The Edge of Night (15 page)

He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, seeming pleased if unsatisfied. His erection was clearly visible, straining at the fly of his shorts. He pressed the heel of his palm against it, as if encouraging it to go down. “Maybe.”

She raked a hand through her hair, darting a glance toward Jenny’s door. “That was depraved.”

He chuckled weakly. “Not really.”

“You should go now.”

His brow arched. “Can I see you again?”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, kissing her once more before he left.

14

Eric showed up to work on Sunday afternoon,
not sure what to expect. As far as he knew, Jack was still in jail. Jack’s dad, the owner, was there with bags under his eyes.

No one talked about Cristina.

Although Eric had known her most of his life, and he grieved for the loss, he hadn’t gone to the Lopez house to pay his respects. He wasn’t sure he’d be welcome there, and he didn’t want to intrude on the family at such a difficult time.

He was waiting for Junior to come to him.

By talking to the gang-unit officers, Eric had broken a major neighborhood code. The streets had ears and eyes. People knew he’d gone down to the station of his own free will. Cooperating with the police wasn’t cool.

There was only one honorable way to leave the ’hood in a squad car—handcuffed.

If the gang thought he was turning his back on them, he was in serious trouble. Members had been killed for similar transgressions.

Eric hoped his life wasn’t in danger. His brother was the liaison between the Locos and the Mexican Mafia. Raul’s involvement with the prison gang had cast a dark shadow over Eric’s life, but right now it afforded him a modicum of protection.

Of course, Junior was a loose cannon. Eric had been friends with him long enough to know he did whatever he felt like doing and to hell with the consequences. Junior might blame Eric for Cristina’s death.

He anticipated a beating, at the very least.

Instead of dwelling on those fears, he continued to stock shelves in an orderly fashion, his thoughts drifting to Meghan. He’d dreamed about her the night before. Strange, sexual dreams. In the first, he’d been the one holding her down under the pier, taking what he wanted from her. In the second, he’d been watching Junior do it.

Both scenarios turned his stomach, but his dick was less particular. When it refused to stop throbbing, he gripped himself firmly and closed his eyes, picturing Meghan’s pretty mouth and soft tits. For a few seconds afterward, he was ashamed of the fantasy.

Then he fell asleep.

When his shift ended, he was reluctant to head home. He’d rather go see Meghan or visit Jenny and April. But he had some deliveries to make, and his grandmother was waiting. With a sigh, he pedaled his bike toward the grim streets of Castle Park, whizzing past rusted cars and run-down apartments, into the belly of the beast.

He wasn’t surprised to see Junior’s charcoal-colored Malibu idling under the streetlight in front of his grandma’s house.

Eric rolled up to the driver’s side, feeling a hard jolt of apprehension. This wasn’t a friendly visit. Junior’s eyes were guarded, and he didn’t offer his usual handshake. He had a brown quart bottle of beer in his lap.

“Qué hubo?”
Eric murmured, moistening his lips.

“Get ready to come out.”

Eric didn’t consider saying no. At this point, he had no options. This was the hand he’d been dealt, the life he’d made for himself. If he’d wanted out, he should have graduated high school, applied for a scholarship, or joined the army.

He’d chosen
this
.

Eric went inside the house, putting away his bike and grabbing a brown hooded sweatshirt. His grandma was dozing on the couch. She said she wasn’t hungry, but he made her a quick meal anyway.

“No sales esta noche,”
she said, clutching his sleeve.
“Por favor.”

Eric disregarded the request. No one had been able to tell him what to do since he’d been ten years old. Even though this was her house, Eric paid all of the expenses, and he’d earned the right to come and go as he pleased.

“Don’t worry,” he said, gently removing her hand. “I’ll be back.”

“No sales.”
Don’t go.

“Salgo.”
I’m going.

She shook her birdlike fist at him.
“Que vete al diablo, ya!”

“I’m already there,” he muttered, stepping out into the thick night. Junior looked a bit like the devil, with his dark eyes and gleaming head. Eric walked around to the passenger side, which was already occupied by a guy they called Conejo, or Rabbit.

Conejo was barely out of high school, skinny as hell, and crazy as fuck. He couldn’t sit still to save his life. Right now, however, he was staying put. Although Eric’s status dictated that Conejo move to the backseat, he didn’t budge. His challenging attitude solidified Eric’s suspicions: Junior had it in for him.

Eric could handle a beating. But if they thought he was going to lie down and take it like a bitch, they were wrong.

“Get in the back,” he said to Conejo, showing him his fist. His knuckles were scabbed over, healing well, and his adrenaline was pumping. Although he didn’t want to brawl in front of his house, he would if he had to.

Conejo glanced at Junior, who nodded his permission. Beady eyes flashing, he scurried to the backseat.

They drove to an overlook near Telegraph Canyon, where Junior parked among a row of cypress trees. The branches jutted toward the night sky like the edges of a serrated blade, sharp and jagged and precise. Below them, the city lights sparkled.

It was a common hangout to drink or just kick back and listen to music, but the mood tonight wasn’t jovial. Junior’s CD player was thumping a hard and heavy baseline, Columbian gangster rap.

Eric could feel Junior’s cold gaze assessing him. He wondered if his best friend had brought him here to kill him.

“The cops told me you texted Cristina on Friday night.”

He let out a slow breath. Talking was better than dying. “Yeah.”

“You were with her?”

“I went to a bonfire. She was there.”

“You went to meet her?”

“No.”

Junior took a swig from his bottle. “Don’t fucking lie to me,
cabrón
. You were acting all secretive. I know you were trying to get with her.”

Eric couldn’t tell Junior that Cristina hadn’t wanted her big brother ruining her fun at the party. So he told him about Meghan. “I wasn’t trying to get with your sister. I was trying to get with her friend.”

“Then why did you keep it from me?”

“Come on,
güey
. You know how it is. It’s hard enough to talk to a girl without your friends hanging around.”

Junior drank some more, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d never appreciated the concept of privacy. Eric knew from experience that Junior would fuck whoever, wherever, whenever. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in performing in front of others. Or perhaps he got off on exhibiting whichever female he was with.

Eric suspected that an incident from their youth was the reason for Junior’s proclivities. The experience had affected Eric, as well. When he saw Jack on top of Meghan, the memory had resurfaced, infuriating him further.

He’d watched men mistreat women his entire life. He’d stood by, helpless, while his father beat his mother. He’d tried to stop Raul from hitting April.

But the worst act he’d ever witnessed, by far, was one Junior had participated in. Eric considered him a victim
and
a perpetrator. They were ten and fourteen, respectively, and the attack had made an indelible impression on them both.

They never discussed it.

“Did you see any
chavalas
at the party?” Junior asked.

“No. There were some guys at the taco stand later, though.”

“Describe them.”

He did.

“
Pinche chavalas
killed my sister,” Junior said, his voice catching.

Eric froze, remembering the questions he’d been asked at the police station. “Why do you think that?”

“The cops said she had a gag in her mouth. A black bandanna.”

Disturbed by the news, Eric told Junior everything he remembered about Friday night, omitting Cristina’s flirtatious behavior.

“You think your boss did it? I’ll fucking rape
his
ass.”

Eric hesitated. He didn’t believe Junior meant that literally, but he knew his friend was out for blood. “No, man. I don’t think he did it. I beat him up pretty bad. He could hardly walk when I was done.”

“That’s why you talked to the police?”

“Well, yeah. Because I wanted to help Cristina, too.”

“Fucking cops,” Junior muttered, throwing his empty bottle out the window. It bounced off a tree stump, remaining intact. “Fucking Eastside!”

Revving the engine, he turned the car around, sending a spray of gravel down the hillside. He almost lost control on the first turn. Eric braced himself for the inevitable accident, but Junior managed to stay on the road.

He drove downtown, navigating the city streets with the same reckless imprecision. He was drunk and upset, and he’d probably been up all night. His foot was too heavy on the gas, his hands too light on the wheel. He turned the music up too loud.

Conejo, that stupid ass, howled an encouragement, drumming his hands on the back of Eric’s headrest.

Finally—
finally
—they slowed to a stop in a quiet neighborhood. Meghan didn’t live far from here, Eric realized, reading the street signs. Now that he’d told Junior the truth about Friday night, maybe his friend would let him get out and walk.

But Junior obviously had other plans. He reached under his seat, taking out a 9mm semiautomatic pistol.

“Oh, fuck,” Eric breathed, pressing his shoulder blades against the passenger door. Trying to distance himself from the situation.

“This is where the Eastside leader lives. Oscar Reyes. He’s one of the
chavalas
you saw that night. I went to school with him.”

Eric glanced toward a dark house. “No.”

“Yeah.”

Conejo started bouncing up and down in the back. “Let’s do him.”

“No,” Eric repeated. Hands trembling, he reached out, touching Junior’s shoulder. “
Dos Emes
will flip out, man. We can’t do this without permission.”

Dos Emes
was another name for the Mexican Mafia, the prison gang CVL paid dues to. The Locos were a big deal in Chula Vista, but they were a small group in the grand scheme of things. Impromptu drive-by shootings were absolutely not allowed.

“Fuck
Dos Emes
,” Junior said, shrugging him off.

Swallowing his fear, Eric looked toward the front of the house. It had been recently painted. There was a shiny black El Camino in the driveway. “What about his family? You could hit anyone in there!”

Junior disengaged the safety. “I don’t give a fuck about his family. Do you think he gave a fuck about my family when he was raping my baby sister? When he was choking the life out of her? Motherfucker!”

Again, Eric was assaulted by memories from ten years ago. Images swirled through his head, making him nauseous. The girl, begging for help, her hands tied with a bandanna. The masked man handing Raul money, paying for his turn.

“What if it wasn’t him?” Eric said, grabbing Junior by the front of the shirt. “What if it was … 
el hombre mascado
?”

They’d never mentioned him. Neither of them knew his real name. But, even drunk on booze and sorrow and rage, Junior understood exactly whom Eric was talking about. His eyes filled with tears and he turned the gun on Eric. “Don’t talk about that,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “
Never
talk about that!”

Eric released Junior’s shirt and shrank back slowly. It wasn’t the first time a gun had been pointed at his head. It wasn’t the first time someone he
loved
had put a gun to his head. Raul had done this once.

It was intensely terrifying. Soul-wrecking.

Despair swelled over him, and he could only close his eyes, waiting for the blast. He was aware of blood rushing in his ears, his heartbeat thudding against his chest.

When Junior pulled the trigger, Eric flinched.

The report was deafening, a series of staccato blasts. Glass popped and shattered, raining down on the street. As they left the scene in a squeal of tires, Eric opened his eyes. He was still alive. Junior had shot up Oscar’s tricked-out El Camino.

Not the house. Not Eric.

He put a hand over his heart, amazed to feel it beating.

His relief didn’t last long. Junior swerved all over the road, narrowly missing a parked car on the passenger side. A second later, the unmistakable peal of a police siren pierced the night air. They were being pursued.

“Fuck!” Junior righted the wheel, glancing in his rearview mirror.

Eric braced his hand on the dash and looked back. The police car must have been driving down one of the cross streets. Or, even more likely, it had been parked near Oscar’s house, doing surveillance.

Maybe the cops had anticipated this kind of retaliation.

Eric’s stomach dropped. They were all going to jail. It didn’t matter that Junior had been the only one who pulled the trigger. This was a drive-by shooting, and the city had a zero-tolerance policy on gang violence.

Junior leaned back in his seat and stepped on the gas, punching it down the deserted street. He squealed around the corner and kept going, accelerating to a dizzying degree. If they didn’t crash, they were going to kill someone. The black-on-black squad car followed at a safe distance, sirens blaring.