Dragon Fruit

by Karen Keskinen

  When I stepped outside with Rosie, we were greeted by a baptism of light rain. I tipped back my head and let the moisture fall on my upturned face.

  The sprinkle of raindrops felt good. But we were out of time and had to get going. Soon the cops would be searching for Rosie and me.

  I opened my sweatshirt jacket and tucked her inside, then hurried for the car. I slammed the door shut, then switched on the engine and the heater. The windows misted over.

  Rosie and I hunkered down inside our cave. For the moment I felt safe, safe enough to take time to make a call.

  ‘Miss Jaymie, I waited all night with the phone by my bed. What happened, are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m OK. Rosie too. She’s here with me – we’re in Santa Barbara now.’

  ‘That is good, good news! But why do you sound so sad?’

  I didn’t want to dump the news on Gabi like a ton of bricks. I tried to be gentle. ‘We’ve just been to Cottage. We went to see Chucha, but … she isn’t there.’

  ‘Not there? Then … where?’

  ‘She’s gone, Gabi.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you. Chucha died.’

  ‘No. No. They said it would be next week. Next week! They told me that one day ago.’

  Rosie began to fret. I nudged my finger into her hand. ‘Who knows what happened. Maybe some rich person somewhere needed an organ in a big hurry.’

  ‘I don’t think – that is so ugly! Miss Jaymie, is that how it works?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I admitted. ‘I just know I can’t afford to think about it right now.’

  ‘Miss Jaymie, I understand. Tell me what you want me to do.’

  Gabi’s question galvanized my mind. ‘You need to take Rosie and hide her. Can you meet us in ten minutes, over at Five Points?’

  ‘In the shopping center, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, the parking lot. Park out by the hedge dividing the lot from the back of Peet’s Coffee. Do you know where I mean?’

  ‘Yes. I’m gonna go right away.’

  ‘Gabi, wait. I need to explain right now, so we don’t have to talk there for long. I want you to take Rosie to Angel’s place. The police will never look for her there. Stay with her at La Rosaleda till I contact you. Got it?’

  ‘Yes, OK.’ She hesitated. ‘Miss Jaymie? Are the police gonna take Rosie away?’

  ‘Not the fuck if I can help it. See you in ten.’

  I spotted Gabi’s big old station wagon as soon as I pulled into Five Points, and was able to park right beside it. I looked around: no cops in sight.

  Motioning for Gabi to stay in her car, I took Rosie into my arms and stepped out of the rental. Then I handed the child in through Gabi’s open window.

  ‘She’s hungry. I gave her a bottle two hours ago, but she needs real food.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Miss Jaymie. I will send Angel out with a shopping list. I know everything a baby needs.’ She peered into the little face. ‘Oh! She gives me bumps all over. She looks just like Chucha.’

  I stood there for a moment more, gazing down at the little girl. I knew what Gabi meant. It was tempting to think Chucha’s spirit dwelt in Rosie now. But the child wasn’t a stand-in for anyone: she deserved to just be herself.

  ‘Gabi, I’m going to send Trudy’s cell number to you when I get back in the car. Call her for me when you get a chance, OK? Tell her to tell Mike …’ I stopped. Tell Mike what? What was it I needed him to know?

  ‘Miss Jaymie, why do you want me to call Mr Mike’s sister, not you? Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘On an errand. Just something I need to take care of.’ If I told Gabi the truth, I knew she’d try to stop me. ‘I want to make sure Mike knows I love him. That’s all.’

  ‘Oh Miss Jaymie, Mr Mike knows that! If he didn’t, he would already leave you a long time ago.’

  I marched into the lobby of the Santa Barbara Police Department and up to the ‘pay parking tickets’ window.

  The young woman had a nice smile. ‘Can I help you?’ Her voice was muffled behind the thick glass.

  ‘I want to see Chief Wheeler.’ Asking to see the boss should get me attention. I figured the right person or persons would step into the light.

  ‘Chief Wheeler doesn’t deal with parking tickets. What can I do for you?’

  I dug into my damp jeans pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘Hand him this, will you?’ I pointed at a wooden bench. ‘I’ll wait over there.’

  Who wanted to pay a parking fine? No doubt the young woman dealt with plenty of cranks in her job. ‘I will pass this on to one of the officers.’

  Maybe she thought I’d see that as a threat, but it was exactly what I wanted to hear.

  A few minutes later the clerk returned to her station. I saw her sneak a glance over at me. I wondered how long it would take for my calling card to wind its way to the target.

  As it turned out it took no time at all.

  Two young cops burst into the lobby through a side door. One grabbed me by the wrists and zip-cuffed me. ‘You’re under arrest,’ the other barked in my face.

  I didn’t bother to argue. I figured I was headed where I wanted to go.

  The two guys bundled me through the side door and down a hall. They were rough, trying to scare me. I was scared, all right. But not of them.

  I wondered where they were taking me. An interview room or an office? No way. They frog-marched me through more doors and down a ramp, to a basement lined with walled cells. All the cells we passed were empty: apparently the entire floor was reserved just for me.

  Then we stopped, in front of a cell that looked no different from any of the others.

  ‘Hey,’ one of the thickheads announced. He sounded like he was reading lines from a script. ‘Remember that mental, Brodie Zarlin? This was his cell, right?’

  ‘Yeah, you got it. This was the one.’

  These two hadn’t thought up this charade. I knew they’d been coached. Answering them back would mean nothing, so I limited my response to two words: ‘fuck off.’

  They walked away laughing. I stood in the center of the cell and resolved to be strong.

  But after several minutes had passed, my resolve crumbled. My eyes filled with tears as I looked around the small ugly space my brother had died in. Concrete block wall. Cement floor. Hole in the ground for a toilet. I knelt down and cried.

  Then one of those wordless prayers filled my mind. And again, somehow it worked.

  My tears came to an end. I got to my feet and dabbed at my eyes with my sleeve. I had a job to do.

  Of course I knew I was being watched on a camera. Andthat was just fine by me. I resisted the urge to give the watchers the finger. Better if those in charge thought I was broken and bowed.

  I’m not sure how long my composure would have lasted. It would have been smart for my captors to leave me there in the cell to stew. But they had no time for that.

  The authorities in Palm Desert would have already contacted the Santa Barbara PD. Now they had to find out what I knew.

  They. Who exactly were ‘they?’ Sanchez and Wasson for certain. Beyond that, I could only guess.

  Some ten minutes passed before I heard jackboots stomping back down the corridor. The same two gentlemen appeared. The big one, the one with the heavy jaw and too much testosterone for my taste, had the bulging eyes of a Boston terrier.

  The smaller guy, he was a snake. You could see it in his blank gray stare. ‘Hey, bitch. How did you like spending time with your crazy dead brother?’

  I let the snake’s words roll off me like beads of venom. He was the one who was dead – dead in his heart.

  This time around they each grabbed one of my arms. I felt a stiletto of pain in my injured shoulder.

  ‘Take it easy. My shoulder’s injured.’

  ‘Good to know,’ the big one said.

  But in fact, they eased off. I was escorted – almost politely – down the hall to a service elevator at the far end.
Something was up.

  Even though they’d backed off, standing inside the tight elevator with my handlers was a little scary. They stared me down like mad dogs about to latch onto my throat.

  I knew it was all an act. But when I looked down at my feet, I saw what looked like real blood stains on the elevator floor.

  I watched the floor indicator as we rose. One, two, three levels up from the basement. Well, I’d be damned: we were headed straight for the top.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The third floor seemed peaceful. Most of the doors off the hall were open, and we walked by pleasant offices with potted plants and windows with views of the mountains and city. Detectives I recognized looked up as our entourage passed.

  I spotted Deirdre Krause behind a tidy glass-topped desk. When our eyes met, her mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise. I said nothing. Why drag her down with me, after all?

  We reached the end of the corridor. The door to the corner office. We halted and snake man knocked.

  The door was opened by guess who – Steve Sanchez. His acne-scarred face was a hard and closed version of his sister’s. I now knew for sure that he shared none of Sylvia’s generosity – not a shred.

  ‘I’ll take her.’ My escorts released my arms and walked away.

  Sanchez looked hard at me for a moment. Then he stepped aside and motioned me in.

  A massive oak desk stretched across the back of the room. Seated behind the desk was a man I recognized from his official photo, which appeared frequently in the local paper: Chief Wheeler.

  Of course it was Wheeler, the chief of police. Why should that be a surprise to me? With the stakes as high as they were, how could Wheeler not be involved?

  ‘Shut the door, Sanchez. Lock it.’ The chief’s voice was kind of warbly, like a bird’s. But there was nothing funny about it. It only made him sound on edge.

  The guy studied me. He seemed to be trying to figure me out. I didn’t blink, just looked him straight in the eye.

  Wallace Wheeler was ugly. He hadn’t started out that way: there was nothing all that wrong with his looks. His upper lip was a little too long, and his ears had large lobes, like LBJ’s. Otherwise his face was regular enough. Yet the ugliness was there, maybe in the slack wet way he held his mouth. You knew he’d done cruel things in his time.

  To not be afraid of him, I tried to imagine Wheeler with his grandkids. But that was a little upsetting too.

  ‘You dumb cunt,’ he began. ‘You walk right in here and what, you think we’re gonna give you a fucking hug or something?’

  ‘Think I’d want a hug from you?’

  I was surprised to hear Sanchez, behind me, give out a short laugh. So Steve wasn’t afraid of his boss.

  Wheeler didn’t react. I realized he didn’t give a fuck what I said one way or the other.

  ‘You want something, Zarlin? That it?’

  ‘I want something, all right. First, get these cuffs off me. They’re cutting into my wrists.’

  Wheeler stared at me for a minute longer, then lifted his chin at Sanchez. ‘You heard the little lady.’

  Sanchez snatched something from his belt and stepped up behind me. Before he sliced the cuff, he grasped my forearm and gave it a light squeeze. He seemed to be trying to tell me something. But what?

  ‘All right, cut the crap.’ Wheeler leaned back in his chair. ‘You want something all right. Why the hell should I listen to you?’

  ‘Palm Desert, that’s why. I know plenty, Chief Wheeler. And it’s not just in my head. I’ve got witness statements, photos, and a laptop crammed full of data. If anything happens to me, half a dozen letters will go out in the mail. They’re already stamped and addressed. Here’s a short list: the Independent, the News-Press, and the LA Times.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about shit like that.’ But his gaze slidaway. I had him by the short hairs: publicity would ruin the man and he knew it.

  There was no way Wheeler could know I was lying. The letters were a grand idea, but they were just that, an idea. I hadn’t had enough time lately to even lick a stamp.

  ‘You smuggle drugs, Wheeler. You’ve been doing it for years. And you smuggle kids, too.’

  Wheeler heaved up like a tsunami from behind his desk. He was big all right, both in height and girth. The chief must have weighed at least 300 pounds.

  He shoved back his chair and strode around the desk. ‘We don’t hurt kids. Get it? I will fucking hurt you for that!’

  ‘What, for saying the truth?’

  The slap was hard. So hard I felt my neck bend farther than it should. Tears of pain stung my eyes.

  ‘It’s a fucking lie, Zarlin.’ Wheeler leaned in close to me. His face was inches from mine. I smelled the man, and the smell was rank, repulsive.

  ‘Drugs, so what? Junkies are worthless, trash. They deserve what they get. But kids, kids we help.’

  ‘You smuggle children into the country. One died. You can’t change that fact.’

  I steeled myself for another slap. But Wheeler took half a step back.

  ‘Sanchez, go take a walk. The PI and me, we are going to have a private talk.’

  My head still pounded. I looked over at Sanchez as he turned for the door. His face was impassive, but just for a moment his gaze held my own.

  ‘Sit down.’ Wheeler pointed at a chair. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced the length of the room. ‘Know what? I could make you have an accident.’

  ‘Sure.’ My tongue felt thick from the slap. ‘But there are those letters. All written and addressed.’

  ‘Fuck the letters.’ He waved the topic away. ‘I’m talking to you for one reason, Zarlin. What you’re saying about the kids is a lie – but the thing is, you think you’re telling the truth.’

  ‘There’s evidence. A little girl died.’

  ‘I don’t know nothing about that, OK?’ His voice exploded and his words sprayed through the air like shrapnel. ‘Drugs. Like I said, so what? And Morehead, yeah, I let him bring in a few kids. But it’s for their own good. So why the hell not?’

  A few kids. My God, what did that mean?

  ‘I don’t know why I’m wasting my time talking to you, but lemme tell you something, Zarlin. Morehead, he takes kids outta some Mexican slum, he gives them to people who adopt them. He gives those kids a better life.’

  ‘No. You’ve got it all wrong.’ The room was quiet. The sounds of traffic filtered up from the street below. ‘Morehead and his assistant, Eric? They traffic kids and sell them for sex.’ I couldn’t help it: the more I talked, the louder my voice got.

  ‘I don’t know about Brill. But Morehead and Eric, they’re pedophiles, part of that sick world. Don’t take my word for it. Morehead’s probably already gone, holed up in Cancun or somewhere.’

  ‘That’s fucking crap.’ Wheeler growled something more under his breath. Then he walked over to a window. His back was to me when he spoke. ‘But let’s say you’re on to something. For the sake of argument, what is it you want?’

  ‘Four things.’

  ‘Just four?’ He coughed up a laugh. ‘Speak up fast before I send you back to the basement.’

  ‘Stop the trafficking in kids once and for all. The Riverside County Sheriff’s Department will see to the immediate problem. But you need to make sure Morehead never starts it up again.’

  ‘I’ll handle Morehead, that fuck. What else.’

  Wheeler believed me now. I could hear in his voice that he did. ‘Darren Hartek. Let him go.’

  Wheeler turned to look at me. ‘Who?’

  ‘The guy your people picked up on More Mesa to put pressure on me. Darren’s never hurt a fly.’

  ‘The loony? What the fuck, sure.’ Wheeler waved a hand and turned back to the glass. ‘Besides you, who the fuck cares?’

  ‘Number three. I want to know what happened to my brother while he was in custody. I want to know all of it – how Brodie died.’ I walked up to Wheeler. ‘I want to know all the names. And maybe yours is one of th
em, Wheeler.’

  His laugh was forced. ‘Number four, you want me to give you a kiss on your ass?’

  ‘Number four. Chucha Robledo’s daughter – the little girl. Promise me you’ll leave her alone. I’m going to give Rosie a home.’ I stopped then and listened to my own words. They spun in the air like honey bees, humming notes of pure gold.

  I realized I did want that. Somehow, without consciously thinking about it, I’d made up my mind.

  ‘You’re weird, Zarlin,’ Wheeler was saying. ‘You should see a shrink. Oh by the way’ – he lit a cigarette, tossed the lighter on the desk, and turned to face me –‘Hear the latest about your boyfriend, that poor prick? Too bad Deputy Dawson won’t walk again. Gonna be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.’ He blew a stream of smoke in my direction. ‘Too bad for you too. Maybe his dick won’t work either.’

  Wheeler didn’t take his eyes from my face, and what he read there seemed to please him. ‘Yeah. I thought you’d want to hear that news right away.’

  I stood there like a tin soldier, clamping down hard on my feelings.

  ‘What, for once you got nothing to say?’

  ‘I’ve laid it all out, Wheeler. Take it or leave it.’

  ‘Sure. You shred those letters. I don’t give a fuck about the crazy guy or the girl, and Morehead, that sonofabitch, I’ll deal with him. But the one about your brother?’ He took a slow drag on his cigarette. ‘Forget it. That was a few years back, and you don’t need to know.’

  The asshole was tormenting me. And I was on the verge of losing control.

  I thought about Darren, Rosie, and all the other children, the ones I’d never know. For their sakes, I had to give in.

  But it was hard, dear God it was hard: I’d have to let my own brother go.

  ‘Yeah, Wheeler. We’ve got a deal.’

  ‘Don’t cross my path again, Zarlin. You’ll regret it, I promise you.’ He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray, reached across the desk and picked up his phone.

  ‘Sanchez. Come and get the bitch. We’re letting her go.’

  Wheeler walked around the desk and dropped down into his oversized chair. He picked up a letter opener and dug at a fingernail. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing more to say.