by Aya De León
Dulce beamed under Marisol’s words, and tears ran down her cheeks.
Marisol could feel her own eyes beginning to well up.
“Remember,” Eva said to Dulce. “Your world is full of choices now, and we’ll always be here for you.”
“Is Eva taking you to the safe house?” Marisol asked, blinking back the tears.
Dulce shook her head. “I wanna visit my grandma before I leave town.”
“Are you sure?” Marisol asked. The first mistake with a guy like Jerry was to drop your guard. Marisol would never have gotten free of her uncle if she’d underestimated him.
“My abuela’s in her nineties,” Dulce said. “If I don’t visit now, I may never see her again.”
Marisol kissed Dulce’s cheek. “Good luck, mi amor.”
Head high, Dulce strode down the busy street toward the subway.
“I worry less about them when they walk in half-dead than when they strut back out,” Eva said.
Marisol nodded. “Pretty faces and short memories.”
“How’d it go this morning with VanDyke?” Eva asked.
“He didn’t come in person,” Marisol said. “His head of security came and questioned me about the robbery. Asked what I saw, then insinuated that they might suspect me.”
“What’d you say?” Eva asked.
“I acted outraged, and what could he say to that?” Marisol recalled her exact words: “First I get tied up in a robbery. Then that asshole sends me out of his bedroom naked, and now he’s acting like I was somehow involved? Tell your boss to go fuck himself. Oh, and— not like you asked or anything—the police did recover my purse. Thanks for your concern.”
* * *
Later that day, Marisol sat in her office attempting to create a paper trail for several large sums of cash, when Serena buzzed to say that Raul Barrios was there to see her.
“Show him in,” Marisol said.
Raul had on an old-school nylon sweat suit with matching navy blue sneakers and carried an athletic bag. Marisol had the impulse to run her finger along the bag’s strap across his chest, from one broad shoulder to the opposite narrow hip. She worried she just might grab him and have him right there on her desk.
“I know you’re busy,” he said. “I just have a question about your fund-raising.”
“I really appreciate your continued interest in the clinic,” she said. “Our organization depends on the generosity of our volunteers and donors.”
“Are you sure about that?” Raul asked.
“About what?” Marisol asked.
“Maybe the organization depends on the ingenuity of its executive director,” Raul said. “I ended up consulting with Central Robbery. Maybe not all your donors are intentional.”
“What are you talking about?” Marisol asked, all the heat draining out of her.
“NYPD couldn’t find links between all those uptown burglaries,” he said. “So I started looking at the partial links.”
“Let me guess,” Marisol said with a laugh. “Several of the burglary victims were former sex workers who had come in to the clinic.”
“You know that’s not it,” Raul said. “A lot of the victims had the same IT consultant.”
“And she was a former sex worker who came to our clinic?” Marisol said.
“No, he was a guy, and the closest link they had,” Raul said.
“Just because he was a guy doesn’t mean he wasn’t a sex worker,” Marisol said.
“Not much demand for short, middle-aged balding guys.”
“Maybe it’s a fetish niche,” Marisol said.
“I went to his office,” Raul said. “And what did I see on his desk, but a photo of him and his ‘girlfriend,’ Kim.”
“You’re here accusing me of robbery because someone you met here is dating the IT guy of some of the people who got robbed?” Marisol asked. “What is that? Like, ten degrees of separation?”
“I’m here because he told me he went to parties at all of the apartments that were robbed,” he said. “I’m here because he’s an ongoing donor to your clinic at the rate of ten thousand dollars a month.”
“Are you saying he robbed those places and is donating the money to our clinic?” she asked.
“Of course not,” Raul said. “He made the money in IT and took Kim to all those parties. Kim is way too young and hot to be his girlfriend, especially when she’s obviously Jody’s girlfriend.”
“She’s not exclusive with Jody,” Marisol said.
“Obviously,” Raul said. “Because she’s a sex worker. Maybe Jody, too. I think the ten-thousand-dollar donation is paying for Kim’s services.”
“I don’t—” Marisol began.
“Were you at Jeremy VanDyke’s house the night he was robbed?” Raul asked.
Marisol’s mouth fell open.
“We know VanDyke had a date that night. Was it you? Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I know he was into you at the gala. And you said you’re not dating anyone else.”
“Whoa.” Marisol put a hand up to stop him. “What’s happening here?”
“Okay, I get it. You don’t have to say anything,” Raul said. “I’m not sure how you did it, but I know it was you. My sister always said you were a genius in math class. I never knew why you didn’t go to college.”
“Raul, you’re crazy.” She forced a laugh.
“Central Robbery was totally stumped,” he said. “Of course the cops missed it, because they didn’t recognize the guy’s girlfriend. And wasn’t she on your . . . what did you call them? Your ‘outreach team’?” He grinned. “More like ‘alternative fund-raising committee.’”
“Raul, I have to—”
“Work, I know.” He popped up from his chair. “I just came to congratulate you for becoming the stickup kid I always dreamed of being.”
He gave her a half smile, and walked out of the room, leaving Marisol stunned.
* * *
She called her team for an emergency meeting.
“We need to pull a few more jobs ASAP,” Marisol said.
“I thought VanDyke was the final one,” Tyesha said.
“We’ve hit a snag,” Marisol said. “An ex-cop is able to link the burglaries to us via Kim’s client.”
“Does he want a payoff?” Kim asked.
“Who knows what the hell he wants,” Marisol said.
“Raul?” Jody asked.
Marisol nodded. “He just—”
“Did you ever hook up with him?” Kim asked.
“Of course not. I just—he didn’t set off my cop radar. He seemed . . . genuine. I mean, I considered dating him until I learned his ex-partner was investigating our burglaries. Coño!”
“Don’t get all confused straight girl on us now, Marisol,” Jody said. “Those broad shoulders are clouding your judgment.”
“Jody, please,” Marisol said. “Me? You know how I get down: ‘Hoes before bros.’”
“Right,” Jody said. “Sorry.”
“The situation is under control,” Marisol said. “I’ve got a plan. We need to hit two or three uptown Manhattan safes, with our usual MO. Guys who can’t be linked to Kim’s client in any way. Just to muddy the waters. But we have to do the recon as quickly as we can.”
“I’ve got one,” Tyesha said. “Asshole owner of the gentlemen’s club I worked at. I used to hook up with his son. He showed me the safe to impress me.”
Jody rolled her eyes. “Rich boys and their daddy issues.”
“Do you remember enough about the apartment to set up a hit?” Marisol asked.
“Definitely,” Tyesha said.
“Count me in for revenge burglaries,” Kim said. “We could do the guy’s house my mom used to clean.”
“Didn’t they get her deported?” Tyesha asked.
“When she insisted on minimum wage,” Kim said. “Fuckers. I know that apartment like the back of my hand. All the days I spent there while my mom scrubbed the floors.”
“You sure they wouldn’
t suspect her?”
“She’s been in Korea for eight years,” Kim said. “And we have different last names. The cops would never put it together.”
“Great,” Marisol said. “We’ll look into both of those leads. Meanwhile, Tyesha and Jody, I’ll pay you each the standard escort rate to pick up wealthy guys until you find three good prospects.”
“What?” Tyesha asked. “We get to fuck whoever we want and you’ll pay us?”
“As long as they have money, and you fuck them in their apartments to scope the place for a safe.”
“How come I can’t get in on it?” Kim asked.
“Sorry,” Marisol said. “Raul already suspects you’re casing the apartments. And Tyesha and Jody, I want you disguised. Change your hair color. Dark bars. Lights low at their places. If the cops show photos later, I don’t want positive IDs, but I hope it won’t come to that. Let’s start tonight.”
“What are you gonna do about Raul?” Jody asked.
“I’ll tell you what,” Tyesha said. “Fuck his brains out. Make him think twice about turning you in.”
“Not a bad idea,” Jody said.
“Worse ways to spend an evening than with a hunk like that,” Kim said.
* * *
Later that night, while Tyesha and Jody were looking for rich guys to pick up, Marisol pulled Raul’s address from the volunteer file. No one answered his doorbell, so Kim and Marisol stood watch on either end of his block. Marisol sat at a bus shelter, and Kim huddled on the steps of a nearby building.
They’d been there a few hours, when Marisol got a two-ring signal on her phone. She quickly stepped out onto the sidewalk, carrying a pair of large shopping bags. She recognized Raul’s tall, broad-shouldered form walking toward her down the block.
“Marisol?” Raul said as he got closer. “Is that you?”
“Raul?” She pretended to squint into the gloomy evening to recognize him.
“Let me help you with those bags,” he said.
“No.” She waved him away. “The clinic is only a few blocks down.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Which is why it’s no trouble to help you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “You’re such a Boy Scout.”
“I was going for more of a supermarket Superman,” he said.
Marisol laughed. “Everybody loves a hero.”
“Or is it just brainwashing?” Raul asked. “I’m one of those guys who grew up with comic books. Big, stoic guys going around rescuing everybody.”
“And women with painted-on clothes,” Marisol added.
“Yeah,” Raul said, laughing. “And can I just say that shit was confusing for a Puerto Rican kid? My dad had this comic book collection that dated back to the late fifties. All the usual ones, Superman, Batman, but also these Robin Hood comics.”
“I bet those were worth a lot by the time you were a teenager,” Marisol said.
“They helped my folks buy their house. But don’t change the subject.”
“Which is what?” Marisol asked.
“Two subjects,” he said. “Confusing messages boys get, and how I admire you for being like Robin Hood.”
“Let’s stay with subject number one,” Marisol said.
“Well, it was weird,” Raul said. “My dad had all these American white guy heroes. Even Captain America. And we weren’t really Americans, but he had kept those comics in perfect shape. Which was like a miracle given the moisture in the air in Puerto Rico. He used special bags and mothballs and stuff. He fucking lost it when we tried to read them in the middle of winter in New York, like we were still in PR and the humidity was gonna ruin them.”
“I remember your folks being all about Puerto Rico,” Marisol said. “Like they were only here for a minute to make some cash and go back.”
“They had all this hostility toward America,” Raul said. “Those comics were the one American thing my dad really loved—other than sports. They still want me to move to PR to be closer to them.”
They stopped in front of the clinic. She opened the front door, and he set the groceries down on a chair in the lobby.
Marisol turned on a lamp, and sat on one of the couches. She motioned for him to join her.
“So, you think you’ll move to PR?” she asked.
“My life’s been here since I was two,” he said. “My job. People.”
“Anyone in particular?” she asked, moving toward him.
“Maybe,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.
Marisol had faked thousands of kisses. She knew just how to move her head and hands and body to convey excitement. But with Raul, she just sat still. Utterly still, and felt a flush of heat and desire, invisible, unexpected, and overwhelming.
He finished the kiss, and pulled back to look at her.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” he said. He reached for her hand and kept his eyes locked with hers.
Marisol cleared her throat. The kiss was nearly an out-of-body experience, and his gaze further unsettled her.
“So . . . uh . . . so, what’s next for you, Raul? You got the NYPD begging you to come back. You thinking about it?”
He shook his head. “I plan to stay strictly freelance.”
“But they want you to consult, right?” Her words felt disconnected. Like a time delay. Her mouth spoke her uncensored, anxious thoughts, and two seconds later she’d find the words she’d wanted. She meant to say, clearly, you’re a man in demand. But instead she said, “You’ve been working with them, right?”
He drew his head back from her. “What is this?”
“What is what?” she asked.
“First you’re kissing me, then you’re grilling me about the police?”
“I wasn’t—”
“No, for real,” he said. “I been trying to make a move on you for months. And you been telling me no, no, no. Then I come in here yesterday to congratulate you and suddenly, I’m irresistible?”
Before she could even piece together a response, he had stood up and stalked to the front door.
“Save your bullshit, Marisol,” he spat. “I’m not about to be played like that.”
He slammed the door behind him.
She stared after him. How had she fucked that up so badly? The kiss had been like a sucker punch. It had her too shaken up to play it right.
Now she would have to depend on her team.
* * *
Just before dawn, the four women met up at the office.
“I bagged a corporate lawyer with a Montgomery safe,” Jody said.
“I struck out,” Tyesha said. “So many guys pretending to be rich to get laid. The guy I fucked mighta had money, but no safe.”
“Let’s do these hits ASAP,” Marisol said. “We’ve got Tyesha’s old boss, the family Kim’s mom cleaned for, and this new lawyer.”
“I’m on it,” Tyesha said. “Just let me cancel my flight to LA.”
“That’s right,” Kim said. “The Oscars are tomorrow.”
The three young women looked at Marisol.
“Go catch your plane, Tyesha.”
“You sure?” she asked.
“You’re not doing the B-and-E,” Marisol said. “And you gave the full download on your old boss. Go. Just be reachable for questions.”
“I love you!” Tyesha said, and she kissed them all before she ran out of the office.
“Do we start these hits tonight?” Jody asked.
Marisol nodded. “Jody, you stand lookout. Kim, you hit Tyesha’s old boss.”
“Why not you?” Kim asked. “I only did VanDyke because you were tied up.”
“I’ll be doing one of the other jobs,” Marisol said. “It’s Saturday night; at least one of them has gotta be out. I’m hoping we can do the hits at practically the same time. Muck up the waters as much as possible.”
“Who’ll be lookout for you?” Jody asked.
“Eva,” Marisol said. “I learned my lesson.”
* * *
&n
bsp; Two days later, on Monday afternoon, Marisol met up with Jody and Kim in the office. Several piles of small bills made little crosses on the desk.
“Six thousand, four hundred twenty-three,” Kim said, confirming the count.
Marisol gathered the bills. “Neither are donors to the clinic, and two hits went down simultaneously on Saturday—”
She broke off when someone knocked at the door.
“Who is it?” Marisol asked, as Jody swept the bills off the edge of the desk into a drawer.
Kim opened the door and Tyesha waltzed in with the New York Post and a huge grin.
“Page six, motherfuckers!” she crowed and slammed the paper down on the table.
Kim found the photo right away.
Marisol leaned over her shoulder and read: “‘Rap sensation Thug Woofer on the red carpet with his lovely date, wearing Dilani Mara.’ Damn, they didn’t even give your name.”
“It was amazing!” she said. “I met Shonda Rhimes, and Taraji and Laz Alonzo and Laverne Cox.”
“So, where did he take you afterward?” Kim asked. “Did you fuck him?”
“To the Beverly Wilshire,” Tyesha said. “That was the craziest part. We didn’t fuck. He said good-bye at the hotel and went to catch a plane.”
“Marisol!” Serena yelled through the open door.
Marisol locked the desk drawer full of cash as her assistant ran into the office.
“The pimp with the gun is back!”
Chapter 22
In front of the clinic, Jerry smoldered on the sidewalk. The women inside had run to the windows, twenty sets of eyes peering out at the street. His Hummer was parked at a hydrant.
“Where’s the head bitch in charge?” he had said. “The executive director bitch. Marisol Rivera.”
Eva stepped outside the door and leaned on her cane. “She’s busy,” Eva said.
Jerry fired into the air. “I’ll wait.”
Eva flinched, but set her jaw and stood ramrod straight.
Lower Manhattan traffic breezed by, oblivious.
Marisol stepped out and stood next to Eva.
“What do you want?” Marisol asked, arms folded across her chest. She kept a good five feet between herself and Jerry’s thick arms and scowling, stubbly face. Jerry had sweat stains underneath the armpits of his designer warm-up jacket. She could see a light sheen on his forehead, even in the cold midday air.