Ditch Rider (17 page)

The phone at the Hamel Law Office rang several times on Monday. One hang-up, one wrong number. Someone wanting to buy a house. Someone else hoping to get a divorce. A man trying to sell me a credit card. A woman selling long-lasting lightbulbs for the handicapped, bulbs that could outlive me.

Ignoring my advice, Anna opened the door for the mailman, a messenger, a guy with a shopping cart who was looking for a handout and her friend Anita. I was beginning to think that whoever I'd called had let the batteries run down or was not interested in talking to a lawyer. Around five Anna buzzed and said there was a good-looking guy at the door.

“Yours or mine?” I asked. It was the time of day when the Kid and her current boyfriend were liable to show up.

“Neither,” she said.

“I'll be right out,” I replied.

But by the time I got there Anna had let the guy in. He had pale eyes and delicate features. He wore a black baseball hat turned backward, a black t-shirt and jeans that were only semi-baggy. As far as I could tell, he wasn't carrying a weapon, and he didn't look gang today, which cut some slack for Anna. Still, if it had been me I wouldn't have opened the door.

“Hey,” Nolo Serrano said. “You beeped me.”

“That's right,” I said.

“I had to be downtown today, so I came over.” The expression on his mobile face shifted rapidly from amusement to concern. “Cheyanne's not having trouble in the D Home, is she?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How'd you get my pager number?”

“It was on Cheyanne's beeper the night she was assaulted. You asked her to meet you at the ditch at ten.”

“
Hey.” He tapped his beeper and laughed. “You got these things all figured out.”

“Did Cheyanne meet you that night?”

“Sure did.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to tell her that Ron Cade was looking to jump her.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“I think he was afraid his alibi wasn't gonna hold up. Everybody but the APD knew that Henry O'Brien was a crackhead. I tried to warn Cheyanne about Cade, but she wouldn't believe me. She was crazy about that guy, you know, but man, after what he did to her.” He shook his head. “What a buster. She shouldn't be takin' his rap for him. But I'm lookin' out for her, so she'll be all right now.” His expression had turned serious, but his eyes still danced. “I hear the alibi didn't hold up.”

“Where'd you hear that?” I asked.

“On the street. News gets out.” He tapped his beeper. “Those cops should do their job, man, or we're gonna have to do it for 'em.”

“Stay out of it,” I warned.

“Can't do that. Juan was my homeboy.” His beeper gave him a buzz. He looked at the message, which could have been a drug deal, an assignation or a gang command. I didn't think it was from Mom. “Gotta go, man,” he said. “Gotta go. You tell Cheyanne everything's cool, not to worry. And you … you're lookin' good.” He smiled at Anna.

Anna laughed. “I bet the girls are crazy about him,” she said when Nolo had danced out the doorway. “He's pretty cute.”

“The cuter they are the more trouble they are.” It's a lesson women are always willing to forget. “He's a gangbanger.”

“He wasn't wearing the clothes.”

“Maybe because he came downtown on business.”

“Is he really looking out for Cheyanne?”

“He says he is.”

“Nothing's happened to her yet, has it?”

“No.”

“Could be he has a heart. Not everybody in a gang is a monster.”

It was the kind of thing some guys could make you want to believe.

Anna looked at her watch. “Quitting time,” she said, putting her red pepper spray back in her purse. “See you
mañana.
”

Shortly after she left, I locked up and went home myself. The office had the locks and burglar
bars
to keep it safe; besides, we had nothing to steal.

******

The Kid went to bed early. I stayed up watching late-night comedy and chasing the questions that buzzed around my head like flies drawn to a lightbulb. Had either of the girls I knew been dumb enough to have fallen for Ron Cade or Nolo Serrano? That Cheyanne loved or feared Cade were premises I'd heard before. All I'd seen from Patricia was contempt for both of them. I didn't suspect either girl of falling for Alfredo Lobato, but he was a key player now that Ron Cade's alibi had disintegrated. Still, a phony alibi didn't prove Cade had pulled the trigger. He could have concocted a story because he'd been involved in some other crime or just to get the police and the Four O's off his back. Ron Cade might have beeped my client the night she was assaulted, but the number Danny locked in had been Nolo Serrano's.

I needed a cigarette, so I got dressed, went out to the car and lit up. Since I was already in my vehicle, it was only a flick of the wrist to turn on the ignition and set it in motion. I contemplated a drive across the Sandia Pueblo, but the Nissan had a mind of its own. It was drawn to Pino like a magnet to a refrigerator. Ignoring Grandmother Padilla's and the Kid's advice, I let it pull me down Rosa and onto Lobato's street. It was late and the streets were empty. The lights were on at 347, the blinds closed and a
muy suave,
red and white, Fast Five Chevy convertible was parked in the driveway. It was a candyman's car, clean, sparkling, polished. Except for the omnipresent thump of a backbeat, the street was quiet. Everybody was either drinking, drugging or sleeping. I didn't linger; I'd seen what I wanted to see. Maybe even what I'd expected to see.

On the way home I smoked another cigarette thinking about what had turned a wannabe into a homeboy. I parked the car in the garage, shut the door, then stood outside and let the wind blow the smoke from my hair. One thing you can count on in Albuquerque is the wind. I crawled into bed, curled up behind the Kid and fell asleep.

******

A few hours later the sun beaming through the skylight woke me up. In the morning the red and white Chevy that had seemed so significant the night before seemed more like a mirage or a dream. It proved that Nolo and Alfredo knew each other, but that was to be expected; they belonged to the same gang.

The Kid was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. “Did you go out last night?” he asked me.

“How'd you know that?”

“I woke up. You weren't there. Your car was gone.”

“
I went by Lobato's house again. A red and white Fast Five Chevy was parked outside.”

“A convertible?
Muy suave
?”

“Yup.”

“Nolo Serrano's.”

“I figured.”

“You should stay away from those guys, chiquita. They think nothing of taking your breath away.”

“Excuse me?” I'd been reaching for the Mr. Coffee but put my empty cup down on the counter. “What did you say?”

“Take your breath away. That's what they say when they are going to kill somebody.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Did somebody say that to you?”

“No. That's what Patricia said in court to Nolo Serrano. I thought she was flirting.”

“Does she know what it means?”

“Probably.”

“You think she would try to kill him?”

“I hope not.”

“Why would she want to?”

“Maybe because he's the one who put her best friend in jail.” It could explain what connected the
muy feo
and the
muy suave.
“And those girls have sworn a blood oath to look out for each other.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Talk to her.” It was the only weapon I had, but I doubted it would be good enough.

20

T
HAT AFTERNOON
I left work early and drove down Candelaria to Valley High School, home of the Vikings. How the Vikings had left their name in the Rio Grande valley was a mystery to me, unless they'd sailed their ships up the river as some people believe the Phoenicians had done. Sitting in my car waiting for school to let out I could have been a parent, I could have been a PI, I could have been a pervert. My quarry might see me as an annoyance or a threat, but I preferred to think of myself as a person seeking the truth. There was a lot of activity outside Valley High, a lot of kids driving away in cars that were newer and more
suave
than mine. While I waited the boys' track team came out of the gym and ran across the parking lot. When they reached the street they dropped their shorts in unison and mooned the lot, showing a bunch of tight white cheeks.

The kids who kept their clothes on were a more frightening prospect. Pleasing was out, ugly was in. I had to keep reminding myself that I'd been a member of the original freak generation. These kids seemed scarier to me, but that could be a matter of age and perspective. The baggy clothes, the shaved heads, the body piercing gave me a hinky feeling. I couldn't help wondering what it would be like to have one of them living in the house. Down the street was close enough for me. The colors they wore were subdued, since wearing the wrong color to school these days could get you killed. Eventually Patricia came out the door surrounded by a gaggle of girlfriends. Patricia was never subdued. She wore a tight teal dress with a matching beeper and was too busy talking to her friends to notice me.

The girls got into a convertible and drove down Candelaria putting air in their hair. I followed them across town to the mall. They parked, went in through the food court entrance and disappeared into the crowd, which was full of teens at this time of day. I circled the food stalls past Panda Express, Burger King, Cajun Fried Food. I figured it would be a while before the girls covered the mall and came back out, so I went to the ladies room. Peeing can be a problem when you're conducting surveillance. I got myself an ice tea, sat down at one of the little tables and listened to a woman at the next table talking about her cat that existed in a parallel universe.

I knew what the girls would be doing—checking out the guys, throwing sign if they were gang members, saying you mess with one of us you mess with all of us. Where I grew up we used to drive around the town square after high school. Maybe the mall was a better alternative. Less chance for road rage and it saved on gas. It was two hours before the girls came back out. By then I was bored as an oyster. I was hidden behind a potted plant, so Patricia didn't see me when she walked by.

The
girls got into their car, and I followed them back across town to Charlie's Drive-in on Fourth, which was known for its chile fries. There was no way to hide my car at Charlie's, so I parked at the strip mall across the street. Surveillance consists of hours of deep boredom punctuated by bursts of minor excitement. Eventually the girls left Charlie's and drove north. By the time her friends let Patricia off at her house it was eight o'clock, but no one seemed to be home. The outside sensor lights had come on, spreading long shadows across the scraped-bare yard. The interior of the house was dark and no cars were parked out front. The dogs greeted Patricia by jumping against the fence and rattling the chain links. When I pulled up beside her Patricia gave me a hard stare. I rolled down the window.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“About what?”

“Nolo Serrano.”

“What about him?”

“I saw him yesterday. He told me he beeped Cheyanne the night she was assaulted and that's what got her out of the house. He said he warned her to look out for Ron Cade.”

Patricia flipped a curl across her shoulder. “That's his story.” Patricia was a pretty girl, a girl whose phone would always be ringing, whose beeper would always be beeping, whose mailbox would always be full. I hoped she'd be smart enough to choose the right invitations to answer.

“Why did you tell Nolo at the arraignment that you'd take his breath away?” I asked her.

“I said that?”

“Yeah. I heard you, but I didn't find out until this morning what it meant.”

“I was talking smack. It didn't mean nothin'.”

“Stay away from Nolo, Patricia. He's dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as he thinks he is.”

“Do you want me to call the police?”

She laughed. “Oh, yeah, they're really gonna do something.”

“They might.” I could give the APD what I had, the beeper message, but with no date it was useless as evidence. And there was still the problem of my client's cooperation. I couldn't spring her if she didn't want to be sprung. But there are times when private citizens have means of solving crimes the police don't.

“I'm not counting on the police,” Patricia said.

“Stay out of it,” I warned her.

“Sure,” she replied. She unlocked the padlock, let herself in and walked across the yard to the empty house. At least she had the dogs and her pager for company.

******

I
hadn't gotten very far with Patricia, and I didn't expect to get anywhere with my client either, but the next day I went to see her in the D Home. It still surprised me that two girls so young could be so stubborn. Usually the will hardens at about the same rate as the arteries. I'd seen fear in Cheyanne, which might be her excuse, but I hadn't seen any fear in Patricia. Just a real strong will.

My client was making her blue uniform with the numbers and letters on the back look pretty good. The dullness I'd seen on earlier visits had been replaced by excitement. Her movements were quicker, her eyes were brighter. I suspected she'd already talked to Patricia, but I told her my tale about running into Nolo Serrano anyway. It wasn't the whole truth, but I didn't want to get Danny in trouble, and I didn't want to reveal that I had the piece of the puzzle that was the beeper. Besides, I always had the excuse that I was the adult and the lawyer and that what I was doing was for her own good. She listened carefully, as if she hadn't heard the story before or was listening for some nuance that Patricia had missed.