I pointed to the pictures. “Still famous.”

He shrugged his shoulders, the tattoo of an angel on his left one dancing. “The kids, brother. The kids are the famous ones.”

Ernie had gone to high school with Carter, Liz, Kate, and me. His parents had gotten him transferred out of the South Bay to avoid the gangs and violence that permeated the high schools where they lived. He’d played football with Carter and me, a nasty little defensive back with a chip on his shoulder. He knew he didn’t fit in at our school and that was okay. During football season, he hung with us, but when it was over, he kept to himself. He avoided the gangs in Chula Vista and San Ysidro, but didn’t abandon his friends from the neighborhood. I’d always surmised that was why he decorated his body with the ink, to prove to the homies that he was still one of them, even if he wasn’t.

He’d gone to State with me, majored in recreation and education, and was the first and only director that the Camarena Center had hired. He made sure that everyone was welcome, but that the violence and crap that littered the streets around the building stayed outside. Being a local, the violent little thugs that ran the neighborhood respected Ernie and what he was doing. They stayed away from the building and didn’t bother those entering it.

“Don’t tell me you were in the neighborhood,” Ernie said, a sly grin creeping onto his face. “I know better.”

“What? I can’t come see my friend without reason?”

He nodded. “You could, yeah. But after what I heard about in San Ysidro, I figure you got a reason.”

I shifted in the chair. “San Ysidro?”

He rolled his dark eyes. “Please, gringo. Two white dudes shoot a couple of hermanos, plus they driving something out of the junkyard. Ain’t nobody that could be but you and Carter.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ernie leaned forward. “Maybe my ass. Dude, why are you messing with Alejandro Costilla?”

I told him about Kate and what had happened over the previous couple of days.

He tapped his fingers lightly on the desk when I was through. “Glad I’m not you.”

“I get that a lot.”

He nodded. “Carter gonna be alright?”

“Think so.”

Ernie laughed. “Course. Gonna have to kill him for him to not be alright.”

“Probably.”

A couple of voices yelled at one another from a distance down the hall, then dissolved into laughter.

I gestured over my shoulder. “This place always so happy?”

“Pretty much,” Ernie said after a moment. “Better than what’s going on in their homes. If they got one.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” Ernie laid his palms up on the desk. “Why you here, Noah?”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I need to get with Costilla.”

Ernie raised both eyebrows. “Why? You want him to cut your head off?”

“I’d prefer that he not.”

“That’s what he’s gonna do, Noah,” he said. “No doubt about it.”

Ernie’s voice had changed, much more tense now. Like he didn’t want me in his office.

“I need to see him, Ernie,” I said.

He leaned back in his chair. “And you think I can get you to him?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Carter set it up before. He can’t now, obviously.” I paused. “You were next on the list.”

He looked at me for a moment, his eyes studying me. Then he shook his head. “I don’t wanna do that.”

“Just need you to get me in touch with him. I don’t need you to be there.”

“That’s good ’cause I ain’t going anywhere near that man,” he said. Ernie chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “You know what happens if I help you?”

“Yeah. I get to meet with Costilla.”

“Yeah, and when you don’t come back and they find your arms in TJ and your legs in Rosarito and your head in El Centro, then you know what?” He stared at me. “Then I’m responsible.”

“He’s not gonna kill me,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it.

A barking laugh burst out from Ernie’s mouth. “Right. ’Cause Alejandro Costilla always makes friends. That’s what the dude’s all about, right? Probably just wanted to scare you guys, sending those bangers to catch you on the freeway.”

I didn’t know what to say because I knew Ernie was right. He knew the world I was trying to get into much better than I did. That’s why I’d come to him. And I didn’t see a way to figure out the whole mess without seeing Costilla.

“Ernie, I don’t have a choice,” I said. “He’s got answers that I need. And he’s gonna come after me anyway. Hell, he already has. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Except your life,” he said quietly.

We let that hang in the air between us for a couple of minutes. Ernie was being a friend, trying to protect me from myself, which I appreciated. The problem, though, was that I didn’t need a friend. I needed a drug dealer.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said finally. “Here. Eight in the morning. I can’t promise anything.”

I stood up. “Thanks.”

Ernie stood. “Don’t thank me. You may think I’m doing you a favor, but I’m not.”

We shook hands.

“I know,” I said.

“I don’t think you do, Noah,” he said. “I don’t think you do.”

33

I left Chula Vista in a bad mood. And hungry.

I stopped at Roberto’s in Ocean Beach, above Sunset Cliffs, and grabbed a burrito and some rolled tacos. As I sat at the streetside table and watched the tourists and locals mingle along Antique Row, the hunger went away, but the bad mood didn’t.

I didn’t feel good about putting Ernie in the position I’d left him in, but I knew it was the most direct route to Costilla. I tried to tell myself that if Ernie really hadn’t wanted to help me, he wouldn’t have. I knew that was a lie, though. Friends, at least my friends, helped each other out. Loyalty was high on the list for me and the people I let into my life. It was loyalty to Kate that was driving me. Not her parents’ money, not anger, not even Carter getting hurt. Just loyalty. Ernie knew that if he ever came to me with something, I’d help him. A few questions asked, maybe, but I’d do it.

I just hoped I’d be around for the next time he needed me.

I drove up to UCSD and found Carter back in his hospital bed, more color in his face than when I’d left him yesterday. The frown he sported, though, was new. It seemed to be directed at what looked like fresh medical tape covering the upper part of his chest near his right arm.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said, still scowling. “Feels like someone ate a piece of my shoulder.”

“They give you any pain meds?”

He shook his head. “Tried to but I didn’t want them.”

I grabbed the chair by the window and slid it closer to the bed. “Well, that’s dumb.”

“My body is a temple.”

I spun the chair around and straddled it backward. “Your body is more like an all-night rave.”

“Whatever. I don’t want to be doped up.” He shifted slightly on the bed. “So, where you been?”

“Went to see Ernie.”

He fiddled with the IV tube that tucked into the back of his left hand. “I hope you mean the Sesame Street guy.”