Bruja Brouhaha

by Rochelle Staab

Juanita crossed her booted foot over her knee. “Maybe the doctor took off with somebody’s wife.”

  “Dr. Morales is an old man,” Teresa said.

  “Ew. Oh.” Juanita turned to me. “Can old people have sex?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Seniors can enjoy an active sex life.”

  “So maybe the doc took off with somebody’s grandma,” Juanita said, chuckling.

  “Oh, please. Dr. Morales is a respected, moral man.” Erica dismissed Juanita with a sniff and pointed at Teresa again. “But you have a lot of nerve showing up here complaining. Everybody knows your husband’s friends shot your boyfriend and Paco Rojas instead of you. Maybe your friends hated Dr. Morales for not dressing bullet wounds and went after him, too. All the depravity in the neighborhood circles around you, your criminal husband, and the botanica you live over.”

  Teresa stood, her face raging red. “You stupid, mean bitch. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I never cheated on my husband. I didn’t even know José. And how would you know what patients Dr. Morales does or doesn’t treat? Mind your own business, you ignorant hag.”

  “Teresa, sit down,” I said. “Erica, stop making sweeping accusations. Focus on your own feelings, what’s going on with you. You’re angry. Tell us more about that.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you.” Erica locked her eyes on Teresa. “You married a gang member. Move out of that cursed building and make some friends who follow a righteous path. Save yourself.”

  “Are you talking about me or about you?” Teresa said. “Maybe you’re not so happy with your old man and your friends. I like where I live. Lucia and Paco were good to me. What gives you the right to be the judge and jury on happy?”

  “I take my direction from the Lord,” Erica said.

  Ruby leaned forward. “Then why are you here, church lady?”

  “My name is Erica,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “I came because I need a safe place to talk about my relationship in private. All my husband thinks about is selling real estate. He doesn’t pay attention to our marriage. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Plain as day, sister,” Ruby said. “You need to lighten up. Have an affair. That’ll get his attention.”

  Erica’s face softened. “I don’t think he’d care. He hasn’t touched me in a year.”

  “At least your husband comes home at night,” Teresa said.

  “Sexy lingerie works.” Juanita opened her jacket and snapped her red lace bra strap. “And I never met a man who could say no to some nookie.”

  The tension dissipated into laughter.

  “Juanita, will you share why you came to group?” I said.

  “A judge sent me. It was either counseling or jail.”

  “Hah,” Ruby said. “If you live in this neighborhood, you’re probably safer in jail.”

  * * *

  At the end of fifty minutes, the women helped me stack the chairs into the closet. Erica left with a hasty thank you. I wondered if she would return. Ruby and Teresa rinsed the coffeepot and cups at the sink.

  Juanita handed me her court card. “You have to sign it to prove I was here. A cop pulled me over and spied a joint in the ashtray. I have to go to three months of AA meetings and counseling.”

  “Then I’ll see you at our next session. Have a good week.” Smiling, I handed Juanita the signed card. She and Ruby left together.

  I went to the kitchenette to help Teresa put away the rest of the coffee supplies. “I’m happy you decided to come today, Teresa. Getting your feelings out in the open will help you. Have you seen Lucia since the wake?”

  Teresa didn’t look up. “Once. I still don’t know what to say to her. I can’t tell if she blames me for Paco’s death.”

  “Talk to her from your heart,” I said.

  She glanced toward the hall, lowering her voice. “Are we still being confidential?”

  “Yes. Our conversations in and out of session became privileged once you joined the group. I’m bound by a code of ethics not to repeat what we talk about,” I said.

  “You won’t or you can’t?”

  “I can’t, unless your life is in danger or you overtly threaten to hurt another person.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. Everything we discuss is confidential, and in the state of California that privilege extends even past death.” Her questions put me on alert. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

  “You can’t tell anyone?” Her eyes darted over my shoulder at the door again.

  “No one, Teresa. I promise. What’s wrong?”

  She gripped my arm. “I need your help. Paco wasn’t a bystander—he was the target. I’m afraid Dr. Morales knew why.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Teresa’s bold statement about Paco’s death jolted me. Unsettled, I brought her to a bench under the session room window and sat down. “Who told you Paco was targeted?”

  “Privilege, right?” Teresa searched my eyes, as if waiting for more reassurance.

  “My state license requires me to keep discussions with clients confidential. As I told you—unless your life is at stake or I believe you’re going to harm someone, whatever you say to me stays between us. Who told you Paco was targeted for murder?”

  Her hands shook. “I called in sick yesterday and took the train to Lancaster to visit my husband in jail. I was afraid he thought I was cheating on him with José and told his friends to teach us a lesson. I wasn’t cheating on Carlos. I love him. Carlos said he didn’t have nothing to do with it.”

  “But he knew who did?”

  She nodded. “He told me a rival gang killed Paco and used me and José to cover it up.”

  “Then the police already know. Conversations in jail are recorded, Teresa.”

  Teresa smirked, signing at me with her fingers as she said, “Prisoners use sign language to get messages to the outside. The guards didn’t hear anything.”

  “You have to tell the police what you know.”

  “I won’t.” She set her elbows on her knees. “There’s a code of silence in the gangs. If anyone even thought I snitched to the cops, they would kill me, and maybe Carlos, too.”

  “The police will protect you.”

  “The cops can’t protect Carlos. If the rivals can’t get to me, they’ll get Carlos in jail just to teach me a lesson.”

  “They know Detective Bailey questioned you the night of the shooting,” I said.

  “And they know I told him I didn’t see the shooter.”

  “Were you lying?”

  “No. But now I know what really happened last Saturday night. I think José was in on it. He showed up at the Chicken Shack the day before the lock was broken. The next night he walked me home and saw Paco come downstairs to let me in. José started a conversation with him. Saturday night me and José passed the black SUV while it was parked up the street. They could have shot us right then but they waited for Paco to come out,” Teresa said.

  “Are you positive you didn’t recognize the shooter?”

  “I swear,” Teresa said. “You don’t know gang life, Liz. Dr. Morales and Paco, they were good friends. When I heard the doc disappeared, my gut told me maybe the same guys went after him. I think he knew something, like maybe who was after Paco.”

  “If Dr. Morales’s life is in danger, we have to tell the police,” I said.

  She shook her head passionately. “No. Not yet. I only have a feeling, not proof. I’m your client. You swore you couldn’t repeat our conversations. And my life will be in danger if I talk to the cops. I’m not threatening Dr. Morales. I’m trying to help him. Through you.”

  “I’ll go to the police with you,” I said.

  “No way. We have to do this my way. I’m working here at the clinic today. I’m going to find an excuse to search Dr. Morales’s office this afternoon. If I find something, you can go to the cops pretending you found the info in the doc’s office yourself. I’m taking a big chance, but I want to help Dr. M
orales and Lucia.”

  “I won’t lie for you, Teresa. Dr. Morales already told the police everything he knew. And if the police or someone at the clinic hasn’t searched his office already, they will soon.”

  “But they won’t know what to look for. Maybe Dr. Morales knew something, but he didn’t know he knew,” she said.

  I blinked at her screwy logic. I had an urge to call Bailey, but I couldn’t act on it. Not only would I be breaking the laws of privilege, but I could be putting Teresa’s life at risk. My head hurt.

  “If Paco was their target, why not stage an armed robbery at the botanica?” I said. “Why did they use you and José?”

  “José was a decoy to make Paco look like a bystander. His homies found out the kid was siphoning a lot of money off the top of his drug deals. They turned on him,” Teresa said.

  “And why did they involve you?” I said.

  Her words came out sliced with bitterness: “To warn me and Carlos to stay out of rival business. I know the cops are watching me, but I’m more afraid of who else is. Carlos warned me to be careful. Don’t trust anyone, Liz.”

  “Teresa, why are you involved with these people? You have a good chance to start a new life.”

  “I’m trying but it’s not that simple. Carlos and me got into drugs and the life before we were teens. The gang is my family. They came to our wedding. After Carlos got sent up, I stopped doing drugs and got my job here.” Teresa reached in her pocket and brought out a Narcotics Anonymous chip on a key chain. “See? One year.”

  “Congratulations. It takes courage to fight addiction. It also takes courage to do the right thing. Paco and Lucia were good to you. Dr. Morales gave you a job. I’ll say it again, Teresa—talk to the police.”

  “No. This is the way it’s gotta be. This way no one else gets hurt. You’re an outsider. No one will ever know I talked to you.”

  “I won’t play this game with you.” I went to the locker, retrieved my purse, and then copied Bailey’s number onto the back of my business card. “Call Detective Bailey. Tell him what you just told me. He will see that you get protection. Or phone an anonymous tip to Crime Stoppers.”

  Teresa grabbed my wrist. “Please. I can’t. I don’t have a choice. Give me this afternoon to go through Dr. Morales’s office. If I find anything—” She jerked her head toward the rustle of movement in the hall.

  Tony Torrico poked his head in the doorway, smiling. “Am I interrupting? Teresa, we need your help in the file room so Helen can get back to the patients.”

  “On my way, Dr. Torrico.” Teresa turned to me with a final pleading glance then left.

  I closed the locker, shut the session room door behind me, and walked down the hall with Tony.

  “How did your group session go today?” he said.

  “Good. I heard the police came this morning about Victor.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I was going to call the police myself when I didn’t hear from him last night or this morning. The detective arrived before I had an opportunity. We told him everything we knew, which wasn’t much. We couldn’t get into Victor’s computer. I asked Helen to go through Victor’s calendar entries and the papers on his desk.”

  “Puzzling,” I said.

  “Yes. Carmen and I are very concerned.” Tony slowed his pace, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hold to my promise that this won’t affect the fund-raiser. I refuse to let the clinic suffer in his absence.”

  “The Cherries will handle the fund-raiser without a hitch, don’t worry. Does Victor have any health issues? Could he have had a heart attack or seizure in his car?”

  “The detective asked the same questions. After I confirmed Victor was in good health, he left. Frankly, I don’t know how seriously the police will treat his disappearance.”

  “Matt Bailey doesn’t strike me as apathetic,” I said.

  He glanced at me, questioning. “You know the detective searching for Victor?”

  “I met Bailey the night Paco was shot. He’s investigating both cases because of Victor’s relationship with Paco. He didn’t tell you?”

  “No. Maybe Paco’s death, coupled with the pressure of the clinic, was too much for Victor to cope with, and he took off. It’s not a crime for an adult to disappear.”

  “But it’s out of character for Victor.” We walked in silence for several steps, and then I said, “Have you talked to Lucia in the past few days?”

  “I spoke with her caretaker. She’ll check in with me during Victor’s absence. Lucia is taking her medication and resting.” Tony stopped to sign a form for a nurse, and then we continued down the hall.

  “About the pills, Tony. Lucia is having bouts of delusion.”

  “Lucia had a severe shock. If Victor doesn’t return soon, I’ll bring her in for an examination,” Tony said.

  The ladies’ room door opened as we passed. Erica Gates came out and fell into pace behind us.

  “I’m on my way to Lucia’s now,” I said to Tony. “Nick is writing a human-interest story about her and the botanica for the Times and the Hispanic daily. The story might run next week.”

  “Nice gesture,” Tony said as we reached Jackson’s desk. “I wish Lucia the best. She has a tough road ahead.”

  Erica, still on our heels, clicked her tongue. “Why promote an evil business? Let the Lord be the judge, not some intrusive, outside writer. Botanicas promote sacrilegious propaganda. A story about Lucia and witchcraft invites heathens to come to our neighborhood and draw people into damnation. Lucia Rojas is a consort of the devil.”

  “Amen,” Jackson said under her breath. “That witch—”

  “Ms. Jackson.” Tony glared at her, pointing to the crowded waiting area. “Don’t you have something to do? Are all these patients signed in?”

  “Yes, Dr. Torrico.”

  As Tony and I crossed the lobby to the front door, he glanced over his shoulder at Jackson and Erica whispering at the desk. “I’d walk you out, Liz, but I need to have a word with Jackson. I’ll see you at the benefit on Monday?”

  “Nick and I will be there with the whole family,” I said, smiling. “I hope Victor will be there to celebrate with us.”

  “I do, too. Please give Lucia my regards this afternoon and tell her or Cruz to call if she needs me. Wait here. I’ll have Miguel walk out with you.” Tony ignored my polite refusal, called for Miguel, and then said good-bye.

  As Miguel and I strolled together toward the street, he said, “Dr. Cooper, do you think something bad happened to Dr. Morales?”

  “Please call me Liz. I don’t know what to think, Miguel. We’d all like to find him. Do you know of any patients who didn’t like Dr. Morales? Someone he wouldn’t treat, or someone who complained about him?”

  “No ma’am. The policeman asked me the same question this morning. All the patients like Dr. Morales. But I’ve been thinking about it—I bet Ynez knows where he is. Those two are real close.”

  I stopped. Miguel’s inflection tweaked my imagination. As in secret-lover close? “Who is Ynez?”

  “Ynez Briano. She’s Dr. Morales’s patient. They’re really good friends. She has a dress shop around the corner on Alvarado. My little sister works there on weekends sometimes. Ynez is a nice lady. She comes to visit Dr. Morales at the clinic a lot.”

  “I can go to Ynez’s shop and talk to her now. Do you think she’s there?”

  He reached into his back pocket and took out his phone. “I’ll call my sister and find out.” After a brief conversation, he shook his head. “Ynez won’t be in until tomorrow. She’s working the farmer’s markets today.”

  As we rounded onto 7th Street, the same three men in muscle shirts lingered at the concrete wall bordering the sidewalk. Their bandannas were tucked into the back pockets of jeans riding so low on their hips I couldn’t imagine—and didn’t want to know—what held them up. I thought only teenage girls dressed alike on purpose.

  The tallest of the three had a buzz cut and a number tattooed on his skull. A
nother had a snake tattooed around his neck. The third was younger and stocky, with veined biceps bulging from his muscular shoulders. They chewed lazily on toothpicks, watching over the top of their sunglasses as Miguel and I approached.

  “Hey-hey, the Boy Scout is on a field trip with a hot mama,” Tattoo Neck said. “You think he’s hitting that?”

  Buzz Cut twirled his toothpick between his lips, looking me up and down. “Nice.”

  “Oh yeah. I could hit that.” Biceps Boy snickered and elbowed Tattoo Neck.

  “Ignore them,” Miguel said to me. “They’re showing off.” We edged close to the curb, quickening our pace toward the corner.

  Buzz Cut fell in beside us. “Slow down, Boy Scout. Don’t be afraid, mama. We don’t hurt.”

  “What’s your hurry?” Tattoo Neck blocked our path.

  I sidestepped off the curb. Tattoo Neck dodged with me. Buzz Cut made kissing sounds behind us. The two were so close I could smell their sweat.

  “Back off.” Miguel stepped nose-to-nose with Tattoo Neck.

  Biceps Boy closed in on me. “I like older women. Where’s your car, mama? Let’s go for a ride.”

  As Biceps Boy reached out to grab at me, Miguel spun around and jammed a knee between the kid’s legs. Biceps Boy doubled over in pain. Buzz Cut grabbed the back of Miguel’s shirt.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Damn it, knock it off.” Teresa marched down the sidewalk, her loose hair swinging with each angry footstep. “Let go of him.”

  Buzz Cut let go. Miguel stumbled for balance. Biceps Boy gripped the parking lot wall, his face drained from pain. Tattoo Neck backed away and walked toward Teresa, shaking his head like nothing happened. The three thugs gaped at her like their teacher had just caught them smoking in the schoolyard. A horn blew on the street. Turning, I saw Nick dodge through traffic, unaware of a delivery truck speeding toward him.

  I threw my hand to my chest. “Nick!”

  The truck swerved. Nick reached the curb, breathless but unharmed, and stalked toward Teresa and the men.

  She ranted at Tattoo Neck and his obnoxious pals with the cocky attitude of a woman from the streets, her hand on her hip, head thrown back. “How stupid are you? It’s broad daylight. You trying to get arrested?”