The first address didn’t exist and the second one was a Kinko’s. The third was one of those squashed stucco houses. That looked promising, although the occupants’ last name was Martez. Inside were a mother and her two sullen teenage daughters, who were polishing their toenails, mixing the smell of acetone with the odor of bacon grease. She insisted that there was no Pepe Renaldes in residence, but since she was less than convincing, Decker searched the house. She let him do it because Decker was big, and Decker was authoritative, and Decker must have said something to her in Spanish that scared the bejesus out of her.
By the time we hit the fourth address-a dingbat apartment building-it was almost ten and the hopes of finding Pepe Renaldes in bed were fading fast. It was a two-story building of brown stucco, fronted by a patch of straggly lawn that had a couple of full-size palm trees dropping premature palm nuts. The little black balls littered the sidewalk and poked into the soles of my shoes. The place had no lobby, but it did have a directory-twelve units with number four looking very promising because the occupants were listed asRand nothing else. This little bit of Heaven was toward the back and secured by iron grilles on the front door and windows. As we approached the unit, I could hear ferocious barking in the midrange level coming from inside. I had reservations about dropping in, but Dad had other ideas.
“Okay,” he whispered. “You stay out of sight.”
“It’s got bars and a dog, Dad. How do you propose we get in?”
“You leave that to me.”
“You can’t push in the door. And even if you did, there’s a dog-”
“Just stay back and let me handle this.”
“Do you have another gun?”
My father smiled at me. “Aw… you care.” His face turned grave. “Stand over there, all right?”
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Very much so.” He knocked on the door.
The dog went wild. I could picture my father charging in and the dog responding by going for his throat. I was naked without my gun and didn’t like that feeling at all.
We waited… thirty seconds… a minute.
Decker knocked again. He shouted something in Spanish.
The dog had worked itself up into a frenzy. There was yelling from above. Dad yelled back at him.
“You’re going to cause a riot,” I told my father.
“Nah, he’s just screaming for someone to shut the dog up.”
“Obviously, no one’s home.”
“Or sleeping. If he was out last night, Cin, he might be sleeping late.” Dad knocked again.
The dog kept up its vocal pyrotechnics.
Dad pounded this time.
“Let it ride-”
“You want to take control of your destiny or leave it to assholes?”
I exhaled. Dad gave the door another thrashing. “Last time,” he announced.
The dog was barking itself hoarse.
Ten seconds… twenty.
The dog quieted-a bark or two but without real feeling behind it. To my utter shock, I heard movement behind the door. My father pushed me out of the way. “Yo, Pepe,” he said. “Soy Miguel.”
I couldn’t understand the rest of his speech. I caught words but nothing else. I thought about Dad with his Spanish and Koby speaking three languages. I could barely cope with my native one.
Muffled Spanish came from behind the door.
Dad responded, “Un hombre blanco-alto con pelo rojo. El la busca, hombre. El dice que usted le debe dinero. Yo no le dije nada pero el dice que tiene una pistola, amigo. Si me da cincuenta dolares y una cerveza, pienso que yo puedo hacerlo esperar.”
Silence.
I whispered, “What did you say?”
He shut me up with a movement of his hand and put his finger to his lips. A couple of perfunctory yelps from the pooch, then I could hear the clunk of the dead bolt being opened. Dad pushed me against the wall.
The image of a charging pit bull leaping at my father’s face became quite vivid.
“Give me your gun,” I told him.
“What?”
“Don’t argue!” I spat fiercely. “You told me to have convictions-I have them now. Give me your gun now or I’m going to yell police!”
He gave me his gun.
Slowly, the door started to open. Just a crack at first, then it opened a little wider. Immediately, Decker shoved full force with his body and the door flew open.
As expected, the dog sprang upward, but Dad had come prepared. He gave the canine a swift, hard kick in the cranium, sending the midsize pooch across the room and crashing into a table. Pepe was going in one direction, while the dog, a pit bull mix, was shaking itself off, readying itself for round two.
I jumped on Pepe’s back, squeezing my legs around his waist and encircling his throat with my left arm. I jammed the bore of the gun into the nape of his neck. “CALL THE DOG OFF!” I shoved the gun deep against his cervical vertebrae. “CALL IT OFF! CALL IT OFF!”
The pit bull started charging. Dad picked up an end table. I screamed and shot at the intractable beast, grazing its head but not deterring it an iota. Dad threw the end table, knocking it again on the head as Renaldes did a rain dance, trying to shake me off his back.
“CALL IT OFF!” I shot a bullet past his temple. “CALL IT OFF!” Another bullet past the other ear.
“Don’ shoot!”
“OFF NOW OR THIS TIME IT’S YOUR FUCKING HEAD!”
He finally started making overtures to the beast, calling him by his name, Fuego, cooing at him like a parakeet. Although Fuego was still pissed, he was disoriented from being slammed by flying furniture.
I was still holding on to Renaldes. “Put him in a closet!” I demanded.
“Get off-”
I zinged another shot past his ear.“EL PERROIN THE CLOSET! NOW!”
At last my demand sank in. Pepe bent down, almost falling on his face under the burden of my weight, but somehow he managed to grab Fuego’s collar and lead him into a closet. As soon as the pit bull was secured behind the door, I jumped off, and at the same time, my father grabbed Renaldes by the throat. He pushed him down onto a tattered couch and tightened his grip. Renaldes’s face started turning a very unhealthy red. With his right hand, Decker motioned for his weapon. I gave it to him and he shoved it into Renaldes’s mouth. I do believe Pepe pissed in his pants.
I realized that my own mouth was open and closed it shut. I had never seen this side of my father. I must have looked as shocked as Koby did when I took down El Paso. Behind the closet, Fuego started barking again-loud and angry, ordering a rematch with my father.
Renaldes was struggling under Dad’s bulk, but he was clearly outmatched. Pepe had some muscle definition but was on the short side-smaller than I was. He had a shaved head and dark eyes, which were popping out of their sockets. He had been wearing a terry-cloth robe when we barged in. Now it had opened up, revealing a chest inked with tattoos-a devil, a snake, a spider, et cetera, et cetera, yawn, yawn. It was hard to say anything about his complexion because he was bright pink from pressure and fear.
Decker pulled the gun out of Pepe’s mouth and placed it on his forehead. He whispered, “You went after the wrong person,amigo.”
He choked out, “No se-”
“Shut up and listen!”
“Por favor-”
Decker tightened his grip. Renaldes was literally about to explode. “I said, shut up andlisten!”
He was on the verge of passing out. I brought my hand over my father’s fingers and pried them open, just enough to loosen his grip and give Pepe some air. Decker didn’t even realize I was doing it.
Decker spoke low and slow. “Someone shot at a cop last night. Someone in a bronze Nova with stolen plates. Now if you’re straight with me, guess what, Pepe? You’ll live. If you give me bullshit, you’ll die.Muy fácil. La verdad o la muerte. Comprendes, amigo?”
The man’s head bobbed up and down. The dog was now thumping against the closet door. I looked around the room, then pushed the coffee table in front of Fuego’s escape route. I pounded on the door to shut the beast up. It worked for a moment, but then Fuego continued yelping.