I stared at her in dawning horror. “You mean the pastor set fire to the building because Zamar was running a sweatshop?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t say that. But when he found out about the sweatshop, he was very, very angry.”

Andrés had threatened Zamar that if he sent his business out of Chicago, the pastor would see he had no business left to protect. Was Andrés such a megalomaniac that he thought he really was God on the South Side? My head was reeling, and I couldn’t even find the strength to sit up straight.

I finally went to a smaller question, something I could manage. “Where did the people come from, the ones in the midnight factory?”

“Everywhere, but mostly Guatemala and Mexico. Me, I speak Spanish; I grew up in Waco, but my family was from Mexico, so Mr. Zamar, he knew I could talk to them. But the worst thing, the worst thing is, they owe money to a jefe, and Zamar, he actually turned to a jefe to get workers in his factory. Never did I think I would be doing such a thing, translating for him with that kind of mierda.”

Jefes, heads, they’re go-betweens, fixers, who charge illegal immigrants exorbitant fees to smuggle them into the country. No poor immigrant can afford a thousand dollars for a trip across the border, complete with fake green card and social security number, so the jefes “lend” them the money. When they get here, the jefes sell people to companies looking for cheap labor. The jefes pocket most of the wages, doling out just enough for room and board. It’s a system of slavery, really, because it’s almost impossible ever to buy your way out of one of these contracts. I could imagine Pastor Andrés would be furious with any local business who bought people’s work like that.

“This Freddy, he isn’t a jefe, is he?” I blurted out.

“Freddy Pacheco? He is too lazy,” she said scornfully. “A jefe may be evil, but he works hard; he has to.”

Rose and I sat silent after that. She seemed relieved to have finally gotten her story off her mind: her face was brighter, more animated, than it had been since before the fire at the factory. I felt duller-as if I really were too stupid even to go to college, let alone find her daughter.

On the screen in front of me, Spiderman was easily tying up the villain who had been trying to rob the local bank, or maybe it was the local banker trying to rob his customers, but, either way, Spiderman hadn’t even broken a sweat. Not only that, it had taken him less than half an hour to identify the villain and track him down. I desperately needed some superpowers, although even ordinary human powers would do right now.

The baby, which had slept through our talk, began to fuss. Rose sat up and said she was going to the kitchen to heat a bottle, she’d bring me a cup of coffee.

I took the baby from her. “Is Julia still here? I need to ask her some questions about the soap dish, that frog I showed you after church on Sunday.”

Rose went to the back of the apartment; I began to pat the baby’s little back. I sang her the Italian children’s songs my mother used to sing to me, the song of the firefly, the song of the grandmother, with her bottomless kettle of soup. Singing steadies me, makes me feel closer to my mother. I don’t know why I do it so seldom.

Rose returned with a bottle and a cup of bitter instant coffee just as María Inés began to fuss in earnest. Julia trailed after her mother, looking at me suspiciously: Rose had told her we were going to discuss the soap dish, and any trust we had built up at practice this afternoon wasn’t going to carry over to tonight.

I handed Rose the baby and stood so I could look Julia in the eye, more or less-she was a couple of inches taller than me. “Julia, I’m too tired for a night of lies or half-truths. Tell me about the soap dish. Did you or did you not give it to Freddy?”

She shot a glance at her mother, but Rose was frowning at her. “You tell the truth now, just like the coach said, Julia. Your sister is missing, we don’t want to be a dentist taking the story out of you little bit by little bit with a drill.”

“I did give it to him, all right? I didn’t tell you a lie about that.”

I smacked the couch arm. “The whole story, at once. This is more important than your hurt feelings. When was this?”

Julia’s face turned as red and round as her baby’s, but when she saw neither her mother nor I had any sympathy for her she said sulkily, “Christmas. Last year, already. And Freddy looked at it, he said, what did he want with some girly present like that? And then I found out he gave it to Diego, and Diego gave it to Sancia.”

“And then?”

“What do you mean, ‘And then?’”

I heaved a loud sigh. “Did Sancia keep it? Does she still have it?”

She hesitated, and her mother pounced on her before I could open my mouth. “You tell me this minute, Julia Miranda Isabella!”

“Sancia showed it to me,” Julia yelled. “She bragged how Diego loved her, he gave her this beautiful thing, even with a little piece of soap in it shaped like a flower, and what did Freddy give me? I was furious. I said, how funny, I gave Freddy one just the same as this. Diego, he’s Freddy’s cousin, she asked Diego, did he steal Freddy’s soap dish?, and Diego, he said, no, Freddy gave it to him. So she was all insulted, secondhand goods, she said, and she wouldn’t keep it, she gave it back to me! Like I was trash who needed something like that, something I bought with my own money and my own boyfriend didn’t want!”

The tears began to roll down her cheeks in earnest, but Rose and I just looked at her in exasperation. “Where is it now?” I asked.

“I threw it out. Only, Betto and Sammy, they wanted it. I said, fine, they could use it as a tank, they could break it, I didn’t care.”

“Do they still have it?” I asked.

Again she hesitated, and again it was her mother who forced her to speak. Freddy had come to her; he had changed his mind, he did want this soap dish after all. Diego had told him about it, about Sancia giving it to her, and could he have it back?

“He spoke to me so nice, like he did last year, before he made María Inés inside me, like I was beautiful, all those things. So I dug it out of Sammy’s box and gave it to him, and then he left, not even a good-bye kiss, not even ‘How is María Inés?’”

“Congratulations on a close escape,” I said drily. “The farther you stay away from him, the better off you are. When was this?”

“Three weeks ago. In the morning, after Ma went to work and everyone else left for school.”

“Did he say why he wanted it?”

“I told you! He said because he wanted something from me, after all, and he was sorry, all those things!”

“Where is Freddy now?” I demanded.

Julia looked at me nervously. “I don’t know.”

“Guess, then. Where does he hang out? What bar, where are his other babies? Anything.”

“Are you going to hurt him?”

“Why do you protect him?” Rose burst out. “He’s a bad man-he left you with a baby, he steals, he cares for no one but himself! His mother brought him to church every Sunday and what does he do but hang around outside in Diego’s truck, insulting the service with their music. In five years, his pretty-boy looks will be gone and then he will have nothing.”

Rose turned to me. “Sometimes he goes to Cocodrilo, it’s a bar across from the church. The other girl who also has his baby, I don’t think he sees her, either, but she’s over on Buffalo. If you kill him yourself with your bare hands, I will swear to the police you never saw him, never touched him.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t think I will come to that. But if it does-muchas gracias!”