Shady Lady

by Ann Aguirre

  “Do you need to stop somewhere to pick up some things?”

  “No, sir. We had all our stuff in the SUV.”

  “Then I’ll drive you out there myself. Don’t worry. We’ll get Montoya soon, and you’ll be able to get back to your life.”

  Right. What life?

  “Can Shannon come?”

  “Ordinarily I’d say no, but since she was in the vehicle with you, that makes her a target as well. They might recognize her. I’ll have to take your cell phones, and if you have a computer, I need that too. I can’t risk your calling somebody and letting slip something crucial about where we’re keeping you.” He gave us what I’m sure was meant to be a reassuring look. “I know it sounds scary to be cut off like that, but you’ll be under twenty-four-hour protection, and there are books and magazines and DVDs in the house. Maybe you could look on it as a vacation.”

  “I sure appreciate this.” There was simply no way out. I’d talked myself right into protective custody. Damn it all. “Here are Jesse’s keys.”

  “Let me just tell the desk sergeant I’m leaving, and then we’ll be on our way. Come on back in for a few minutes. I’ll feel better if you stay inside.”

  “Me too,” Shannon muttered. The turn of her mouth reflected disappointment that instead of fifteen minutes of fame, we were getting hidden.

  “Can you hide your cell phone anywhere?” I whispered. Mine was too big, or I’d shove it someplace unspeakable.

  “Maybe.” And that was the only hope we had.

  Miserably, I followed Glencannon.

  Safe as Houses

  We drove out to a defunct ranch in the middle of nowhere. The place was a little run-down, and there were no cows or horses. It was dark by the time Glencannon delivered us to the officers in charge of keeping Jesse out of trouble. Now they’d added us to their burdens, and neither of them looked particularly happy about it. Still, they didn’t argue with the lieutenant.

  The first cop was a big buzz-cut-wearing bruiser named Clemsen. He looked like he had been military before going into local law enforcement; it almost always showed in stance and bearing. A guy named Rudd completed the detail; he was shorter and more easygoing. In some cases the duty cops rotated, but since Glencannon wanted as few as possible to know Jesse’s location, Clemsen and Rudd would be here for the duration of our protective custody.

  I took careful note of everything as we passed through the kitchen: old red and white linoleum floor, worn countertops. The windows were all covered, but not with blackout shades like at the cartel safe house, which I found slightly amusing. These were standard venetian blinds. The worn shag carpet started in the hall and continued into the living room, which held sagging yellow furniture.

  The two cops went back into the kitchen to talk to Glencannon. Low murmurs reached us, the unmistakable cadence of argument. I paid them no mind. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how worried I had been. But Jesse was sitting up in an easy chair, watching network TV on an old set using a pair of rabbit ears.

  Shannon went on into the bathroom. I didn’t blame her. After what we’d been through, a shower sounded heavenly. But I had other business first.

  “Corine,” Jesse breathed.

  He started to get up and then clamped a hand to his side. Still, he was stubborn enough to bust his stitches, so I went to him instead. Perching on the arm of his chair, I gave him a careful hug and rested my head against the top of his head; his hair smelled clean and lemony. He wound his arms around my waist, and a tremor shook through him.

  “You’re looking better,” I said softly.

  He raised his face, bitter-chocolate eyes searching mine. “I don’t much like wondering what’s happening with you. This emotional-silence thing sucks.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  Well, maybe I did. We’d fought about it in Kilmer, how I didn’t like him to be able to have insight about me that I hadn’t shared. How I needed privacy. And now we stood on equal ground. I couldn’t pretend to be sorry about that, only that he’d been hurt trying to protect me. I couldn’t let that happen again, no matter what.

  “I know.” Lacing his hands in my hair, he tugged my head down for a kiss. I fell into it, appreciating his warmth and gentleness. I might not love him yet, but there was something sweet and delicious like hot homemade apple pie. “So you met my mama and my dad. What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Well, I’m going to look an awful lot like him in thirty years. You’ve just glimpsed the future.”

  “He was weathered and handsome. Just like you’ll be.”

  It was certainly true. Some men got doughy as they aged; others acquired a distinguished patina of interesting lines that only made them more appealing. Jesse Saldana would fall into the latter category.

  “Hearing that, I could almost forgive what you’ve put me through.”

  “Almost.” I stood up and paced a couple steps away.

  Glencannon left; I heard the unmistakable slam of the back door. The other two cops remained in the kitchen, talking in low voices. Maybe I was just paranoid but I didn’t like the whisper of collusion.

  He smiled at me. “Joking. I’m happy you’re all right, though I’m wondering how you got the lieutenant to bring you here.”

  “It wasn’t on purpose,” I muttered. “And that’s the thing. . . .” In one quick rush, I explained the events leading up to our inclusion in his protective-custody detail. I finished with, “Jesse, I’m so sorry about your ride. The apartment was bad enough, but damn, I wreck everything of yours I touch.”

  “Come here.”

  A touch reluctant, I resumed my seat on the arm of his chair. “Okay.”

  He tilted my chin down with his fingertips so he could look me in the eyes. “The only thing that matters—the only thing—is that you’re safe, sugar. But I wish I could’ve seen some of your fancy driving. You must’ve been magnificent.”

  Right then, it caught up with me, and a shiver of reaction set in. “I don’t know about that. I just had to protect Shannon and Butch.”

  “You did great. And you did right in going to Glencannon.”

  “Well, I didn’t want this.”

  “This is probably best,” Jesse said. “The police department will handle Montoya.”

  If they did, at the very least, Escobar would refuse to pay me, despite all my time and trouble, and Montoya wouldn’t spend long enough in prison to end this mess. He’d just get out, madder and more determined than ever. Men like him almost never did hard time; they found some sucker to sacrifice and walked away clean. So if Jesse thought I planned to stay here quietly, he didn’t understand me.

  Because I knew we’d never agree, I said nothing. Instead I stroked his hair and luxuriated in his heat. He wasn’t a perfect fit; I had too much lawlessness in me. But with anybody, there would be sacrifices and compromises. I was ready to grow up.

  When Shannon got out of the bathroom, I took my turn. I made it quick. The bathroom was tiny and full of ugly, crumbling tile; the plumbing groaned throughout my shower. I got out, wrapped myself in a towel, and padded down the hall. Our things had been stacked in the last bedroom. I supposed we were expected to share, and that was fine. We wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.

  Unfortunately, we hadn’t been able to hide a cell phone. Glencannon didn’t give us the privacy, and they conducted a thorough search of our bodies and belongings. The spell books comprised my sole asset at this point. I’d passed them off as historical journals, and they left them with me. After curling up on the bed, I immediately went to work paging through my grimoires. There had to be a spell that could get me out of here. I hesitated to use sleep, because that would leave Jesse vulnerable. Likewise, I couldn’t confuse Clemsen and Rudd.

  Shannon paused in the doorway. “Are you doing what I think you are?”

  “No,” I said automatically. “Do me a favor. Keep Jesse occupied.”

  “If he could
move without pain, he’d already be in here checking on you. He knows you better than you think.”

  “Shit. Go distract him.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? Sit on his lap and call him Daddy?”

  Now, there was a disturbing image. “No, but feminine distress should work. Can you summon some tears?”

  “You owe me,” she muttered, stomping back toward the living room.

  “Any advice?” I asked Butch.

  The little dog sat perched at the top of the vermilion grimoire, watching me turn the illuminated pages. He yapped once, tail wagging.

  “Really?” Intrigued, I got out the Scrabble tiles and laid them on the bed.

  He bounced into motion and pawed them like crazy. When he finished, they read: Stay here dont die.

  I laughed softly. “One of these days, you’ve got to explain to me how you can do this stuff.”

  Butch gazed at me like that should be obvious, but right then I had other concerns. I returned to the grimoire and kept trying. I found spells to bring back a lover, for luck and health, charms to keep milk sweet and to drive away gophers.

  I sighed. “Really, Mom? Gophers?”

  “What’re you doing?” Rudd stood outside the bedroom door, peering at me.

  “Reading.”

  “We’re making frozen pizza. Would you like some?” So this was the good cop. I could easily see Clemsen playing the other role.

  “No, I’m fine.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, but it seemed irrelevant.

  “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Mutely I nodded and moved on to the blue spell book. The ones in here were complex, and required will and power, not special ingredients. At last I located one but it would affect everyone equally, everyone but me.

  Is this a good idea? Given how I’d overpowered the trust me spell, there was a good chance I’d screw it up. I had no training, and this was an advanced charm. Yet I didn’t see a better option. If I don’t get out of here, if I don’t end this, then more people will be hurt. So I’ll accept the consequences, however dire.

  Making my choice, I closed the bedroom door and spent countless moments memorizing the spell. I drew a circle around myself, infusing it with heat. This felt more natural each time I did it, though no less painful. Considering the way I’d come into my power—my mother’s power—I wasn’t surprised. A lifetime of bearing such penance prepared me for the full-body agony of casting. Once I sealed myself in, I locked the desired outcome in mind. I poured everything into the working. It had to take.

  “ ‘Forget me—forget me, my face, and my name. I was never here; we never were. Let this place feel as if I never came.’ ” As I spoke the last word, a white mist rolled outward from the circle, trickling beneath the door.

  I needed to give it time to permeate everywhere. A forget fog—it shouldn’t be permanent, but if I’d cast it correctly, none of them would remember I ought to be in the house for a while. They wouldn’t come looking for me. Since Shannon wouldn’t go to her dad’s house, then I’d hide her here with Jesse; that was best. Despite her love and loyalty, she couldn’t be with me when I faced Montoya. I wasn’t that criminally irresponsible.

  My new clothes, along with the flowered suitcase, I left behind. They would weigh me down. I put a few crucial items in my purse, including the grimoires. Now that I could use them, I’d never let them out of my sight again. Butch yapped as I unlocked the window. Sure, the locks were securely fastened, but this house had been proofed against intruders, not people inside who wanted to escape.

  “It doesn’t work on dogs, huh?”

  He barked a negative.

  “Of course not. I guess if I don’t take you, you’ll set up such a racket that it’ll bring someone to investigate while I’m making my getaway.”

  And that would be bad news, given they wouldn’t know what the hell I was doing here. They’d call Glencannon to have me arrested—and the only way I could explain it to him would be to make him think everyone here had gone crazy. While my lucky penny might lend credence to the tale, I preferred to avoid that scenario.

  So I set Butch on top of the stuff in my purse, shouldered it, hunched down, and slid over the windowsill. Pulling it down after me, I hoped Clemsen would make the rounds soon and find the window unlocked. I hated leaving them vulnerable, even so briefly, but I had to get away.

  Time to finish this.

  I trudged five miles. If not for my time in the jungle, the walk would’ve defeated me. In the car with Glencannon, I’d tracked the way I needed to go, but it didn’t seem as long, riding. After dark, in the middle of nowhere, without food or water, and a small, scared dog in my bag, this trip sucked. To his credit, Butch didn’t complain. He got down and walked part of the way, sniffing ahead of me like a wee safety patrol.

  When I saw the lights, I almost wept with relief. It was a gas station in the middle of nowhere, glowing against the dark with halogen brightness. I took note of the number painted on the building. The only car in the lot belonged to the clerk, well and good. Staying to the shadows, I crept around back; I didn’t want the cashier to see me, though I felt near-starved. I made my way to the pay phone and dialed Chuch’s cell. Thank God I know it by heart. But he might not answer if he doesn’t recognize this number. He might not be there. If Montoya has him—

  On the third ring, he picked up, rewarding my gamble. “Who’s this?”

  “Corine.”

  “Thank God, prima. Eva has been driving me crazy.”

  It wasn’t Chuch. He’s still solid. He couldn’t sound so normal if he’d rolled on me. If Montoya forced him to a terrible choice, he’d warn me; he was that kind of guy.

  “Can you come get me?”

  He didn’t waste time with questions. “Claro. Tell me where.”

  I did. “Pull along the left side of the building. I’ll come to you.”

  “Be there in twenty minutes. I trust you got quite a story to tell me.” With that, he disconnected.

  Did I ever. Butch and I huddled together in the field behind the Supermart. Each gust of wind made me jump. More than once, I checked the amulet and found it safe and dry around my neck. Good, the pendant should still be proof against detection by supernatural means. I just had to stay out of sight.

  Shadows thrown by the occasional passing car wore my nerves raw. A few people stopped at the convenience store to buy gas or smokes or whatever else they needed, milk or ice cream. For the folks who lived out here, this would be the closest store for miles.

  At last I recognized the distinctive lines of his Maverick. As requested, he pulled to the left of the store, and I used the Dumpsters as cover to slide into the passenger side. With any luck, the clerk would think Chuch had stopped to check a map or something.

  “Good to see you, prima. Saw you on the news, but it’s just not the same.” He flashed me a grin full of good-natured humor. “You talk. I’ll drive.”

  I shook my head at the wonder of his unconditional friendship. “How can you not hate me, after all I’ve cost you?”

  “You didn’t do that. Montoya did. And he’ll get his.” The ice in his voice sent a chill through me.

  It seemed best to let the subject go for now; I’d find a way to make it up to them.

  The Maverick cut through the dark while I summed up the situation. I left out the part about my casting the forget spell, but he had to know I was a fugitive from police protective custody. If he wanted to aid me thereafter, it was his choice.

  “Anyway, that’s where I am. If you prefer to drop me off somewhere—”

  “Forget it,” he said with a frown.

  “Okay. If you’re still in, then I need a new cell phone, something cheap.”

  “We’ll stop and get you hooked up.”

  We passed from the country and into the city; Chuch took me to a warren of low-slung buildings where the streets narrowed and people stood outside drinking. Salsa music thumped from somebody’s speakers. If I
hadn’t been with him, I’d have been nervous. Then again, at this point, I felt mostly numb.

  He approached a guy sitting on the trunk of a blue Dodge Dart. I wasn’t sure about the year, but I guessed late sixties to early seventies. Unlike Chuch’s cherry vehicles, this one could use some work. It showed primer and a few dings.

  The dude jumped down and clasped Chuch’s hand with an appearance of genuine welcome. Chuch had contacts all over the place, and I was grateful. I stood quiet, conscious of Butch’s interest.

  “¿Qué pasa, Ramos?”

  Ramos opened up a plastic red and white cooler, lofting a Negro Modelo. “Nada. ¿Quieres una cerveza?”

  “No, gracias. I’m here on business.”

  That actually brightened Ramos’s smile. He cracked the beer open on the fender of his car and then popped the trunk. Inside, he had a wondrous rainbow assortment of electronics. I chose a shiny blue phone, and Ramos dug a charger out of the side netting. Everything was tangled, so it took a while.

  “Good solid tech,” he told me, as if I wasn’t already sold. “You can find out your new number by calling Chuch. You, um, may get some hang-ups and wrong numbers for a while.”

  I didn’t inquire if it was stolen. I did ask, “This isn’t a contract phone, is it?”

  “No,” Ramos said. “These are prepaid. Traded or bought from people who wanted a different model. You can dial this code to check your talk time, and if you get low, just stop at a gas station and get a new card.”

  “Yeah, I know how it works. How much?”

  “Forty bucks. This is a good deal. Still charged up, and it has plenty of minutes left.” He proved it by calling up the automated line and letting me listen.

  “Does it have e-mail?”

  “Yeah. You can configure the mailbox when you mess with the settings.”

  “I’ll take it.” I paid Ramos and then followed Chuch back to the Maverick.

  We left Ramos sitting on the trunk of his car, sipping beer, glazed by the amber of distant streetlights. The dealer looked like he had nothing to do and nowhere else he’d rather be. As we drove away, I envied him.

  Chuch broke the silence a few blocks away. “Escobar’s vatos sold you out, huh?”