"Because it's dangerous."
My eyebrows shot up. Now why would good detective Estrada think visiting Mayor Guzman was dangerous unless something I said made sense to him? Unless he knew there was something corrupt about her?
"Don't give me that look," he said through the phone, as though he could see my face. "I already know what you're thinking and you're wrong. I don't think she's corrupt. Well, not yet, anyway. I need proof. But that doesn't mean she's not capable of…"
"Of?" I pressed.
"Don't try it," Estrada said. "I'm not going to say anything else. I don't think you should do this, Lara. I think it's suspicious. That doesn't mean I think she's the villain you paint her out to be but just…" Another pause. I could picture him rubbing his temples right now. "Look, I know you well enough to know once you've got your mind set, there's nothing I can do to change that. I know you're going. Just do me a favor and be careful, okay? I don't want you to be so stubborn that you decide dying is the only way to prove your point."
"Yeah, right," I said. "I'm not dying. You would miss me way too much."
After we got off the phone, I resumed documenting the questions I planned to ask. It was nearly lunch time and my stomach was growling incessantly for actual food and not just the coffee I fed it a couple of hours earlier. In my haste, I hadn't grabbed anything from home, which meant I'd probably grab another sandwich from downstairs.
There was something else I needed to do, though. I just couldn't remember what. The whole Guzman interview threw me for a loop.
Until my eyes fell onto the bloodstain on my floor. I swallowed. My hands shook. I was instantly transported back to that night, with me cowering under my desk, waiting for two men from Guzman's camp to kill me. Two men I didn't even know to snuff the life from me.
Until Jon showed up.
And then it hit me. I was supposed to do Jon a favor. I was supposed to make contact with Yvonne and get his dog tags back.
I groaned.
I could not deal with her on an empty stomach, so I took my lunch and tried to come up with a feasible excuse as to why I would want to see her at all, let alone to ask her for a favor. We had only met once before and it did not go well. I was researching Jon, and when I found out about her and what a bitch she was, I wrote a scathing article on her—all factual so she couldn't slap a defamatory case on me or the paper—and she basically threatened to kill me in so many words. There was no way she wanted to hear from me again after that and there was no way in hell I wanted to reach out to her at all.
This isn't for you, though, I tried to remind myself as I pulled out exact cash for my food. This is about Jon. You told him you would help him. He's counting on you.
I grunted and shook my head.
"Is something wrong with the sandwich, ma'am?"
I snapped open my eyes and came in contact with the teenager who’d just handed me the white sandwich bag.
"No," I said. "Sorry."
I really needed to control my facial reactions to my thoughts around people. I headed out the door and back up to my office. I ate the egg salad sandwich slowly, trying to think of every possible scenario I could that might get me what I wanted without dealing with Yvonne directly. Sneaking into her place, trying to see if she had a storage unit, but that would entail more work. At the end of the day, calling her up and asking was probably my best bet.
I picked up the phone after looking up her number and dialed it. Part of me hoped it went straight to her voicemail. The other part actually hoped she answered so I could get this over with as quickly as possible.
"Hello?"
I instantly recognized Yvonne’s voice because of the high, breathy pitch and the confusion.
"Hey." I wondered if she recognized mine. Not that I cared, but I was curious to see how much context I needed to give her before making my request. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm Lara Tucker. I wrote an article—"
"You're the bitch who wrote about what a monster I was after Jon started killing people," she interrupted. Instead of confusion, anger now laced her tone.
My immediate reaction was to get defensive but I bit my bottom lip. I couldn't do that. Not yet, anyway. I needed to be nice.
"I need to ask you a favor."
Laughter spilled out of her mouth and I contemplated ripping my desk phone from where it was and throwing it across the room so I didn't have to hear it.
"This is rich, coming from you," she said when she got hold of herself. "What do you want from me?"
I let out a breath.
"Dog tags," I told her. "I need Jon's dog tags."
Chapter 8
I wished I had the ability to reach through the phone and strangle Yvonne. The tinkling laughter echoed in my ear. Jon owed me big for this. Swallowing my pride was not something I liked to do in any situation—one of my many flaws I promised myself I would work on later. Dealing with her, with someone so callus, was not something I went out of my way to do.
Unless asked by someone important to me.
"His dog tags?" she asked. "God, I don't even know if I have those things. Not surprised you would want them."
I faltered. Was she actually open to giving them to me? At least, considering it?
"Why do you need them?"
I started playing with my cross necklace, tinkering with it between my fingers.
"You know," I said with a shrug. "Because they belonged to him."
She scoffed on the other line and I could see her rolling those baby blues in the back of her head, a coy smile turning her lips up, in my mind like it was playing out right in front of me.
"Yeah, I think I still have them. Actually, I totally forgot I had them or else I would have thrown them out. God, I feel gross just thinking about it. Yeah, come by and get them." I could hear noise on the other end, the gentle tinkle of metal hitting each other. "It would do me a favor. I want nothing to do with that guy."
I leaned back in my chair. I hated that I was doing her a favor. Despised it. But it worked out for me. It helped Jon. And as much as I hated Yvonne, she was helping me help Jon.
"I'll swing by around six, if that works?"
"Yes, that's fine. Maybe you can bring me some takeout from Hong Kong Express? The one on Sixth Avenue?"
I hung up before she could say anything else, letting out a frustrated groan.
I threw away my trash from lunch and started typing up a fluff piece that was due by the end of the day. I still didn't have as many questions for Guzman as I hoped to have but I would think more about that when I took the train to Yvonne's place.
The only reason I even knew where Yvonne lived was because she was still living in the same house she lived in with Jon. She was trying to sell it, even at a ridiculously low selling point, but no one wanted to buy the house that once belonged to the Big, Bad Wolf. And the only reason people knew that that house was once his was because I wrote about it in one of my articles on Jon. Because I wanted people to understand that he had been a human. A man serving his country who had something brutal and awful happen to him. A man who had dreams and hopes. Who wanted a family. Who wanted to settle down with someone he thought was the love of his life but was really a stone-cold bitch.
Yvonne blamed me, of course. Which was fair.
After I turned in the fluff piece, I packed up my laptop and headed out. I was leaving an hour early but the PTS never ran on time and I needed to buy a new card anyway.
The nearest station was a couple of blocks from my office, past the fountain, past the Broadway district, and up Seventh Avenue. My body was still sore from the sprint I had done a couple of days ago. Just thinking about it caused my heart to quicken. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I forced myself to feel the warmth on my skin from the sun.
I was okay. I had survived.
I opened my eyes, letting out another shaky breath. A homeless man shook his head as he passed me, muttering something about crazy blondes.
I continued to the statio
n, bought my card from an automatic kiosk, and managed to catch the train, heading south just before it took off. It was surprisingly empty for this time. I glanced at the watch in my phone and frowned when I saw it was just after five. Looking around my car, there weren't many people inside it. Usually, four to seven produced the fullest train cars because everyone was leaving the city to get to the nearby suburbs after work. It made sense.
So why was this train car so empty?
I didn't really think about it. I leaned my head back against the smooth, plastic seat and rested my eyes. My hands clenched my forearms. I wanted to keep them from shaking.
I opened my eyes and pulled out my phone. There was no way in hell I was picking up food for Yvonne, but I could see if there were any small Italian places nearby where I could grab a glass of wine and fill up on pasta before heading home. Part of me wanted to drown myself in booze before this interview tomorrow. The other part of me thought that would be impossible and I would be sober for the rest of my life.
I decided to order an Uber so by the time I got to Hillcrest, I didn't have to wait for transportation to Yvonne's place. I knew there was no way in hell she was going to pick me up anyway.
A man brushed by me and I pushed my ankles beneath my seat, giving him room as he headed to the doors to get off on this stop.
Another twenty minutes, and I was at Hillcrest. I stood up, stretching my legs and sliding my phone back in my purse. With each stop, more people got on, few got off. It started to fill up with each passing stop in the city, and decrease with each stop outside the city.
I left the station and got into my Uber. I gave him the address and we headed the fifteen minutes it took to get to the Crest Bay community. Jon picked it because there was a man-made lake at the center of the gated community. He liked fishing, wanted to share that love with his son.
Until everything went to shit.
The Uber pulled into the driveway 1408 Bay View.
"Can you wait?" I offered him a fifty-dollar bill. He nodded his head and I got out of the car.
I looked up at the two-story modern-American home and took a moment to admire it. It was oak, with dark trimming. A two-car garage was in front of the Uber. I wondered if Jon was the sort of man that parked inside or on the driveway.
"What are you doing, you weirdo?" Yvonne's voice interrupted my thoughts and I shook them away. I shouldn't be thinking about things like that. Not about Jon. Not now. Especially not in front of Yvonne. She would enjoy it too much.
"Trying to picture your house on fire," I replied. "Do you have the dog tags?"
"Yes."
She tossed them at me and I managed to catch them. I went to put them in my purse, but something stopped me. They didn't feel safe there, floating in a spacious bag with makeup I never used, Chapstick, and tampons. Instead, I hung the dog tags around my neck.
"Well, isn't that sweet," she said in a mocking voice from her doorway. "You two belong together, you know that?" There was a pause. "Is he still around?"
"Why do you care?" I snapped, angrier than I probably should be.
"You're right," she said. "I don't. If he is, though, could you do me a favor? Could you tell him to stop?"
"Stop what?"
Yvonne glanced around, almost as though she was worried someone might overhear. She left the comfort of her doorway and headed down the wooden porch steps so she could meet me in her driveway. The Uber was backing out so it was on the curb, idling as I asked it to.
"Look, just because I'm telling you this doesn't mean we're friends or anything, and it definitely doesn't mean I trust you," she said. I opened my hands instead of mouthing off, a gesture to show her I wouldn't expect her to do any of those things regardless. "The lawn is always mowed. Different flowers show up in my garden. I'm working, and yeah, maintaining this house on my salary is a struggle, but I'm managing. The last thing I need is anyone seeing him mow my lawn or planting flowers."
"How do you know it's Jon?" I asked.
"Who else would it be?" she asked, giving me a look that seemed to imply I was smarter than what I was letting on. "Just tell him, okay?"
"Yvonne, Jon doesn't know how to garden," I pointed out. "You were the one who did the gardening. I talked to him about the landscaping myself."
She rolled her eyes. "Forget I told you anything," she said as she walked up the steps once more. "Do me a favor and lose my number, okay? I want to be done with Jon and you and all of this other bullshit for good."
She slammed the door.
- - -
I didn't get Italian food. I went back to the train station and headed back to my place. I picked up Hong Kong Express on the way and ate it as a personal Fuck you very much to Yvonne. I didn't take the dog tags out of my shirt until I finished my food. I double checked the locks of my door and then brought the cool metal—warm now due to their placement against their skin. Already, the beaded cord coiled around my silver cross. Before I could even study the tags more thoroughly, my cell phone blared, causing my heart to jump in my throat.
One hand over my chest, I looked at the caller ID.
Blocked.
I hesitated. The only person who would call me from a blocked number was Jon. Then again, I had an important interview tomorrow and maybe I was getting a call about that. Or maybe it was some telemarketer.
I answered. Only because it might be Jon.
"Hello?"
"Do you have them?"
I let out a sigh of relief the minute I heard his gravelly voice. Part of me wanted to throttle him for his abrupt greeting, but that was Jon. I didn't expect anything else.
"I do."
"I'll be over soon."
He hung up before I had the chance to even question him. I barely stood up when there was a knock on my door. My mouth dropped open as I padded across the floor and looked through the peephole.
There he was. Tall, broken, and hooded.
I quickly unlocked my door and let him in before shutting the door and replacing the locks.
"How did you get here so fast?" I asked.
"Where are they?" he said, going to my kitchen. He faltered when he saw the half-eaten Styrofoam carton of Chinese food on the table.
"Eat, if you want," I told him, jutting my arm out toward the food. "But do me a favor and stop being so brusque with me. What's going on, Jon? How did you get to my house so fast?"
"I had to make sure you were okay," he said as he took a seat. His hands went for the wooden chopsticks I had been using rather than the untouched plastic fork. "You think I don't know what I asked you to do for me?"
"Granted, dealing with Yvonne is pretty taxing," I murmured, taking a seat across from him. I grabbed the fork myself and began to twirl chow mein.
"That's not what I meant," he said, though I did notice the corners of his lips were quirked up into a ghost of a smile. "These dog tags are crucial to revealing who did what to me. Who was behind what happened. I want to know if there are any others like me."
I stopped before I put the food in my mouth. "What?" I asked. "You think there are?"
"I don't know what to think," Jon said before shoving orange chicken in his mouth. I stood up, suddenly realizing he probably wanted Dr. Pepper and poured him a glass. I didn't even drink soda but I kept a carton of it here just in case. He nodded his thanks before washed down the chicken with the soda. "I just know there's more happening, there's more going on. I want this out and done with before the election."
I took in a breath and grabbed some kung pao chicken. "Speaking of weird things," I said, "Yvonne had a message for you."
Jon's eyes shot to mine and I noticed his jawline flex but he said nothing.
"She wanted me to tell you to stop," I said. I knew he would want to know. He could pretend not to care about her, but I knew he did—even though I didn't think he should. Unfortunately, I didn't have the power to force people to feel things I thought they should be feeling. "She said you were mowing the law or doing something to th
e landscaping." I shrugged my shoulders and looked away. I hadn't lived in the suburbs since I was in high school and even then, I didn't know the various things my mom did or paid people to do to ensure the exterior of our house looked nice. "Something like that."
"I haven't been doing anything to the house," he said, mid-chew. He stopped so he could finish the food in his mouth. The light overhead started to flicker, reminding me I would have to go into a Home Depot and grab lightbulbs.
"Okay, so she's crazy," I said. I went back to the food, grabbing more chow mein.
"I don't think so," Jon said, slowly shaking his head. I opened my mouth, ready to argue with him, but he stopped me before I could get a word out. "Look, I know how you feel about her, okay? It's not like you hide it. And, now that I've had space, I can admit that Yvonne is a lot of things, but crazy isn't one of them. Crazy in the context of delusional," he made sure to add.
I heaved a sigh. I didn't like admitting any positives about people I didn't like. As a journalist, however, I couldn't allow my personal biases cloud my judgment. If I was going to put out the truth, I needed to find the truth, even if I didn't like it. Just because I had the power to deliver a skewed version of it didn't mean I would.
"So someone's keeping tabs on her," I said before popping the noodles into my mouth. The saltiness pinched my tongue and I felt my body relax as I devoured something familiar.
"Or the house." He glanced down at the dog tags. "Shit." He stood up, and before I could process what was happened, he flung my food across the room so it landed on the wall before falling to the floor.
"What the hell?"
"I'm sorry, I'm just—" He stopped himself and steepled his fingers over the bridge of his nose. "You can't stay here, Blondie. You're in danger."
"What are you talking about?"
"If they saw you take the tags—"
"Jon."
"Is there anywhere you can go?" He threw his arms out, his dark eyes wide with desperation. I could tell he was getting angry. Anger unleashed the animal he constantly struggled to keep at bay. I needed to calm him down fast.
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