroom, and returned with a wet washcloth. She put it in my hand, and I used it to wipe my face. Getting the tears off my skin helped me get myself under control, and while I was doing that she got a couple of Cokes out of the refrigerator and sat down at my left.

"I have, as you know, nagged you about your friendship with Straight. I apologize for that, Darvin – I should not have done it. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "I knew all along what kind of guy he is, C. I've known he was a crook since before I met you. I've known for a long time that probably he's a murderer. It's not your fault that he acts like what he is."