Savages

253

“She has to live somewhere,” Chon says.

She does.

They go through Steve’s real estate list again.

An apartment in Irvine.

MapQuest.

Three blocks from campus.

254

Truism.

Cliche.

You become what you hate.

Ben says, “You know what we have to do.”

Chon knows.

255

Lado’s man gets out of the car in the parking lot of Magda’s apartment building.

Pop-pop.

Chon puts two silenced rounds in the back of his head and then puts him back in the car.

The drug war comes to Irvine.

256

Magda fixes herself a cup of green tea.

She wants a little boost but she’s coffee’d out and, anyway, the tea is healthier. Antioxidants and all that.

The doorbell rings.

She doesn’t know who it could be and she’s a little annoyed because what she wants right now is to put her feet up, drink her tea, and read a hundred pages of Insoll for her arch and religion course.

Probably Leslie, the lazy slut, coming over to borrow her notes. If the puta could get up in the morning to get to class—

“Leslie … God …”

Magda opens the door and the guy is on her like that, one hand over her mouth, the other behind her neck pushing her back down and onto the sofa. She hears the door shut and sees a second guy come in and he puts a gun to the side of her head.

She shakes her head, like, take anything you want, do anything you want. Thank God the guy puts the gun back in his belt, but then he has a syringe and he grabs her arm, rolls up the sleeve of her black silk blouse, and jabs the needle in her vein.

Then she’s out.

257

Lado pulls up outside the house and gets out.

Esteban opens the door.

The mierdita looks like he’s been crying.

Lado moves past him into the room where they keep the little blonde puta. She sees his face and knows. Knows and starts to run but he cuffs her across the face, grabs her by the wrist, and pulls her into the other room. Shoves her little ass down into the chair, takes off his belt, and straps her hands behind it.

She’s kicking her feet and screaming.

Lado yells, “Help me, pendejo. Hold her fucking legs.”

Esteban keeps crying but he does what he’s told. He grabs her by the feet and holds on while Lado gets the duct tape and forces it onto her mouth. Then he squats down and wraps a length around her ankles and the chair legs.

“Don’t worry, chucha,” he says. “Your legs will be wide open later. You can count on that.”

He goes to straighten up and Esteban has a gun out, pointed at him.

258

When Magda comes to, still groggy, they have her strapped up with duct tape.

She’s in some kind of cheap motel room.

A laptop computer is set on the coffee table in front of her, the little camera eye red and blinking, and she thinks this is some kind of twisted Internet porno rape and if it is she wants them to just get it over with and not kill her.

But neither of the men takes his clothes off or even unzips his jeans.

One starts typing on the keyboard, the other

Pulls the gun out again and jacks a round into the chamber.

259

“What are you going to do with that?” Lado asks.

Esteban, the little ball of shit, his hands are shaking. Reminds Lado of the old car they had out back as a kid. When you started the engine the whole car would quiver and rattle and that’s what Esteban’s hands look like now.

“Let her go,” Esteban says

and then Lado knows he’s in no danger because this kid didn’t listen to him when he told him you pull a gun you pull the trigger you don’t threaten or talk you

pull the trigger

260

“Log on,” Ben says.

Log the fuck on, Lado.

261

The bullet misses.

Not by much, but life, like baseball, is a game of inches.