by Karen Diem
She inhaled. “Cancel it. Sobek just left dead animals all over my bike, so he’s after us again. You call Miguel. I’ll call the cops and Mamá when I get a chance.”
He took a ragged breath and then exhaled. “Right. Why do I have to be the one to contact Miguel?”
“Because I don’t got time to calm him down from his inevitable hissy fit. Watch your back and let him know, and I’ll call you when I’m done with the cops. Love you. Keep your gun on you.” She hung up and dialed the police.
As she waited, Zita snuck another glance over her shoulder at the remains. She shuddered, anger rising. “Great. Now I’m going to have my bike impounded again, and those poor little things had to suffer because that pendejo can’t keep his steaming pile of psychosis under control.”
***
Two hours later, Zita had just picked up a weight when she heard the series of clicks that heralded her front door being unlocked. Holding the twenty-pound barbell like a sap, she padded silently toward the front door. If that’s Sobek, he’s in for a surprise and headed back to jail once his concussion heals.
Quentin’s face, strained and tired, burst into a smile. “Zita! You’re okay.” His shoulders lost some of their tension. At the sight of him, she felt a rush of concern. He’d been avoiding her, so she hadn’t known he’d dropped fifteen pounds, a loss he couldn’t afford as he normally kept himself toned enough to please the ladies without devoting a second more to working out than necessary. Dark eyes held shadows beneath them like bruises, and his long, soulful Quechua features were haggard.
She lowered her makeshift weapon and set it aside. “Por supuesto. I’m a lot harder to catch than you or Miguel give me credit for.”
He snorted. “I give you a lot of credit. Miguel hasn’t ever recovered from when you went out on the window ledge to make friends with the pigeons. You had on your nightgown, and your hands were covered in peanut butter and bits of tortilla because you thought a sandwich would lure them to you, but you got hungry and ate most of it.” Despite his words, he moved in and hugged her.
Pain shot through her ribs at the strength of his embrace. She rolled her eyes and made a rude noise as she pushed him away, fighting the urge to gag at the strong perfume that clung to him like a cheap and jealous lover. “For the last chingado time, I was five. I’m certain it seemed like a great idea at that age. Can we let it go already?”
“No, because if we didn’t remind you of that sort of thing frequently, it might break our sacred family bond,” he said. He bumped his fist on his chest twice, the edges of a grin tugging his lips upward. “So, this is probably a stupid question, but why aren’t you packing? Miguel said you’d agreed to go away for a while.” As he scanned the room for her bag, his smile faded.
She picked up the barbell and did a few distracted lifts before setting it down. “I needed to work out more than I needed to pack. I’ve got a go bag ready that’ll do for now. You’re going too, right? Miguel said you’ll go visit Mamá?”
Quentin hugged her. “I’ll be taking time off, yes. I could use a vacation, anyway,” he said. “You take care of yourself, okay?”
“Nobody’s heard of where I’m going,” Zita started the story while hauling her oversized duffel out of the closet. “It’s just opening, so there’s no Web presence, no tour guide lists. The name of the place is—”
“Don’t tell Miguel or me,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall her.
She quirked an eyebrow, some part of her relieved she didn’t have to lie. Well, lie more. Not telling them makes this easier. “Why?”
“If he manages to catch Miguel or me, that way we can’t reveal where you’re at, other than out of the country.” Quentin wouldn’t meet her eyes, but something dark and painful shadowed his face, and for a moment, he seemed all of his years and then some.
Sobek will not lay a finger on you again if I can help it, she swore silently. Forcing her voice to be casual, she gave his arm a light punch and grinned. “You never could keep a secret. Fine. I’ll leave here for a bit. Hopefully, Miguel will find him before too long.” Or my friends and I will.
Quentin shook his head. “Miguel’s off the case. Too many personal ties, conflict of interest and all that.”
She snorted. “Like that’s ever stopped him when it comes to family?”
A smile found its way to Quentin’s face, chasing away the somber expression that seemed so strange on her normally cheerful brother. “Verdad.”
She relaxed, then remembered his behavior over the past few months. “Your books are set up, so all you should have to do is designate one of the guys to access the bank account. Tyrese maybe for that? Carlito’d be good to do estimates since he’s usually pretty close on the numbers.”
Her brother raised his eyebrows. “Tell me my business, why don’t you?”
Zita lifted her hands in the air. “What can I say? It seemed like a good idea since you’ve been neglecting work lately in favor of getting laid. I thought you might need a refresher course.”
Quentin’s voice held an edge. “That is none of your business, Zita.”
She ignored it, other than to make a mental note to be gentle. “It is when your company suffers, you look like shit, and you’re almost begging for STDs. If you don’t care about your own health, you have employees to think about, not just me but your crew too. They’ve got families to feed and babies coming up. Diapers ain’t cheap.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Butt out, Zita. I’m doing fine. A man has needs.”
She fisted both hands on her hips. “I’ve survived years without getting any. You can keep it zipped until Sobek’s caught. How long did you go between women this last time? A week?”
He evaded her eyes.
“Days?”
“That’s not the point.”
Zita gaped at him, and words spilled out, regardless of her original intentions to handle the subject delicately. “Carajo, hours? You have to cut back on the women. What if Sobek goes after them the way he did Jen because you were on a date with her? It’s not like you to endanger anybody.”
Quentin’s mouth firmed into a straight line, an expression she’d never seen on his face before. “Cállate. You don’t get to judge me.”
“Mano, I’m not judging—okay, I am, because you’re being a total man-whore—but you can’t keep going like this, putting people and their livelihoods in danger. Pues, if you get the itch and need to scratch it, just tell the skanky ladies no and go take care of business yourself. Use your fist or a blowup doll or something.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, his expression thoughtful. “I’ll handle my problem.”
Even though she’d won, trepidation ran through her. Something’s not right. “Good? You’ll head to Mamá’s?”
“No worries, Zita. I’ll hand off some responsibilities to Tyrese and Carlito, and then I’ll go. We need to keep you safe though, so I can go do stuff. Now get your bag and let’s get you out of here. Make sure you check in with Miguel periodically so he knows you’re safe.”
She narrowed her eyes but put away the barbell and grabbed her bags.
Chapter Seven
Tonight, Zita would beard the monster in his den, armed only with her courage, cast-iron stomach, and dubious diplomatic skills. She prayed that her excess of the first two would make up for her horrible deficit in the last. Or that she could at least hush the part of her brain that doubted the wisdom of her cunning plan. Well, it’s a plan, anyway. Hopefully, this will go better than my talk with Quentin. It’d be hard to go worse, she thought. The cold slap of steady drizzle reminded her that she’d prefer anywhere else in Maryland, places that weren’t experiencing near-constant rains, even while the rest of the state suffered under a drought.
Zita knocked on Andy’s door.
She knocked again harder.
When that brought no response, she resorted to slow kicks at the door and bellowing. “You know I can keep this up all night. Sooner or later, your
neighbors will notice.” I need to practice my form, so at least I’m doing something useful while I wait patiently. He’s so jumpy about nudity that he’ll have a heart attack if he’s not dressed and I pick the lock and let myself in.
Andy yanked the door open after the fifth kick. A wave of unpleasant odor and stale air swept over her as he gave Zita a sullen glare. Baggy sweats, stained with food, hung from his leanly muscled frame. His hair tumbled in a long, tangled snarl down his back and his eyes were bleary and red. Despite his dishevelment, his body tensed into what she recognized as a judo defensive stance. Had he not appeared so unkempt, she might have been more disappointed at not getting to continue practicing her kicks.
She stared at her friend, lowering her leg. Caramba, he’s defending against me when we’re not sparring? We’re practically like siblings, if siblings had no blood relationship and had bonded over excessive puking during chemotherapy. Actually, given my relationships with my brothers, I guess it’s not that surprising.
“What? Why are you here?” he growled.
Zita realized she had turned sideways to better evade an attack and forced herself to relax into a more comfortable position. I should’ve tried this sooner. His dad only left for the cruise a week and a half ago, but Andy is nasty. He needs a bath and a shave. Well, maybe not the shave. He never has enough beard for me to tell one way or the other if he ever shaves. Probably better if he doesn’t need to since his hair might wreck anything he tries to cut it with given his near-invulnerability. “Right. You’ve turned into Andy the hermit. Make that Andy the stinky hermit.” In case he missed her subtle hint, she waved a hand by her nose. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget the way you’ve been ignoring my calls and texts, but I had to come here.”
“Take a hint and go away, Z. We can hang another time.” He closed the door.
When the lock clicked, she knocked again and again and again.
He yanked it open. “What?”
“I can’t go home. Sobek visited my place, so now one of my neighbors no longer has dogs, and I have to clean blood off my bike,” she said, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m fine, but my family is freaked. I had to promise them that I would drop off the grid for a while and make it hard for him to find me. Can I crash here? The alternative is hiding at Mamá’s house with Quentin.” Once he’s safe with my mother, she’ll figure out why he’s been acting so stupid and fix him. It’s better if I’m not there to mess that up further or to distract her.
Andy snorted. “Miguel’s idea, I bet.”
The Andy Zita had known before would not have hesitated to offer her an invitation to stay, but the way he was acting… “Pues, we all know hiding at Mamá’s ain’t happening, and yes, it was his idea. I don’t think we can afford to ignore whatever Zeus, Tiffany, and their thugs are planning, and my mom would notice if Arca appeared somewhere just when I’ve gone missing. Anyway, your dad and stepmom are on that big twentieth-anniversary cruise, and since you’ve been antisocial as heck, you won’t have anyone else around here soon to risk—”
“Gee, Zita, thanks for the reminder that I have no social life and what I do have sucks,” Andy murmured. He paused. “Of course, you can be my temporary roomie. I’m surprised you’re not staying at Wyn’s? You’ve been sticking together since you patched things up.”
Zita rocked on her feet. “She left for a librarian conference in New York and has her phone turned off. While I could easily let myself in, that would be rude, plus you’re better equipped to defend yourself against a psycho than she is. I’d like to see him try his knife on you. Garm and his gang breaking into her house in August rattled her pretty hard too, and I don’t want to do that to her.”
Andy rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “And inviting yourself to stay here is polite?”
Her shoulders slumped, and she scrubbed a hand over her hair. “Seriously, mano? I’ll just go. I’ve got plenty of friends with sofas.” Somewhere. Maybe coming here was a mistake.
He was gruff. “Don’t be silly. You’re staying here.”
Zita grinned and gave him a quick hug, wrinkling her nose at his stench. “Thanks! The food’s good here, and your parents are away, so there’s no one else to hurt. You’re also the only friend I have whose sofa doesn’t smell like somebody had sex on it lately.”
Andy reddened, then grimaced. “Way to rub salt in the wound. I’m already regretting the invitation—so clearly all that time you’ve been spending with Wyn has really helped your diplomacy skills.”
“Work in progress, mano, work in progress. I think I’m getting smoother though.”
Giving himself a shake, Andy said, “So, Sobek came after you instead of running off like a regular escapee? Will your brothers be safe?”
“Miguel has been transferred to New York and is staying with another agent until he finds a place. Quentin was going to tie up some loose ends out here, then stay with Mamá. Theoretically, he’ll keep her safe, though my mother isn’t any kind of victim. The Feds think us being somewhere other than our homes should work because Sobek no longer has the resources to search for us. Since he’s an escaped prisoner on the run, they’re assuming he’s busy hiding most of the time and only coming up for short gulps of psychosis.” Zita scooted down the two steps to the driveway, grabbed her bag, and hopped back up. Por favor, Dios, let the time with Mamá help Quentin get his head on straight. He’s jumpy and has been sleeping with everything that moves, not a good combination for a Marine with a gun.
Unaware of her continuing inner monologue, he continued. “Fine. You can have my room. I’d offer you the run of Dad’s house upstairs, but I want to be able to protect you without kicking down doors.”
“Nope,” she said. “I’ll take the couch. You’re too tall to lie down on it and stretch out, while I, on the other hand, am fun-sized and will fit fine. Bet you’re regretting those late-night growth spurts now, sí?” She poked his stomach, regretting it when it felt as if she had jammed her finger into concrete.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It doesn’t seem right,” he said but did not contradict her reasoning.
Flexing her fingers, she waved them in the air. “Don’t worry about it, mano. I slept on Quentin’s couch during college. His social life was slower then, but not by much. I’ll spend most of my time sleeping in animal form, anyway. The lady in the Sunday hat who nagged us in our dreams during the knife thing is at it again, but she tends to leave me alone when I sleep as an animal. Plus, if Sobek or his goons break in here, it’s easier to wake up as a cat, and I don’t want to miss that fight.”
Andy made a face and nodded at the mention of the dreams. He studied the floor for a moment. “Fine. I’ll get you a clean pillow and blanket.”
“In case she’s been bugging you too, I brought the enchanted dream catcher Wyn made. I figured if you hang mine with yours, you might sleep better too.”
He finally stepped aside to allow her entry. “Thanks.”
Zita tromped inside, dropped her duffel bag on the sofa, and surveyed where she’d be staying. Dios save him, I understand why he didn’t want to let me in. This place is a wreck.
Before, at worst, it had shown the benign neglect common in homes where the owners had lives outside of cleaning; it had been untidy and a little dusty. Now, it was a morass of unwashed clothing, discarded wrappers, and scattered papers, with the faint scent of spoiled food beneath the layer of Andy-sweat that coated everything. Random bits of modern electronics still broke the monotony of old, worn furniture, and crooked bookcases stuffed to the brink of collapse. While the desk remained where it had been, the ancient exercise equipment had been shoved into a corner and half-buried under dust, boxes, and stacks of paper. His giant television with its strange consoles and alien remote controls was still the room’s centerpiece, but now it sat dark, surrounded by a corona of crumpled jerky and chip bags. Adorning the walls, his “cosplay” (whatever that was) costumes hung untouched by the mess, every impractical weapon and needless orname
ntation in place, including the Batman mask with the purple paracord she had used to replace a snapped string peeking out from behind it. Wait, is that a soda bottle embedded in the dark wood paneling next to the giant plastic sword? Every door was closed so she could not evaluate any of the other rooms or the staircase leading up to his father’s kitchen, but she hoped the rest of the basement was in better shape.
After closing the door behind her and locking it, Andy walked into the laundry room for the promised bedding. “I know you’re up at or before sunrise and in bed by ten most nights, but I’m keeping odd hours lately and doing a lot of raids, so…”
When he returned, Zita held up a hand to forestall whatever he was going to say, then took the pillow and blanket from him. “You know, we can work all that out after you wash up. Seriously, dude, I’ll wait. Get a shower, some clean clothes, and brush that hair.” She made a face and pinched her nose shut.
He glanced down at himself, realization dawning as if he had not noticed his state before. “Subtle, Z.”
“What’re friends for? No worries, I’ll wait out here.” She searched for a clear spot to put her armful down. “Somewhere.” While I’m aware that living for years in crappy places with bugs and rats are why my brothers and I prefer things clean, this is disgusting.
Andy spun on his heel and retreated to his bedroom, closing the door behind himself.
Her fingers itched for cleaning supplies. Zita swept a heap of clothing and crumpled papers off one couch cushion so she could put down the bedding. Almost without thinking, she opened windows to let in the sweet, rain-washed scent of the autumn outside and began tidying, piling dirty clothing into an overturned basket. Absently, she cracked her knuckles. I’ll just clean a little, as a favor. Good thing I know where everything is from helping paint the dining room.
***
An hour later, when he returned, Andy almost seemed like himself in clean jeans, a T-shirt with an incomprehensible equation on it, and sneakers. His raven hair hung down his back in a tidy braid. The odor of soap lingered around him, blending with his natural scent. The surly expression on his face was new, though. He blinked and did a double-take. “Did you… clean my living room?”