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Things I m not proud of.
Jesse snapped his fingers to snag my attention back to
him. And you walked away from those things that you re
ashamed of, Candelario. He raised the beer to his lips.
But think about this. Flores is still around. Would it
maybe be dangerous to hook up with your amante again if
he s still working on the case?
I m not afraid of Flores.
No, you re not, that s true. A sly grin worked its way
to his lips. And oh, how Señor Flores hates you for that.
My concern would be for Carlos his safety, not
mine. I tucked the letter into my pocket. Flores s issue
with me is just hate. But Carlos is a cop. He s a big threat
to the vato and his organization.
Exactly. Carlos is a cop, Candelario. It seems he s
been on the streets for some time now. He toughed it out in
El Paso, for Christ s sake. And, hey, if the little hombre can
survive in the Conquistador Apartments, he is one
righteous little motherfucker.
True. My thoughts rambled back to the first time I d
seen Carlos, how cocky and confident he was, how tough.
Beautiful and delicate on the surface but steely and
unafraid inside.
Jesse leaned forward to clutch my shoulder. We ll find
him, mi amigo. We ll find him.
Yes, we ll find him. I have to find him.
Jesse forbade me to go back to work for the rest of the
day. We wandered about town, shot a few games of pool,
and drove to El Mercado to stroll. The odd little merchant
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peddled her golden lechuza again, but this time I bought it.
I was happy with Carlos s letter close to my heart. I didn t
have him back yet, but I felt the tie hadn t truly been
destroyed, and I was determined the damn owl would be a
good luck charm, not an omen.
Tired but content, we called it a day, and I talked Jesse
into coming to the house to hang out and have dinner with
me. I d called ahead to let Aunt Dahlia know, and the
moment we stepped into the foyer, the soothing aroma of
her cooking met our noses. Just as I tossed my keys on the
entryway table, my glance caught a small package sitting
beside the handcrafted pottery. I picked it up, scanning for
a name, but there was no writing on the plain paper
wrapping.
My fingers ripped at the secured corner, but Jesse
laughed and stopped me. Hey, Jefe, it s plain paper
wrapping. Could be a bomb.
I nudged him and chuckled, continuing to open the
package. What the hell is this?
The discarded paper drifted to the floor, and I held an
ordinary white box the small kind that jewelry from
department stores comes in. For some reason, I was afraid
to open the box, and an odd, cold finger of uneasiness
walked up my spine. Maybe I d seen too many movies
where badasses severed body parts and sent them to people
as threats. Shaking off the ridiculous trepidation, I
guardedly lifted the lid from the box.
Nestled in a clump of gauzy cotton was Carlos s dove
earring. My first thought was that he d returned the earring
as a way to tell me it was officially over between us. At that
unbearable idea, awful heat sped through my veins and
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pounded in my ears. Jesse& . I just stared at the
glistening diamond.
Jefe, is that not your amante s earring? Jesse bent to
pick up the brown paper on the floor and spread it out,
scanning both sides. Is there a card in the box? There s
nothing on the wrapping.
No card.
How foolish I felt. Just because Carlos had written that
he still loved me hadn t meant a relationship was possible,
and the sparkling earring in the box was proof that it
indeed wasn t to be.
I returned the lid to the box and reached to dump it
into the wastebasket, but Jesse s hand snapped over my
wrist. He tugged the little package from my fingers.
No. Don t throw it away. As though he d rescued an
endangered little bird, he held the box away from me.
What? Save it for another man? I spat.
Not another man, Candelario. His gaze, mysterious
and dreamy, locked with mine, and he laid the box on the
table. For Carlos.
Waving him off, I headed for the kitchen. Let s eat.
He followed me. I have a feeling.
One thing I do not need, muchacho, is your romantic
false hope shit. I draped my arm over his shoulders,
pulling him close. It s best for me to put Carlos behind me.
Starting now.
Deep down, I nurtured the silly hope that Jesse was
right, that Carlos really wasn t gone. That I d misread his
gesture.
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The lechuza, whose presence I d grown accustomed to,
inspected us as Aunt Dahlia filled our plates with sizzling
beef fajitas, guacamole, pico de gallo, and tortillas. I smiled
at the curious, winged monitor. It did not return my smile.
No sooner had I spooned the meat and vegetable
mixture onto a tortilla than my cell vibrated and danced in
a circle on the table. I laid down the fork, grabbed the
phone, and checked the caller ID. Carlos. Despite my tough
talk about putting Carlos behind me, my pulse rushed with
excitement. Wait, you fool. What if he s only calling to make
sure you got the earring, thinking he s making it easier if he
lets you down himself? My finger trembled over the Talk
button.
Candelario? Jesse searched my face. What is it?
Ignoring him, I answered the phone. Carlos? I tried to
sound nonchalant.
Good evening, Más Chingon. A very familiar, very
unwelcome voice breezed softly to me from the other end.
It wasn t Carlos. It was Teirso Flores. My mind
careened into a horrible, dark, cold void, not able to process
his voice on this phone, and icy fear knifed my belly fear
for Carlos.
Words, halted by confusion and horror, refused to pass
my lips.
Flores took this speechless opportunity to continue. I
heard the sinister smile in his silky voice. Candelario. Did
you get my present? My men say you re home. You ve
surely seen it. With a voice a combination of a growl and a
snicker, he teased, Does it belong to someone you know?
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I lurched forward in the chair, pressing the phone
harder to my ear as though to bring Flores closer, to
strangle him.
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