Absolution: A Mortal Sins Novel

by Keri Lake

  Gordon gives one glance toward me, then back to her. “People see things. They talk. I’ll find out who did this.” And without another word, he walks off before I reach him.

  Tears glisten across Ariceli’s face, her body trembling and frail enough to collapse at any second. With some caution, I wrap my arms around her, to comfort her. “He’s upset, is all.

  “I just came to tell you … to see that you were alright, and to thank you again. And ...” She glances back toward the door, where Gordon has already exited the church. “I haven’t said anything to anyone. Not even my father. He thinks my friend drove me home that night.”

  I nod. “I appreciate that you didn’t mention me, but are you okay?”

  Her brows pinch together, and she wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t know. I keep thinking about it. Over and over.”

  “Did you tell your father it was Miguel?”

  “I couldn’t tell him anything. I wasn’t supposed to be at that party. I lied and told him my friend and I got into a fight, and I came home from the sleepover. I know it’s wrong to lie, but … please don’t say anything, Father.”

  “You have my word. But for your sake, I hope you’ll talk to someone about what happened. Don’t allow him the power to imprison your mind.”

  Lips forming a hard line, she nods and sniffs. “I won’t allow him to intimidate me. I’ll talk to someone.”

  “Good. Take care, Ariceli.” I set my hand on her shoulder and give a light squeeze, before she turns away from me, heading toward her family, who waits in the narthex.

  From my desk, I stare across the room at the crucifix on the wall, and think how dangerous a prospect it is sometimes to do what we believe is right. I’m certain Jesus wouldn’t have bashed in a teenager’s face in the name of righteousness, and to that, I owe my father for instilling a bit of the devil in my soul.

  My old man would’ve killed him. Finished him off and buried his body so deep, no one would ever know what happened to him. Much like I did with Calvin and the pedophile, whose name I can’t even remember now. He’s as much a part of the slush that’s begun to break down his body at this point. How horrible it must be to live a life so rife with evil that no one even knows you’re gone.

  A knock at the door breaks my thoughts, and I straighten in my chair, shuffling some papers around so it doesn’t look like I’ve done nothing but sit here in silence the last two hours.

  Javier peeks his head into my office “Damon?” He steps just inside, in spite of my gesture for him to take a seat. “I’ll make this quick. I have a meeting this afternoon for a quinceañera this weekend. I just wanted to let you know that Gordon asked that you stop by the hospital to pray with him and his family.”

  “Me?”

  “He specifically asked for you. He said you told him some helpful things earlier, and he apparently feels comforted by your presence. Are you able to do this for him?”

  “Yes, sure. I’m happy to pray.” For the boy whose face I smashed in with the butt of my own gun.

  Of all the awkward invitations.

  “Good. I’ll let him know.”

  It’s just after eight in the evening when I arrive at the hospital. I received the room number from Javier just before I left, and the phone number in case I got lost en route.

  Three young men with tawny skin and black hair stand outside of the room, while a small crowd gathers inside.

  Beside the bed, Gordon stares down at his grandson with tears in his eyes, but the moment he sees me, his leathery cheeks wrinkle with a smile. “Father Damon, glad you made it.”

  What I presume are family and friends step aside, allowing me to make my way toward the bed, and the moment I see Miguel laid out, his face bruised and puffy, with a tube sticking out of his nose, I know this is going to be the most excruciating thirty minutes of my life.

  An older woman with graying hair and wrinkled skin reaches across the boy and sobs something in Spanish. When I approach, she takes my hand, kissing my knuckles, as though I’m the pope himself. She rambles on through tears in Spanish, from which I can only make out mi hijo and padre.

  Gordon leans in, setting his hand on my back. “Miguel’s abuela on his momma’s side. One of those super religious types. Thinks holy water keeps the demons out, and all that.”

  “I’d like to get started, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

  I keep the prayer quick and very formal, just as I’ve performed hundreds of times before, and try not to look at the boy too much. I do my best to keep in mind the reason he’s laid out on a hospital bed right now. In fact, I wish I could explain that to his family, who fawn over him like he’s some fallen saint.

  That would surely get me killed, though.

  “Thank you for coming out, Padre. Means a lot to our family and friends.”

  “Of course. Hang in there.” A lame finale to this crap show, but I’m grateful that it’s over. Washing my hands at the sink just inside the room, I glance back toward Gordon where he’s chatting with a younger woman, and out of nowhere, voices emerge from the men outside the room.

  “Tonight. We grab the girl. Couple hours, and she’ll talk. Then we show the bitch who roughed him up how we look out for our own.”

  Shit. They’re going after Ariceli. And me, apparently, but I’m more concerned about the girl.

  “Tell Gordo we’re out. We can have this pinche maricón bagged and tagged before midnight.”

  One of the men slips behind me, and I take extra time to rinse, watching him out of the corner of my eye. When he turns back in my direction, I dry my hands off and let the trio get a headstart. Once they’re down the hall, I trail after them, my head chiding me for the plan I don’t currently have in place.

  Through the hospital and out to the parking lot, I don’t take my eyes off them, and when they finally pull out on to the main street, I maintain a few car lengths behind.

  Hopefully, I won’t end up having to pray over three more bodies, but if it comes to that, or letting Ariceli suffer whatever vengeance these stooges have in mind, I’m willing to say some not-so-heartfelt words on God’s behalf.

  The route we drive is familiar, all the way to Holdridge Street, and my mind spins with the effort to devise a quick plan. I can’t imagine they’d barge in with Ariceli’s parents there, but they’re gang members, not hitmen. By nature, they’re less stealth.

  I prepare to turn down Sapphire, surprised when they continue past. Instincts tell me to park my car outside her house and watch, but maybe they’re privy to where she might be. Perhaps at a friend’s.

  The road comes to a stop at a deadend, and the first tingle hits the back of my neck when the car ahead of me turns around, facing me headon. Headlights in my rearview shine bright, drawing my attention to two more cars parked on each side of the street, blocking my ability to reverse. When more headlights flick on ahead, I realize I’m now surrounded by cars.

  Ambushed.

  For what it’s worth, I lean carefully to the side to the glovebox, and slide my gun into my lap. Keeping my shoulders straight, I work hastily below the steering wheel to check for bullets. Nowhere near enough for the slaughter that’s about to take place.

  The lights in my rearview flicker with the silhouette of someone approaching my vehicle. He bears the slow and easy stride of a man who’s won the game.

  “Hands on the steering wheel, where I can see them, Padre.” Keeping his distance, gun trained on me, he wears a smile to match the smug tone of his voice. When I don’t immediately comply, too busy calculating my odds, he shakes his head. “C’mon now. You’re not that dumb. I mean, sure, you’d probably get a nice square shot to my skull, but you’re surrounded by at least a half dozen cars, all of which hold three to four guns a piece. The odds of you surviving that are about as good as a turd cake at a fly convention.”

  I’m still calculating, even as he speaks, but one thing is now certain. “You’re El Cabro Bla
nco. The White Goat.”

  “I know you were probably expecting a little more fanfare.”

  Even if they open fire on me, filling me with lead, I could kill the man who murdered my family. The same man who murdered my half-brother.

  “I gotta admit. You were not my first suspect. I actually genuinely liked you, Padre. Breaks my heart a little to know what weasley scumbag piece of shit you turned out to be.”

  My fingers curl around the trigger of the gun in my lap. One quick shot to the head, like he said. It’d be over. I think of Val and Isabella. The justice I could give them by killing this bastard. I think of Ivy, and how I could end him before he decides to hunt her down next.

  “What do you say you put your hands on the steering wheel, like I asked, and we’ll talk. Sound fair?”

  A few more seconds, during which I’m contemplating odds that are far too complex for me to calculate in my head.

  I finally release the gun in my lap and set my hands on the steering wheel. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

  37

  IVY

  “Where were you last night?” Sergio sits on the street curb below my balcony, stuffing a cigarette between his lips. Just after ten-thirty, it’s a bit late for him to have just ended his shift, which makes me wonder if he’s been waiting on me.

  This routine of ours, these nightly chats, have become a means of keeping me sane while locked away in my little tower, but asking my whereabouts is where I draw the line.

  “None of your business.”

  “Sorry. I just looked forward to talking to you, is all.”

  “I look forward to our talks too, but I’m going to be straight with you. Not only am I about twice your age, which is a major no-no for me, I also happen to have a boyfriend.”

  Snorting, he rests his elbows on his knees and stares down toward the pavement. “You’re lying. How come I haven’t seen this boyfriend?”

  “He likes his privacy. As do I.”

  “Understood. So … what have you been up to the last couple of days?”

  “That’s basically the same question.”

  “But more clever, right?” His cheeks dimple with the grin that stretches his face.

  “Definitely.” Rolling my eyes, I take a drag of my smoke, followed by a sip of the wine I picked up on my way back from Damon’s. “If you must know, I watched a herd of refugees move through a house like they were walking through some ride at Disneyland.”

  A frown creases his brow. “Where’d you see that?”

  “None of your business, remember?” I raise my brows, trying to cap a smile. “But out of curiosity, how exactly does this whole human smuggling thing work down here? And why was a young kid acting as their tour guide?”

  “They’re actually polleritos. They take groups of people from different countries across the border.”

  “Why kids, though?”

  He shrugs and takes another drag. “Border patrol catches them, they just get sent back, so they can cross again and again, without more than a slap on the hand. Cartels let them use their drug trafficking routes for a big cut.”

  “Those poor kids. Working with cartels?”

  “Those poor kids make about two grand a day. I was gonna be one of them. Help my grandma. Go to college. I’d be set.”

  And dead.

  “Your brother smuggled people across the border.”

  His expression is introspective for a moment before he nods. “Mi hermano … he was making bank doing it. Then one day, cartels decided they didn’t want to pay him. So they killed him, instead. Gunned him down. Like he was nothing. No one.” Brows pinched, he huffs and flicks his ashes onto the street. “You’re dating that new priest in Calexico, yeah?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Same route my brother worked. Out of the church, right?”

  I avoid answering any unnecessary questions and focus on the asking. “Who runs that operation?”

  “I told you … we don’t talk about him around here. That’s how people die.”

  Pieces are starting to come together, painting a picture that churns my stomach, the more I begin to see the bigger image. “So my … friend … he went to pray for a boy who’d been badly beaten. Named Miguel.”

  He scoffs at that and shakes his head, blowing smoke into the air above him. “I only know one Miguel in Calexico, and I can’t imagine anyone praying over him.”

  “Why?”

  “His grandfather killed my brother.”

  “Who is his grandfather?”

  “You’ve asked before, many times, and I’ve told you the same answer. His name brings trouble.”

  “El Cabro Blanco.”

  His lips press to a hard line, and when he nods, my stomach sinks.

  Oh, God. Damon. “Where can I find him?”

  “Your priest friend should know. They’re all in it together.”

  “No, Damon is here to track him down. He’s not here to work for him. He wants to kill him, which is fucking crazy, from the sounds of it.”

  “Real fucking crazy. In fact, it sounds like your friend already lost his mind. Oh, well, too bad.”

  “This is serious, Sergio. I need you to tell me where to find this El Cabro Blanco.”

  “I don’t know where he lives. But last I checked, there were still two priests at that church, right?”

  “Right.” I glance at my watch, noting that it’s almost eleven. “I still have time to catch the bus.” If I’m lucky, I’ll catch the priest, though if he’s anything like Ruiz, he’s already snoozing away at this hour.

  “Catch the bus? Nah. I’ll drive you.”

  Hands on the arms of my chair, ready to dart inside, I frown. “You drive?”

  “What do you think I am? Yes, I drive. I know how to read the signs, too.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t drive much. Guess I assume everyone’s as weird as I am.” Scrambling up from my chair, I accidentally knock it backward, making a clamor that skates down my nerves. “I’ll grab my things and meet you downstairs.”

  “Yeah, don’t make so much noise, huh? You gonna wake up the neighborhood.”

  Killing the lights, Sergio pulls alongside the curb in the back of Our Lady of Guadalupe. To keep from being too hasty about this, Sergio and I start with the rectory, climbing in through the same, damn, cracked window I broke into before, and we search every room for any sign of Damon. A single clue as to where he might be.

  There’s nothing. The house is meticulous and eerily silent.

  We head back down the sidewalk, toward the church, and through the glass door of the offices at the rear of the building, I can see one light still on.

  I’m hoping it’s the other priest.

  “Hang on a second.”Sergio stops at his car on the way, swinging the passenger door open, and rifles beneath the seat, from where he pulls a gun.

  Eyes wide, I shake my head and set my hand on his arm. “Are you crazy? What are you going to do, shoot a priest?”

  “He could be one of them, you don’t know. They could all be in there, too.”

  A quick glimpse of the office shows it’s mostly empty. “I think we’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not taking chances. You don’t know these guys, Ivy. They’re tricky.”

  “Okay, well, do you have something a little less … killy, and maybe just intimidating?”

  He looks thoughtful for a moment and huffs, before stuffing the gun back beneath the seat. Out of the vehicle, he rounds to the back and opens the trunk. With reluctance, I follow him, thinking he’s going to pull a crowbar, or something.

  Instead, he points to a box and holds up an object that looks like a small stick of dynamite.

  “What is this?”

  “M-eighty. He gives us trouble? We light it and stuff it down his pants.”

  “A firework?”

  “Yeah. What do you think? He’s just gonna come out and tell you where to find El Cabro Blanco? You’ll need to coax him a little. You can blow a man’s
junk clean off with one of these things.”

  Waving a hand in the air, I shake my head. “Whatever. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, and I can just erase the visuals.”

  Sergio follows behind, stuffing two M-eighties into his pocket.

  “Do you even have a lighter?” I whisper over my shoulder, still repulsed at the image of a man’s exploded crotch.

  With a smug grin, he holds up his Zippo, and I roll my eyes, remembering the kid smokes.

  “Let me do the talking, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, baby.”

  “Don’t call me baby, either.”

  “Whatever you say, mamacita.”

  Stopping mid-stride, I spin around, hands on my hips. “I have a lighter, too. Keep it up, and I’ll set your damn pants on fire.”

  Tongue sweeping over his lips, he wears the kind of expression that tells me he found something sexual in that remark.

  “Don’t test me.” Spinning back around, I head toward the entry door of the church’s back offices and knock. There’s no movement at first, so I knock again, while reaching inside my pocket to power down my cellphone.

  A man peeks his head out of the office, wearing the frown of a person who shouldn’t commit his life to serving the people, if he doesn’t like to bothered so much.

  Plastering on the sweetest smile I can, I wave like an airhead and gesture a telephone at my ear. I can damn near hear the groan in his throat, as he steps out of his office and strides toward the main entrance, before unlocking it.

  “Can I help you?” His eyes bounce from me to Sergio, and back to me.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but my phone died?” I hold it up for him to see the black screen. “And my brother’s car broke down about two blocks away. Can we use your phone?”

  Brows pinched together, he regards me like a man who’s been duped before. “You couldn’t stop by one of the many houses between here and two blocks away?”

  So much for charity, asshole. “I guess I just thought a church would be the safest bet. We won’t take up too much time.”