The Edge of Night (28 page)

“Estás solo?”
Oscar asked.

Eric held out his arms. Obviously he was alone.

“You’re not with CVL anymore?”

He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“Your boy shot up my car,
ese
. He fucked with my family. Just so we’re clear, this takes care of your debt only—not his.”

“He thought you hurt his sister.”

The girl beside Oscar frowned at him.

He spat on the dirt. “I didn’t do shit. Fuck him. And fuck you.”

Eric fell silent. Telling Oscar how it went down might help Junior later, but it wasn’t going to change anything tonight.

“Where’s the pink slip?”

“In the glove compartment, signed. The keys are in my pocket.”

“Do you really want to do this,
chacho
? Why don’t you hand them over and walk away while you still can?”

Eric glanced around the small crowd, considering. They would probably beat him up no matter what. And, although he had distanced himself from the Locos, he still represented their clique. He could end this conflict like a man, and leave the barrio with honor, or run away and watch his back forever.

“You’ll have to take them from me,” he decided.

Oscar smiled coldly.
“A que quieras, güey.”
He stepped into the ring, pulling his T-shirt over his head. He’d done time in prison recently, and it showed. He was ripped. His shaved head gleamed in the moonlight, and his muscles bulged.

Eric’s stomach clenched with apprehension. Swallowing drily, he removed his own shirt, tossing it on the hood of his car. His lean body inspired laughter rather than awe. Only Oscar’s girl looked at him with a glint of appreciation, which was fine. He didn’t want to be admired by these men; he wanted to be underestimated.

“My homie will check you,” Oscar said.

Eric bent forward, bracing his hands on the hood while some cockhead patted him down. He stared at Oscar without really seeing him, enduring the indignity. Oscar’s girl watched the proceedings, moistening her lips.

When the kid was finished checking Eric for weapons, Oscar turned to his girlfriend. “Show him I’m clean.”

Giving Eric a sultry smirk, she knelt behind Oscar, encircling his ankles, lifting the cuffs of his jeans. She slid her hands up the insides of his thighs, moving slowly. Then she stood, reaching around to cup his fly. “It’s all you, baby.”

Eric wasn’t impressed by the display. She reminded him of the girls Junior screwed in front of everyone.

“Ready?” Oscar asked.

Eric came forward, his heart in his throat, blood pumping with adrenaline. Although Oscar outweighed him, Eric was several inches taller, and he had a longer reach. He was also quicker and lighter on his feet. Bulky men weren’t necessarily good fighters, he assured himself. They often lacked finesse and endurance.

Power for power, they were a poor match. The first time Oscar landed a solid hit, Eric would probably go down for the count. But if he dodged the blows, he had a chance of wearing down the bigger man.

As they circled each other, fists raised, Eric began to reassess his opponent. Oscar Reyes was not a graceless brute. He didn’t exactly float like a butterfly, but he wasn’t clumsy. Dancing around him no longer seemed wise.

So Eric struck first, trying to stun him with a quick left. Oscar evaded the punch easily. Taking advantage of Eric’s proximity, he retaliated with a big hit to Eric’s stomach, followed by a painful knock on the chin.

Eric stumbled backward, in danger of losing his footing. He held a hand over his burning midsection, gasping for breath.

Oscar laughed, still circling.

Knowing he didn’t have much time to regroup before Oscar struck again, Eric nevertheless hesitated, exaggerating his weakness. His opponent fell for the trick. Instead of proceeding with caution, Oscar moved in for the kill.

Eric ducked the next blow and came up swinging. He connected with Oscar’s jaw twice, a hard one-two punch.

Oscar’s head snapped back, and he staggered sideways.

Eric felt as if he’d broken a few knuckles, so he figured Oscar was seeing stars. He advanced again, doubting he would find a better opening. As soon as he slammed his fist into Oscar’s ribs and heard a satisfying crack, Oscar threw an arm around Eric’s neck, taking the fight to the ground.

Good. Eric was a better grappler than a boxer.

Unfortunately, Oscar had better positioning, and he used it wisely, holding Eric down and pummeling his left side.

Fuck, it hurt.

Eric couldn’t breathe. His knuckles were throbbing, and his chin was on fire. Sharp rocks stabbed his back, cutting into his skin. Grunting with exertion, he wrapped his legs around Oscar’s midsection, using his thighs to crush his rib cage.

“Puta madre!”
Oscar said, drawing back his arm to punch Eric in the face.

It was a devastating blow.

Eric loosened his grip, panting. God
damn
. He was so jacked up, he couldn’t see straight. Blood was dripping down his cheek, and his brain felt like jelly. But he still had his legs around Oscar’s ribs, and he continued to exert pressure.

“Kill this motherfucker,” one of the other guys said, handing Oscar a blade. It flashed in the moonlight, slim and deadly.

Oscar didn’t hesitate. In fact, he may have planned this finish. The knife arced downward toward Eric’s chest, and he was almost too winded to defend himself. Then panic seized him, compelling him to act. He grabbed Oscar’s wrist and twisted sideways. The blade nicked Eric’s ribs, scraping along the bone, creating an agony he’d never known before. He screamed in pain, clenched his fingers around Oscar’s wrist.

Oscar rotated the knife just slightly, baring his gold tooth in a menacing grimace. The sensation was immense, sickening. Black spots wavered before Eric’s eyes. He knew he was on the edge of consciousness.

“Dios,”
he whispered.

“Dios te lleve!”
Oscar shouted back.
God take you!

Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, Eric pushed the knife away from his body, feeling a warm trickle in its wake. Tilting the tip of the blade toward his attacker, Eric rolled on top of him. The sudden change of leverage and momentum sent the knife forward, thrusting between Oscar’s ribs.

All the way to the hilt.

“You first,” Eric said, holding it there.

Blood gushed over his hand, warm and wet. More sputtered out of Oscar’s mouth. His eyes widened with shock, then glazed over.

His body convulsed beneath Eric’s as God took him.

Eric let go of the knife handle and fell to the side, his lungs burning.
“Perdóneme,”
he prayed, waiting for darkness to descend upon him.

25

Noah didn’t see any sign of a disturbance
at Brown Field.

He drove along the dirt road behind the municipal airport, searching for lights or movement. The place was quiet and deserted. Just when he was about to check a different location, a black SUV came rolling down the hill, kicking up dust.

He followed its tracks to a clearing.

The instant Noah’s headlights hit the area, people scattered, getting into their cars and fleeing the scene. Only Eric’s Chevelle remained. And two bodies, motionless and bloody, lying on the rock-strewn dirt.

One had a knife sticking out of his chest.

Noah called dispatch, reciting license plate numbers and vehicle descriptions, but he didn’t pursue the suspects. After requesting backup and an ambulance, he exited his squad car, approaching the prone figures with caution.

The man with the knife wound was Oscar Reyes. The ground beneath him was soaked with blood, and his dead eyes stared up at the night sky.

The other body belonged to Eric. He was lying in the fetal position, his hands curled around his head. There was a jagged laceration on his side and smaller cuts all over his back. His hair was caked with dirt, his naked torso covered in boot prints.

He’d been beaten to death.

Noah’s gut clenched at the sight.

“You stupid, stupid kid,” he said in a low voice, fighting tears. Meghan and April were going to be devastated. When Noah knelt beside him, touching the radio at his shoulder to relay the details of the scene to dispatch, Eric coughed.

Noah almost jumped backward in surprise.

He was alive!

Eric moved his arm away from his head, moaning. Blood dripped from his mouth, and his eyes were swollen shut.

“It’s Officer Young,” he said, knowing Eric couldn’t see him. “It’s Noah.”

“Am I dead?”

“No.”

“Kill me.”

Noah patted his shoulder, not sure if he should laugh or cry. “Hang on, man. The ambulance will be here any minute.”

“Is Oscar dead?”

He glanced at the other body. “I don’t know,” he lied. “What happened?”

“I stabbed him.”

“Shit,” Noah muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. For that simple statement, Eric could go to prison for the rest of his life. If he lived, that is.

“I want to die.”

“Well, too bad,” Noah said. “You’re not going to.”

Eric shuddered, vomiting a watery mixture of blood and bile.

Noah didn’t have a second to waste, so he couldn’t indulge Eric with kind words. “Shut the fuck up about Oscar until you get a lawyer, and listen to me very carefully. I need you to tell me about the guy who killed Maggie Chavez.”

He moaned in protest.

“Meghan said you didn’t see his face. Describe everything else. Did you hear his voice? Was he dark-haired or light? Tall, thin? Black, white, Hispanic?”

“Medium height. Average build. Dark … hair.”

Noah’s mind raced with confusion. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“What else?”

“I think he was … one of us.”

Noah leaned close, fearing that Eric would lose consciousness again. “A gang member?”

“A … Mexican,” he said, and passed out.

He stepped away as the ambulance arrived, letting the EMTs stabilize Eric’s condition. For all Noah knew, the kid had internal injuries. He’d been kicked and stabbed and beaten by a crowd of angry young men.

If Noah had arrived a moment later, Eric might have died. He still might.

“I thought you had a family emergency to take care of,” one of his fellow gang-unit officers commented, surprised to see him there.

“I got sidetracked,” he muttered.

Noah climbed behind the wheel of his squad car and sanitized his hands, thinking about Eric’s last words. No one could confuse Patrick for Mexican. His former partner was tall, heavyset, light-skinned, and light-haired.

“God damn it,” Noah muttered. He was back to square one.

Despite the city’s largely Spanish-speaking population, Hispanic officers were a minority in the Chula Vista Police Department. Noah had no idea how many Mexican patrol cops had been on staff ten years ago, but he figured it was a low number.

He could generate a short list of names in minutes. And then what?

Again he questioned the source of the tip. Raul Hernandez had allegedly told Tony Castillo that the killer was a patrol officer. But both men were hard-core drug addicts and lifelong criminals.

What were the odds that one of them was lying?

Even if the information was accurate, the lead would be difficult to follow. Noah couldn’t tell his fellow officers about it. He’d have to go down to the station and snoop around, searching through the employee files and missing-persons reports.

He should contact internal affairs.

“Fuck,” he said, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.

In the meantime, it was Friday night. There’d been two murders in two weeks, both committed in the wee hours of Saturday morning. There was no doubt in Noah’s mind that the cold case was connected, probably by a common perpetrator. He’d strangled three young women, all of whom were affiliated with CVL.

Where would he strike next?

–––

April had a disastrous night at work. She mixed up drink orders, calculated tabs incorrectly, and spilled beer.

Even before Noah called, she’d been scattered. After, she was completely worthless. Too distracted to take care of her customers properly, she scurried from table to table, trying to sort through the chaos she’d created.

When she delivered a round of tequila shots to a group of ladies who’d ordered white zinfandel, she wanted to cry in frustration. “I’m so sorry,” she said, putting the shot glasses back on her tray. “I’ll get your wine right now.”

On the way back to the bar, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing a trio of annoyed female faces.

And ran right into Eddie.

The tray tilted, spilling gold tequila all over his cream-colored shirt. The shot glasses shattered on the floor.

April burst into tears.

Any other night, Eddie would have dragged her back to the kitchen and yelled at her. He’d have fired a new girl on the spot. Someone like Lola might have been directed to his office for a very special apology.

“Hijo de puta,”
he swore, grabbing a towel from behind the bar. To her surprise, he yanked the tray out of her hands and knelt to pick up the pieces of glass for her. “Take a break,” he ordered, signaling at Carmen to go with her.

Shoulders trembling, April walked away with the other waitress. Carmen sat her down at the table in the kitchen and took the seat directly across from her, their knees almost touching. “What’s wrong? Is this about Raul?”

“No,” she said, dabbing at her weepy eyes with an apron. In between sniffles, she told Carmen about Josefa’s disappearance and Eric’s trouble with the law. She felt as if her entire life had been turned inside out and upside down. “It’s all Noah’s fault.” Before he came along, she’d never lost her composure at work.

“What did that bastard do to you?”

April smiled through her tears, knowing she sounded melodramatic. “Yesterday he bought me this really nice briefcase, and the card said
Love, Noah.
”

“
Que barbaro
. The nerve of some guys.”

“It’s too soon, Carmen. It feels like too much.”

“Why? Is he pushing you?”

She shook her head. “He’s persistent, and he goes out of his way to spend time with me, but I wouldn’t call him pushy.”

“Does he have a life outside of work?”

“Yes, actually. He has a lot of other stuff going on. If anything, he’s stretched too thin.”

Carmen held her thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. “Too small?”

“No! God, no.”

“Selfish? Clumsy?”

April blushed, thinking of the times he’d seen to her pleasure instead of his own. “No, and no.”

“Too gentle. Boring. Uninspired.”

“Definitely not.”

“Let me see if I understand the problem,” she said, clasping her hands together. “He’s handsome, sexy, and caring. He’s got a good job and he’s great in bed. But you don’t want to be with him.”

April’s eyes filled with tears again. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

Carmen leaned forward. “Would you rather take a chance or continue as you were—cold, closed off, and alone?”

“I like being cautious. It makes me feel safe.”

“Come on, April. You’re a beautiful woman with a body to die for. Don’t hide your bush under a barrel, or whatever that saying is. It’s not natural.”

She knew Carmen was speaking from the heart. Women of their culture prided themselves on being passionate. Even the most demure Latinas valued sensuality. “You don’t think we’re moving too fast?”

Carmen arched a brow. “Not if he knows what he wants.”

April nodded, twisting the apron in her lap. Noah made decisions quickly, but he had strong convictions. He was honest, and loyal, and trustworthy. She could count on him. “You’re right. I have to tell him how I feel.”

Carmen gave her a quick hug. “Good girl. I hate to see you throw away a keeper.”

April thanked her and rose to her feet, taking her compact mirror out of her purse to check her reflection. After she fixed her mascara, they walked back out onto the floor together. A woman in a flashy silver top caught April’s attention. The sight filled April with a mixture of dread and relief. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

“It’s my mother,” she groaned, holding a hand over her forehead. What a nightmare this evening had been! She was glad Josefa was okay but certain that she’d embarrass April with her outrageous behavior.

Carmen searched the crowd, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll take care of her.”

April had other customers waiting, and it was almost last call, so she hustled to fill the final drink orders. She delivered her usual excellent customer service, working double time to correct her earlier blunders.

At the end of the night, she made out okay, as far as tips went.

Josefa had also done well for herself. A group of young men were flocked around her. One kept touching her lower back while she sipped her drink and laughed. When the closing lights came on at 2:00
A.M.
, the men left, but Josefa stayed put.

Carmen gestured at April, rubbing her fingers together.
No money
.

What a surprise.

Straightening her shoulders, April approached her mother. Even under the unflattering fluorescent lights, she looked good. Drugs and alcohol hadn’t ravaged her beauty or ruined her figure. Yet.

“How are you?” April asked, setting her tray down on the bar.

Josefa gave her a brittle smile. “Broke.”

April looked across the room at Eddie, who shook his head. This was so humiliating. When a customer couldn’t pay, he called the police. But if April covered the tab, her mother would come back every night.

“Raul died,” she said, changing the subject.

Josefa’s brows rose. She drained the last of her drink. “Good riddance.”

April nodded in agreement. “Jenny misses you.”

Those words seemed to penetrate her mother’s devil-may-care façade. Her eyes softened. “I’d love to see her,” she whispered.

April’s throat closed up. She said nothing.

The young man Josefa had been flirting with ducked his head inside the front door, as if he’d been waiting for her. “Coming, sweet thing?”

After a long pause, in which April refused to meet her mother’s pleading gaze, Josefa slid off the bar stool, sauntering toward her mark. She whispered something in his ear, probably a request that he pick up her tab. He gave a few bills to Carmen and put his arm around Josefa. They walked away together, into the night.

Eddie appeared beside her. “You okay?”

April glanced at him, considering. It hadn’t escaped her attention that he’d been sober the past couple of weeks. Maybe Lola’s death had turned him around. “I’m fine,” she said. Actually, she felt better. She’d have preferred to watch her mother check into rehab rather than sell her body to a stranger, so this ending was bittersweet.

It was hard to do the right thing.

She hugged her arms around herself, wanting Noah. She longed for his warmth, his strength. As soon as she was finished wiping down her tables, she grabbed her purse and said good night, checking the messages on her cell phone as she walked outside.

No missed calls.

Maybe he was waiting at home for her. Eager to see him, she unlocked her car and tossed her purse inside. She drove out of the parking lot, filled with nervous energy.

Noah’s truck wasn’t in front of her house, to her disappointment. Instead, a sleek black Audi idled there. April pulled into the garage, casting an anxious glance in her rearview mirror. A man got out of the car, flashing a badge.

“Shit,” she said, raising her hands over her head.

“Miss Ortiz? Can you step out of the car?”

April followed his instructions, keeping her arms up.

He seemed to find her actions amusing. “You’re not in trouble. Officer Young asked me to stop by. There’s been an accident.”

Her heart twisted. “Is Noah hurt?”