Desert Angel (11 page)

*   *   *

O
N THE SHORT TRIP
, Angel huddled in the corner of the Toyota’s rear seat, nervous and vigilant. At Rita’s, Angel was out and across the yard in an instant, scared of being seen. She threw open the front door—screamed. A lone man, arms outstretched, back to the door, had herded Rita’s children to the couch. He turned just as Angel flew at him.

Angel couldn’t hear his words but she heard her own. “Vincente!”

He caught her and kept her from knocking him over.

“What’s the matter with you?” He was gasping for breath and the children had started crying.

“Cente! Angel! What’s going on?” Rita stood wide-eyed, just inside the front door.

Angel couldn’t explain. Her own fright and rage had been too awful.

Vincente pushed Angel aside.

Rita walked toward them, softly shushing the children and opening her arms to hug Vincente. “Where’s your truck, honey? We didn’t know you were home.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the guy after you?” Vincente asked, irritated, holding Rita at arm’s length. “Kids said the sheriff’s been staying here.”

Angel could see hurt as well as anger in his face as she stepped away. Okay, not Scotty, but her heart continued to race, ignoring the relief she felt.

Rita lowered her eyes, lowered her voice. “I’m sorry,
mi ’sposa
,” she said. “I knew you would be mad. Real mad. But what would you have done if I’d called? Dropped the job. Quit and come home, right? From where? Utah? Arizona? TJ was already helping. And we need the money. There was nothing you could do ’cept worry. Right?”

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you!” Vincente said, his eyes brimming with emotion. “Not gonna happen. Not never.”

“You’re right. I know that,” Rita said, her arms out, peacemaking. “And look,
querido
, we’re all here and we’re okay, and you’ll protect us now.”

Angel could see Vincente’s muscular upper body continuing to expand and contract with each breath. Even Scotty wouldn’t want to face him. But Scotty wouldn’t have to. He’d do his damage from cover. Angel’s head throbbed and, now that she noticed, her whole body ached. She headed for the bathroom and locked the door.

She couldn’t stay in this house. Could not. She’d promised, but she wouldn’t do it. This whole day she’d felt like a target, like one of those milk bottles in a carnival booth. With enough throws, anyone eventually hits one and tumbles the stack. Being in this house would give Scotty enough throws.

When she sat on the edge of the tub her pants felt sticky. Perfect. Her period had started. Searching the towel closet and drawer for napkins gave her a momentary break from her predicament until a knock on the bathroom door startled her and she dropped the box she was holding.

“I got to go.” Jessie’s voice.

Angel guessed the recent events had scared the pee out of her. She put the supplies away and let Jessie in.

*   *   *

W
HEN
J
ESSIE AND
A
NGEL FINISHED
, they returned to the living room to find everyone on the couch. Vincente held Rita, the other two kids on their laps.

“Group hug,” Rita explained.

Angel waited till she got close. “I know what I said, but I can’t stay here.”

The kids glanced at her and burrowed their faces in their parents’ arms. Vincente watched her but didn’t speak. He wouldn’t really know what she was referring to.

“This is the only place you’re safe,” Rita said, voice still soft as if she, too, was exhausted by recent events.

“No, this is the only place
you’re
safe,” Angel countered. “Vincente and TJ can keep Scotty out of here, but all Scotty has to do is park where he can see the house and he’ll know where I am all the time. He can wait till I make a mistake.”

“No, honey,” Rita said. “We won’t let him.”

“You don’t get it,” Angel said, not sure she really understood, herself. “I’m like in jail. No, I’m penned up, like the Gomez animals. Waiting around for Scotty to come and get me.”

“If you run he’ll find you for sure,” Rita said. “We’ve talked about this. You leave, he might try to make us tell where you went.”

“Not gonna happen,” Vincente said. “We should talk about this later?” he asked, nodding toward the children.

“I’ve been crazy scared all day,” Angel said, “and I’ll feel the same way here tonight. I’ll be near, uh, like close enough to hear, but I have to find my own spot. Where I feel right. Where he can’t corner me.” Again she had water at the edge of her eyes. “Please. I have to.”

“And tomorrow?” Rita asked.

Angel knew what she meant. “I have to come and go on my own,” Angel said.

“You’ll let me and Vincente know where you are?” Rita narrowed her eyes, clearly thinking this was a bad idea.

“I promise,” Angel said.

“And tomorrow?” Rita asked again.

Angel had an impulse to cross her heart, silly when she thought about it. “I’ll be there,” she said. “School.” She hoped that was true.

18

Angel looked for the gym bag she’d found in the Dumpster a couple of days ago but couldn’t find it, guessed she dropped it when Scotty drove in. Instead she made a travel pack out of three plastic grocery bags. She jammed in a few extra clothes, some pads, tooth stuff, hairbrush, the screwdriver she’d found a few days before, the phone charger, and, last, a green liter soda bottle she’d filled with water.

While the older kids went to their room to do homework, Rita prepared dinner with Jessie’s help. Angel sat in the living room on the love seat, Vincente nearby on the couch. She would leave after the meal but she needed to think about where to stay.

“I’m not exactly blaming you, but you’re a load of trouble,” Vincente said, cutting his eyes toward her. “I get it. We’re stuck with you, but if Rita or any of my kids get hurt, you and me got a problem. Know what I mean?”

Angel knew. Better than Vincente did. She had come to know that his family was actually in more danger if she ran, but she didn’t tell him that. “I’m sorry,” she said, not able to look at him. “You know about the Gomez family? Matteo?”

“I do now,” he said, shaking his head.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I was just running.”

He kept shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe the extent of the bad fortune this girl brought.

Angel spoke her idea before she even realized she was thinking it. “I should kill myself.” Ugly, but she meant it. That would solve everything.

That got Vincente’s attention. “No. Hell, no. That’s … a big mistake!”

Angel continued to avoid looking at him.

“Rita would never forgive herself. Or me for that matter,” he said, turning, facing her squarely. “The kids would be wrecked … Bad example. Your life gets super tough? Suicide. Real bad example.” He leaned over and backhand slapped Angel on the knee. “Don’t even think it. Bad as it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Another gun.
For a number of reasons. That’s what Angel needed. Kill Scotty. And if she couldn’t? If she missed? Kill herself so he couldn’t have her.

“Forget about it.” Rita was standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

Angel could feel the heat from her stare.

“I mean it. I never want to hear that word again. Ever. For the rest of our long life.” Rita gave Angel the stern look for a few seconds more, then turned and went back in the kitchen.

Oh.
Angel had thought Rita somehow knew about the gun idea, but it was “suicide.” That’s what she heard. So. Did Vincente have a pistol she could steal?

“You want an idea?” Vincente said.

She barely heard him. “Do you fish? Hunt?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, dismissing the question. “You want an idea?”

“Where do you even hunt around here?” she asked, inching her way toward her goal.

“Scrub, ridges,” he answered, “but we’re not going hunting, so listen up.”

“Can I see your stuff?” she asked. “Like a compass? You use binocs or … or you got a scope on your gun?”

His eyebrows crinkled and she could see his puzzlement. She saw she was going too fast, maybe even in the wrong direction. He might not have a gun or, if he did, he might not keep a pistol and his rifle in the same place. Dinner. During dinner she’d excuse herself to the bathroom and search their bedroom instead. A pistol, if he owned one, would probably be near the ceiling on a closet shelf.

“Don’t be a goofball.” His confusion had morphed to anger. “You want a suggestion or not?”

She didn’t. “Sure,” she said.

“What about my tractor?”

It was her turn to be puzzled. “Tractor?”

“My truck. My truck cab has a sleeping cabin behind it. Can’t tell a person’s in there from the outside. Got a bed. Reading light. Cooler. Runs on battery. It’s parked a block over. You’re not going to find a place better’n that.”

Wow. That was a good idea. Maybe an amazing idea. Angel couldn’t have been more surprised.

“You and me, sneak out after dinner. Take a look at it. You don’t like it, no big deal,” Vincente said, rising. “I’m gonna set the table.” He left Angel alone to consider it.

She did. Along with considering whether their bedroom had more than one closet.

*   *   *

T
HE TRUCK CAB WAS ACTUALLY COZY.
And safe. And for the first time in weeks, Angel got a good night’s sleep. And toward morning, a dream.

She is alone, walking, way out in the desert. She begins to understand she is following something or someone, tracking actually, and she begins to pay attention to the ground in front of her. The tracks, depressions in the sand, are blurred, and she cannot tell whether they’re made by an animal or a person. She follows them along a dry wash, past a smoke tree, and then the prints begin climbing a ridge. She understands she will be able to see what she is following when she reaches the top and she begins to feel more and more anxious. Her sense of danger gets unbearable near the crest.

She awoke to complete darkness inside the sleeping compartment, her heart thumping like she’d been running. She lay still, going back over the dream, wondering why it had been so scary. What had she thought was over the crest of the hill? Scotty? Her mother? A dead body walking?
No.
She had to stop thinking and get out of the truck. Since she’d slept in her clothes, all she had to do was crawl out of the compartment and peek through the windshield to see whether the coast was clear.

The night before, she’d searched Rita and Vincente’s bedroom. Not a wooden box. A thick canvas bag with a drawstring. In his closet, on the highest shelf under a blanket, the first place she’d looked. Two pistols, each wrapped in an oily handkerchief. One had a long thin barrel and looked weird, almost like a squirt gun. The heavier one had a short barrel and round cylinder that held larger bullets. She’d shot that kind before at the trailer. She replaced the canvas bag, leaving the weird pistol in it, and hid the other gun behind the towels in the bathroom closet.

So now, today, she needed time to search for the bullets. She’d have to be careful since Vincente would probably be home for the weekend. She was pretty sure he stored the bullets fairly near the gun; close enough to grab if there was trouble. She bet they were in the nightstand by his pillow or in his top dresser drawer where he probably kept his underwear. She knew a thing or two about this. Since ten or eleven she’d been searching through the men’s belongings wherever her mom stayed. Like a treasure hunt. Finders keepers.

*   *   *

A
NGEL OPENED
R
ITA’S FRONT DOOR
to the cheerful buzz of children. Their mood had been quiet and watchful since the night they’d been sent to friends’ houses for safety. This morning they were teasing, arguing, chattering. Either they were glad it was the weekend or something good had happened.

Angel could hear Vincente laughing in the kitchen. When she walked in for breakfast Rita and Vincente were standing by the sink, his arms around her waist.

“What?” Angel said, coming to the table.

Rita blushed and turned out of his grasp. “TJ called,” she said. “Cops picked him up. Outside a pawnshop in south Palm Springs. Handed him over to the feds.”

“Scotty?” Angel could hardly believe it.

“Scotty. You can stop worrying.” Rita went to her side, hugged her, swung her around, and set her down. “Free … You should celebrate! We should celebrate. What would you like?”

Angel was at a loss. She knew she should be happy but really, she was stunned. Safe? Free? It was unbelievable. If that were true, what would she like to do? A rush of sadness invaded. Had her mother, her poor dumb dead mother, ever asked her how she would like to celebrate? Angel turned away quickly to keep Rita and Vincente from seeing her eyes. “I don’t know.” It came out like a croak. “Uh, what could we do?”

“Go to that place in La Quinta for a seafood dinner?” This from Vincente.

“
Aye, cabrón
,” Rita teased, “you always think with your stomach.”

“Not always,” Vincente teased back, giving Rita a look that Angel would have understood immediately if she’d been facing them.

“Okay, um, that’s an idea but with the kids eating, you’d have to sell the truck,” Rita said, smiling and shaking her head.

“Yeah, pretty ’spensive,” Vincente agreed. “How about that all-you-can-eat place? Kids free there?”

Angel quickly realized she didn’t want to cost them any more money. “We could eat an early dinner here, and after you could take me to the club, maybe an ice cream, and we could walk along the water and you could show me places you like.” Her face was dry now, and composed. She turned and faced them, smiling. “Going for a walk without looking over my back all the time.”