Make Them Sorry

by Sam Hawken

  Camaro touched her brow without meaning to. She felt a stab of something dark. She went back to the oven. “You keep on learning to fight, you’ll pick up some of your own. Stay at Miguel’s, get serious. Sooner or later someone will break your nose.”

  “I don’t even know what that would feel like.”

  Camaro peeked inside the oven. “It hurts. You get over it after a few times.”

  The timer went off. Camaro turned her attention to the food. She brought out the pork chops and served them hot from the oven. She fetched another bottle of Gatorade and sat down with it at the table. Faith pulled back the towel on the vegetables. Aromatic steam rose from them. They took turns portioning them out.

  Faith was quiet while she tried the food. She nodded. “Good,” she said.

  “Eat it all. The protein will help your muscles, and the vegetables have the vitamins you need, plus carbs to get your energy level back up. Buy some apples and have two or three of them every day. Have salads, but make sure you put some chicken and cheese in them. Even better: eat the chicken and forget the salad. Nuts are good, too. Always keep some around.”

  “I feel like I’m going to start bodybuilding.”

  “Next time we’re working with weights.”

  “I wish I hadn’t said anything.”

  “It’ll be worth it in the end.”

  Faith put down her fork. “You know, we haven’t even talked about how I’m going to pay you.”

  “I don’t want to get paid.”

  “I have to pay you something. You won’t get rich, but this is worth money.”

  “I said I don’t want to get paid.”

  “Then you’re doing this just because?”

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No. It’s only…I guess nobody’s ever done something for me just because.”

  “You need help. I can help. It’s not about money.”

  Faith was quiet. “Thank you.”

  Camaro cleaned the last of her pork from the bone. “You have a gun?” she asked.

  “No way.”

  “You don’t like guns?”

  “Not really. I mean, I’ve never had one. I’ve never shot one.”

  “There’s a gun store with a range about twenty minutes from here,” Camaro said. “I can give you directions. When you leave tonight, go there and buy a weapon. Get a recommendation from the guys, make sure it’s something comfortable in your hand and something you can carry without a lot of trouble.”

  “I can’t carry a gun.”

  “Do you want to make sure this creep who’s coming around keeps his hands off you?”

  “Yes, but that’s why I’m learning all the other stuff. I don’t need a gun.”

  Camaro reached across the table and touched Faith’s wrist. “You need a gun. I can teach you everything about how to gouge somebody’s eyes out or break their balls, but sometimes it’s all or nothing. So get a gun. When you have something you like, we’ll go out together and I’ll show you how to use it. Even if you don’t carry it with you, at least you can have it at home.”

  Faith put down her knife and fork. Half her pork chop was uneaten. “Do you really think it’ll come to that?”

  “I don’t know. And you don’t either.”

  Faith didn’t reply.

  Camaro stood and gathered her plate and flatware. “Remember what I said. Eat it all.”

  She went to the sink and rinsed the dishes. She heard Faith pick up her fork, and heard the scrape of a knife on the plate.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IGNACIO OFTEN WORE a jacket as part of the job, but in the depths of summer it became another thing to carry around. Short sleeves were better, but sometimes the higher-ups wanted a professional look. As he left the office and stepped into the heat of the afternoon, he slung his jacket over his shoulder and instantly felt trapped warmth that would turn into a sweaty burn if given the time.

  He was halfway to his car when he saw Brady Pool crossing the scorched asphalt on his way inside. Ignacio caught Pool’s eye and raised his hand. Pool changed directions. They met in the middle of the lane. “Back from vacation,” Ignacio said. “Looking good.”

  Pool had dispensed with a jacket and wore a blue golf shirt with the police department’s logo on the breast. It wasn’t field wear, but likely he would work the phones tonight as other detectives caught the cases. Pool patted his belly. “I gained at least five pounds from eating all that food. They keep shoving it down your throat even when you beg for mercy.”

  “I’ve never been to one of those all-inclusive places.”

  “Well, you gotta go. Take Mara and head on down to Cozumel. Great atmosphere, friendly people…everything you want.”

  Ignacio frowned at Mara’s name. “That sounds great, but Mara and I kind of split up.”

  “What? When?”

  “Been a few weeks now. I didn’t tell anybody about it, and you were on vacation and it’s my problem anyway.”

  Pool gripped Ignacio’s arm. “If you need something, you only have to ask, all right? Grace would love to have you by the house. We can watch some baseball, grill some steaks. Whatever you want.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Where you off to?”

  Ignacio looked toward his car, and felt a shadow pass over him though the sun was brilliant. “Home, I guess.”

  “Take care of yourself, you hear me? I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, see you.”

  They parted and Ignacio went to the car. He put his jacket over the passenger seat, and got behind the wheel. The interior of the car was nightmarish, even with reflective screens erected against the windshield. Ignacio put on the air conditioner full blast and didn’t close the door until the vents started blowing cold air. By the time he was on the road, the temperature had plummeted. Soon it would be icy.

  He didn’t live far from work, and that was just as well. Miami traffic could be brutal, and he spent enough of his working day stranded in logjams full of cars. More people came every year. There were hardly any places to put them. Rents had been on the rise for years, and now there were complaints that a working family couldn’t afford to live anywhere decent anymore. Ignacio sympathized.

  The house he lived in had a decent amount of equity, but he was a long way from paying it off. It had been easier with Mara living with him, but now the bills fell to him alone. He didn’t leave anything except the refrigerator running when he was out of the house to keep the electric bill down. The atmosphere grew thick during those hours, and it was sometimes hard to breathe when he returned.

  Once he was inside, the ceiling fans and the air-conditioning units perched in the windows stirred things back to life. Ignacio took a shower and shaped up his beard and put on a tatty robe over boxer shorts and a T-shirt. He walked barefoot around the house. In the kitchen he opened the refrigerator and peered inside.

  The shelves were almost entirely empty. Mara had been a light shopper, and didn’t believe in buying more in a week than could be eaten in seven days. When she left it was up to Ignacio to stock the kitchen. He looked at a piece of cheddar cheese wrapped in plastic, a head of lettuce, and two bottles of Vitaminwater. In the door there were three eggs, some butter, and a squeeze bottle of mayonnaise.

  “Okay,” Ignacio said to himself. “We are going out.”

  He re-dressed in knee-length shorts and a loose-fitting shirt. He wore sandals instead of shoes and no socks. On the streets he looked like every other Miami native, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, trilby perched on his head. The anonymity was appealing sometimes.

  He decided to walk instead of driving, which was something people did in Miami less and less as the city continued to sprawl. He found himself on a street lined on both sides with small businesses, punctuated here and there with franchise restaurants. He browsed the window of a shop selling off-brand cell phones and other cheap electronics. He passed clusters of young men hanging out on corners with nowhere to go and no
thing to do. They paid him no attention and he returned the favor.

  In the end he pushed through the door of a little place with hand-printed paper signs in the window advertising sandwiches and other simple fare. The man behind the counter wore a plain white sleeveless undershirt and, around his waist, a stained apron. A boy in his teens worked in the kitchen. They looked enough alike that Ignacio assumed they were father and son.

  A slight woman worked the half-dozen small tables in the dining area. The floor was scuffed and old, tiling too aged to be polished again. Ignacio sat with his back to the window and watched the family work, listening to the chatter from other tables and Latin jazz playing on a boom box on a high shelf behind the counter.

  They brought him a pressed Cuban sandwich, and it was all right. He ate and washed it down with water. When he was finished, he sighed. A full stomach didn’t chase away anything. He’d have to go back to an empty house, and sleep in an empty bed. And tomorrow it would start all over again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  FAITH WAS DEEPLY asleep, but then she wasn’t. Her eyes snapped open in the darkness of her bedroom. She held her breath. She didn’t know if she’d heard a sound, or if something else stirred her awake. She waited for it to happen again. She didn’t breathe until she saw flecks of light in her vision. Nothing disturbed the silence.

  She wanted to sit up in bed, but she was afraid to. She lay on her side facing the wall with her back to the window. The blinds were closed and it was almost entirely dark, even though there was a security lamp outside, which cast a brilliant cone of illumination on the end of the building.

  Minutes passed. A metallic click came from the hallway and Faith flinched. She waited. It was the noise of the thermostat switching off the air-conditioning. It took time for her heartbeat to steady.

  She had to get up.

  When she rose, she did so abruptly, springing upright and throwing back the sheets in the same motion. Cool air played over her bare legs. She wore a long nightshirt with a MIAMI HEAT logo printed on the front. She was naked underneath.

  The room was inky. A small amount of light bled in from the hallway. The bedroom door was half closed. She tried to remember if she had done that earlier, or if it had moved. Her heart quickened once more.

  She slid out of bed, feet alighting on the carpet. She teetered on tiptoes, settled onto her heels. Nothing leaped out at her in the darkness.

  She thought to turn on the light. She found she didn’t want to give any sign that she was awake. She stole across the bedroom to the window and stopped there, a shadow in shadows, and put her hand against the thin plastic of the blinds. Her thumb found the edge of one slat and eased it upward. A crack of light pierced the room. She widened the gap.

  Two bushes stood outside her window. They were frosted white by the security light. The fence was beyond them. No one moved in her vision. A glance at the bedside clock said it was a little past three in the morning. Even the last-call drunks were home by now.

  The slat fell back into place. She was in the dark again. She went to the bedroom door. Her hallway lay ahead, the way dimly visible. She went down the hall, passing the empty kitchen, where no one could hide, and into the front room.

  Everything was the way she had left it at bedtime. A stack of paperwork was on the dining area table, everything tucked away into folders. The photographs of the Art Deco District on the wall were smears of light and shadow in the dark. In the front room she saw the book she’d been reading, still splayed on its face. She saw the peanut shape of her remote control. The television was slate-gray and rectangular, like a slab of cut stone.

  She stood motionless for what seemed like a long time. She made her way to the sliding glass door to her tiny patio. The blinds were like all the others, closed against the night. She felt breathless as she stood before them.

  She looked. There was no one outside. The patio was undisturbed.

  Faith turned in place. The atmosphere had changed. She felt exposed in the broader space. The thin material of the nightshirt seemed like no covering at all. She wished she’d put on a robe.

  Light shone against the blinds in the front window. It was only the lamps that lit the sidewalk and parking lot. Half the blinds were dark, the other half bright, a slash of shadow from outside and nothing else.

  She went to the window. She put her hand on the blinds and separated them. He was there.

  The scream leaped out of her throat even before the sight of him registered. Faith jerked away as if electrocuted, tripped over her own feet. She tumbled to the floor and banged her shoulder on the coffee table. Her muscles protested, days of abuse by exercise coming to call. Faith kept screaming as she clawed her way onto her feet and ran to the dining table.

  Her phone was there, plugged into a cord leading from the wall. The wire snapped as she jerked the phone from the table, one end still socketed into the bottom of the phone. She pressed her thumb to the phone’s button to read her fingerprint, failed. Tried again and failed again. She tried a third time. The phone unlocked.

  She dialed 911. The line rang. Faith stared at the front window. A shadow fell against the blinds, but she didn’t know if it was the man or something else.

  “This is 911 emergency,” a male voice said. “Police, fire, or ambulance?”

  “Police! Send me the police, please!”

  “What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “There’s a man outside my window. He wants to attack me. He’s going to break in. You have to send somebody right now!”

  “Try to stay calm. I have an address on my screen, but I want to confirm it. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  The 911 operator recited the street address. Faith gave him her apartment number. In the background of the call, she heard the faint clicking of keys. “Ma’am, I want you to know a police officer has been dispatched to your location. It’s only going to be a few minutes. Has the man outside tried to break in yet?”

  Faith shook her head. She realized the operator couldn’t see her. “No.”

  “Do you have somewhere in the apartment where you can lock yourself in?”

  “The bathroom.”

  “Okay, go there. Don’t come out until I tell you the officer is at your door. I’ll stay on the line until they arrive. You’re going to be okay.”

  Faith stumbled as she ran to the bathroom. She slammed the door and twisted the lock in the knob. It was completely dark. She put her back against the wall and slid to the floor. She felt sick to her stomach. She sobbed into the phone, “He’s going to kill me.”

  “No one’s going to kill you. Stay safe.”

  Faith held on to the phone with both hands. Her nose ran. The operator said more, but she heard none of it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CAMARO SAW NO sign of the police when she drew near Faith’s apartment. No lights flashed, no units parked on the street. Once she came to the gate and plugged in the security code, she saw a single patrol car parked with its headlights on and the driver’s-side door open. The engine still ran. Soft lights glowed inside: the blue of the computer screen and the indicators on the dash.

  She slotted her bike behind the police unit and killed the engine. The walk outside the apartment was clear of onlookers. In Camaro’s neighborhood, people would be out on the street in numbers. It was different here.

  A female cop emerged from the apartment at the same moment Camaro approached the front door. The cop stopped short and put her hand on her weapon. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of Faith’s. Is she inside?”

  The cop was white and older, and she scanned Camaro from head to boots. Her hand came away from her gun. “She said you’d be coming. Ms. Espinoza?”

  “That’s right. Is she okay?”

  The cop shrugged. The name tag on her uniform read ADAMS. She consulted a small notepad she’d taken from her breast pocket. “About two hours ago she says she was awakened by something she wasn’t su
re of. She checked the whole apartment and didn’t find anyone inside, but when she looked out the front window, there was a man. She says he’s been following her for months. Is that true?”

  “It’s what she told me.”

  “She says she doesn’t have any idea who he is. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “So there’s no secret boyfriend, or someone she’s been getting close to at work? That kind of thing?”

  Camaro looked past Adams. She didn’t see Faith. “Look, I don’t know her well. But she says she doesn’t have a boyfriend and I believe her. This guy, he’s a stranger. And nobody’s doing anything to help with him.”

  Adams put away her notepad. “Did she say that?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “We take this kind of thing seriously. A woman gets stalked, maybe the woman gets raped or beaten or killed. That’s not something we want to have happen. So if she made a report about it, someone paid attention. But there’s only so much we can do.”

  “She’s not asking for a lot.”

  “We can drive by a little more often, and we can see if the detectives can shake something loose about stalkers in the area. Unless the guy decides to announce himself, he could be anybody. That’s why we always look at ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands and people who might get the wrong idea from something she said or did.”

  “I’m going to go in,” Camaro said.

  “Sure. See if you can get her to take a pill or have a drink, because she really needs it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to drop by a few more times before my shift is up, in case I can catch the guy creeping around. Maybe he’ll come back tonight, maybe he won’t. But now you’re here, so she won’t be alone.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. And when you get a chance? Move that motorcycle. You’re blocking in the residents.”

  Adams went. Camaro passed through the open apartment door. She pressed it shut behind her and locked it. She looked around. The front room was empty, and the small dining area was too. It was possible to see the kitchen from where she stood. She saw a phone book on the dining table, still in its plastic door hanger. Pictures of Art Deco District hotels were on the wall. “Faith?” Camaro called.