Veranda had noticed her lieutenant’s athletic physique before but had figured him for a gym rat. She didn’t realize he kept in shape by cross-training with a bunch of teenagers.
Never one to shy away from conversation, tío Felipe chimed in from the meat prep area. “Richard is the one who keeps those boys in line. They have to keep their grades up, volunteer in the community, and take drug tests. He works them hard.” Felipe tossed a hunk of raw beef onto the butcher’s block. “I think he keeps them too tired to get in trouble.” His cleaver sank into the wooden surface as he spoke, severing a strip of meat. “He’s the closest thing most of them have to a father.”
The revelations came so fast she had trouble keeping up. “But Diaz investigated me six weeks ago, and he didn’t know much about my background. He didn’t even know I had a step-family.” During his intense interrogation, she’d left out certain facts. If he’d known she was lying, he would have taken her badge on the spot.
Her mother gave her a patient look. “Like I said, we lost touch with his family twenty-five years ago. That was long before I met Miguel and married him. Long before Gabriela was born.”
Something still didn’t add up. “If you haven’t spoken with him for all that time, how do you know about the South Phoenix Boys?”
Rico turned to face her, his warm brown eyes meeting hers. “Because of Chuy.”
Realization flooded through her. Chuy was Rico’s only son, and he’d been a criminal. “Did Diaz lock him up?”
“Yes.” The word came in a soft whisper.
She saw shame and anguish in her uncle’s eyes and resented Diaz more than ever. “That bastard.”
“No, mi’ja, it’s not like that.” Rico waved her comment away. “Richard went to see Chuy in prison before he got out five years ago. He wanted to help him get out of the life, but Chuy was twenty-five then. Too old to be one of the South Phoenix Boys.” Rico turned on the burner under the pot. “Richard’s old high school coach couldn’t keep up anymore, so he asked Chuy to help out with the boys. Chuy agreed, and he also talked to them about prison so they would not want to go there.”
Felipe chuckled. “I think just looking at Chuy would scare the caca out of those kids.” He shot a sheepish grin at his older brother. “Sorry Rico, but your son looks like one mean vato.”
Rico huffed out a humorless laugh. “I know.” He turned back to Veranda. “Chuy had to follow all of Richard’s rules, just like the kids. He had to volunteer in the community and show up for his parole officer’s drug testing. Richard was real tough on him because he was an adult.”
Veranda rolled her eyes. If anyone was enough of a hard-ass to tame Chuy, it would be Diaz. He had certainly put her through hell. The thought gave her pause, and she reflected back on his investigation into her actions six weeks ago. Diaz had dragged her through her story repeatedly, tightening the screws each time.
She cocked her head to one side, processing the new information. Diaz had known Chuy for years by then. He must have known she was Chuy’s cousin and could have asked him about her step-family. She was sure he hadn’t, or Chuy would have said something. Also, Diaz would have caught her in a lie and busted her down to permanent school crossings. Why had Diaz cut his investigation short?
Her lieutenant was an enigma and her family kept secrets. The game had changed and no one had given her the new rules. She didn’t like it. “How come Chuy never told me any of this?” She looked back and forth between them. “Or you guys?”
“Richard keeps the names of people in the program secret,” Rico said. “Most of them are still kids, so it’s … what is the word?” He rotated his hand in a circular motion as if flipping through a mental Rolodex. “Confidential.”
She thumped her spoon on the cutting board. “But I’m family.” She would give Chuy a piece of her mind the next time they were alone. He’d been holding out on her.
Her mother cut in. “I know, and that is why we are telling you now. You didn’t need to know before.” She regarded her daughter with suspicion. “In fact, I’m not sure why you need to know now.”
“I need to know because I still don’t understand why my lieutenant is coming to the party. He said something about a boy he’s mentoring who’s nervous about dancing. But I don’t get it. Why does Diaz need to be there for a boy who’s afraid to dance?”
Lorena’s expression cleared. “Oh, he’s talking about Joey.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “The boy is scared to dance in front of others because he was born deaf. He has never heard music before and has to feel the beat through the floor. But he really wanted to go, so Richard and Chuy practiced with him for weeks. Chuy’s girlfriend helped.”
Yet another side of her lieutenant—and her favorite cousin—she never expected. Curiosity overwhelmed her, and a question popped out before she could stop it. “What about Diaz? Does he have a wife or girlfriend?”
Lorena grew serious again. “Richard had a fiancée, but she did not like the South Phoenix Boys. I think they scared her. A few months ago, Chuy told us she made Richard choose between her and his program. He would not give up on those kids. So, she left.” Lorena’s expression became calculating as she considered her oldest daughter. “Richard would do better with a very strong woman at his side.”
“Ay, Mamá.” Veranda jutted out a hip. “Please stop whatever you’re thinking. Lieutenant Richard Diaz is the last man on earth I would ever consider.” She leveled her spoon at her mother. “And don’t you dare pull any of your tricks at the party tomorrow.”
“Fine.” Lorena’s eyes widened with feigned innocence. “If you don’t want a handsome man with a good heart and a steady job, I’m sure somebody else’s daughter will take him.”
Veranda heaved a noisy sigh. How could she explain to her mother that Diaz was an overbearing, exasperating bureaucrat who scrutinized everything she did and generally made her miserable at work? Besides, she was under his command and therefore off-limits for him. Gracias a dios for that.
Thoughts of chain-of-command jarred her memory. She laid the spoon on the counter. “When will the reception be over?”
“We should be done by eight o’clock. Why do you ask?” Lorena scowled. “You do not think to leave early, do you?”
“Not planning to.” Veranda slipped a cell phone from her pocket. “But Sergeant Jackson is in charge since Diaz and I will be at the party. I’ll give him my schedule in case he needs to reach me.”
She tapped the hours of the party and her mother’s home address onto the screen. “Don’t worry, Mamá, I’m sure nothing will come up.” She pushed SEND.
17
Veranda woke in her bed the following morning drenched in sweat. She shook her head to dissolve the image of a nightmare featuring El Matador, who waved a red cape in front of her before piercing her heart with his sword.
A long shower washed the last vestiges of the dream away. She took extra time on her hair and makeup, then dressed for Gabby’s quinceañera between phone calls from Sergeant Grigg from SAU about the upcoming practice run. Working through the details meant missing Gabby’s special service at church, but at least she would arrive in time for the reception at the family casitas.
She’d called Sergeant Jackson, and then Gabby to update them, receiving a hefty dose of guilt from her mother, who spoke loudly enough in the background for Veranda to make out the words, “always about her job,” and “better not be late to the house.” By the time she left to pick up the federales at the Hyatt, the asphalt shimmered under the midday sun.
Standing in the hotel parking lot in her dress, she popped the Tahoe’s rear door latch so the two Mexican agents could each hoist identical black duffel bags inside the cargo hold next to hers.
She put her hands on her hips, eyeing the three bags shoved together. “Luggage says a lot about a person. Some people are into Louis Vuitton.” She closed the trunk door. “Co
ps like black nylon.”
Rios grinned. “You told us to come prepared. All we need is a place to change before the practice operation tonight.” He inclined his head in her direction. “By the way, you look nice.”
Veranda had put on a bright blue dress with a hem several inches above her knees. The gauzy material skimmed her slender waist and clung to her curves, and she wondered what Mamá would think of it. She’d pinned half of her hair up and allowed the rest to flow down her back in thick waves. A pair of high-heeled silver sandals and turquoise jewelry completed the festive outfit.
She blew out a sigh. “Mamá will be thrilled to see me in a dress for a change.”
Rios did a slow perusal. “I can see why.” He seemed to reconsider his comment when Veranda raised a brow. He backpedaled. “I mean, you look muy guapa … very pretty, that is to say—”
Lopez cast a pitying look at his younger counterpart and cut in. “Where is the quinceañera to be held? Are we going to the church now?”
Grateful for the change in subject, she turned to the senior agent. “They already celebrated the Mass. I had to miss it because I’ve been on the phone with Sergeant Grigg all morning. We’re good to go.” She circled to the driver’s door and opened it. “Commander Webster will be there personally to oversee the practice op.”
Lopez shook his head as he climbed in the front passenger’s seat. “I am sorry you could not go to the church service. It is quite beautiful. I remember my daughter’s.”
Riding a fresh wave of guilt, she pictured Gabby at the altar in her beautiful gown. Veranda deeply regretted her absence at church, but at least she’d be there for the rest of the celebration. “Mamá would come after me with one of her wooden spoons if I missed the reception. It’s at the family property.”
Lopez looked intrigued. “The family property?”
The men buckled up and she drove out of the parking lot, eyes on the road as she recounted one of her favorite stories. “Many years ago, when land cost less, my relatives scraped enough money together to buy a three-acre corner lot in South Phoenix near the mountain. My mother and her five younger brothers and sisters started in one big house. Over the years, as each of my aunts and uncles got married, they built their own casita on the land. Now there are five houses surrounding a large open space where we hold gatherings.”
Lopez frowned. “You said your mother had five younger siblings. There should be six houses.”
“My tía Maria is the only one who didn’t stay in Phoenix. She moved to Sedona when she graduated from high school. She’s into astrology and takes people on guided tours to the vortex areas. Totally New Age. I doubt she’ll be at the party. We always invite her, but she never comes to town.”
Rios leaned forward to poke his head between the two front seats. “What kind of things do you celebrate at the property?”
“Weddings, funerals, holidays, birthdays…really anything. My stepfather, Miguel Gomez, built a huge pavilion with fans, a misting system, and a fire pit so we can use it year-round. He’s a licensed general
contractor and owns a construction company. My mother met him when she was selling burritos at a work site when I was in high school.”
“So, he is Gabriela’s father, but not yours?” Lopez asked.
“Yes, Gabriela’s really my half-sister, but I always call her my kid sister.” An image of Gabby’s luminous smile warmed her heart. “She sent me a text before I picked you up. Said she won’t start the reception until I get there.” Veranda glanced at her watch. She’d be a few minutes late, which—to her family—meant she’d be on time.
“Excuse me if I am too curious.” Lopez hesitated before he asked, “How did your family come to live in Phoenix?”
Veranda gave him the sanitized version she provided to everyone who asked. Only Sam knew the whole story. “Many years ago, my mother arrived from Mexico with nothing but the clothes on her back and her younger siblings. She couldn’t speak English, but she knew how to cook. She sold lunch food out of an old pickup truck and eventually opened a restaurant called Casa Cruz Cocina.” She shook her head. “Before she got the restaurant she was totally unlicensed. She’d have been toast if anyone caught her, but Mamá did what she had to back then.”
She neglected to mention certain details of her family’s first years in the US. Like the Legal Aid attorney who helped Lorena file for asylum because of what he termed “imminent danger” from Hector Villalobos. And her mother reverting to her maiden name, Cruz, to make it easier to care for her younger brothers and sisters.
Lorena had endured such pain and grief. All of it at the hands of El Lobo. But her mother, ever the survivor, had created a new life for her family. She heard the pride in her own voice as she spoke. “They built the business over thirty years and expanded it many times.” The swell of joy abruptly melted into self-recrimination, silencing her.
The restaurant had burned to the ground. Because of her. Because she had dared to challenge El Lobo, the very monster her mother had escaped. Veranda had brought the wolf back to their door.
Reverting to the present, she pulled into the long gravel driveway leading to their family grounds. Veranda found an opening wide enough to park the Tahoe among the line of cars and trucks.
She stepped down from the elevated driver’s seat, landed awkwardly on high heels, and jerked her hem down over bare thighs. She cursed under her breath as Rios took in the impromptu show.
Straightening, she led the federales toward the pavilion. A slight breeze made the Red Bird of Paradise bushes sway. A few piles of freshly turned earth showed where her mother had removed some of her beloved plants. She remembered her mother taking them to the site of the new restaurant. A symbol of survival. Of overcoming adversity. Of hope.
Another warm rush of air brought the rich aroma of exotic spices and she breathed in the scent of treasured family recipes as she stepped onto the stone floor under the enormous pavilion at the center of the casitas. A few dozen round tables, each set for six people, clustered around the area, with overflow seating on the grass. Hot pink and jet black, Gabriela’s favorite color combination, adorned every surface and stanchion.
She searched the crowd for signs of her kid sister. As her gaze roved over the throng, she realized Gabby and the honored guests would be waiting inside her mother’s house to make their grand entrance. Aware they had delayed the ceremony for her arrival, she turned toward the main house to knock on the door when Chuy jogged up to her.
“I just texted Gabby that you’re here.” He motioned toward a table near the front. “C’mon, you’re supposed to sit with me.”
She followed him over to the table trailed by Lopez and Rios, who took seats on either side of her. She mentally rolled her eyes at the protective arrangement and introduced them to Chuy. She was relieved when they didn’t comment on his appearance. Of course, that could have been because they were distracted by his girlfriend, who sashayed toward them in a skin-tight fluorescent pink mini-dress and patent leather pumps with the highest heels Veranda had ever seen.
Chuy nodded at the voluptuous bleach blonde, who sported almost as many tattoos as he did. “This is Tiffany,” he said to Lopez and Rios.
Tiffany smiled and winked at Agent Rios, whose eyes widened when she brushed against his thigh as she wiggled into the seat next to him. Certain the intimate contact hadn’t been an accident, Veranda stifled a grin. Chuy, who sat on Tiffany’s other side, either didn’t notice his girlfriend’s blatant flirtation, or didn’t care. Rios looked like he wanted to bolt. Lopez turned his laugh into a polite cough.
“Good afternoon.”
Veranda recognized the deep male voice before she turned to see Diaz standing directly behind her. Chuy abruptly rose, circled around to Diaz, and pulled him into an abrazo, pressing their chests together and thumping each other on the back. She’d have been shocked at the customary familiar greeting betwe
en Latino men if not for her mother’s story the night before. Now, the sight made her speculate about her lieutenant. What else didn’t she know?
Diaz took the last empty chair, which was between Chuy and Lopez. His ebony eyes swept the table, rested on Tiffany for a moment, then darted away when she slid her tongue seductively across her upper teeth.
Veranda hid a chuckle behind her hand, enjoying Rios and Diaz’s discomfort. It seemed Tiffany had a taste for Mexican, and this party was a veritable smorgasbord.
Rios looked up at the sky. “What is that?”
Veranda followed his gaze. An object about the size of a trash can lid with four propellers buzzed overhead.
“A drone,” Diaz said, squinting. “What’s it doing here?”
The drone circled and flew to the other side of the yard.
Chuy shrugged. “Probably one of Gabby’s friends shooting a YouTube video. Seems like everyone is putting footage of their quinceañera on the web these days.” He shook his head. “When they’re not doing cat or dog videos.”
Chuy’s comment reminded her of Gabby’s gift. She leaned across the table just as the mariachi band, in full regalia, struck up a processional tune. “Chuy,” she whispered, “where’s the puppy?”
He pointed at Tiffany. “She’s got him.”
Tiffany reached down and picked up a black leather purse. At least, Veranda thought it was a purse at first. When Tiffany turned it to one side, a tiny nose poked out through a wide fleece-lined opening. Big brown eyes and soft triangular ears followed. The bag was actually a carrier for little dogs, and the puppy seemed quite happy nestled inside.
Chuy grinned. “We put a pink bow on the carrier. Gabby gets to keep it. I also got a black leather collar for him too.” He wrinkled his pierced nose. “I just hope she doesn’t name him something like Foo-Foo.”
Phoenix Burning Page 13