“Crack? You telling me she went and did that on her own, you lying fuck? You forced it on her.”
“No, no, really, I swear I’m not lying to you. She was into drugs before we met. She bought her weed from me. She wanted other stuff, like blow, but I told her I didn’t deal that shit. We hung out together, so I started taking her with me when I had to buy my weed. They had an interest in her, so they turned her on to that other shit, not me. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”
“What do you mean they had an interest in her?”
“She’s pretty. They liked her.”
“You were her boyfriend and that was okay with you?”
“No, no, it wasn’t like that.”
“You’re nothin’ but a piece of shit.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”
“You’re sorry for what, specifically?”
“For taking her there.”
“Tell me where she is now.”
“I left her at their house. She wanted to stay. It wasn’t anything she didn’t want to do. I shouldn’t have let her.”
This kid’s nothing but a little sociopath. I almost wanna believe him, but he’s lying through his bloody teeth. I know he had a bigger role, because he brought Amanda there, too. I wanna keep him talking, so I let him go with it.
“She’s only sixteen years old.”
“I don’t want to die. I’m telling you the truth.”
“Is she alive?”
“She was when I saw her.”
“When did you last see her?”
“It was in the summer. It was a long time ago. I don’t know exactly. I really don’t. I think it was July.”
“Where did you see her?”
“I told you. At the house in DC.”
I slap him on the right ear with the butt of the gun. I know that’s gotta hurt.
He cries out, tries to tuck his ear to his shoulder, and then he starts crying again.
“She’s not there anymore, so where would they take her?”
“You’re gonna kill me. You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?”
“Where?”
“I don’t want to die, but really, sir, I don’t know.”
“Do they work prostitution? Is that what it was?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You lyin’ shit. Answer up.”
“They’ve had girls in the house before, but then they go. They never stay. I don’t know where.”
I want to ask him how many girls he recruited for them, but I don’t wanna give up Amanda. It’s best to stick with the lone crazy uncle story, the uncle whose sole interest is his niece.
“Who was their supplier?”
“You mean the drugs?”
“Yes, dopey, the drugs.”
“I wasn’t in like that. I just bought a couple ounces of weed from them.”
“How long would you hang out there?”
“Sometimes it was quick, but sometimes we’d hang out and play cards.”
“An hour, two hours, three?”
“I’ve hung out there for almost half a day before.”
“So you got to know them pretty good?”
He’s afraid to answer.
“You wanna live, right?”
He nods several times.
“This is how you live: Give me the names of everyone you know from that house or from the street. I want all of them.”
“Okay, okay,” he says quickly, then bows his head like he’s gotta think. “I don’t know last names, though.”
I know that’s probably true. Most of the players, this punk not included, don’t offer that kinda information. Asking one of them something like that might get you into trouble.
“Give me what you got.”
“There’s Angelo. He was in charge of the house. Then there’s his brother José, and Andrés and Viktor, who I believe are their cousins. There’s also Salvador and this little kid, maybe thirteen years old, that ran errands for them. His name was Manuel, but we called him Little Manny. And then, umm…”
“You hung out playing cards, probably drinking and smoking. People had to come and visit. Tell me about that,” I offer, trying to jog his memory.
“Sometimes a lot of people came by, but I didn’t get names. It’s not like I was there every day.”
“I’m gonna hit you hard, boy.”
“Don’t, just don’t. Gimme a sec. I can’t think straight.”
I allow him a couple of seconds, and he says, “There was this older guy who came by to play cards once. He wasn’t Latino. I don’t know his name, but they called him Peque?o Diablo when they talked about him in Spanish and Little Monster when they talked to him.”
“What’d you call him?”
“Sir, I didn’t call him fucking shit. I didn’t mess around talking to him.”
“But you think his nickname was Little Monster.”
“That’s what they called him to his face.”
“Describe him.”
“He was short, much shorter than me, but built. I mean, he looked seriously dangerous. He was African-American and had cornrows.”