Desert Angel (18 page)

Her knees gave and she sat, rubbed at her eyes. Hopeless. Defeated. She sat with that notion as it drifted away into a stillness that lost track of time until, without conscious thought, she stood and began walking toward the bandstand, where the kids were playing music and sharing a beer.

“Hey.” A tall sandy-blond boy on the edge of the group broke away and came to meet her.

Angel saw how his clothes and his dreads could stand washing but she appreciated his open face and big smile. Close, she noticed freckles and straight teeth.

“Trev,” he said, introducing himself. “You’re new, right?” He raised an open hand to shoulder level in a question and pointed at her head with the other. “You in a play?”

Angel frowned and wondered why he was dissing her until she remembered the wig. Great. She pulled it off and stuffed it in the tote. “No,” she said, “I’m looking for a guy.” She held the photo sheet out.

“He your dad?”

She shook her head.

“Then you don’t want to find him.”

“You guys help me look?” She gestured toward the music group.

“Maybe,” he said. “You want to meet everybody? What’s your name?”

“Uh, Rita,” Angel said, wanting to be careful but not knowing why or how.

The guy bit his bottom lip. “Really?”

A rush of anger mobilized her. “Forget it,” she told him, walking away toward Main.

Trev scrambled to get in front of her. “Okay, no name.”

Angel stopped, waited.

“Show ’em the picture,” Trev said. “They’ll tell you if they know him.”

When he brought her over, some acknowledged her, looked at the picture, shook their heads. Others ignored her. She realized a couple of the six or seven people were girls, wearing blue jeans and loose sweatshirts, no makeup. She could fit in if she wanted to. She had to know. “You guys live here?”

Trev and the girl and guy near him laughed. “In the park? No,” he said. “Well, I guess we’ve slept behind those bushes a couple times.” He pointed to thick foliage surrounding a tan adobe park building. “The restrooms open daylight hours so you can clean up if you want.”

“Where do you stay?” she persisted.

“Hoov with the guitar goes to Imperial College, family lives around here. Me and Manny—”

“Samantha,” the near girl interrupted.

“Me and Samantha and Deke stay at the Slabs a few miles north, easy to hitch. I don’t know about the rest. There’s a mission. You need a bed, you could try that or come with us.”

*   *   *

T
HE MISSION WAS A BLOCK OFF
M
AIN,
behind and sponsored by Celebration Outreach Church. The entrance was off a four-lane parking lot, and Angel walked past the place on the far side and moved into a doorway so she could watch who came and went. Old people, broken people, bedraggled moms with small children, road warriors wearing blankets and packs. Nobody her age.

The stench of urine got her attention. The doorway. Clearly more often a bathroom. She checked the concrete floor but saw only decaying fast-food wrappers and crumpled napkins. No turds. She tried the glass door and found it locked like she’d guessed. This was some office building or church building. Might even be empty. The smell drove her back into the parking lot, and she continued walking to Main and then again to the thrift store. Inside, she asked the woman if she could exchange the wig.

“No money back,” the clerk said, rolling her eyes like this happened all the time.

“Trade it in for a cap?”

“Dollar more.”

Angel agreed and found an oversize hipster cap that hid her hair. “You need any help?” she asked, suddenly imagining she could work here sorting clothes or cleaning and maybe even sleep in the back.

The clerk scratched a mole on her lower lip and gave Angel a slow once-over. “You steal?”

Angel hesitated.

“I thought so. You saved?”

Angel wasn’t sure enough what the woman meant to answer that question either.

The woman turned her back to pick up a box of paperbacks. “Can’t help you,” she said, pulling a marking pen from her shirt pocket and writing prices inside the book covers.

Angel wasn’t surprised. Anyway, it was time to check the skateboarder.

*   *   *

T
HE CURB WAS LINED
with cars in front of the Imperial Club and Angel could hear Western music leaking from the front door. The kid, Kick something, was sitting on his board, back against the building, sizing her up.

“Better,” he said, pointing to her cap. “You bring it?”

She dug the baggie out of her tote, and he wrapped it in a wrinkled handkerchief and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“So, I call you.”

Angel couldn’t think of anything to say. She thought about “be careful,” but she didn’t want to scare him and his guys now that she’d already given them the payoff. “Where can I stay around here?” was all she could come up with.

“Any place you want,” he said, hopping on his board and gliding away.

She should have asked about Kick’s buddy, Nick, the kid who thought he’d seen Scotty. Should have gotten Nick’s cell number. But the skateboarder was already in the next block in the middle of traffic. She’d never catch him.
No!
She hadn’t gotten his cell number either. She’d given away the dope and didn’t have anything to show for it or anything to bargain with … She thought about it … Her body? She wouldn’t do that. Her body and the gun were all she had left.

That realization left her feeling small and lonely. She decided to go back to the bandstand and check what she had in her tote. Maybe there was something she could trade for food or burger money. She felt a hand on her arm and screamed before she could stop herself.

A red-faced guy in a cowboy hat took a quick step backwards. “Sorry, honey,” he said, slurring. “Thought you might wanta join me for a drink.”

Rage and fear were making her nauseated. “I’ll ki—” She shut up before she talked herself into more trouble, wheeled, crossed the street right there, making traffic slow for her.

At the plaza, the bandstand was deserted. Angel dumped everything but the gun from her tote onto the plywood floor beside her. She hadn’t brought the liter water bottle. Too heavy. But she had underwear, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, a map. The screwdriver? She had no idea where she’d lost it. Probably back at the Flores house. In the little purse, a wadded dollar bill and the phone charger. She looked around the platform for an electrical outlet. They must have a bunch of them for concerts, but she couldn’t see any. She could probably plug the charger in at a fast-food place. Or the bus station. And that might be a place she could spend the night. She had a couple of hours of daylight left to find it.

*   *   *

F
INALLY, AT DUSK
, she gave up searching on her own and asked in a Shell station, where they let her charge her phone. No deal. No bus station in Brawley. Nearest one, El Centro, twelve to fifteen miles south. So now what? Walk back to the mission? The phone took another half hour, and it was well after dark on her way back to the mission when she got another call.

“You lookin’ for somebody, right?”

“Who is this?” Angel didn’t recognize the voice at all.

“I got somethin’. Gonna cost you.”

“Uh, Trev?”

“Right, I’m a puke, look like a girl. Now’s gonna cost you more.”

“Nick?”

“He’s got bucks to hear ’bout you. How much you got I don’t give you up?”

“Nick, he’s going to hurt—” Her phone went dark. “Hey!”

She wasn’t sure how, but the call gave her the hiccups.

*   *   *

A
NGEL CROSSED THE BLACKTOP LOT
, tried the mission door, and found it locked. That possibility had never occurred to her and she lost it. Lost it completely and began kicking the door and pounding it with her fists. She knew she was yelling and sobbing like a madwoman but she was desperate. She had to get in. Had to get safe.
She had to!

It was minutes before a wrinkled woman with crooked and missing teeth came to the glass window beside the door and shook her head. “Beat on it all night but ya ain’t getting in. Wake enough people and they’ll come knock ya shitless. Opens nine for breakfast.” She left.

Angel crumpled to the ground but got up immediately. This doorway, too, smelled like piss.

*   *   *

T
HE BUSHES WORKED
. Enough cover to hide. Angel lay next to the stucco wall near a corner, her head on the tote. Her empty stomach kept her awake for a while. At some point after, her cell phone roused her. She could still hear traffic on Main. It couldn’t be too late.

“Hey.” The skateboarder. “Did Nick call you?”

Angel was foggy with sleep. Couldn’t formulate an answer.

“I can’t find him. No text or nothing. He calls, tell him get hold a me.”

He was gone again before Angel thought to ask for his number. She might not have remembered anyway. Her mind was filled with the new information. Nick thought he’d seen Scotty. And now Nick’s missing.

*   *   *

A
GUY WOKE HER THE NEXT MORNING
, walking his dog, teasing and baby-talking and sending it chasing a Frisbee. She stood, sore and grimy from tossing and turning in the dirt all night. The bathroom was locked. Her cell phone said 8:50. Mission breakfast in ten minutes. And she could use the bathroom there. And maybe find the snaggletoothed woman and shoot her.

At the front door there was a short line of people, mostly older except for one young dad shepherding three little kids, all looking exhausted. Angel wondered if they had slept nearby in their car. She hoped they had a car. Memories of Rita and her family flooded in … Jessie so full of energy, the shy middle girl, the boy that was so polite. The school, Norma—tough, funny Norma—and the kid with the spider, Primo? But Rita … why couldn’t her mom have been like Rita? Even for a week?

The line moved inside, down a bare hall, and through double doors into an open room like a school gym. Cots with rolled bedding were stacked against walls on either side, ten or twelve folding tables with cheap brown metal collapsible chairs occupied the middle of the room, and against the back wall was a counter from which two women served breakfast plates.

Angel sat with the young man and his family. He looked depressed and the children seemed barely awake. They ate slowly while she wolfed the dry scrambled eggs, fried lunchmeat, and slice of white bread. She looked to see if there were seconds, but the serving women were gone. In front of an open door that could have been a staff office, Angel saw Snaggletooth talking with a severe-looking woman in dark jacket and slacks. Both were staring in her direction. She picked up the tote and left as they were starting toward her.

*   *   *

A
PICNIC TABLE
in the plaza made a good place to watch for Scotty while she planned. If he was in Brawley like she thought, he’d probably drive along here during the day. More, she wanted to find the skateboard kid again and see if he’d talked with Nick. She hoped Trev or his friends would come back to the park, because they could probably tell her how to get along here in town with no money for a few days. But she needed to be careful and avoid that woman in the dark suit. She looked like a social worker. For that matter, Angel also had to avoid the police. They might make her for a runaway.

The plaza was still empty this early in the morning but the bathroom was probably unlocked. She headed for it to clean up. The women’s door was open and a city worker was cleaning the men’s. She waited for the guy to come out. “Is there a skateboard park in town?”

“Not s’posed to ride ’em on the sidewalks,” the man said.

He was thin and haggard in a green uniform, with gray stubble on his cheeks, red eyes. A drinker, Angel decided. She’d lived with several.

“Yeah, I don’t have one,” Angel said, “but my brother does and I need to find him.”

“Too damn dangerous,” the man said, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve.

Angel waited.

“Some of ’em used to set up in the parking lot behind the pharmacy,” he said, nodding toward downtown. “Put crates together, make a mess.”

She thanked him, received a scowl in return. “Can I go in for a couple of minutes before you clean the women’s?” she asked.

“Already done it,” he said. “Some people got work.”

*   *   *

I
N A STALL SHE TOOK OFF HER TOP
and jeans and brushed off the dirt and twigs from last night. Put on the other T-shirt Rita had given her and rolled the pants up her calves to change her look. At the sink, the mirror was polished metal, poor quality, but Angel was able to see well enough to make sure her face was clean. She wet her hair and brushed the front into bangs as best she could and pulled the cap down to trap them. She turned the vest inside out and put it on. When she stepped back she could see she looked pretty different. At least she didn’t think the suit woman would recognize her.

The area behind the pharmacy was empty, probably still too early. Scouting the stucco storefronts at the center of downtown, she found a discount store across the street from the Imperial Club where she could sit by the front window and pretend to examine knickknacks and cellophane-wrapped comics while she kept an eye on the bar. Scotty, if he went there at all, probably wouldn’t show up before lunch. The variety store was already packed with young mothers and children, the shelves and counters full to overflowing with tons of inexpensive clothes and home stuff. Slim chance anybody would notice or bother her there. Alternating between that and the plaza, she could keep a pretty good lookout all day.