“Get off of me!” he shouts from under his hoodie. I jog over slowly then take a moment to catch my breath. I pace back and forth, hands on my hips, straining for air.
“Seriously?” Paige asks incredulously as I pant.
I hold up my finger, asking for a minute. My sides cramp with stiches, and I grimace in pain.
“What the hell are you doing?” the hooded figure shouts again. When my wheezing stops, I reach over and pull away the hood to reveal…
“Sebastian Gallo.”
He stops struggling. “So what?”
Red flashing lights alert us of an oncoming vehicle. We duck down low, and Sebastian momentarily stops struggling until the police cruiser passes.
“You’re not cops?” he asks.
I get nice and close so he can see my eyes. Even in the dark, their bright color is clear. He pulls away.
“I want to talk about Elizabeth Viramontes.”
He strains within Paige’s CrossFit hold, but she keeps him still. “Who are you with?” he spits out, still struggling.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my private investigator license. I shove it in his face. “Elizabeth’s mother hired me to find her.”
He stops struggling, a quizzical look on his face.
“Are you going to cooperate?”
He nods.
Paige loosens her grip. Sebastian immediately shoves her off and makes a run for it. I quickly reach out, grab him by the hood, and yank him to the ground. With a crunch he lands flat on his back. He gasps, the air knocked out of him.
“Damn it, Sebastian,” I say.
He struggles to breathe while Paige wraps him up again. I take this moment to make some things clear. “Listen, this place is crawling with cops right now. I have no problem calling some attention our way to let them know I’ve caught one of the dealers they were looking for tonight. I’m going to assume you’ve got shit on you right now—enough for a felony?”
It takes a moment for Sebastian to catch his breath. I hope he is beginning to realize he’s in a no-win situation. “What do you mean, ‘find her’?” he asks.
If he’s pretending not to know about the fact that she’s missing, then I have to play along to get him to talk. “She disappeared about a week ago. When was the last time you saw her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Two weeks? A month?”
“Try eight days ago,” I retort. “Right before she disappeared.”
Paige chimes in. “La Lucha. Sound familiar?”
Sebastian gulps. “Elizabeth and I had gone out for drinks.”
“You were broken up. Why get together? Did she need something you were selling?”
He snickers. “She was scared, all right?”
“Of what?” I ask.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he says dismissively.
“What was she scared of?”
Sebastian leans toward me. “Santa Muerte.” He spits on the ground.
I don’t know much about Santa Muerte, but I know this is cause for concern. It’s an offshoot of Catholicism, a cult that worships a female deity known as the Saint of Death—a deity that looks like a skeletal Virgin Mary. The cult is infamous for their sacrifices, both animal and human, throughout all of Mexico.
I continue questioning. “Elizabeth was involved in Santa Muerte?”
He nods. “When we started dating, she introduced me to it. She bought into the whole thing. I thought it was a joke… at first. But they’re into some crazy shit. No chick is worth that, so I broke it off with her.”
“If she was into it, then why was she scared? Why reach out to you?”
“It was getting too much even for her.”
“Why? What happened?”
Sebastian looks away, shaking his head. I cross my arms. I’ve got all night.
He sighs. “It all started when this crazy old woman showed up to the temple—the one down in East LA. They used to sacrifice chickens when I was there. When the old woman showed up, it got worse. They were killing cats. Dogs. Elizabeth said she was a witch. A lechur… or something, I don’t know. Elizabeth wanted to get out because…”
Paige and I exchange a look. I wonder if he’s really trying to sell me on the story of some witch.
“Because…?” I say, prodding him to continue.
“Because she was afraid they were going to kill her. You want to find out who took her, go down to the temple on Whittier.”
Sebastian is not to be trusted, but no one would be stupid enough to offer this as a reasonable story behind Elizabeth’s disappearance. When people lie, they try to come up with a story that’s believable. When people tell you an absurd story, there’s usually some truth behind it.
Red lights flash again, and we all duck down. Another police car passes, shining its spotlight around the field and over our heads. As it passes, I reach into Sebastian’s pockets and start pulling out vials and bags and tossing them to the ground.
He protests. “Hey!”
“Shhh…”
Paige keeps him cinched up. I reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet. Once the cruiser passes, I take a picture of his ID with my cell phone. “Just in case I need to find you again.”
With no other reason to keep him, I give Paige the go-ahead to let him go. Again, he pushes her away. He rips his wallet out of my hands, collects his drugs from the dirt, then scrambles into the shadows of some nearby trees and disappears.
We wait, careful to avoid any remaining police cars. Then we trudge back to the car. As I huff and puff, Paige chastises me. “You need to start jogging.”
“I know.”
* * *
Santa Muerte means “Saint of Death.” I know that already, but when I start my online research the minute I get home, everything I read underscores that notion. By whatever power this entity—spirit, deity, or demon—is granted, its sole mission is to bring death.
Most stories of death center on a being whose purpose is to lead souls from this world to the next. The grim
