The Janes

by Louisa Luna

  Cap felt something between a hunch and a premonition scrabbling toward the surface of his chest. He couldn’t have explained why if someone had asked him, but he just knew he should pop the trunk. So he did.

  A minute passed, and he stretched his neck and squinted, trying to discern any movement of shadows inside the house, but saw only closed tan shutters. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview and brushed the C-shaped curls right above his forehead with his fingers. His hair was still mostly dark with some streaks of gray, but sometimes he wondered what he would do when it flipped, when it turned more gray than black, would he be a man who dyed his hair? He’d never planned on it, but it was shocking to see the gray spread like blight on tree bark day by day, and in the past few days, considerably.

  He glanced back at the clock on the dashboard. It had been four minutes. One more, and he would go.

  * * *

  —

  Lara wasn’t as solid as he looked, Vega thought as she pulled him by his moussed hair. It was helpful because he was still walking, though he was bent over sideways almost at a perfect right angle, shuddering from the pain of where she had kneed him in the kidney. He coughed and hacked, bloody saliva spraying from his mouth around his bandage-wrapped tongue.

  Cap stood next to the car, the driver’s side door open.

  “Everything okay?” he said.

  “Pop the trunk,” said Vega.

  “It’s open,” said Cap.

  Vega yanked Lara with one hand toward the back of the car and lifted the lid with her other. Lara screamed, the sound garbled, as he tried feebly to pull away from the trunk. Vega grabbed his chin.

  “You want double-kidney contusions?” she said.

  Lara’s eyes batted back and forth as he thought about it.

  “Then get in the motherfucking trunk, French Kiss.”

  Vega heaved him by the shoulders into the trunk, and his body began to collapse against the fender as he screamed again. She lifted his legs and tossed them in like they were sacks of flour. Then she slammed the lid shut.

  She walked around the car and got into the passenger seat, the cut on her side giving off a tiny pulse.

  “Where’s the woman?” said Cap, buckling his seatbelt.

  “Inside,” said Vega. “She’s got other things on her mind.”

  “Is he going to expire from a kidney injury in there?” said Cap, glancing back toward the sounds of Lara thrashing around.

  “Not likely. I really didn’t knee him that hard,” said Vega, snapping in her belt. “Hey,” she said, realizing something. “Thanks for getting the trunk.”

  Cap nodded and sped away from the curb. Vega stared at his profile and listened to Lara’s sporadic muffled thumps, just like the pounding of her twisted-up heart.

  * * *

  —

  Vega walked into the sushi restaurant with the sign in the window glowing, OPEN 24 HRS. The place looked like a diner from the outside, and inside there was a long buffet in the middle of the room filled with ice, with platters of jewel-toned fish on top. It turned out there weren’t many people eating sushi in San Diego at two in the morning, and Vega spotted Boyce and Otero right away, sitting at a booth in the back.

  They stood up as she approached, and Boyce shook her hand and sat back down. He had a plate in front of him with the remnants of a meal—half a rice ball and a smear of wasabi.

  Vega thought he looked wearier than when she’d met him, the clean-cut sheen rubbed off, stubble on his cheeks, hair mussed by stress and not style.

  “Ms. Vega,” said Boyce. “Please sit.”

  “I’m good,” she said, still standing.

  “Suit yourself,” said Boyce.

  Otero searched Vega’s eyes for clues, but she gave him none.

  “So,” said Boyce with an air of false cheer. “Commander Otero has provided quite a report on my partner.”

  He might appear tired, thought Vega, but he still exuded arrogance.

  “I take it you don’t believe him,” said Vega.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Boyce. “I haven’t been able to reach Agent Mackey in over twenty-four hours. I was cc’d on an email today from ISC, saying delivery of six girls to a detention facility was complete.”

  “ISC,” said Vega. “Immigration?”

  “Yes,” said Boyce. “Now I can’t tell you exactly what Mackey’s into, but I can tell you I am rubbed the wrong way he did it in plain sight right in front of me. That said, all of…” he said, waving a chopstick toward Otero like a magic wand. “Please understand it’s a lot to swallow.”

  “Even though we have Ben Davis and the fat man corroborating what the commander’s telling you?”

  “I have to think about it in terms of what I can prove, and the word of two lowlife pimps won’t go far against an agent’s,” he said, matter-of-fact.

  “Because Mackey’s so reliable?” said Vega.

  Boyce coughed into his fist.

  “Look, he’s reliable but has never been a standout. He gets promoted because he puts in the hours, not because of any exceptional performance.”

  “Unlike you,” Vega piped in, without a whiff of sarcasm.

  “That’s correct,” said Boyce. “Unlike me. I’ve worked with him eight years, and last year, I got promoted to senior supervisory agent even though he and I are about the same age and worked for the shop the same number of years.”

  Otero folded his arms patiently and didn’t speak. Now Vega tried to catch his eye but he stared straight ahead, focused on Boyce.

  “That’s fine,” said Vega, moving on. “I have a question for you though, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” Boyce said, borderline chivalrous.

  “Whose idea was it to pay me off the books?” said Vega. “To hire a consultant to do what would normally be a police case or a federal investigation?”

  Boyce answered right away and didn’t flinch.

  “About a year and a half ago, we were told by brass to delegate and prioritize, which is code for spread yourselves as thin as plastic wrap and dump cases whenever you can.”

  He spun the chopstick around slowly with his fingers.

  “They’ve bound us, see, because they want us involved in any narcotic-substance-related business but they don’t want to pay for all of it. So as a result—”

  “You end up hiring consultants,” Vega finished.

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s not unusual.”

  “And the cash?” said Vega.

  Boyce looked at her as if he were surprised by the question.

  “You said your people didn’t want to pay for this kind of case, so who did?” said Vega.

  “I did, Ms. Vega,” he said. “When Commander Otero contacted us, I knew that two dead Mexican girls would be near permanently parked on the back burner. My supervisor didn’t want us spending real time on it, so I outsourced. It’s not the first time I’ve spent my own money.”

  He continued to spin the chopstick around with his index, middle, and ring fingers, slower now than before. He stared at the center of the stick, making its way over his knuckles.

  “I don’t do it to be noble,” he said plainly. “The more cases that get wrapped up, the easier my work is.”

  They were all silent for a moment, and then Vega reached out and swiped the chopstick out of Boyce’s hand.

  “That’s a lot to swallow, too,” she said. “No offense.”

  Boyce sat back against the seat of the booth and shrugged.

  “It’s the only truth there is.”

  “I like that,” Vega said, pointing the chopstick at him. “So what if we can get you the guy who links Mackey to Davis?”

  Otero stood up and turned his head to look out the restaurant window.

  “Who are we talking about?” said
Boyce, grabbing his jacket and standing.

  “You convinced him?” Otero said in disbelief.

  “I did,” said Vega. “He’s in my partner’s car. Waiting.”

  * * *

  —

  Cap leaned against the rental and saw Vega, Otero, and a man he assumed to be Boyce emerge from the restaurant. They hurried toward him, the men in more of a rush than Vega, who hung back.

  “Evening,” Cap said, chipper. “Agent Boyce, right? Max Caplan.”

  Boyce shook his hand distractedly, as he and Otero paced alongside the car.

  “So where is he?” said Boyce.

  Cap glanced at Vega, who nodded. Then he clicked the button on the fob, and the trunk popped open. They heard a hoarse, stifled scream.

  “What in the hell,” said Boyce, going to the trunk.

  Otero followed him, whispering at Vega and Cap as he passed: “This is convincing?”

  Lara waved his arms and struggled to sit up. Otero hooked one of Lara’s arms around his shoulders and pulled him out of the trunk. Lara, still slightly hunched to the side, pointed at Vega angrily.

  “Do you need medical attention, Mr. Lara?” asked Otero.

  Lara nodded vehemently.

  “Ms. Vega,” said Boyce, slipping on the patronizing tone like a pair of socks. “I know you and Mr. Caplan aren’t police and probably don’t have a background in criminal law, but any confession you received from Mr. Lara under duress won’t be admissible in any investigation, much less a court.”

  “Shoot, yeah, I thought that might be the case,” said Vega, pulling out her phone. She found a photo and flipped the phone around so Boyce and Otero could see.

  She and Cap watched their faces open up with insight.

  “So these are the pounds of cocaine on Lara’s girlfriend’s kitchen table. She was pretty accommodating when I was there and said she gets all of her drugs from him,” Vega said, gesturing to Lara.

  He grunted and reached for the phone. Vega held it over her shoulder, reminded her of playing Keep-Away as a kid.

  “She forwarded me some emails and texts to prove it, too,” said Vega. “I told her you’d let her off the hook if she stayed out of my way.”

  Boyce and Otero took it in.

  “You’re in no position to coordinate a plea deal, Ms. Vega,” Boyce said.

  “It was all pretty informal,” she said, tapping on her phone. “But I figure, you go easy on her, then you can roll this sack of shit, and he can roll Mackey. That’s how this works, right?”

  Cap leaned on the hood and watched the tension wash out of Otero’s face. They looked to Boyce. Even Lara, stooped and shivering, seemed to know it was all over.

  * * *

  —

  After Boyce left with Lara cuffed in the backseat, Otero stayed with Cap and Vega by the rental car and began to talk out logistics.

  “After Boyce talks to his superior, Deputy Radkin, we can find out where Mackey dropped the six girls,” Otero said as he checked his phone.

  “Commander,” said Vega, over the roof of the car before she got into the passenger seat. “You sure you’re ready for whatever’s coming after that, for your son?”

  Otero paused for only a second, then nodded.

  “There is a message that keeps coming back in my life,” he said to them. “Take the hit now. Stay on your feet later.”

  Cap and Vega nodded in approval, and Otero knocked twice on the roof.

  “Time to go home,” he said.

  “Commander,” said Cap. “We can keep going, if you need us to make calls or sort through paperwork. I’m really good with paperwork.”

  “All due respect, Mr. Caplan, you’ve both undergone fairly severe physical trauma today. You need some sleep or neither of you will be much use to me tomorrow.”

  Cap geared up to argue but then looked at Vega, her face still pale from losing and regaining blood a couple of times, her lips looking drawn and her eyes, usually huge and glassy in her face, now small with the skin above her lids wilting.

  “I guess we might be able to shut our eyes awhile,” said Cap.

  They said goodbye to Otero and watched him drive away.

  “Give me the keys, okay?” said Vega.

  “Come on,” he said weakly. “You’re barely recovering from a near-fatal knife wound.”

  “Brain injury beats knife wound,” said Vega, pointing at his head.

  Cap didn’t have the energy to argue. He handed her the fob and slid into the passenger seat. He closed his eyes as she started the car.

  He felt his body sink into the seat and leaned his head against the cool window as Vega drove them over empty freeways. He’d been awake at the hospital, rejuvenated after the blast of caffeine and sugar from the candy, but now, after giving himself permission to rest, it seemed to drape over his body like a wool blanket that covered his eyes first, then all the way down to his toes until he was out.

  * * *

  —

  Vega tried the handstand.

  She flattened her hands on the nubby hotel carpet and straightened her arms, kicked her legs up and hung there, but she knew she could hold it for only about ten seconds just with the strength of her arms alone, without using her stomach muscles. She held her breath and tightened all her abs. The cut throbbed, but not severely. She stayed put for a minute, sweat beginning to drip down her chin, over her lips, and into her nose.

  Then the cut really started to sing, the pain shooting all the way around Vega’s torso, feeling like a belt cinching tighter and tighter, and after another minute, her arms shaking, fingernails digging into the carpet, she brought her legs down one at a time and gasped as her butt hit the floor.

  She sat there, breathed through it, and gradually the pain lessened. She stood and went to the bathroom, took a shower and kept her right side out of the direct stream. Afterward, she gently toweled off and changed her bandage, trying to replicate Mia’s method of taping. She got dressed in clean black clothes—underwear, bra, fitted T-shirt, pants, boots. Brushed her hair and pulled it back in a short ponytail. Holster, gun, jacket.

  She picked up her phone from the bedside table and pulled out the charging cord. 100 percent.

  She stepped outside, and the sun was up already, cars on the freeway. It was past seven, and she’d slept in two hours longer than usual. She thought about going to get tea and coffee, some messy egg sandwich for Cap and a bar for herself, but then she thought she’d just wait for him outside his room so she could be right there when he woke up.

  * * *

  —

  Cap woke up after a hard sleep, showered, shaved, and got dressed. He texted Nell that everything continued to be fine and he’d be home soon, figuring there was no need to get into the whole story of the day before since he would be there, maybe within the week, to explain it in person. She texted him back, “OK! Call if you can.”

  Cap sent a thumbs-up and a heart, knew he would not call.

  He had a headache, both inside and out, where the burn was, and he knew coffee and a little Advil would help, so he holstered his gun, picked up his wallet and his phone, and left the room. And there was Vega on the landing, leaning over the railing, surveying the parking lot.

  “Hey,” said Cap.

  Vega turned around. Cap was happy to see her back in her standard uniform even though he didn’t love that she was wearing sunglasses because he wanted to see her eyes.

  “Cue up the AC/DC,” he said, gesturing to her and her clothes.

  “What?” she said, looking confused.

  “Never mind,” said Cap, chuckling.

  He shut the door to his room and flipped the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob, took a couple of steps, and stood next to her at the railing.

  “Sorry I took so long,” he said. “I slept like a dead person.”

/>   “It’s okay,” said Vega. “I slept in, too.”

  “You hear from Otero?”

  Vega nodded.

  “Boyce is meeting with Radkin in…” She paused and checked her phone. “In ten minutes to lay it out for him.”

  “Mackey around?”

  “Nope. As far as we know he still thinks everything’s jake.”

  “Everything’s ‘jake’?” said Cap, not sure he’d heard her correctly.

  “Yeah, you know, he thinks everything’s all right.”

  “I know what it means, Vega,” said Cap, amused. “It’s just an old-fashioned turn of phrase.”

  “Oh,” said Vega, thinking about it. “Perry used to say it.”

  Cap squinted into the sun. He found it pleasant, ultimately, but it was intense and directly on them, the cool air of the early morning almost completely burned away.

  “We have to wait, see where the facility is,” she said, lazily kicking the base of the railing. “You want to get some coffee and a messy egg sandwich in the meantime?”

  Cap was overwhelmed with relief just hearing her talk about breakfast.

  “Yes, my God, please,” he said.

  Vega smiled a little at his eagerness, and they walked toward the stairway.

  “So six girls at the facility,” said Cap, as they headed down. “Where are the other four?”

  “Davis seemed to be the point man for the Salton house, and he’s not in play anymore,” said Vega. “And they can’t be at Mackey’s house, like actually where he lives.”

  “So they could be anywhere,” said Cap, unlocking the doors to the rental car. “And how do we find them, absent Mackey telling us himself.”

  They got in, and Cap turned on the engine immediately, powered down the windows, and cranked the A/C.

  “Jesus, it’s hot,” he said.

  Vega didn’t respond in any way to the heat. She buckled her seatbelt, distracted, thinking about what Cap had said. Anywhere.

  “I think we should go back to Lara,” she said.