I land on a photo of Cracker smiling while giving me the middle finger as she raids a closet. It’s tempting to run to the nearest CVS, print these photos, and turn them over to Detective Thoms. The urge to do so is like being handed a piece of chocolate cake while you’re on a diet and craving sugar. But I’ve worked too hard to take a bite. If I show these photos to the police, along with everything else, I’d end up seeing Lori and Cracker spend who knows what amount of time behind bars—six, seven, eight months? Myself right along with them. And for what? For us to get out and return to our crappy lives with nothing changed? I couldn’t live with myself, knowing I was this close to nailing them for my sister’s murder, and I let it go for a crumb. No, I’m not dropping this ball until I have a perfect three-point shot lined up. I stare at Cracker’s face. You won’t be smiling when your ass is rotting away in prison.
Chapter 36
“How much is it gonna cost me?” I ask Mark Silva.
“Five hundred. Normally, it’s seven. But I got him down for you.”
“Thanks.” I hand over the keys to the Oldsmobile.
A short while later, Mark is treating me to lunch at his favorite family-owned Cuban restaurant while the mechanic at the gas station replaces my broken air-conditioner.
Mark introduces me to what he calls “the original kick-ass Cubano sandwich.” It’s a submarine-style layering of ham, roast pork, cheese, pickles, mustard, and butter placed between seven inches of sliced Cuban bread, which tastes the same to me as Italian bread. It’s pressed with a waffle grill, served warm, and it’s amazing.
“I like your watch.” Mark wipes his face clean of mustard. He reaches across the table, places his hand on mine, and turns the face of my watch toward him. “It’s dope. Where’d you get it?”
I pause and clear my throat. “Thanks. It was a Christmas present.”
“Sweet present.” He leans back into his chair and stares at me.
I take a bite of my sandwich and wash it down with soda.
“Hey, you listen to the CD?”
“Yeah, I love it,” I say, completely lying. I’ve been too busy committing crimes with his sister to listen to it, which makes me wonder where Mark has been on the nights I’ve been at his house and if he even knows what his sister is up to. “So I was at your house the other night, hanging out with your sister.”
“Oh yeah?” He takes a sip of his soda. “So what’d you guys do?” Then before I can answer, he gives his question a second thought. “You know what? Don’t tell me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if you were with my sister, you couldn’t possibly be up to anything good.”
“Oh really? What do you think we were doing?”
“Shit. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.” He fusses with his napkin.
“Well, it wasn’t anything exciting. We drove around for an hour and then ended up back at your house. It was pretty boring, actually.”
Mark nods, and it’s hard to tell if he believes me. “Cool.” He offers nothing on his whereabouts.
“So you and Lori don’t get along, do you?”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. We just don’t.”
“She’s not exactly a delicate flower.”
“That’s for damn sure. She used to beat the shit out of me growing up. But ya know, she ain’t all bad. Every once in a while, she’d do something nice, like buy me a pack of baseball cards or make me something to eat when I was hungry. Mom wasn’t around much.”
“What about your dad?”
“Nope. I’m like an orphan.” He pushes the napkin away and taps the table with his fingers.
“No relatives? Grandparents? Uncles?”
He laughs. “I don’t know. I think I have an uncle.”
I can’t imagine growing up without my grandparents. I love them. Right after Jenny’s death, though, I became so distant I stopped speaking to them. They cried every time we spoke. I couldn’t take their calls anymore. Thinking about them hurts my heart. I make a mental note to call my grandmother when I get back to the motel.
“So what about you, Cheerleader?”
“Cheerleader?” I sit up straight, giving him a look. “Don’t go calling me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I like hearing you say my name.”
He leans across the table, and his dark-brown eyes and sexy dimpled smile hypnotize me. “A’right, Ally. I won’t.”
When the check arrives, Mark pays with cash, and we head back to the gas station in his Mustang.
“Your car is spotless.” It truly is. There’s not even a speck of dirt or loose change on the floor.
“Thanks,” he says proudly then looks over at me. “Yo, what’s your favorite ice cream?”
“Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge brownie, why?”
“No reason,” he says with a secretive look.
“You gonna surprise me with ice cream?”
“Maybe.”
By the time we arrive back at the gas station, my car is ready. The mechanic hands me the keys, and I slide behind the wheel of an ice-cold car.
Mark stands by my open window. “How’s it feel?”
“So much better.”
“Cool. Well, I’ll hit you up later. I gotta work my other job all week.”
“What other job?”
“I work the night shift at a warehouse in Philadelphia. Grunt work. I clean the place.”
“You’re always working, huh?” Now I know where he has been on the nights I’ve been at his house.
“Like a dog.” He backpedals away. “Stay outta trouble, Ally.” He wags a finger at me then struts off.
I’m a few blocks from the motel when I see the old woman pushing her grocery cart along the hot sidewalk. It’s filled with groceries, and I wonder how she manages in this heat. After parking the Oldsmobile in front of my room, I double back to lend her a hand.
“Can I help you with this?” I ask in Spanish.
The old woman nods with relief, and I take over pushing her cart.
“I’m Ally,” I say, choosing not to use my real name.
“Carmela,” she says with a thick accent.
When we reach her room, I unlock the door and push the cart inside. Her room is a lot different from mine. It has a tiny living room and a kitchenette. I roll the cart past a couch and stop at a small round table and help unload the groceries. Carmela’s hands are so badly ravaged by arthritis they’re balled up into fists, but she manages to stock her shelves. We speak Spanish the entire time, and she tells me about her daughter, son, and seven grandchildren. She tells me they visit her, but I’ve never seen them.
Before I leave, I offer to take her to the grocery store anytime she likes. “Please, anytime. Just knock on my door.”
“You’re so sweet. Thank you.”
She gives me a hug, and I promise myself I’ll start visiting Carmela before I go into work at the pizzeria, even if it’s only to say hello.
As I walk to my room, I notice I have another missed call from Lea. Since arriving in Cantor, Lea has left me four or five voice mail messages—some, I haven’t even listened to. So I decide to finally call her back.
“Where the hell have you been?” Lea greets me.
“I’m in Ocean City.”
“Yeah, I heard. What the fuck?”
“How’d you hear?”
“Your dad told someone who told my dad.”
Then she launches straight into talking about herself, which today, I’m grateful for. I’m not in the mood to make up lies.
“You were right, by the way.”
“About what?”
“About Jay’s friend only liking me for a night.”
“What happened?”
“He’s an asshole! We hooked up and totally had sex. He was like, ‘I really like you. I’ll call you.’ And he never did. I called and texted him, and he never answered any of ‘em.”
“How many times did you call him?” I’m afraid to know the answer.
“I don’t know. Twice, I guess. But then I texted him like six times. I’m like, ‘Can you at least respond?’”
“And did he?”
“No. I ran into him last week at Amber’s, and he totally blew me off and hooked up with some other girl right in front of me.”
I feel bad for Lea because I know she’s hurt. “He’s a jerk, Lea. Next time, wait.” I don’t dare ask if she used protection. I hope she did.
“Hey, so any chance I can come visit you in Ocean City?” Lea asks.
I’m not sure what to say to that question, other than the truth. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I may not be staying much longer.”
“Fine. Well, hurry up and come back. You sound good, by the way.”
I’m tempted to tell Lea the truth, but I know if I do, she’ll freak out and beg me to come home, or she’ll threaten to call my dad. And on the slight chance I could convince Lea not to do that, she’d just worry about me the entire time, and I don’t need that on my mind. I’m feeling enough anxiety as it is. Besides, knowing Lea, even if she promised not to tell anyone, she would never be able to keep this to herself. It would be all over Middletown. So I hang up the phone, keeping my secret a secret.
Chapter 37
“What do you think?” Ronnie asks me.
I’m sitting in a chair in her beauty school class, facing a mirror. As part of Ronnie’s final exam for graduation, she cut and colored my hair for free. She initially asked Cracker, who refused. So here I am, happy to have been asked.
“You got skills, Rodriguez!”
Ronnie has mad talent. Even with my dark eyebrows, she makes me look like a natural blonde. Her teacher inspects my hair, running her fingers through it. “Good job, Ronnie.” She makes a note in a book before moving on to the next student.
I snap a picture of my hair, tag Ronnie in the photo, and post it on Instagram. #hair #onfleek #workingit #friends.
I slip Ronnie a twenty when the teacher isn’t looking and head out the door with plans to see her and the others later.
“This shit feels real.” Cracker touches a brunette wig fastened to a Styrofoam head. It’s around six o’clock, and we’re all together at the pizzeria. Ronnie is showing Cracker and Lori the wig she purchased for practicing cutting hair.
“It is real—it’s a hundred dollars real. So stop touching it,” Ronnie says.
Cracker promptly removes her hand. “Eww. This is someone’s real hair? That’s nasty!”
Natice examines the wig and snatches the Styrofoam head off the table. “Cracker, go long!”
“Hey!” Ronnie throws up her hands to block the pass.
But she’s too late. Cracker catches the Styrofoam head. The wig remains firmly attached, its dark hair bouncing up and down as Cracker and Natice toss the Styrofoam head back and forth over Ronnie’s head, playing a game of Monkey in the Middle.
“C’mon, y’all! Give it back! I ain’t playing. That shit’s expensive!” Ronnie chases after it as Cracker chucks the head to Lori, who tosses it to me. “Yo, Ally. C’mon!” Ronnie waves her hands in the air, trying to block my pass.
I throw it to Natice.
“C’mon, yo! Give it back!”
Finally, the Styrofoam head drops out of Natice’s hands, and the wig falls off. Ronnie dives on top of it, trapping it underneath her body. We bust up laughing.
“Dammit, you guys!” Ronnie stands with the mangled wig in her hands. She untangles the hair and places it back on top of the Styrofoam head. “Chanel, you all right, girl?”
“Chanel?” Cracker scrunches her face as if she just smelled something bad.
“Yeah, I gave her a name,” Ronnie replies.
My cell phone rings, and I answer the call, laughing. “Hello?”
“Yo, it’s Mark. What you up to?”
“Nothing much. Working.”
“You working on Sunday?”
“No, why?”
“How ‘bout you come over, and we watch Rocky?”
“In your bedroom? What happened to showing me Jersey?”
He laughs. “Yo, I promise to behave myself. Have you ever seen it?”
“I saw half of it once on TV.”
“Half of it? You gotta see the whole thing. You gotta.”
If it had been any other boy, I never would have agreed to watch a movie in his bedroom, but because it’s Mark, I’m more than happy to have time alone with him. “Fine, but you gotta promise to keep your sensitive hands off my heat.”
He laughs. “Yo, I promise.”
We pick a time, and I click off the phone. I head to the front counter, biting my lip and walking on the tips of my toes.
“Ally has a date! Ally has a date!” Natice teases. Her expression changes.
I follow her stare out the window as a Ford Taurus pulls up in front of the pizzeria, and Detective Thoms steps out from behind the wheel. Another man—younger, Latino—gets out on the passenger side.
Natice hurries around the counter. “Lori! Thoms is here!” she yells to the back.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Just some asshole cop.” Natice nervously watches the door as Thoms and his partner approach.
She’s not the only one who’s nervous. I only have seconds to get out from behind that counter before I’m seen. “Be right back. I have to take a leak.”
I’m not a second too soon as the door opens, and Detective Thoms’s familiar voice is behind me. “Hello, Natice.”
I hurry into the back room and, not seeing Cracker, I bump into her. “Watch it!” she yells.
“Sorry.” I quickly step around her and escape into the bathroom.
Cracker stares after me, annoyed. She moves next to Lori. “Why you think he’s here?”
“Who the fuck knows?” I hear Lori say from behind the door.
I crack open the bathroom door and peer out just as Detective Thoms walks past. He is dressed exactly the same as the last time I saw him, right down to his dark-blue button-down shirt.
“Hi, girls.”
“What up, Detective T?” Ronnie says.
“You look like you lost a little weight, Ronnie,” Detective Thoms tells her.
Ronnie proudly holds her stomach. “I’ve been runnin’ and shit. You know.”
Thoms smiles and turns to Cracker. “Cynthia, how are you?”
“Oh, I’m fantastic,” Cracker says in a sarcastic voice.
Lori smirks but remains quiet.
“Hey, Detective Thoms, how come you never brought this fine piece of Latino meat in here with you before?” Ronnie says, referring to his partner, who is much better dressed in a suit and tie.
Thoms’s partner smiles without saying a word.
“Girls, this is Detective Moreno. I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of him.”
“I hope so because he’s fine,” Ronnie says in Spanish.
“I’d beat it.” Lori laughs.
“Keeping out of trouble, Lori?” Thoms asks.
“If I were in trouble, you’d know it. Wouldn’t you?”
“No new car, yet, huh?”
“Nah. Insurance didn’t pay much.”
“Oh, by the way, Detective Moreno ran into your mother not too long ago,” Thoms says. “When was that, Moreno?”
“Six, maybe seven weeks ago,” Moreno says matter-of-factly.
“She had a little trouble coming up with the bail money,” Thoms remarks. “She may not be home for a while.”
“Tha’s a shame. I guess I won’t be throwing her
a welcome-home party. I’ll jus’ have the house all to myself,” Lori says.
“I guess you will.” Thoms faces Moreno. “Did you know I went to school with Lori’s mom?”
“I didn’t know that,” Moreno responds.
“Yeah, she had Lori when she was, what… fifteen? Sixteen?” Thoms turns to Lori for a reaction. But there is none. “I remember her mother would come to school wearing these skirts that barely covered her ass. She started tricking pretty early. Made good money too. Anyway, no one ever knew who Lori’s father was. Shit, I was even worried for a while.” He laughs, but again, Lori doesn’t bite. “How’s your brother?”
“He’s great. Probably at home watching TV.” Lori smiles sarcastically.
Thoms returns the smile. Then he gets close into Lori’s face, and his tone changes. “Don’t worry, Lori. Something will turn up. And when it does—just like your mother—I’ll nail your fucking ass.”
“Sounds like fun,” Lori says.
“Stay out of trouble, girls,” Thoms says to the others. He leaves with his younger partner trailing after him.
I wait another minute or two before I come out of the bathroom. Natice has just walked back from the front. She approaches Lori, who for the first time ever, looks upset. We all know Thoms hit a deep wound. Natice told me early on that Lori had once stabbed a kid in her class with a fork because he called her mother a prostitute. She was only twelve.
“Forget him, Lori. He’s an asshole,” Natice says.
“I swear to God, one of these days I’m gonna fucking kill him. I’ll shoot him myself,” Lori says.
“We should do it! Let’s find out where he lives!” Cracker says.
“Yo, I want nothing to do with that.” Ronnie walks away.
“Don’t be stupid, Cracker,” Natice says.
“Why’s that stupid?”
“You’re gonna shoot a fuckin’ cop, now?” Natice says.
Girl on Point Page 18