Chapter 109
EAMON FITZHUGH, aka Morbid, spotted Graciella Gomez standing outside Ralph’s Supermarket.
The pretty girl was wearing denim short-shorts and one of those baby-doll tops, a pink one. He came across the parking lot toward her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, his head down, hair covering his eyes, which were definitely lusting for this little doll face.
“Lady D” didn’t look up. Why would she? She was waiting for her girlfriend Lulu Fernandez to meet her and tell her some major news.
Morbid watched Graciella looking at her wristwatch, and then he walked right up to her, called her by her nickname. This is where he had to be a good actor, which he was. That was why he was on point.
“Gracie?”
“Yes?”
A little shy. “I’m Lulu’s friend. I’m Fitz.”
“Yeah? I never heard her saying she knows any Fritz.”
“It’s been our secret so far. Forget about that. Lulu sent me to meet you because she has to go to the hospital. She’s in trouble.”
“What? That’s not right. What happened to her?”
“Look. Okay, she’s pregnant with my kid. She told me to tell you she’s spotting and she could lose the baby.” Fitzhugh teared up. “It’s your decision. She really needs you, though.”
“You know what? You’re bullshitting me, man. She woulda told me she was hooking up with a white boy, ’specially one as old as you.”
“Don’t you understand English? I said she needs help.”
The girl’s face stretched in anger. She screamed, “You liar. Get away from me.” She backed up into a train of shopping carts, stumbled, righted herself, tried to run.
Fitzhugh caught up with her easily. He grabbed her arm, dragged her to a halt, and held her firm. “Stop, Gracie, you moron. Stop that. I’m for real, okay? Look—I’ll let you go.”
The girl was almost buying it. He was going to tell her that Lulu was waiting in the van, but he never got to say another word.
There was a stunning blow to his ribs. He fell back, looked up at the slick Mexican guy who had thrown him to the ground and was now yanking his arms behind his back, practically wrenching his right shoulder out of the socket. Fitzhugh screamed.
“What are you trying to do to this girl, you little prick? What’s your name?” Cruz said. “I’m talking to you!”
Cruz bent down, grabbed the kid’s wallet out of the back of his jeans, and handed it to Jack. Then he said to the guy on the ground, “Where’s Rudolph Crocker?”
“I don’t know any Rudolph Crocker. Let me go or I’ll yell for the police.”
“Don’t sweat it, Mr. Fitzhugh. The police are already on the way. I called them for you.”