Speak of the Devil (23 page)

Diablo was becoming the heart of the gang. And Gato was outgrowing it. The violence wasn’t fun anymore. He knew now what he was risking. Not his freedom, not even his life. He was risking his soul.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be MS anymore.” Gato looked up from his shoe. “Maybe I should leave the gang.”

“You know the three ways out of MS-13. Jail, hospital, or morgue. You aren’t in any of those places.”

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Gato took the gun from his waistband and held it out. Diablo looked at it for several seconds before stepping forward to take it. He played with it in his hand, and Gato had the distinct impression that Diablo was considering shooting him in the head. Instead, Diablo slung an arm around his shoulder.

“This saddens me,” Diablo said. “But I am not surprised. We have known each other for many years. I know you have a soft heart.”

Gato waited for the “but,” but it didn’t come.

“Come on,” Diablo said. “Let’s go inside.”

They walked back through the sliding glass doors and into the house. They went down to the basement, to an empty room with a concrete floor and a few bare bulbs overhead.

Boys and men milled about in the basement. They were stripped down to their underwear. They fell silent when they saw Diablo. Diablo rarely came to their local
misas
. When he was there, it was serious.

Gato and Diablo took off their clothes, and Diablo started the meeting. When Diablo was here, he was the First Word; Gato was Second. Everyone threw up the claw, intoned
La Mara
, and handed in their rent. They spoke of a drive-by shooting last week and of the money coming from local businesses. Finally, Diablo turned to Gato.

“I am told that we have a member who failed to execute a greenlight when he had a chance.”

Gato looked out at the crowd of men, all glaring at him. They knew who Diablo was talking about. Buena’s story had gotten around.

“I’ve thought about what to do with this member. I considered greenlighting him myself.”

Gato’s heart hammered in his chest. The basement suddenly felt hot and sweaty.

“But I have known him for a long time. He has always obeyed before. Now his heart grows soft. Let’s see if a
calentón
will harden it. And then, we will give him one more chance to do his duty.”

Some men nodded, others grumbled. Not all would have given Gato a second chance. In the past, Gato was the one who had imposed discipline—his homies expected discipline from him. Several men surrounded him, and he was pushed into the middle of the room.

Gato didn’t struggle. He knew it would be useless. He had been through this before. He could do it again.

He was pushed down to the cement floor, and Diablo started to count.

“Uno.”

Fists pummeled Gato’s back, elbows rained on his head. He curled into a ball to try to protect himself, but felt someone pull his arms and legs so he was stretched out. A bare foot kicked him in his stomach. Gato retched with pain.

“Dos. Tres. Cuatro.”

Diablo was counting slowly. The count would go to thirteen, but Diablo could make it last for seconds or minutes.

Gato felt his lip split, felt his forehead gashed open. Arms, feet, and fists slammed into him. Pain saturated every part of his body. Blood poured from his forehead into his left eye, making the world appear a red blur. All he could see were tattoos, furious faces, flying fists.

“Cinco.”

A swift kick connected with his rib cage and made a cracking sound. He wondered how many ribs were broken. Gato felt himself slipping away, the world receding until it was just a loud crimson spot in a world of black silence.

And then he was in another time, another place—but the same thing happening to him. Gato was thirteen years old. He was being jumped in. It was the only way a boy could become a member of MS-13 and he desperately wanted to join. He wanted the family, the friendship, the excitement. Psycho had counted for him then, and made the thirteen seconds go by quickly. The homey who counted for you was important, like a big brother.

Gato had known he was being jumped in for life. At thirteen, he didn’t understand what life was.

The crimson spot grew bigger, pushing aside the blackness, until it was fully the world he lived in today, full of homies kicking and beating him.

“Doce,”
Diablo said.
“Trece.”

The pummeling stopped. One final kick knocked Gato onto his back. He looked up through the red haze and saw the Devil looking down upon him. He felt flashing waves of nausea and pain. There were voices, but he couldn’t hear them over the ringing in his ears.
This is what I’ll see when I die
, Gato thought.
I’m already in hell.

Diablo’s face loomed in front of Gato’s, the horns shimmering red in Gato’s blood-soaked view. Diablo took out the gun and pointed it at Gato’s face.

“Do you understand why you were punished?” Diablo asked.

Gato managed a weak moan.

“Good. You’re forgiven. You will kill the prosecutor. Otherwise, it’s you who will be killed.”

Diablo tucked the gun into Gato’s pants. The blackness crept back in again. Gato closed his eyes and welcomed its warm and obliterating embrace.

• • •

Diablo stood over his fallen homeboy. He had seen this before and would see it again. Gato had lost the taste for blood. It was too bad. But Gato had given his word, and he knew where MS would bring him. There was no backing out.

But there was little that could be done with a member who wanted to leave. Gato was a liability. If arrested, he might snitch. He could never be trusted again.

Diablo took Rooster by the arm and steered him upstairs and out to the backyard. He shut the sliding glass doors so they were alone outside.

“You have to put in some work,” Diablo said. “I have two tasks for you.”

“Okay,
jefe
,” Rooster said. “What?”

“If Gato doesn’t kill that
puta
in a week, you kill Gato. And then you’ll become Second Word.”

Rooster took a deep breath and nodded. Diablo knew killing one of your own homies was difficult. But Rooster followed orders. And at nineteen, he was fairly senior in the Langley Park Salvatruchas. He was ready to take on greater responsibility.

“Okay,” Rooster said. He looked up hopefully. “But Gato will do it.”

“I know he will,” said Diablo. “That brings me to the second task. After he kills the prosecutor, you kill him anyway.”

35

Anna waited expectantly just outside the TSA security perimeter. Soon, Jody came wheeling her suitcase through the terminal, staring up at National Airport’s soaring steel-beamed ceiling. When she saw her sister, Jody broke into a trot. They met each other with fierce hugs and a few squeals.

“Oh my God, you look great!”

“
You
look great!”

It was akin to complimenting their own selves, since they’d always been mistaken for twins. Jody had the same blond hair and blue eyes as Anna, the same lanky limbs and ready smile. But their lives were carving them into different shapes. Jody was muscular from installing instrument panels into GM trucks all day, while Anna was more willowy, from a job that required little heavy lifting. Anna still wore her suit, having left the office early; Jody wore jeans, well-loved hiking boots, and a puffy red jacket. The biggest difference in their looks, though, was the long scar that ran across Jody’s cheek, from the edge of her mouth to her ear, the worst remnant from their childhood.

“Let me see the hardware!” Jody held up Anna’s hand. “Wow. Nice.”

Anna took her sister’s bag and they talked and laughed out to Jack’s car, parked in the garage. Anna drove Jack’s station wagon the short distance to the Residence Inn. She had booked a room for Jody on the same floor as them.

“I wish you could see the house,” Anna said, as they walked into the anonymous gray hotel room.

“Me too.”

“Let me tell you about the security precautions.” Anna explained the Marshals’ portal-to-portal security. “I get a ride to and from work. Otherwise, we’re on our own.”

“My life could use a little danger.” Jody struck an exaggerated boxer’s pose. Anna laughed.

She was glad Jody had come, despite everything. Anna felt ten degrees happier with her sister in town. They were each other’s entire family. Their mother had died in a car accident years earlier. They hadn’t seen their father since they were kids—and they had no desire to change that. There were a few cousins scattered in Michigan, but no one with whom they kept in touch regularly. Now that Jody was here, Anna felt like she could begin wedding planning in earnest. While Jack was at work and Olivia was in school, Anna was taking the rest of the afternoon off to be with her sister.

As Jody unpacked, Anna asked her about Brent.

“You know—I’m good,” Jody said. “I’ll always have a soft spot for him. But it’s under control. Mostly.”

“What does ‘mostly’ mean?”

“Sometimes I wish there was no Internet. Breakups must’ve been so much easier before you could watch your ex’s life online. But I haven’t looked in two weeks.”

“That’s great.”

“The playlists helped.”

“I’m glad.”

After Jody unpacked, they headed to Hitched, a dress store in Georgetown where Grace’s cousin worked. To avoid the inevitable twenty minutes of jockeying for a parking spot, they took a cab, which got stuck in traffic. They bailed out a couple blocks from the store. As they walked down the brick sidewalk lining Wisconsin Avenue, Jody exclaimed, “Cute neighborhood!” The hip little shops, nestled in historic storefronts, were decked out for Halloween with sparkly designer pumpkins and glittering skulls. Huge baskets of bloodred mums crowned black iron lampposts. The trees lining the street were at the height of their fall glory.

But Anna couldn’t fully relax and enjoy the sights. Although her rational side knew it was unlikely that she’d run into a gang member—they had no reason to expect she’d be here—she was on guard. More than once, a figure partly seen from the corner of her eye or a person coming out of a store made her jump. She had walked these streets many times before, but never noticed how many doorways, alleys, and corners there were for an assailant to hide behind. Jack had argued that she shouldn’t go out—but she needed some time to just feel like a normal bride. The Marshals said she should use caution, but she didn’t have to stay locked up in the hotel every day.

Grace was waiting for them outside of Hitched. She and Jody greeted each other with happy exclamations and hugs. Although they’d been talking on the phone for weeks, plotting an engagement party, this was their first in-person meeting. Anna’s heart was full of happiness as she watched two people she loved become friends.

Inside, the elegant little store was lined with rows of white dresses. Yards of satin, silk, and lace surrounded them, overwhelming in their variety, despite the monochromatic scheme. Jody flipped a price tag hanging from a sleeve and gaped at the number written there.

“Are these made of gold?” Jody whispered. Most of their childhood clothes had been purchased at Meijer, a Michigan superstore which also sold washing machines, groceries, hamsters, and shotguns.

“Shh,” Anna whispered back. “We can go to David’s Bridal after this.”

Grace introduced them to her younger cousin, a saleswoman named Mia, who looked curiously at Jody’s hiking boots but otherwise was as poised and polite as could be.

“So,” Mia smiled at Anna. “Tell me what you have in mind?”

“Okay,” Anna looked at the three female faces around her. Everyone was listening intently, like she was about to reveal the secrets of the universe. “It’s going to be a summer wedding, outdoors. So something light and not too formal. Not too much lace or beading or frills. Something . . . simple.”

“Elegant,” Grace said.

“Inexpensive,” Jody said.

Mia smiled at them all. “We can work with that. Why don’t you pull some that you like and I’ll bring a few ideas.”

Twenty minutes later, Anna found herself in a large dressing room, wearing just her panties and stepping into a silky white slip. Grace and Jody sat in ornate chairs, debating the merits of strapless gowns. A dozen white dresses lined the walls. Mia came in holding another.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” she said. “It’s an Amsale, very elegant. But this is the floor sample of a discontinued line, so you’d pay less than a quarter of the price.”

Both Jody and Grace nodded approvingly.

Mia held the dress open and Anna stepped in. Mia zipped her into it, pinning the back with clothespins. Then Mia had her step up onto an octagonal dais, and turned her to face the mirror. She heard Jody and Grace gasping—and she saw why. The dress was gorgeous. It was strapless, made of ruched ivory satin that clung down her torso to her hips, then fell in gentle scooped waves to her feet. It was simple and elegant, and although her bare shoulders seemed shockingly exposed on this chilly October afternoon, it would be perfect for an outdoor wedding in July.

Mia clipped a gossamer veil to the back of her hair. Suddenly, Anna looked like a real bride. Someone more serene, beautiful, and wise than her real self. She experienced the dizzying sense of being in the middle of a memory she would have for the rest of her life. Every other part of wedding planning felt somewhat abstract. But there was something about wearing a wedding dress that insisted this was actually happening: the sensory experience of satin against skin, the tug of gravity on the garment that was heavier than anything she’d worn before, looking in the mirror and seeing herself transformed from an ordinary woman into a storybook princess.

She heard sniffling and looked over. Grace was beaming, but Jody had tears in her eyes. “I wish Mom could see you now.” That got Anna crying, too. Mia expertly produced two Kleenexes and stood back while the sisters held each other. When they dried their eyes, Jody said, “That’s the one. Your dress.”

“Is this too much, though?” Anna asked. Mia cocked her head. “This is my fiancé’s second wedding. He has a daughter. So I’m not sure if I should wear something . . . more second-wedding-ish? Like a white suit?”