Hailey's War

“My question, though,” I said, “is how we’re going to deal with him. We can’t just throw Nidia and the baby on a Greyhound and hope for the best. She’s not capable of protecting herself and her child.” My throat felt dry from so much talking, first with Costa, now here. “And we can’t keep guarding her and the kid around the clock, long- term.”

Everyone was silent. We could hear the faint throb of music from inside Julianne’s bedroom, where Nidia was with Cheyenne, like yesterday. I said, “Nidia should be a part of this conversation.”

“No,” Payaso said. “She’s pregnant and under a lot of stress. I don’t think she should have to think about things like this.”

Serena said, “It’s her baby and her life. If Nidia shouldn’t have to be in on this, who the hell should?”

Payaso ignored her. “You said that she and the baby would have to be separated until the old man dies, right?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “And who knows, that could be soon.”

“What if it was really soon?” He smiled slyly. “Like, extremely soon.”

Iceman smiled. Before that, he’d been as impassive as an Easter Island statue.

I had to swallow before I could speak. “You mean an assassination.”

“You saying he doesn’t deserve it?” Payaso asked. “You know he does. If you want to keep your hands clean, Trece and I can TCB on this. You wouldn’t have to be involved, except in the planning, like you did with finding Nidia. But not in the actual-” He made a gun of his thumb and finger and mimicked shooting.

He was making a good point, in his way. If Trece went after Skouras and succeeded in killing him, it wasn’t like the old man wouldn’t have brought it on himself. Everybody knew what happened when you lived by the sword.

But there was a problem. “I doubt you could get near him,” I said. “He knows a Hispanic gangbanger was involved in the mission in Gualala. He’ll spot one of your homeboys a mile away. You guys aren’t gonna blend in, not in Skouras land.”

“Guys? Maybe not.” Another sly smile. “But a nice innocent Mexican girl, dressed like a maid or a janitor? One of Warchild’s homegirls could walk right up to him and blast away. Some of them are as good with a gun as my homeboys.”

Serena shot me a look that, in anyone else, would have appeared to be mild consternation. In her, it was alarm.

I said what she was undoubtedly thinking. “They could get in to do that, sure. But could they get out?”

Payaso didn’t look like he had considered this, but he lifted a shoulder. “Under the right situation, yeah, I bet they could.”

Finally Serena spoke up. “She’ll have other kids.”

“What?” Payaso said. “What are you taking about?”

“Nidia will have other kids,” she repeated. “And the old man doesn’t want to kill this one, he wants to raise it.”

Payaso started to speak, but Serena didn’t let him: “Listen to what we’re saying. We’re talking about killing someone, with one of my homegirls doing the shooting, and maybe not coming back, and for what? All so Nidia can raise this kid instead of giving it up? It’s too high a price.” She jumped off the porch railing. “I’m going to get her. I want to hear her say it’s worth one of my homegirls’ lives for her not to have to give up her baby.”

“No,” Payaso said. “She doesn’t need to be in on this decision. This is gang business.”

“No, it’s not, Payaso,” she said. “That’s what we’ve been pretending so that we can tell ourselves we can handle this, but it’s not. In case you didn’t notice, we’re like five hundred miles out of our territory, the enemigos are rich white guys we didn’t use to ever have to think about, and she’s”- Serena gestured toward me-“not really even one of us, like Trippy was saying. This isn’t just Trece business, and Nidia needs to be in on it.” She headed toward the back door of the trailer.

When Payaso stepped in front of her, I thought it was just to block her way, until his hand whipped out and he slapped her face.

I understood why it had happened. Serena was as tall as Payaso was, five-nine. She was smart. She used to run with the guys. She wasn’t like the other females, whose anger and opposition he could have blown off as girlish pique. A challenge from Warchild was a challenge. He couldn’t have backed down and not lost face in front of Iceman.

So he hit her. Not a hard slap, just enough to remind her of how things were. In case she’d forgotten. Which I guess she had, because she was staring at him in shock, and he was looking back at her with a cold, impassive expression, not moving out of her way.

I said, in a low voice, “Let’s take a break, okay? This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

They were still staring at each other.

I went to Serena’s side, playing the soothing girlfriend. “Let’s go into town, okay? Everyone needs to cool off, and we didn’t really eat a lot of breakfast. We’ll get something to eat, all right?”

“Yeah,” Serena said, her voice muted. “Okay.”

I looked at Payaso. “Can we take your car?”

forty-five

We’d barely gone two miles, me driving, when Serena leaned forward, head in her hands lowered almost to the dashboard, and started to cry.

“God damn him,” she said, sniffling.

I recognized what a good time this would be not to say anything glibly comforting, and didn’t.

We were silent the rest of the way into town, except for Serena’s brief spasm of tears, which dried quickly. We went to a diner and ordered garlic fries and cream-cheese jalapenos and Cokes and found a table in the back, where we could talk without being overheard. The infusion of sugar and grease seemed to have a calming effect on Serena. She watched through the window as a stellar jay splashed and bathed in a parking-lot puddle. I watched, too, but I was thinking of the problem at hand.

By the time we’d finished our food and were sitting idly sipping our Cokes, I said, “I think you’re right.”

“About what part?” she said dully, sitting with her chin in her hand.

“Skouras has to die,” I said.

She raised her head. I’d surprised her. She wasn’t used to hearing me sound so bloodthirsty, and in so flat a tone.

I explained: “This isn’t going to be over until Skouras’s got the baby or he’s dead. I’d say that it’s okay for him to get the baby-hell, I’d offer to bring the baby to him, except that Nidia will never stop trying to get the kid back. Maybe she’ll go through the courts or even go to the media, but somehow she’ll make an annoyance of herself, and he’ll have her killed. He might have her killed anyway, preventively, and Costa’s warning about ‘if you don’t cooperate’ was bullshit from the start. For all I know, if I arrange a meeting to hand the baby over, he might have his guy say, ‘Thank you very much,’ and put a bullet in my head, just for knowing about the whole thing. And for wasting his time and punking his guys.”

Serena said dully, “You want us to do what Payaso said, have one of my girls dress up as an office cleaner and get close to him?”

I shook my head. “I’m not letting one of your homegirls do this,” I said. “That wouldn’t work very well, either. The problem with an assassination in his home or his office, for one of your sucias, would be getting out safely. But there’s another option. Skouras has to get around, and San Francisco has horrible traffic. That’s why bike messenger services are so successful there. Bikes cut right through the traffic.”

“Are you saying you want to do it? On your bike?” Serena said.

“It’s a variation on a drive-by,” I said. “They do it a lot in foreign countries, on motorcycles. I’d be almost unrecognizable as a bike messenger, dressed like one, wearing a helmet. If I pull my hair down low enough, it’ll obscure a lot of my birthmark. And I could probably even dye my hair dark.” The details were coming to me fast.