Joyride (28 page)

I follow him up the stairs and into his boring bedroom. He messes with the computer to get Julio's live stream pulled up on the screen. When it does, it shows that Julio is already in the cab on the way to meet
El Libertador.
The small camera planted on Julio might go unnoticed by the sheriff, but it stood out like a mangled thumb to me when we placed it on him. Its posing as the single jewel on a gold chain is a gigantic parachute of a red flag to me because Julio is the most frugal person I know, and has never owned anything gold. Not to mention, the jewel/camera is actually the eye of the gold-and-diamond elephant pendant on the chain, which is ridiculous for a man to wear anyway.

But Cletus insists he's used this necklace with great success in busts, and that it's the one necklace cam he never showed off to Arden's father. “It's a classic,” he explained.

In any case, Julio actually seems to like wearing the hideous thing. I wonder if he would indulge in gold necklaces if he'd been cast a different lot in life.

The room, this whole operation, seems empty without Cletus running it. But he couldn't steal away from his rent-a-nurse, even for a few hours. Something about him having heart palpitations, which I'm convinced is the direct result from our concocting this kamikaze plan in the first place.

But we went over and over and over it with Julio. He knows what he's supposed to do. Cletus assured us that the sheriff is predictable, driven by greed and power. I get the power part, but not exactly the greed. What more could he possibly want that he doesn't already have?

“You think he's nervous?” Arden says.

I lean back on the headboard of Arden's bed and cross my legs in front of me. No matter what I do, though, I know I won't be able to get comfortable until this is over. But in a sense, it is over, isn't it? I've already lost my parents again, right when they were within my grasp. The chance to meet my little brother and sister for the first time. All these things we've been working for for so long. In a way, a part of my life
is
over. And it makes me want to disintegrate into a puddle of tears.

But I can't. I can't break down until Julio is safe. Until he does what he feels he needs to do.
Please, God, I can't lose Julio too
.

“Yep. He's about to faint, probably.” Which is pretty much where I'm at right now. Julio knows the situation can escalate in a matter of seconds; Cletus told him over and over how quickly Sheriff Moss can lose his temper. And I know Julio's worried about it. I saw him praying this morning. I've never seen my brother pray.

“You think he can do this?”

“He's mad enough to.” Which is true. He has a crazed, distant look in his eyes, a look that hasn't gone away since our family was deported again.
Again
. I shake my head at the unfairness of it all.

“But can he pull it off?”

“Let's hope so.”

Arden unplugs the laptop and carries it over to the bed, motioning for me to scoot over. He nestles beside me, placing the laptop between us for optimal viewing displeasure. From Julio's point of view (the elephant pendant's point of view), we watch the cab driver make turn after turn, just like he did on our first visit to see
El Libertador,
though we know from the address that the meeting point is an entirely different place.

Julio fidgets with the nylon handle of the black cash bag beside him. I would too, if I were transporting twenty thousand dollars. Cletus assured Julio it's mere chump change to him, but I can't imagine carrying around that kind of cash—someone else's cash—wouldn't at least cause a little anxiety.

Finally the cab driver pulls into a parking lot. I suck in a breath. “Here we go.”

Julio extracts himself from the car, hauling the bag with him. Once again, he gives the cab driver a wad of cash and asks him to stay. The driver shrugs. This doesn't appear to interest him in the least. I wonder how often he does
El Libertador
's bidding. We were told to use the same cab company as before. By now they're probably familiar with the odd, abandoned addresses.

Julio's steps on the sidewalk seem to coincide with my heartbeat as he lets himself into a lone brick office building, offset by woods behind it. He walks down a long hallway, passing door after closed door. The building is in major disrepair; large hunks of drywall are missing in places, exposing the wood-frame skeleton of the structure. Wires dangle from squares where I imagine light switches used to be.

Julio approaches suite 154—our final destination—shifting the cash bag between his hands. For a second, he clutches at the elephant on the necklace, blocking our view of his world. It feels suffocating, this darkness. This not being able to see what my brother is doing.

Then he uncovers it again, and we can see.

El Libertador
sits in the corner of the room in a metal folding chair, wearing his ugly mask. There is no desk. No other chair.

Julio doesn't appear to know what to do. I don't think I would either, except to stand there mutely, just as he's doing now.

El Libertador
doesn't keep him waiting long. “I told you to drop the cash off.” His Spanish is impeccable. I hate him for that.

Julio clears his throat. “I … I didn't feel comfortable leaving it. It left a bad feeling with me last time.”

“I don't care about your feelings.”

“I just wanted to make sure you got all your money.”

El Libertador
cocks his head. “My people ensure that I get all my money. I don't like changes to the arrangement.”

Julio's camera moves down, as if he's squatting. For a clipped second, I can see that he placed the bag on the floor beside him. The angle moves back to face
El Libertador
. Julio waits for further instruction.

“Where's your sister?”

“I couldn't bring her. She and I are at odds. She's chosen a path that isn't wise. I had to kick her out of our house. She has to grow up before she can be involved in anything like this again.” It stings, because this part comes so naturally to Julio; he actually did kick me out and we actually are at odds.

“You're an interesting man, aren't you, Julio. I wonder why you would go to the trouble of paying me to bring your girlfriend here when I clearly could not deliver on your parents.”

We prepared for this line of questioning. The thing that bothers me is that the sheriff brought it up so easily. Like he's baiting Julio. I remember the desperation in Julio's voice when he called me to tell me about our parents.
Can Julio be baited?

I try to push the thought aside though, because he did just supply some vital information for our bust. He basically admitted to the attempted transfer of our parents. That is a good thing. Is this enough?

But I know it's not.
El Libertador
tried to smuggle our parents. That's all we can prove. We can't prove that
El Libertador
and the sheriff are one and the same. Not yet.

“I know that sometimes things happen that are beyond your control,” Julio says calmly. But it's not a peaceful calm. It's a kind of calm that makes me clench the comforter on Arden's bed. I hear deep resentment in the inflection of his tone. “It was a risk I was willing to take. So is this. I know your reputation. I know you'll find a way.”

“How is it that you have a Mexican girlfriend, Julio? My understanding is that you've lived here all your life.”

Uh-oh. We did
not
prepare for this. “I … She's the daughter of a close friend of the family,” Julio says, recovering so gracefully I give Arden a triumphant nod. I even let go of the comforter. “We e-mail each other, and talk on the phone.” Wow. Even I believe him. And I wish that Julio actually did have a girlfriend. A gold chain, and a girlfriend.

But
El Libertador
is not satisfied. “Where was she born? How old is she?”

Julio is quiet. I feel my heart hammer against my rib cage. His hesitation is audible. “I don't mind telling you these things. It's just that … I'm nervous being here. I'd like to get on with it. Please.”

“That's a nice necklace you're wearing. Must have been pretty expensive.”

I don't like where the questions are going, what they imply. I feel the room getting smaller and smaller around Julio. I wonder what he's feeling right now. “It's fake.”

“How did you come up with this much money so soon? Someone helping you out? How many helpers do you have, Julio?” The questions come like a staccato of shots from a gun.

Again, Julio hesitates for a second too long. “Forgive me, I'm not sure what you mean. I work very much. I also received a bonus from my construction job. Is that what you mean by helper?”

Wow, Julio is a better liar than I am. I scrutinize the mask, wishing I could discern
El Libertador
's expression underneath.

“Your answers are very quick, Julio.”

“So are your questions. And you have a lot of them. Why?”

Arden clicks his tongue. “Oooh,” he whispers, as if we're in the room with them. “Dad doesn't like to be questioned. Not smart.”

The sheriff proves this fact by standing abruptly. “The questions are mine to ask, not yours.” He reaches behind him and produces a small handgun. I cover my mouth with both hands. Arden places his hand on my leg.

The only thing I'm thankful for is that this view of Dwayne Moss shows the prominent scar on his hand—something we'll need to prove his identity. It also shows a great view of the barrel of the handgun, and I have to wonder if all this risk is really worth the payoff. “Now, scoot the bag over here with your foot.”

I hope this cures Julio of his smart-mouthing. If I were there, I would be pinching him. Hard. We knew the sheriff would be armed. Arden says he always is. We just didn't think he'd actually draw his weapon—Arden says he never does. Threatens to, yes. Pulls it, no.

What else could Arden be wrong about?

Julio does as he's told. “I apologize,” he says. “I didn't mean to offend you.” I think he really means it. I think everyone means it when they've got a gun pointed at them.

“Shut up.”

It occurs to me then that there's nothing stopping the sheriff from killing my brother at this point. He has the cash. The only witness that Julio was ever there is the cab driver—someone who's undoubtedly in the sheriff's back pocket. To
El Libertador
's knowledge, it would be a long time before anyone ever found Julio's body.

I don't want to watch my brother die.

The sheriff reaches out, taking several big steps toward us. “Give me your necklace.”

Everything goes dark.

 

Thirty-Two

Carly won't come out of the bathroom. Arden can hear her quiet sobs from the other side of the door. “Carly, I'm so sorry, but we have to go. Dad could be home anytime now.”

“Let him come!” Carly shouts. “I'll kill him!”

“You don't know that he did anything.” Of course, nobody knows whether he did either. At this point, Arden doesn't know what to expect from his father. He never suspected he'd be the one smuggling immigrants over the border in the first place.
What else don't I know? Is he dirty too, like Pardue? Does Mom know about any of it?

But the important thing is, they didn't hear the gun go off. All they heard was scuffling. It could mean anything. Julio still could have gotten away.

The black screen on his laptop isn't telling.

“He pulled a gun on my brother! He deported my family, Arden! My. Family. Your dad is psycho.
Psicópata!
”

Arden presses his forehead against the door. “Carly, please. We need to head for Cletus's house. That's our rally point, remember? And if Julio doesn't show, Cletus will know what to do.”

What he doesn't want to tell her is that they don't even have enough evidence on his father. He never took his mask off. Arden has talked enough with Deputy Glass to know what is and is not conclusive evidence. And what they have isn't it. Especially considering who they're accusing.

His father could sweep all this under his network of rugs.

Just then, he hears a noise from behind him. He doesn't want to turn around. He knows who makes that sound to clear his throat.
This can't be happening
.

Sheriff Dwayne Moss.

 

Thirty-Three

The sound of the sheriff's voice pulls me from my self-loathing trance. The actual words send my thoughts chasing after one another on a muddled crash course. I clutch my head in my hands, just in case I'm losing it.

“I'll have a number one, super size, no drink,” the sheriff says.

What?

“Carly! Come here,” Arden hisses. I nearly break my nose flinging open the bathroom door and stumble into his bedroom. In the dark, Arden's face shows pale in the laptop light. He gives me a grim look.

“What's happening?” I throw myself on the bed and peer into the screen. The camera is facing the driver's seat of a car—the sheriff's driver's seat.
He must have kept the necklace
.

Of course he did. He kept all traces that Julio was ever there. And … is he ordering dinner after just murdering my brother?

“Carly,” Arden says. “That's our evidence. It ties him to the whole thing. Look. There's the mask next to him in the seat. We've got him.”

I nod, breathless. “But where is Julio?” Because this whole scheme doesn't mean anything if Julio doesn't come with it. It wasn't worth the risk. Wasn't worth the danger. Stupid, stupid.

Arden's lips press into a thin line. “I don't know. But look where he's at. That restaurant is five minutes tops from here. We have to go. Now.”