The Parker Trilogy

by Tony Faggioli

  “Not much,” Hector said. “Jus’ checking out the new digs.”

  The men laughed.

  “Where you from?”

  The age-old question asked by the very first gang member who ever walked the earth of the second gang member he ever encountered. Just a simple question that could just as simply get you killed. Hector balled up his fists in the pockets of his prison-issued jacket, just in case it was about to go off. “East Los, Fresno Street Vatos.”

  Silence for a few seconds. The bald man replied, “Twelth Street. San Diego. My name’s Philippe. This is Reverb, Sleepyeye, Ocho and Juan. All SD or SD-affiliated.”

  Fellow Southerners. “We good?” Hector asked, still not sure after his run-in with Raul earlier.

  “You still standing, ain’t ya?” Ocho sniggered. He was painfully skinny, with wounded eyes that had large bags under them.

  Hector did not unclench his fists. Better to be safe than sorry. But Ocho was right: with a six-to-one advantage, if there were any issues, there would be no need for them to be coy about it. They could jump him and whip his ass without even thinking about it. “Lots of eyes, huh?”

  The other men nodded. “Everywhere,” Juan added. But that was all he said. His voice was soft and his look unbalanced, like maybe he was trying very hard to hide the fact that he was more than a little crazy.

  “Three towers, each side of the yard. Twelve guards around the circumference of the main lawn. But they’re just for show,” Phillipe spat, contempt in his voice.

  Hector kicked at the dirt. “How so?”

  “The tower guys got a boner to use their scopes. They gonna shoot you down long before their buddies have to roll up in here.”

  “We can turn on each other all we want in here,” Ocho added, looking up at one of the towers. “They take bets on the outcomes, even set up some of the fights.”

  Reverb finally spoke, his voice deep and fitting for his large frame and wide shoulders. “But get near a guard, and well, this place has a rep for coming up with excuses for sending someone to the morgue.”

  A moment of quiet came over them.

  “Your first time in?” Phillipe probed.

  “No. Third. Other two times were county, though.”

  “Triple-A league,” Phillipe said with a laugh. “Welcome to the big leagues, son.”

  The sun had finally tilted its way high enough into the sky to banish most of the shadows from the yard. What grass there was looked greener and the dirt patches looked browner. Other than that? Nothing changed. The chain link fencing all around them was still a dull and depressing shade of gray. The air was full of chatter between the other inmates, curse words and guffaws being tossed back and forth like hand grenades.

  Some were shooting hoops on a paved court nearby with stark metal rims. No nets or chains to catch the ball here. The latter could be used as a weapon against someone and the former to hang yourself with when you’d had enough.

  The occasional sound of metal clinked into the air as someone finished a set of reps on one of the workout benches across from the basketball courts. The black inmates had the gym area now, their shirts off and their muscles contracting with their efforts. A group of them had to be getting steroids from the outside, because even though everyone knew that prison could get you in the best shape of your life, their muscles were beyond huge. One of the group, with a shaved head and small ears, was eying Hector intently. Not wanting to provoke him, Hector immediately looked away.

  Phillipe evidently saw it and chuckled. “Machismo? Yes. Estupido? No.”

  “Qué pasa, jefe?” Ocho asked with smile.

  And Hector suddenly remembered when he used to be called that. Jefe. Boss. By Bennie and Chico and the rest of his crew. No more. Just like that, he was back down the pecking order, all the way to the bottom.

  Phillipe motioned at Hector. “Our new lil homie here. He’s settling in, but he ain’t dumb. Booker just looked him off. Cold.”

  All of them looked at Hector but only Sleepyeye, who still hadn’t said a word, was smiling.

  Hector knew the game: never show weakness, that was the rule. He shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. “Shit, man. I ain’t no fool. Cuz got arms like a rhino . . . snap me in half any day. I mean”—and he looked at each of them, slowly from left to right, as he paused for effect—“any day he see me coming.”

  Sleepyeye’s smile turned into a snigger. Reverb followed, before they all joined in. “That’s right, lil homie,” Phillipe said. “Cada perro tiene su día.”

  “Yessir!” Juan laughed too hard. “Every dog has his day, baby.”

  That was when Hector realized Juan was high. Probably meth, maybe acid. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Hector had no doubt that Juan was bat-shit crazy, even when he was stone-cold sober.

  “What you in for?” Juan asked.

  So, it was time for credentials to be checked. Fine. Hector had rehearsed his answer. “Shot a fool in the face for hitting on my girl,” he lied, because if he told them that he shot a guy that had stolen and banged his woman? Well . . . he was done for. No real man got cheated on. His woman wouldn’t dare disgrace him like that.

  “Hmm. Murder one,” Phillipe said with a deep nod, like a proud uncle.

  Hector looked at Juan and verbally pushed back. “You?”

  Crazy Juan’s face tightened and his lips went tight before he shrugged. “Raped my lil cousin. She was fourteen, but she was ready. She wanted it.” His face loosened as his eyes went to look around at the memory. Then he was back. “Told the bitch not to tell. She did. So I raped her again, all weekend long actually, once I was out on bail.”

  The air grew still before, as per gangster etiquette, the rest offered up their crimes. Phillipe had murdered two rival gang members in cold blood outside a shawarma restaurant by Howe Park. Reverb was in for kidnapping and manslaughter after a carjacking gone wrong. He was then involved in gang activities at another prison and shipped here. Sleepyeye had followed a jeweler home from his shop in downtown Sacramento and murdered him in his driveway when the man had refused to surrender his briefcase full of gems and diamonds. Ocho had been busted driving a semi loaded with enough pure cocaine to get the state of Texas high. “Odds and all,” Ocho said. “I made that run a dozen times at 10k each time, right in my pocket.” He also was a transfer to Corcoran after he’d viciously assaulted another inmate in Folsom Prison for taking his cafeteria brownie off his lunch tray.

  When they were done no one said anything for a while. Someone shouted loudly from the basketball court after hitting a half-court shot and someone else was whistling a Vicente Fernández song, “El Rey,” by the water fountain.

  Hector knew it was risky but he was getting impatient. So he mustered his courage and asked Juan, “You know a Curtis Ruvelcaba?”

  All of them froze. With a squint, Juan replied, “Yeah. What if we do? What business you got with Curtis?”

  Oh, boy. If only you knew, Hector thought.

  Instead, he answered, “We go way back. In a good way. If you can get word to him that Hector Villarosa is here, I’d really appreciate it.”

  Again, Juan looked at him hard. But this time it was like a jealous uncle, not a proud one. “I bet you would,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Parker drove as Trudy yelled. “Why on God’s earth would you even think of doing this?”

  He shook his head slowly and changed lanes before he answered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “That’s all you got? That’s bullshit.” Her hands were shaking and her voice quivered with raw emotion. This wasn’t good for her in her current state. He wanted to stop the conversation, but it was too late.

  “Trudy, look . . . I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be dismissive—”

  “Oh! You’re not? Really?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “That you’re not actually thinking of going after this madman, wherever the hell he is. Just say that. Right now.”

/>   His silence was his reply.

  “Honest to God, Evan,” she said with a deep sigh as she put her hands over her eyes. It didn’t work. Parker saw a tear race off her chin.

  He realized that he had to at least try to explain it. “Trudy. Okay. Look. This guy? He won’t stop. Can’t you see that?”

  “What?”

  “He’s crazy. He attacked the family of a cop—my girlfriend, yeah, but make no mistake about it: everyone in that squad room see you as my family. He knew that. The son of a bitch knew full well he was going to start a war by killing you. It’s nearly as bad as killing a cop. In the criminal world it’s nearly unheard of, as it causes way too much attention. The entire force comes after you, the Feds get involved . . . Like it or not, these scumbags are business people and what this idiot did is very bad for business.”

  “And?”

  “And he has bosses that won’t appreciate it. So maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll off his ass. But probably not. He has a ton of connections and has been very good for them, too. They might give him a pass because you’re ‘just’ my girlfriend. Who knows. But . . . and you need to listen to me now . . . I can’t take that chance. Do you understand?” And now he realized that he was practically shouting too, as his own emotions came racing out of him.

  “Evan—”

  “No, Trudy. No! He crossed the line. He came after someone I love. You know me, Trudy. You do, damn it! How? How could you ever think that I’d let that stand?”

  She wiped at her eyes and stayed quiet as she stared out the passenger window. Up ahead the traffic was thickening but at least they were finally reaching the outskirts of the storm. The sky was gray blotches and bloated clouds, but there was very little rain. The inside of the car felt like a two-person cocoon. Or at least it had. Now, the tension between them was so alive it felt like a third person had joined them.

  “You can’t just go after him blind and shit.”

  He laughed. “I have no intention to.”

  “I’m confused. Are you or aren’t you—”

  “Yes. I’m going after him. But not in some stupid-ass way.”

  She wrapped her sweater tight against her body. “You could be the one that ends up in jail, though. You realize that, right?”

  Again, he stayed silent.

  “You’re crazy. This whole idea is crazy. Stop it. Now. I won’t let you do this. I won’t let—”

  “He’s kidnapped his pregnant sixteen-year-old niece, Trudy, and the social worker that was trying to protect her.”

  She looked at him stunned. “That—”

  “Don’t you pretend for one second that doesn’t matter, Trudy. I’ll call you a liar, right to your face.”

  “It’s not your job to—”

  “Word is, he’s into demonic rituals. He may really just be after the baby.”

  That hit home. “Oh, God . . .” She sighed. And he was getting to know her well, too, because he knew fully that she was starting to give in. She just wasn’t willing to admit it to herself yet.

  An old, abandoned barn and a house that had mostly crumpled in on itself under the weight of its days flashed by as they drove. He briefly wondered why anyone would’ve ever wanted to move to such a desolate place as he gave the conversation a second to catch its breath. Then, he continued. “He’s run south of the border—surprise, surprise. Probably hiding in his hometown or whatever. I dunno.”

  “So . . . what? You’re going to chase all over Mexico looking for him?”

  He bit his lower lip for a second before deciding to be as honest with her as he could. “I can’t name names, for their sake, but it looks like I’m gonna get some help from someone with good intel and . . .”

  She looked at him. “And?”

  “I’ve got a friend down in Baja. We served together. He can help me on that side.”

  She stuffed her hands into the opposite sleeves of her sweater. “My God. You’re really thinking of doing this.” It was not a question. “Unbelievable.”

  “I have to.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  “I have to protect you. Because he’ll come again, Trudy. He’ll try again. Then what?”

  The road curved to the left up ahead. She seemed to be measuring her reply. “If you get hurt . . . for me . . . I can’t—”

  She was such a good person. Even now, still filled with the remnants of terror that Güero Martinez and inflicted upon her, she didn’t want it to be about her. He should’ve known this would be her position. “Fine. Then what about the girl and the baby? I have to help the girl, don’t you see? I have to help the social worker who, as far as I can tell, is one hell of a decent human being. If that’s not enough, then don’t I have to do it for the hundreds—did you hear me, Trudy?—hundreds if not thousands of women that he’s taken from their homes, from their countries, and smuggled here as sex slaves?”

  “They—” She was running out of argument, at last. He needed her to, because he needed her to be with him on this. He could not do this without knowing that he had her support.

  “This guy is a rabid dog, running the streets. Someone has to put him down,” he said softly.

  “Why? Why do you have to?” Her voice crackled with emotion.

  “Because I can. And if I can help, don’t I then have to help, Trudy? Isn’t it really as simple as that?”

  She looked to the roof of the car. “It’s not that black and white, Evan!”

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  She sighed heavily and crossed her arms. “Evan. Listen to me. You can’t do this. You’re not Jason-freaking-Bourne.”

  With that, he’d had enough. Pulling off the road, he slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a stop along an old wooden fence. Jamming the car into park, he spun and faced her. “You’re damned straight I’m not! And do you wanna know why?”

  “Why?” she screamed back at him.

  “Because Jason Bourne is some damned character in a book, Trudy. And me? I’m real. And I’m about to prove to this son of a bitch just how real I am.”

  Maggie and Luisa’s celebratory mood darkened just a few hours later, when another guy drove up in a white, dust-covered BMW. Hopping out, he began barking orders. Maggie decided to call him Moe. Suddenly, Eenie, Meenie and Miney began packing everything up in an excited fashion, happy faces all around as their time at the shack had evidently come to an end. Maggie’s heart sank. She moved closer to the shack wall to peer outside between the cracks.

  “What’s going on?” Luisa said softly from behind her. She was coming out of it more and more, brought to life by the hope they now had in their social media post.

  Maggie told her, then watched as a worried look came over Luisa’s face, her eyes squinting into the sunlight that was pouring through the small holes in the roof, her face encompassed in countless dust motes stirred up from the floor as she shuffled her feet. “Shit! What now?”

  “I dunno,” Maggie replied. Not wanting to worry Luisa, she’d suppressed her real thoughts. Well. It may be time for me to die. Dragging one person around Mexico is hard enough, no need to drag two—especially if those witches convinced Güero I’m nothing more than a distraction. And if that’s the case, isn’t this just the perfect mess? I may have to fight now, despite the very real risk of getting you or the baby injured in the process.

  The thought of fighting against such long odds provoked a shameful urge within her to just run if she got the chance. She’d already done enough for this girl she barely knew, hadn’t she? It’d be wrong to abandon her, but when doing the right thing could cost you everything, it was okay to do the next best thing, wasn’t it? Maybe if she got away, she could get help.

  But who would protect Luisa in the meantime?

  She’s sixteen. She’s just a baby, Maggie thought. A baby with a baby. You just can’t.

  Luisa startled her by grabbing her arm. “Maggie! No. This can’t be happening. We just got that message out. Where do you think they’ll take us next?
”

  “Hate to sound like a broken record, kiddo, but again, I dunno.” Maggie put an arm around Luisa’s shoulders.

  It didn’t take long for the four men to get everything together. In the process, it looked like Miney had ratted Eenie out to Moe, who looked irritated beyond measure. As he called Eenie over to him and clipped him, hard, with an open hand across his right temple, it was obvious beyond any doubt that he was the one in charge. With a guy like Güero Martinez to answer to, Maggie wasn’t so sure that was such a good position to be in, and his actions now betrayed the pressure he was under. Eenie stepped back and looked as if he was thinking of retaliating before Moe unleashed a sea of Spanish that Maggie couldn’t hope to understand. She looked at Luisa.

  “You don’t wanna know,” Luisa said, her eyes going wide and her cheeks flushing red. “It’s all bad words. He’s super pissed.”

  The panic that was starting to rise in her was temporarily offset by hope as Maggie watched the argument outside escalate. This was good. If they fought among themselves then there’d be less of them for her to fight. After originally backing off, Eenie got in Moe’s face and started shouting back. In the process, though, he didn’t notice Meenie as he came up behind him. He lunged and pinned Eenie’s arms behind his back. Miney pulled a gun and put it to Eenie’s head.

  The Spanish grew quieter, but no less intense. Then, without warning, Moe grabbed a full handful of Eenie’s crotch and began squeezing. Eenie screamed and tried to squirm away, but with his arms trapped and a gun to his temple, he didn’t have much hope. After a few seconds he reduced his screams to moans of agony before Moe finally let go. Then? More Spanish.