Desert Angel (19 page)

*   *   *

S
HE HAD BEEN DROWSY
until the electric bolt shot through her. Just after noon.
Scotty.
She was pretty sure, even from that distance. He left the passenger seat of a large gold four-door and crossed the sidewalk into the Imperial with a package the size of a shoe box under his arm. The car stayed double-parked and Angel strained to see the driver. Looked like an older woman with elaborately styled hair. Didn’t seem like Scotty’s type. Had he gone for money in the short term? Was he playing pool boy while he waited to make his move?

Angel felt acid rolling in her stomach, felt shaky. She should shoot him. Right now. Stand outside the bar door and pull the trigger when he walked out. She should. She hugged herself to pull it together.

“Are you all right, honey?” A short, heavy Mexican-American woman was leaning over her, obviously worried.

“Yeah,” Angel said. “I mean no. I, uh, my mom died and I just get like this sometimes.”

“You want me to bring you some water or something?”

“Uh-uh,” Angel said, glancing back toward the bar. “I just need to sit here for a minute. I’ll be okay.”

“Well, I’m right over behind that counter,” the woman said. “You rest here as long as you need to. Tell me if I can help.”

Angel nodded and resumed watching the bar door. It was like she was paralyzed. She couldn’t make herself get up. Shoot him? Then shoot herself? Then run? If she screwed it up, he’d grab her. The thought of him touching her made her sick.

In a few seconds, Scotty came out minus the package, got in the car, and the woman drove away.

Angel was out the door in a second but the vehicle was already too far ahead to read the license. The car looked expensive but Angel had no idea what kind it was.
Damn it!
She was no good at this. She ran after it but the light had been green beyond her and the car had moved through, heading out the road to the mountains. She would never have caught up, but it pulled to the curb just before the next light. Scotty got out again and went into a building while the car rolled away and kept going east.

Angel stayed on the other side of the street until she came even with the place Scotty’d gone into. SoCal Gun and Loan. Behind its barred plate-glass window she could see the outlines of guitars, bicycles, statues, large vases. She and her mom had accompanied Scotty to one of these in Indio where he’d traded rattlesnake skins and gemstones for a few boxes of ammunition and a pistol-cleaning kit.

The place she was standing in front of, an old hotel that had been partially converted into an antiques mall, would make a good place to wait and watch. Inside, the bald man who oversaw the shops studied her as if certain she was there to steal something. She kept a close eye on the front of the pawnshop. Several minutes passed and the warm early afternoon sun through the street windows was putting her to sleep.

“If you’re not shopping you can’t be in here.” The man had slipped up beside her.

“It’s a store,” Angel said, dulled, tired.

“Yeah, well, it’s private. You got to leave.” He showed her a cordless phone. “I don’t think nothing about calling the cops if I need ’em,” he said.

Out on the sidewalk she realized Scotty had been in there a long time. What was he doing? And where could she get out of this sun while she waited? She retraced her steps to the western edge of the building and found bushes up against the brick, but no place that she could sit inconspicuously in the shade except a barbershop next door. Right. Like she was going to let some old man cut her hair, even if she had the money. Between the hotel and the barbershop was a long asphalt parking lot with a shade tree at the back. That would have to do. From the tree she could still see the front of the shop.

She sat there for another three hours according to her cell. Could he be working there? Hadn’t a pawnshop guy testified for him when the feds had him? Could that same guy own this shop, too? Angel decided to pull her cap way down over her eyes and walk by the barred window, briefly window-shop, see what Scotty was doing. When she did, he wasn’t there. A very fat man sat behind a jewelry case reading a magazine, but other than him, the store was empty. What happened? Back door?

Around the corner were angled parking places, all empty. When she turned down the alley, a parking alcove immediately came into view. Room for three vehicles but only one in it, a big silver Cadillac with oversize chrome wheels. He had probably been parked back here, and that meant he must have had some deal going with this shop. Another time, this could be a good place to find him.

*   *   *

A
NGEL THREADED HER WAY
through crowded sidewalks along Main, back toward the plaza. Families laughed and teased each other beside parked cars. Women teamed up with children and girlfriends, shopping from store to store. Busy, happy, they hardly gave her a second look. Angel shared their mood. She was pleased with herself. She’d been right! Scotty was here.

Her fears returned as she neared the Imperial Club and began wondering about the package Scotty had delivered. What was he doing with the pawnshop? Maybe her guess had been wrong. Maybe he was already back in business. Were there other guesses she’d been wrong about? Would he take her right away? She didn’t think so, but it looked like he’d found a woman quicker than she’d estimated. She ignored the doubts. What difference did it make now? She was so close. He was practically in her sights.

Preoccupied, she was unaware that the observer had become the observed. A vehicle had been cruising Main Street, looking for her.

*   *   *

A
S SHE PASSED
the Imperial Club from the other side of the street she glimpsed the skateboarder sitting in the shade between parked cars and crossed to him.

“What’s your name?” she asked as he looked up.

“What’s the deal with that guy you gave me his picture?” the kid countered.

“He’s looking for me, so I’m looking for him first.”

The cruising vehicle had no place to park and didn’t want to call attention by double-parking, so it rolled on until it could make a U-turn.

“I got to show you something,” the boy said, pushing to his feet. “Come on.” At the edge of the bar he kicked down a narrow concrete path to the alley behind the buildings and wheeled left, back toward the pawnshop.

Angel had to trot to keep up.

By the time the cruising vehicle returned to the bar, she and the boy were nowhere to be seen.

The skateboarder finally stopped after crossing a street and winding up next to the parking alcove where Angel had been a few minutes before. The fancy Caddy was still sitting there. When Angel reached him, he pointed at the corner of the building just before the alcove.

“What?”

“You see that?” the boy asked.

There was nothing to see. Dirty brick, rough blacktop, a tuft of stunted grass, broken pieces of plastic and bits of metal, empty cigarette box.

Angel didn’t get it.

“Know what that is on the ground?” the boy asked, obviously upset.

Angel shook her head.

The boy used his toe to flip over the largest plastic shard, revealing a tiny dial with tinier numbers. “Nick’s watch.”

His words made her cold.

*   *   *

T
HEY TOOK THE ALLEY WEST
all the way to the mission parking lot and crossed Main into the plaza. Angel had to use the restroom. Bad. When she’d finished, they sat on the bandstand.

“Tolan,” the boy said. “Weird, huh? Guys call me ‘Kicks.’ I shortened it.” He showed her his arm. “Kix” was inked below his elbow in broad blue-black letters. “So who is this guy? What’d he do to Nick?”

Angel didn’t know what she should say. “He hurt my mom. Really hurt her. I don’t know what he did to Nick.”

“Hell, call the cops. You need to jam. Split.” He looked at her to see how she was taking his advice and seemed to realize she’d already thought of that. He changed the subject. “What’s yours?”

“Angel. Hey, is the mission the only place to spend the night?”

“You can’t stay at my house. My mom’d have a cow.”

“Yeah, so is there any place else?”

He shook his head.

“I wanted to call you,” she said, “but I didn’t have your number.”

He shook his head and looked at her like she was a moron.

“Hit ‘menu,’” he said.

She didn’t understand.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked.

When she dug it out of the tote he showed where the calls were recorded. “Anyone ever calls you, you got their number,” he told her.

“Is this Nick’s number?” she asked him, pointing.

Tolan nodded. “It won’t work,” he said, looking away. “He doesn’t answer.”

After a minute where they each sat with their thoughts, she asked if there was any place she could earn some money.

“Keep selling weed.”

“I don’t have any more.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

He looked at her. Shook his head. “How old?” he asked again.

Angel didn’t want to say fourteen. Changed the subject. “You keep looking? Call me if you see him?”

“Your guy?” he said. “From a distance.”

“Either him or Nick.”

Kix snorted. “Right.”

“You know Trev?” she asked.

“Yeah. He don’t come in town all that often.”

“Anybody else help me look?”

He bit his lip. “Like I’d give up another friend?”

*   *   *

A
NGEL STAYED IN THE PARK
until her phone said 5:00 p.m. and she thought it was time to try the mission again. She didn’t trust Snaggletooth, but maybe the woman wouldn’t be there. Plus, if the suit was a social worker, she might not hang around past five. Angel was hungry and didn’t want to sleep in the bushes again. She decided to sneak to the edge of the mission parking lot, and if she didn’t see either woman, she’d get in line.

But she didn’t find those women. She found another instead. A slender, muscular black-haired woman looking over the parking lot, standing patiently on the sidewalk in front of the mission door.

Rita.

It had been so hard, the whole thing. Angel couldn’t help herself. She ran toward the woman, laughing and crying.
Snot-nosed kid.

27

Rita heard her coming, caught her, and swung her around to absorb the momentum. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

Angel was beside herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean … I don’t want—” She couldn’t think of anything to say to make it right.

Rita held her tight. Didn’t speak. Didn’t let go until Angel settled. “I want to hear how it’s going, but not here. Let’s go home.”

Angel allowed herself to be led to Rita’s old Toyota. In the car, Rita turned to face her. “We have to deal with your bag.”

Angel didn’t understand.

“You still carrying?”

Angel looked around to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied, she took the pistol out of the tote.

Rita handed her a paper towel that she’d dampened with something. “Wipe it off, really well.”

When Angel was finished, Rita took the gun and stuck it in the back of her jeans, pulled her shirt over it. “Good thing we don’t have to drive too far.” She scooched around to get a little more comfortable before turning to Angel again. “You still got the dope?”

Angel raised her eyebrows pretending she didn’t know what Rita was talking about.

“Momo told me before he left for home.”

Angel could feel her face coloring. “I didn’t want to get him in trouble.”

Rita kept looking at her.

“No. I gave it to a kid to help me look for Scotty.”

“You keep it in there?” Rita said, pointing to the tote.

Angel nodded.

“Throw it away.”

Angel stared at her.

“The dogs. The drug stops on the way home? The dogs will smell it and we’ll be in trouble. They’ll search the car, find the pistol, probably arrest us both. Don’t reach in it again. Just take the whole thing and toss it over there.”

“I have to get my charger.”

Rita frowned, handed Angel the paper towel again. It smelled like solvent. “Wipe it off good and throw everything else in that trash can.”

When Angel got back in the car, Rita handed her another damp paper towel. “Don’t touch anything else until I get you some place to wash up.”

*   *   *

R
ITA PULLED INTO THE GAS
/
CONVENIENCE
mart two blocks west. When Angel returned from the restroom, Rita lifted the gas pump nozzle and both of them rubbed the end of it to kill any remaining scent.

Angel looked at Rita like she was crazy.

“You wouldn’t believe those dogs,” Rita said, getting back in the car. When Angel joined her, Rita extracted a thin ham sandwich and an orange from the center console. “This’ll hold you till dinner.”

The first part of the drive, Angel and Rita were nervous about the approaching checkpoint. Said little. Angel asked to see the motel parking lots in Westmorland. Rita nodded. Nothing caught their eye. In a few miles they encountered the line of crawling traffic. Armed men in blue uniforms let Anglos in nice cars pass right through. Rita, Hispanic, in an old Toyota, got a much closer examination.

A man led a dog on a leash all around the car, another man with a mirror on a stick checked the wheel wells and under the bumpers. Rita had to get out and open the trunk. Angel tried to ignore the perspiration tickling her neck, running down her ribs.
Let the gun stay tucked.

The inspection probably took only a minute or two but it felt endless. By the time the lawman waved them on, Angel’s hair was wet. They were silent a while more, letting the anxiousness ebb. Rita sighed and began to fill Angel in on the latest news. She said that TJ was on his way to the site of the trailer fire to check Angel’s story; going up there with casts of the tire prints.