The Janes

by Louisa Luna

  Cap quickly lay back down again and closed his eyes, playing possum.

  Vega’s pronounced breathing had stopped. Cap focused on staying still, tried to prevent his eyes from moving around underneath his lids.

  “Good, Caplan, you’re awake,” said Vega. Her voice sounded scratchy and really impossibly sexy, Cap thought.

  He opened one eye.

  “Morning, Vega,” he said, figuring that pretending in front of her was useless. “Sorry I fell asleep here.”

  She stretched her arms behind her head. Her face glowed with a light sweat, just the start of dark semicircles under the arms of the tank top.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I found an email from about eighteen months ago to Ben Davis from Lincoln Investments.

  “Lincoln Investments,” Cap repeated. “Is that…”

  “Devin Lara’s company,” said Vega.

  “Well, how about that,” said Cap. “What do we think that connection’s all about?”

  “Not sure,” said Vega, drinking from a bottle of water. “Let’s ask him.”

  “Davis?”

  “Lara,” said Vega, heading toward the bathroom.

  Cap stood up from the bed and said after her: “Vega, we go near Lara, you’re asking for Otero and Mackey and Boyce and whoever else is interested to come down on us. Including Lara’s driver.”

  She stopped walking and turned around, said, “I’m okay with that.”

  “For whatever reason, like you said, Lara is a hot spot for them. I thought we were staying away from him for now. To avoid the attention. One fight at a time and all that.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Is that what you think we should do?” she asked.

  Cap scratched the back of his head and paused.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Why muddy this up? Why not just keep on the track for Ben Davis?” he added, holding his hands out parallel, to show what a track might look like.

  “Right, but we have no efficient way to find Davis yet, besides staking out his apartment, which he seemed to leave in a hurry and doesn’t get back to often. And we do know how to find Lara. And today is Saturday,” she said. “So it is a juice day.”

  “I—” Cap began, then considered how to present the information in the most attractive light. “We go the Ben Davis route, we might have to wait a day or two, but we will get him. And we can move completely under the radar. No PD, no DEA.”

  Vega’s face fell; she suddenly looked away from him.

  Cap added, in an effort to make her laugh: “Just traditional Cap and Vega Justice. Trademarked.”

  Vega did not laugh, only rubbed her eyes, appeared worn out.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  Cap squinted his eyes since he was physiologically unable to squint with his ears. He’d been asked this question many times before, usually by women and usually preceding a discussion about capital “E” emotions.

  He’d never expected it from Vega.

  “Yeah, of course,” he said.

  She crossed her arms and hugged them against her chest, still not looking him in the eyes.

  “Do you ever see the Brandt girls?” she said, almost inaudibly.

  Cap thought a second. It wasn’t that he had a tough time recalling the details—he knew exactly when and where he’d seen the Brandt girls. His being taken aback grew solely from the act of Vega asking. He always had the impression that she shook off the dust of past cases as soon as they were closed. But perhaps the Brandt case had been different; it certainly was for him.

  “Just once if you can believe that,” he said. “It was a couple of months ago, actually. I was in a mall with Nell. She was making me buy new running shoes because one of mine had a hole but they still had plenty of support—anyway, different story,” he said, sweeping the air with his hand. “And I saw them, the girls with the mom, walking around.”

  Vega looked up at him now, her eyes wide with expectation.

  “How did they look?” she said.

  “You know, older,” said Cap. “Jamie’s lost a lot of weight. A little too much, if you ask me. And she looked…”

  Cap paused, unable to put his finger on it at the time but remembering it now, he could finally identify her expression.

  “Confused,” he said. “She seemed confused. Bailey was next to her talking a mile a minute.” Cap smiled at the memory, continued: “I passed them, and they didn’t see me, or maybe didn’t recognize me—I was out of context there, and Nell didn’t see them. Bailey was going through a list or something—“we have to go here, here, and here.”

  “What about Kylie?” said Vega urgently.

  Cap took a hearty breath in.

  “She was behind them. Texting on her phone. She was dressed…well, let me say as a father I strongly disapproved of the way she was dressed. These short shorts and almost like a bathing suit top. A ton of makeup. I’d never let Nell out of the house looking like that as a seventeen-year-old, much less as an eleven-, twelve-year-old, and I fully embrace that I’m a cliché right now.”

  “Nell would never want to leave the house looking like that,” added Vega.

  “True. Point is, they were fine, Vega. Normal.”

  Vega shook her head, her hair loose around her shoulders.

  “Whatever they are, they would have been better if we’d gotten to them sooner, and you know it,” she said.

  “Hypothetical,” said Cap sternly. “We got them as soon as we could get them.”

  Vega’s expression remained the same, filled with disappointment, regret.

  “You can’t play what-if in our line of work, Vega. That is what I know,” he said.

  She looked away sadly, and it pissed him off.

  “You listen to me, goddammit,” he said, taking a step closer to her, his voice cracking. “We saved their lives, and just in time. One more day could have been too late. And it’s better they’re alive and broken than dead and perfect, you know?”

  Vega dropped her hands to her sides, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the dim room.

  “You’re right, Caplan. One more day could have been too late. And that brings us to today.”

  Cap rubbed his chin. She wasn’t sad at all. She’d pulled him right into admitting that they had to go full-court press. No waiting.

  “I see what happened there,” he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. Oh do you?

  “I suppose you think you’re pretty clever,” he added.

  She ignored the comment, said, “Meet at the car in a half hour, okay?”

  She didn’t wait for him to respond, instead turned and removed her tank top, dropped it on the floor at her feet before stepping into the bathroom. Cap shot his line of vision up to the corner of the room and shut his eyes simultaneously but there they were stamped on his eyelids, the translucent stepping-stones that made up the bones of her spine.

  * * *

  —

  They sat in Vega’s car, parked at the entrance of the lot. Cap drank coffee. Vega drank nothing and kept her hands on the wheel, peering ahead through her sunglasses.

  “So the plan is to convince him to get in the car and talk to us?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  “So I should just be prepared to get cleaned again?”

  Vega shook her head.

  “When Lara comes out with the juice, you talk to him. I’ll take care of Richie.”

  Cap combed his teeth over his bottom lip.

  “And we’re not drawing firearms here on this nice sunny morning, right?”

  “I don’t plan to,” said Vega.

  “You want to share with me what you do plan to do?”

  “You talk to Lara first,” Vega said calmly. “I’ll get what I have in the trunk and take care of Richie.”
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  Cap’s face blanched; he looked as if he’d lost a packed wallet.

  “Vega, I didn’t tell you—I tried to open the trunk,” he said, pointing to it. “It doesn’t work. It’s jammed.”

  Vega turned to him.

  “I rigged it so it’ll only open with the key,” she said. “Just wanted to see if you’d look.”

  “Huh,” said Cap. “I see. A little test. Did I pass or no?”

  Vega’s mouth curled at the edges, but then opened, her eyes peering over the glasses at something past Cap. He turned around, and there was a black sedan entering the lot with Richie driving. Vega could see the shape of Lara in the backseat through the darkened window. She started the car and slowly pulled out of the space.

  “Keep your eye on it,” she said.

  “He’s parking. Why don’t we get as close as we can to the juice place?” said Cap.

  Vega nodded and accelerated.

  “Slide down,” she said. “Just in case he’s got eyes in the back of his head.”

  Cap didn’t question, slid down in his seat. Vega leaned her head back next to the headrest to hide as best she could. She parked in a spot close to the storefronts, and they both watched as Lara got out of the sedan and ambled toward the juice shop, focused on the phone in his hand, texting with his thumbs.

  “He’s got a mobile order,” said Vega. “You should go.”

  “All right,” said Cap, taking a steely breath.

  He got out of the car and shut the door behind him, removed his jacket and dropped it through the window onto his seat.

  “Caplan,” said Vega.

  He leaned down.

  “Yeah?”

  “I got you. You know that, right?”

  “I sure hope so, girl,” said Cap with a tiny laugh.

  Then he left, heading toward Juicy Lucy with big strides. Vega spotted Lara’s sedan in the opposite row, three or four rows in front of hers. Richie was looking down, also on his phone, she figured.

  Vega opened the door and got out of the car. She went to the trunk and unlocked it with her key. And there they were: twenty-four-inch, steel-jawed bolt cutters. She picked them up, clasping the padded grips tightly in one hand, slammed the trunk closed. Counted in her head. This was when time made long jumps; it was useful to count the beats. She estimated twenty real seconds before contact.

  She started walking toward Cap (one-two-three-four); Cap moved quickly toward the door of the Juicy Lucy (five-six-seven); she paused and hid behind an SUV, heard Lara’s sedan door slam shut (eight-nine-ten); Lara emerged from the shop, juice in one hand, phone in the other, and Cap called, “Hey, Devin!” (eleven-twelve-thirteen); Lara shook his head like, some people never learn, and Richie walked with purpose down the middle of the parking lot aisle (fourteen-fifteen-sixteen).

  Vega took off from her position, holding the bolt cutters up over her left shoulder, feeling the weight of the jaws at the top. She took a swing in front of her and heard the catch of the air splitting (seventeen-eighteen-nineteen-twenty).

  Time was up.

  “You must be one dumb sonofabitch,” said Richie to Cap as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves.

  “Yeah,” said Cap congenially, keeping his eyes on Vega.

  Devin Lara watched Richie approach and had a gloriously self-righteous expression like he was about to say, “That’s what you get when you break the rules.” But then his gaze shifted as he recognized Vega. The smirk dropped from his face as he opened his mouth to shout, “What,” pointing to her over Richie’s head.

  Richie turned around, and Vega was two feet away from him. Twenty-four inches. The jaws of the bolt cutters up in the air. She swung hard, feeling her triceps and traps stretch and strain. Richie brought up one of his meaty hands to block, and she swung and knocked it out of the way, hearing a brittle crack of bone.

  Richie screamed and groaned, held his hand, which sprayed blood, but didn’t fall, so Vega swung again from the other side and brought the jaws down just above the knee on the left side, hoping to snap his IT band, a ligament running from the hip to the shin, which could be excruciating if not stretched properly after a jog, so if it were severed at the knee, Vega could only imagine the pain. Not to mention a kneecap fracture.

  She definitely hit one or both because Richie crumpled and screamed haltingly, too shocked with agony to make a continuous sound. Devin Lara was stunned, trying to type something with his thumbs on his phone but shaking too much.

  “You should come with us, Devin,” said Cap. “We have a few questions to ask you, and then you’ll be free to enjoy the rest of your day.”

  Lara appeared to regain the power of speech, his eyes glistening wildly.

  “Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere with you,” he whispered.

  Vega rested the clipper end of the bolt cutters on her shoulder as if it were an ax and she were taking a break from chopping a cord of wood.

  Cap pointed to her and said, “Now I’m not saying my partner will definitely smash your ankles with those bolt cutters, but she can be a little unpredictable.”

  Vega stared Lara down while Richie vomited at her feet.

  Just then a couple fresh from morning spin class emerged from Juicy Lucy; the woman gasped when she saw Richie. The man’s gaze bounced from Vega to Cap then Lara and didn’t seem to compute the events that had come before.

  “I’ll call an ambulance!” he announced bravely, fumbling for his phone.

  “You should,” said Cap. “Police, too. Devin?” he said, gesturing in the direction of Vega’s car. “You want to wait for the police or come with us?”

  Lara considered it, chest pumping up and down quickly.

  “Decide quicker,” said Vega, taking a step closer to him.

  “Oh God,” the spin class woman said, finally stringing the beads together, looking from Vega to Richie while her boyfriend chattered on the phone.

  “Let’s go,” said Vega definitively, and Lara started walking, Cap next to him, Vega right behind.

  As they approached the car, Vega stuck the keys into Cap’s hand, feeling the warmth of his palm, the fingertips cool.

  “You drive,” she said.

  Cap unlocked the car and opened the backseat door for Lara. Lara turned and faced Vega, looked her over once more. She held the bolt cutters with both hands, the jaws resting on the ground between her feet.

  “Police any minute now, Devin,” said Cap, standing at the driver’s side door.

  The adrenaline in Lara’s eyes had tempered just a little bit but still, the wave of resignation crossed his face.

  “I’m not afraid of the police,” he said, a little patronizing, like Cap was a real rube for worrying about it.

  “Good, neither am I,” Vega said, stepping forward to close the distance between them, smelling the fruit of the red juice on Lara’s breath. “Now get in the fucking car.”

  Lara didn’t think about it anymore, just recoiled, falling into the backseat. Vega followed him and pulled the door shut behind her. She held the bolt cutters across her lap and faced him, pitching her legs at a sideways angle in the well, her back leaning against the door. Cap started the car, and Vega heard sirens.

  “How do you know Ben Davis?” she asked.

  Lara blinked, glanced at the bolt cutters.

  “Don’t recognize the name.”

  “You sure?” said Vega. “Coyote Ben knows you.”

  Lara paused, and Vega guessed which way he would go.

  “What about Antonio LoSanto?”

  Lara shook his head.

  “What about Joe Guerra?”

  “No,” said Lara.

  “What about Corey Lloyd?”

  “You asked me that before,” said Lara, now a little more confident in his denials. “I never heard of him.” He paused. “Sorry, you g
ot the wrong guy.”

  Vega studied his face. Still breathing rapidly, dilated pupils. Scared enough to get in the car but not enough to talk. Okay, then.

  “So Corey Lloyd’s got it wrong, just arbitrarily named you as the guy who told him he needed a car where a girl ended up dead, and your company arbitrarily sent an email to one of the prime suspects in that girl’s murder eighteen months ago. These things are not connected at all.”

  “People know my name,” said Lara, shrugging. “And my company sends information to hundreds of prospective clients each month.”

  “So you’re saying it’s a coincidence,” said Vega.

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Lara.

  “You know what they say about coincidences,” said Vega.

  “What—that there are none?” said Lara.

  “Is that what they say,” said Vega, meeting Cap’s eye in the rearview. “I thought they said something else.”

  Though Vega wasn’t sure of San Diego geography by sight, she thought they must be getting close to the college, the streets looking like they belonged in a little village, the way all college towns looked, cafés and bars, restaurants and shops peddling knickknacks.

  “Cap, why don’t we pull over up ahead,” said Vega.

  He pulled over into a metered spot in front of a bagel shop. California kids came in and out dressed like surfers and stoners and punks. Vega watched the relief flood Lara’s eyes when he saw how many people were around. He looked to Vega, defensive but hopeful, wondering what was going to come next.

  “Our mistake,” she said finally.

  “Whatever,” said Lara, shrugging.

  “You can press charges against me if you want. I’d totally understand,” said Vega. “For aggravated assault of your man back there.”

  “And kidnapping, too, I think,” Cap chimed in.

  “Sure,” said Vega. “Kidnapping, too.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Lara was quick to add. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You could, though. That would be fair. After all, you’re just a private citizen and everything.”

  Lara pulled at the door handle, and it snapped back into place.

  “Could you unlock the door, please?” he said, both trepidatious and annoyed.