Sweet 16 to Life (17 page)

I
'm halfway to the gas station—a block between there and the apartment complex—when a car pulls up to the curb a few yards ahead of me. Before I can register the neon-green rental car sticker on the bumper, someone in a full Halloween mask opens the door, grabs me, and pulls me into the backseat before the driver takes off. The woman at the wheel turns to look at me, and I see it's the pretty lady. I could swear her teardrop tattoo was under her right eye, but it must be under her left eye, on the side of her face I can't see. I suppose even
my
memory could fail me at a time like this.

I assume it's Lux sitting next to me, that I've gotten all the Hitchcock clues wrong and he's alive and well, but I don't want to find out. It's bad enough I already know who the driver is. Bad guys tend to kill you once you know their identity. But dude pulls the mask off and I see that I was definitely wrong about one thing.

“Cisco?”

“Don't be afraid.”

“Where are we going?”

“Someone wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“I think you already know.”

“Lux? So he's alive?”

Cisco ignores my question. I pay attention to our route in case I get a chance to call for help, but in the meantime, I try my best to act like I'm not worried. Maybe Cisco really does want to just talk. No need for me to make him nervous or set him off by freaking out. Not that I have much time for freaking out—at least not in the car. We only go a couple of miles before we pull into the driveway of a house.

Lana always told me to never get into a bad guy's car. Once you're in the car, it's over. Better to make them kill you on the street than wherever it is they plan to take you. I wasn't given a choice whether to get into this car, but I can fight going into that house. I'm sure the car rule applies to letting bad guys take you into strange houses, but somehow, I don't think Cisco will hurt me.

That time we spoke at the bus stop, he actually acted like he owed me something, like we shared a secret. After he pulled me into the car, I never heard the click of the doors locking. My window was partially open on the short drive to this house. We drove city blocks and stopped at traffic lights. I could have tried to jump out or screamed for help at any time. And when we pulled into the driveway and the pretty lady put the car in park and turned around to get her instructions from Cisco, I wasn't wrong about which eye had the teardrop tattoo. There is no tattoo. It was a fake.

So when Cisco leads me out of the car and asks if I'm going to give him any trouble, I tell him no.

When we walk inside the small house, we're standing in a living room with a bar. There's a man at the bar with his back to us. He's fixing himself a drink; I hear the ice clink in a glass. Cisco, who has been holding one of my arms until now, grabs the other one and zip-ties my hands behind my back.

“Just a precaution,” he says, and I immediately regret underestimating his level of bad-guy-ness.

“Really, Cisco? How afraid can you be of a sixteen-year-old girl?”

“Not yet,” says the guy at the bar, still working on his drink.

“What?”

“You aren't sixteen
yet
.”

“How do you know—who are you?”

“I know your birthday isn't for another two days, and you know what they say about assumptions.”

“Who is this guy, Cisco?” I ask, because he's too tall to be Lux.

That's when he turns around and I see he has a patch over his left eye. At first I think he's gone a little overboard with the bad-guy routine, but then I realize he isn't wearing the patch just to look menacing.

“Tragic?”

“Now, let's start again, shall we? Hello, Chanti. Nice to meet you.”

“Shouldn't you be in prison?”

Tragic ignores my question. “I hope my man treated you well.”

“Cisco's your man? But how—I mean, when—did he get involved?”

“Me and my girl been involved ever since Donnell brought me on board last summer to help him set up a Denver operation of the Down Homes. Well, that was the plan before you took him down,” Cisco says, speaking for the first time since he cuffed my hands. “Like I said, I appreciated that.”

“Not enough, apparently.” I'm scared, but I can't help but be a smartass. It's how I calm myself enough to figure a way out of situations like this. Sadly, I've been here before.

“After Tragic was sent to prison, and Donnell went inside, Tragic knew Lux was returning to Denver and saw me as an opportunity to get to Lux for setting him up,” Cisco explains.

“No one is going to believe MJ or I were behind Lux's murder. Is that why he sounded nervous this morning when he called MJ—because you had him and were forcing him to make that call to send MJ off to Limon, with no alibi?”

“Lux's murder?”Tragic asks.

“I get why you went after Lux, but why MJ?” I ask Tragic, trying to sound cooler than I really am. “Was she just collateral damage?”

Cisco answers instead. “By the time Tragic put his plan into place, Lux had already involved MJ, hiding the box in her house and setting her up with her probation officer. I wanted to stay out of it since Lux already knew who I was through Donnell. But I guess you knew me and Lux were acquaintances since you were spying on us that night at your girl Michelle's house.”

“No way you saw me that night,” I say, but obviously he did. I guess my creeping skills aren't as tight as I thought. “Did Lux notice me?”

“No, he isn't as observant as I am,” Cisco says, doing that weird we-share-a-secret smile again. “So I could stay clear of Lux, I had Golden—my girl—start hustling him, pretending to be a neighbor with a romantic interest. But I got pulled into it anyway when MJ came to me looking for a hitter to rough up Lux.”

“That was you she was meeting with?”

“Yeah. You were blowing her phone up that day. Good thing she didn't answer. You might have kept her from coming to me. Turns out it was a game I needed to be in on, after all.”

“So, Tragic, you think MJ was part of the double-cross? Because you're wrong.”

“Actually, both of you are wrong. MJ matters as much to me as Lux does—not at all.”

“So why am I here?” I ask. “What's this about?”

“It's about you. You're the only one I wanted. The others were just a means to an end. Actually, so are you.”

“What did I ever do to you? You don't even know me.”

“But I do know your mother.”

“What's going on here, man?” Cisco interrupts. “I thought we just gonna use her to get to MJ, to make MJ tell us what she knows about Lux and them bullets that put you away.”

“I know all about both of you,” Tragic continues. “You're a smart girl to get all those clues I sent.”

“Why did you send them, anyway? To lead me to Lux—or to you?”

“Both—and just for kicks. The usual methods—a drive-by, paying someone to do a hit on all of you—wouldn't have been as much fun. I love Hitchcock, and I thought you'd get the connection between Lux, the DVDs, and how he set me up. You did not disappoint. I bet you'd make a better cop than your mother. Not that you'll ever get the chance.”

Until now, I'd forgotten all about the reason I'd left Lana's car in the first place, but suddenly that half pitcher of iced tea is screaming again. Death threats will do that to you.

“Tragic, let's stay focused on getting the name of the arms dealer Lux got those cop-killers from,” Cisco says. “If we get that, the feds are happy, your sentence is reduced, I keep the business going 'til you get out, everything's all good.”

“Nothing is ‘all good' until I get that cop who took out my eye,” Tragic says.

“Think about it, Tragic. We're so close now. We got Lux hemmed up. Not only is MJ facing life, we'll be sending her best friend back with the message that this is serious. Eventually one of 'em is gonna talk. Just gotta stay focused.”

Tragic is focused, but not on what Cisco's talking about. “So, should we make that call to your mother now?”

“Internal Affairs cleared her of that tune-up.”

“Internal Affairs,” Tragic says like you'd say the word
maggots
. Or
Brussels sprouts
. “The granddaddy of all snitches. I trust them about as much as I trust . . . well, I don't trust any-one.”

A look passes between Cisco and Tragic, and if I wasn't completely terrified before, I am now.

“Let's go, Chanti,” Cisco says, leading me to the door.

“She's not going anywhere. Neither are you, Cisco,” Tragic says, reaching for something on the bar behind him, and I can only guess it's a gun. Cisco pushes me away and the front door crashes open. The first time I met the pretty lady, I cursed her for being so stealthy. Now I'm grateful because before Tragic can grab his gun and raise it, Golden gets off a shot.

I
didn't know if Tragic was hit or not, or how bad, and I don't even care. I'm just glad Cisco and I are hustling back into the rental car and Golden is sliding behind the wheel. My heart begins to slow to a normal pace as I realize we're heading back toward the Crystal Pointe Apartments.

“Is he dead?” I finally ask Cisco.

“Does it matter?”

I'm about to suggest that we should at least call the police. If he's dead or dying, I suppose it doesn't matter. If he's alive, that means he can still come after me and Lana. And it looks like Cisco's now on his hit list too. But I know better than to suggest that to bad guys, even ones who saved my life. I mean, after they almost got me killed in the first place.

“Thanks for not letting the crazy man kill me.”

“Aurora Ave people have to look out for their own, right?”

“I wish you'd thought of that before you took me in there.”

“I didn't know he wanted to kill you. I thought he just wanted to use you to send a message to MJ.”

“MJ doesn't know anything about an arms supplier. If Lux got those cop-killers, he did it on his own.”

“I know that now.”

“But MJ's in jail. And Lux—”

“Lux is alive. The police will find him soon, and MJ will be exonerated.”

“What about you? All of this so you can keep Lux off your territory?”

“At first that was the reason. If there was going to be a Down Homes operation in Denver, I wanted to be the one to run it. Then Tragic offered me an opportunity in Los Angeles. He needed someone to run his operation until he got out.”

“I guess that's the least of Tragic's worries now,” I say.

“Time will tell.”

This is a lot like our conversation at the bus stop that day. Cisco gets a kick out of being mysterious.

“What you said back there about the feds reducing his sentence in return for information. Was Tragic out of prison because he's working as a confidential informant?”

“The man was right when he said you were smart. Maybe too smart for your own good.”

“Well, all I have to say is Tragic has a really bad handler.”

“Handler?”

“I watch TV. And my mom
is
a cop, as you apparently know. What kind of handler lets his CI get hold of a gun and just run off and do his own thing? I mean, seriously, dude needs some extra training or something.”

Cisco just smiles at me, and I even get a tiny chuckle out of Golden, who except for being an excellent shot, has been quiet the whole time.

I stay quiet and start replaying everything that's happened in the last twenty-two minutes. Seems like a lot longer, but that's what the clock on the dashboard is telling me how long it's been since I got out of Lana's car. I think about Golden and her fake tattoo, the unlocked doors and open window. And how Cisco didn't zip-tie my hands until after we were inside that house. If I required such a “precaution,” why not do it when he first put me in the car?

“You sound different,” I say.“I mean, not like that time we talked at the bus shelter.”

“You mean the ghetto-speak?”

“Yeah, and using words like
exonerated
.”

“Not everything on the street is as it seems.”

I don't speak cryptic, but when we pull in front of the Crystal Pointe Apartments, I decide I can live with not knowing all the details for once. I just want out of this car. When Golden stops at the curb, I don't ask permission; I just jump out. But instead of walking away, I lean into the still open window.

“Just one last question, Cisco. Are you true blue?”

He doesn't answer, just gives me that weird smile that now makes a lot of sense. Golden drives away.

I
was back in Lana's car just a minute or two before she returned, and made her take me to that gas station, and no, I couldn't wait until we got to headquarters. I still haven't told Lana about Cisco, but I will tomorrow. I'll probably have to make a statement at the police station, and even though I don't believe Cisco is a threat because he's probably undercover himself, Lana needs to know her cover is blown. All that can wait until tomorrow. I figure we've both had enough for tonight.

Cisco was right; Lux was alive, if not well. Falcone found him in apartment 337 just like I said, in a chair with his hands and feet tied to it. Someone had roughed him up pretty bad, and he had a dead rat hanging around his neck, the box of DVDs at his feet. There had been some additions to the box since I'd looked inside—several boxes of cop-killer bullets and a list of all Lux's unsolved arson cases, including MJ's house. An anonymous call was made to the police directing them to Tragic, who was in critical condition, last I heard.

We left Mr. Chatman and Big Mama at the police station, but they'll be bringing MJ home any minute. Cisco was right about that, too.

By the time Lana and I get home from the station, it's after midnight. I'm hoping I find Marco still here, but he's gone.

“Did I tell you Big Mama invited us to have potluck dinner down at their place? Sort of a welcome home for MJ. I'm too wired to go to sleep. Might as well start cooking for tomorrow,” Lana says, heading for the kitchen. “I mean today.”

I follow her into the kitchen. I guess she isn't the only one too wired to sleep.

“Want some help?” I ask.

“Oh, you've already given me a ton of help, you and Marco. Good work tonight.”

Lana stops pulling food out of the refrigerator to look at me.

“Are you and he—”

“Just friends.”

“He's a good kid. I like him.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

“You never know. Sometimes these things work out.”

“I thought you were worried about me having a boyfriend.”

“All mothers worry about that.”

“You more than most,” I remind her.

“True, but I have to heed my own advice, what I told you at your friend Bethanie's going-away party. You and Marco aren't your father and me.”

A party. A father. Two things it appears I won't be having anytime soon.

“Speaking of—still no word on that front?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Not yet.”

“We shouldn't have changed the number. We haven't heard from him since.”

“He found us the first time. He can do it again—if he wants to.”

“Not if he knows you'll just turn him away.”

“I won't next time,” Lana says. She must see that this isn't the right answer, that it's not nearly enough, because she adds, “We won't wait for him to call us. I'll figure out what his true story is now and I'll find him. I promise you that, Chanti.”