Orange County Noir (Akashic Noir) (21 page)

"You have evidence that she's my agent's daughter?"

"I looked for it."

"So you could write a news story that would damage his
reputation and my department."

"To help a woman who did nothing wrong but live here
illegally and sleep with the wrong guy."

The corner of his mouth tics like he's used to hearing this sort of thing. "Would this kid know you if she saw
you?"

I remember Pricila's weight against me as we sat on the
couch and ate ice cream. "Yes."

He studies me and I remember why I haven't dated a Latino since I was seventeen. They have a way of making you
forget the vow you made in the eighth grade that you'd never
be the kind of woman who washes her man's underwear or
makes him a plate at parties.

"I'm not going to add to your problems and have you arrested, Danielle. You're a news assistant who's two months
behind on your car payment. A Mini Cooper. My sister wants
one of those."

"I got laid off," I answer before I realize he has poked into
my life. What else does he know?

He reaches for me and I flinch.

He grins as if he likes blondes in shackles. "I'm just going
to take off the cuffs."

"What about Pricila? And who are you?"

"Agent Mike Acacio, head of Immigration and Customs
Enforcement, Orange County bureau." He takes my arm. His
fingers are hot and then, with a twist and snap, my hands are
free. "I think I know where Pricila is."

Soon we're in Agent Acacio's car, for which he apologizes.
The guys who had it last were doing a stakeout and didn't toss
out their soda cans and fast food bags. It smells like stale fried
chicken.

We start driving. The rain has let up but the sky is dark
and the trees bend in the wind.

"Where are we going?"

"Train depot. You said the little girl left with a woman and
a hundred bucks."

I nod.

"More than likely they've got tickets on the 2:45 bus to
Los Angeles and then Mexicali."

When I look at him like he's psychic, he shakes his head.
"I've been doing this for a while."

"When did you know Jim Westfall was having an affair
with an unauthorized immigrant?"

He glares at me. My stomach coils into a knot.

"This is off the record," he says. "I received a faxed birth
certificate with his name on it, and when I crossreferenced
the list of arrestees, Gina Ruiz's name was on it."

Mike-Agent Acacio-goes on to explain that he had
suspicions about Westfall's arrests. I fight back a grin. Gina
managed one last strike before Westfall got her. I bet we'd like
each other if we ever met.

"Look, we don't make up the laws," Agent Acacio says. "If
Miss Ruiz is here illegally, she has to return to Mexico. But I
don't let my agents get away with abusing their power."

"So you'll still deport Gina?"

"If the court decides to repatriate her, then she'll be returned to Mexico."

"Doesn't Westfall want to look for his daughter?"

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. I finally notice a
wedding ring. "For some people, their kids don't figure into
the equation."

"Let's get something to drink. You like strawberry soda?"

Pricila thought about it and nodded. He seemed nice. Even
though Mommy and Nana told her never to talk to strangers,
they'd let Danielle take her and now Maya. He smiled when he
looked at Pricila and he wore Converse shoes like her teacher,
Mr. Neil.

"This nice lady here will keep your place in line. We'll come
back before your mom does, okay?"

Pricila knew she shouldn't go.

"Here, leave this." He reached for her backpack and helped
her arms out of the straps. "We'll bring something back for your
mom too. That way she won't be mad at us, okay?"

She looked up at him and then at the cafe at the other end of
the station. As long as they came back, it would be okay. He held
out his hand and she took it.

We arrive at the station with an agreement: I'll take Pricila
home until the court decides what to do with Gina. Agent
Acacio will deal with Westfall. We'll all go on with our
business.

When the SUV jerks to a stop, I turn to Agent Acacio. "I'm sorry, but you know I'm going to talk to my editor after
this."

He shrugs like that doesn't mean anything and then jumps
out to jog around the steaming hood, but he doesn't open
my door. A father carries his daughter to the parking lot and
people hurry out to a bus with a sign reading Mexicali in the
front window.

I reach into my purse, wondering if I have time to call Jake
to send a photographer.

At first he held her hand. Pricila tripped when he pulled her toward
the doors, away from the cafe.

"This way, sweetie."

"But the sodas are there," she said, pointing to the cafe in case
he hadn't seen it.

"No, baby, there're better ones this way."

The cold stung her face when he pushed the door open. What
if Maya came back before they came back? What if the lady didn't
save their place in line? Would Maya slap her?

Pricila wrinkled her nose at the smell of the buses parked
alongside the building. She wondered which one she would ride
with Maya and Baby Carmen.

He walked faster and she nearly tripped over her own feet to
keep up.

"Where are the-"

"Not now." This time he didn't smile. He swooped down and
lifted Pricila up in the air. Then he held her against him, one hand
under her butt and the other forcing her head down. Her nose
bumped against his shoulder and she froze with terror. She wished
she hadn't left with him. She wished she had stayed where Maya
told her to.

They walked past the big fountain and yellow taxis.

She could hear him breathing and white steam puffed out
of his nose. He started running and she squeezed her eyes shut,
hoping he wouldn't drop her; hoping Mommy would appear out
of nowhere.

He stopped running and she heard keys jangling. A car door
opened and he swung her inside. With one glimpse up at him,
Pricila realized he didn't look very nice anymore. She opened her
mouth to scream but he slammed the door.

Something tells me to look up again. I feel it like a hand grabbing the back of my neck.

I do, and then Pricila glances up over the man's shoulder.
Suddenly all these broken pieces pull together in my mind to
form a picture. The man driving around Santa Ana, offering
rides to little girls. Pricila's white coat.

The doors close behind Agent Acacio as he moves into
the train station.

I'm out of the car. Everything in my purse scatters on the
sidewalk. My feet pound the asphalt and tires scream as a
driver hits the brakes to keep from running me over.

I leap up onto the sidewalk and my wedge boots give out
under me. I fall sideways into a puddle of oily water. But I look
up when I hear a yelp and then the slamming of a door. He
sees me and then ducks into the dented Subaru backed into a
parking space. My knee burns and my ankle screams but I get
up and hobble the distance to his car.

"Stop! Stop!" I scream so loud it hurts my throat. He starts
the car and I slam both fists against the hood.

He revs the engine and the car lurches forward. I lever
myself up and my shins crash into the bumper. I snatch my
right foot up before it's pulled under the car.

I don't have time to pray. My fingers hook under the hood. I see the top of Pricila's head over the backseat. He didn't
even buckle her in.

I then meet his eyes through the windshield. He grins at
me as he guns the car forward, and my first thought as I swing
off the hood is that this is going to hurt.

But Agent Acacio shouts for him to stop, and knowing he
has a gun, I think that the pain will be worth it.

eannie is celebrating the rites of spring at Lake Mead this
weekend," Hudson proclaimed with a deep rumble, taking
his eye off me long enough to pack his pipe. "Initiating the
drunken mating rituals of the collegiate slut with like-minded
male strangers, a la Girls Gone Wild, no doubt."

I knew Jeannie. She wasn't a good girl. She liked to spread
rumors that she was bedding her professors. I guess in Hudson's case, her immature bragging was true.

"The dickens of it is, Josh, I need to break into her room.
Tonight."

"I just don't see you as the love-letter type, Hudson."

"I'm not, damn you." Hudson pawed his trim white beard.
"The girl is crazy. She likes to play games that escalate. She
sent me these."

Hudson tossed a folder. I pulled out a sheet of paper with
porno magazine pictures of a man and woman glued to it.

"Doggy style. Does that have importance?"

"No."

The woman's head had been replaced with the face of a
teenage girl, the man's with a gray-bearded geezer. "Hey, Wilford Brimley," I said, recognizing the actor from the diabetes
commercials. A voice bubble from the girl said, Do I get an `A"
yet? Wilford Brimley replied, No talking in class!

It was signed, Studiously yours, Jeannie.

"That's the first one," Hudson explained. He didn't seem
embarrassed at all. I looked through the folder. There were a
bunch more, each raunchier than the next.

"You replied in kind?"

"Yes, but mine were more sophisticated."

"And she's threatening you?"

"She's making outrageous demands. She wants honors. A
TA position. She wants to hold hands on campus. She says
she'll go public. I will not have my reputation tarnished, josh.
It means everything."

I tossed the folder back. "I didri t know you had it in you."

Hudson stopped mid-puff. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Well, I mean, with your busy schedule, dating
a younger woman who is also a serious head case could be a
challenge."

Hudson glared hard before responding. "We weren't dating. We were screwing. Age wasn't an issue."

"I didn't mean that," I said, though that's exactly what I'd
meant.

"I intend to have those letters back. Are you in?"

"Look, Hudson, there's no way. It's too crazy. I mean,
c'mon. Plus, I've got somebody arriving into town tonight."
That was true. I was doing one last interview with Hank
Watson for my documentary about former prisoners from the
frightful penitentiary in Moundsville, West Virgina.