The Knife Before Christmas

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Mario laughed, but the look on his face was sinister. “Look man, gangbanging and shit ain’t no long-term career. I got things. And when I be startin’ a family, I be gettin’ out. Ain’t nobody want to raise kids in dis shit, or they end up dead like mi padre.”

  This made me think about Hector saying you couldn’t just leave. “Say you wanted to get out, how hard would it be?”

  “Long as I on good terms, ain’t no one cares. You be loyal to the Norteńo, they be loyal to you. You don’t get out and then go talking smack about gangs, or the Norteńo, and it all be good.”

  Really? Not exactly what Hector said.

  “Hector told us leaving the gang wasn’t an option,” Charles said.

  Mario put the back of his hand to his nose and rubbed it as if it itched. “That be my mamá, not Norteńo. Mamá like status. She never be lettin’ Hector just walk away.”

  I wondered if Hector ever accidentally talked about getting out. “Do you know if Hector wanted out?”

  “Zhen talked about it. Said she didn’t want her kids in the life. But Hector never leave, he be in it up to his eyeballs. He a true leader. And Zhen, she know what she got into, so that girl need to suck it up.” He caught his breath and crossed himself, realizing he was speaking about her in the present tense. “Sorry, shouldn’t talk ill of the dead and all.”

  “Were you hooking up?” Charles asked again.

  Now Mario had both hands shoved deep in the pockets of his work pants again. “Oh, hell no. But somehow, he got it in his head. No matter what I say, he think I after his novia. Like I say, I got better things. I be gettin’ sex anytime without no hassles, so why would I do that? Why would I cause me the trouble?”

  “Why were you stopping by Hector’s house last week?” I asked, getting down to the real question.

  “You looked in Hector’s garage?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I hadn’t even been to the house, but I wasn’t going to share that with him.

  “Zhen and me, we had a surprise for Mamá. She hid it in the garage, cuz she know Hector can’t keep no secrets from our mom.”

  “Really? And you couldn’t keep it at your place?” Charles asked.

  “That bitch ain’t comin’ into my house.” Mario wasn’t so respectful of the dead after all. “Besides, wasn’t my idea anyway.”

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “Waddn’t nothin’ much. Just a bunch of decorations for the tree. Zhen wanted family ornaments that would be special. Thought Mamá would like it. I helped with ideas, because my airbrush skills be mad, yo.”

  I wondered if the cops had left the stuff in the garage. It likely hadn’t been removed since it had nothing to do with the murder scene.

  “You don’t seem too broken up about Zhen’s death,” I said.

  “Death is a part of life, man. She wasn’t mi chula. Why would I care? In this life, people come, people go. Ain’t no good to get all mushy and sad about it. We be seeing them in the afterlife.” His statement was so matter-of-fact, as if he knew it to be true. I hoped it was.

  “Pragmatic,” Charles said.

  “Huh?” Mario looked puzzled.

  “What about your sister? Does she think you were hooking up with Zhen?”

  “Carmen? Who cares what Carmen think? She a girl, and girls gossip. Even though she be married off and got kids, she can’t get over her high school gossip days.”

  “We’d like to talk to her. We have her cell number,” I pulled out my phone and swiped until I found the page with her phone number on it and read it off. “Is this still the right one?”

  “How the hell do I know, I got her in speed dial.” Mario pulled the phone from his pocket keyed in a password, swiped, and tapped. “Wassat number again?”

  I repeated the number.

  “Yeah, that be her. You can save time, talk to her and Mamá at the same time. But you gotta wait till this afternoon. She always be making fresh tortillas with Mamá after work.”

  “Where does your sister work?” I asked.

  Charles had stepped back toward our car, then up to Mario. He was behind me, but I could feel him moving and looking around. I wondered what he was doing.

  “Mamá and Carmen both work at Sancho’s Mexican Bakery. That where they make tortillas. Carmen say it easier to make a mess there and clean up than at home. They make stacks of them ‘most every day.”

  I keyed Sancho’s Bakery into my Maps app. It was on Bardin Road.

  “Do you think your brother killed Zhen?” I asked.

  For the first time, Mario looked like he had emotions. His face melted into sadness. “Look, Hector, he a good guy. But good guys be mean sometimes when they drunk. Papá was a mean drunk. I seen him beat the shit out of Hector when we was kids. Maybe Hector came to, freezing his ass off, pissed. I heard he fell asleep on the porch. Maybe he already mad at Zhen, and bein’ drunk and cold, he lost it.”

  “You really think that?” I asked.

  Mario shrugged and looked at the sidewalk.

  I took that as he didn’t believe it, but he sure wasn’t going to take the fall.

  Even though he didn’t look at us, his posture was relaxed and easy, other than his constantly looking around. He was starting to shiver from the cold, though. We thanked Mario and he went back inside. When we got in the car, Charles said, “You know what sancho means, don’t you?”

  “Why would I know what sancho means?”

  “It’s the guy who comes in the back door as the husband goes out the front door,” he said.

  I chuckled, thinking about the irony.

  Eleven

  MIMI

  Charles dropped me back at the office, then left again. He said he had a few things he wanted to do. He did things like that a lot in the last several months. At first, I was annoyed, feeling left out, then I stopped thinking about it.

  I had my own issues and cases to worry about. And now Charles drug me into this case. I fired up my computer to learn what I could about Carmen Varga Lopez and her mom, Ester Mendoza Varga. Ester didn’t have any social media presence, but she did have a rap sheet.

  I looked her up in the criminal database and found that she was convicted of petty larceny, fifth-degree theft (usually passing bad checks), and assault and battery. One tough chick. I was curious to see what she looked like. The court documents showed her to be fifty-two years old.

  Carmen had a Facebook page, but it was private. I thought Cortnie told me this, but I had to check for myself. She did have an Instagram account, but it didn’t give me much other than photos of food, dogs, cats, and manicured hands with crazy nail art.

  After thirty minutes of searching, I still didn’t know what the two women looked like. Not that it mattered, but it would help to know in case I got punked. And by punked, I mean someone saying they weren’t Carmen or Ester, but really were, or the other way around.

  I still had time to go home and check on Lola before I went to the bakery, so I shut down my computer and walked down the hall to Cortnie’s office. She wasn’t there. I frowned. I hoped she was feeling better.

  I continued down the hall and out the back door through the kitchen. The house felt very quiet, and not in a good way, but I couldn’t put my finger on the source of my discontent.

  The fog was so thick again that afternoon my hair was covered in a mist and totally frizzy by the time I got in my Land Rover. I started the car, turned on the defroster, and waited. The interior windows had fogged over almost immediately when I opened the car door. A chill in the air made me shiver, and I pressed the button for the seat warmer.

  I didn’t know about other people, but my seat warmer made me feel like I’d peed my pants. The sudden feeling of heat on my butt, like warm pee, spread. Gross, I know, but that’s what it reminded me of. Still, it felt good. Not the pee, the seat warmer.

  My house was only a few blocks from the Gotcha offices, and I pulled into the driveway before the heater kicked into full gear. I decided to leave my car ru
nning so it could warm up. I got out and locked the door before closing it. I wasn’t taking a chance on getting distracted and having my car stolen because I’d left it running and forgot about it.

  When I walked into the house, Lola met me at the door. By her response, whining and walking in circles, then stepping on my foot, I knew she felt better. She acted as if I’d left her for a week. I was pretty sure dogs didn’t understand the passage of time; they were just glad we came back.

  I walked into the dining room and checked her food bowl and water. Food was empty, so I grabbed her dish, opened the dog food canister, and scooped out a couple of cups into her bowl. I set it back on the floor then patted Lola on the head as she sniffed at the new food.

  “I can’t take you with me. I’m going to a food place, and food places don’t like little doggies,” I explained.

  She looked at me as if she understood completely. She licked her lips and walked to her bed. As usual, she walked in three circles, then plopped down, facing away from me. That’s what she thought of me leaving her at home now that she felt better.

  I washed the dog food smell off my hands and headed back out, feeling better now that I knew my girl was okay. Heck, she couldn’t feel too bad if she ate an entire bowl of dog food.

  I used the key code to unlock my door and climbed in the car to sit on a warm seat with warm air blowing from the vents. Even my windshield was dry and clear. I backed out of the driveway and headed toward East Salinas, otherwise known as Alisal.

  Alisal Street took me straight through to the other side of town, past the airport, golf course, and Hartnell College’s East Campus. I turned left on Bardin Road and parked in front of Sancho’s Mexican Bakery.

  The welcome sign was turned to let everyone know they were closed, but I got out and looked in through the window anyway. I could see some kind of movement through the small window in a swinging door probably leading to the kitchen.

  Out of habit when visiting a new place alone, my hand went to my shoulder holster. The feel of my Glock always made me more comfortable in these situations. Parts of Alisal weren’t the best place to be walking around a closed store and knocking on the alley-side door.

  But that’s what I did. I walked around the building and down the alley. The third door on my right was the door to the bakery. Much to my surprise, the door was open, but there was a screen door that was closed. It was chilly outside, and I wondered why the door was left open.

  I knocked on the metal frame of the screen door. “Hello, is anyone here? I’m looking for Carmen or Ester.”

  A short, plump girl who looked about fifteen years old walked up to the door with a rolling pin in her hand. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail and held close to her head with a hair net. I could see a thin streak of dark blue hair on the right side of her head. “Who are you?”

  Her voice sounded much older than she looked.

  “I’m Mimi Capurro. My agency was hired to look into the murder of Zhen Franks.” I held out my business card.

  “Yeah, so? They already have her killer in jail.” She sounded fed up. “I’m tired of answering questions about my brother. Go away.”

  “I’m not the police, though,” I said.

  “My brother needs help, not more people trying to persecute him.” She grabbed the metal door and started to close it.

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m helping Memo investigate further. Hector says he’s innocent, and he’s hired us to find the real killer.” I held my breath, hoping she’d open the door and let me in. I was freezing. It had to be like forty degrees outside, and with the wet air, it felt like the wind was chilling me to the bone.

  “Memo hired you? How come I didn’t know about this?” She stepped closer to the screen but didn’t open it.

  I felt like a vampire waiting to be invited in. “When did you last talk to your brother?”

  “Hector? A couple of days ago. He’s been in jail since Friday. Why are you investigating now?” This time she reached forward and opened the screen door, stepping back to let me in.

  The difference in temperature was like stepping from a deep freezer into an oven. The bakery kitchen was stifling. I unbuttoned my jacket, but didn’t remove it because Carmen didn’t need to see my gun.

  “We were just hired yesterday. I guess Hector is worried about winning his case with the evidence they have on him. He says he’s innocent. He also says he thinks Mario might have killed Zhen.” I tried to look only at her as I spoke, but the bakery smells were making me hungry, and I wanted to look around for the source of the delicious aroma.

  Too late, I remembered we were keeping the Mario part to ourselves for the time being. Oh, well.

  Carmen blew out a breath. “He thinks Mario was having an affair with Zhen.”

  “Is that true, Carmen?” I wanted to be sure it was Carmen I was talking to.

  “It’s a rumor. My husband runs with the Norteńo, and he said all the boys are talking about it. Mario has been laying low. Hector is a big dog, you know? Mario doesn’t need the grief.”

  “So you think it’s just a rumor?” I asked.

  “I know it is. Mario isn’t stupid. If he was screwing that girl, he’d be smart enough to do it quietly. That girl was trouble, but Hector loved her.”

  “Trouble how?” This was the first I’d heard anything negative about Zhen. Or anything at all, really.

  Carmen grabbed a disposable plastic apron from the shelf. “I’ve got to get started on these tortillas. My mom isn’t coming to help today, and I have to make two batches by myself.” She pulled the apron over her head, and as she was tying the strings around her thick middle she added, “I should make Mamá go without. She wouldn’t make them for me if I wasn’t here.”

  I’d offer to help, but I’d just slow her down. And it looked like she already had one batch finished. That was the delicious aroma I smelled.

  Carmen walked over to a long butcher block table with an industrial size mixer next to it.

  “What are your thoughts on Zhen?” I asked.

  She measured the ingredients into the huge metal mixing bowl. “She liked attention. From Hector, Mario, even the other boys. She said she loved Hector, but she didn’t love being a gangster’s girl. But that girl, she knew what she was getting into when she started dating Hector. She knew Hector would take over if something happened to my papá. And when Papá died, Hector stepped in. Zhen flipped out, and they weren’t even a couple yet.”

  “Really? What do you mean by flipped out?” Keep the girl talking.

  “Oh, lame threats, you know. She said she was going to leave him. But Hector treated that bitch like she was a queen. And she thought she was all Queen of the Eastside, which she wasn’t. He calmed her down and eventually all was good. Even my mamá took a liking to her a little. She tolerated her, anyway.”

  Like, like a little, tolerate: all the same thing. Not.

  “Everything was good when Zhen was killed, I mean with the family?”

  Carmen flipped the mixer on, and she had to speak a little louder for me to hear. “She’s not Mexican, so Mamá always hoped they’d break up, but she never caused any rifts between them.” Carmen laughed. “Not that she didn’t want to.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  Carmen reached across the table and put on a pair of food service gloves.

  “Other than Hector, who I don’t think had any reason to kill her, who would have wanted her dead?” It was the obvious question.

  “I’d say Mario, if he was still jealous of her and Hector, but he didn’t give two shits anymore. He’d moved on. I think he saw how high maintenance she was. He was glad to be rid of her before she ended up pregnant or something.” She stopped the mixer and tested the dough then turned it back on.

  “And you and your mom were cool with her, considering?” Stupid question. Like she was going to say, “No, we hated her and conspired to kill her together.”

  “We weren’t cool with her. But she tried so da
mn hard to fit in. It was almost embarrassing. As for who’d want to do her in, I got no idea.” She stopped and looked at me. “Holy shit, I just thought of it. You know Hector is Norteńo, so what if Hector pissed of a member of the Surenos? Could one of them have killed her for revenge?”

  That was an avenue I’d considered for half a heartbeat then dismissed. Being stabbed multiple times wasn’t the way gangs killed. They were clean and quick. Using a knife, they’d have slit her throat, not taken the time and effort to stab her over and over.

  “Do you know if there was a recent altercation between gangs?”

  I heard the sound of a pig oinking, then a siren. Carmen held up her finger and pulled her phone from her pocket. She looked at the screen, then at me.

  It was the largest size iPhone, with a blue cover that had pigs dressed in cop uniforms. That explained the ringtone.

  “That was my mamá, wants me to take the tortillas by the house. She’s such a mom sometimes. I still have to pick my girls up from daycare, and she thinks I have time to drop tortillas off for her.” She glared at her phone screen and put it back in her pocket.

  “What’s that ringtone?” I asked.

  She patted her phone in her pocket. “Oh, isn’t that funny? I never use personalized tones, but that one basically says the cops are coming.”

  I didn’t think it was funny. Not even a little. Being criminals, they hated the cops, but they didn’t hesitate to call 911 when they needed help. My lip twitched.

  “Is it longer when your phone rings?” I asked, thinking how embarrassed I’d be if I was in a public place with her and heard the tone.

  “I don’t think it’s available for a regular ringtone, only for texts,” she said. “Besides, I like just an old-fashioned ringing phone for calls because no one else uses it. Now, what did you ask before my mamá rudely interrupted us?”

  You didn’t have to look at the text right away. “I was asking if there was any gang friction.”

  “There’s always something,” Carmen said as she pulled the dough from the mixer and placed it on the floured surface of the table.