“I don’t have a cell,” I said, and the ridiculousness of her idea seemed to hit her.
She looked helpless again, trying to twist her mind around matters that were beyond her scope. She was an innocent. A nag and a righteous poseur, but not evil. And not particularly direct or approachable when sober. She was a traditional girl with traditional ideas about what she could do by herself.
“How far away is Whittier?” she asked.
I didn’t react. I didn’t let blood flow to my face or shift my posture. Instead, I shrugged.
“We’re on the west side of LA, more or less,” I said casually. “Whittier’s on the east side, over the river. But not too far over.”
“Are there trees?”
“The preserve has trees.”
“They were arguing about whether to hang him from a tree or do it at the compound? I pretended to be asleep. What they were saying? It was sick. My heart was sick. Even thinking of it now. I want to throw up.”
She wasn’t alone.
“Whose compound?”
“If I tell you, I want to be sick again. I want to tell someone who can stop it from happening.”
“Whose compound?” I repeated, throat dry, ears pounding, adrenaline making it nearlu impossible to stay still.
“The old woman.”
That was enough. I had it.
Breathe.
Touch St. Christopher.
Run. Run for the phone like a long-limbed animal on the Serengeti. Run like everything you love is on fire. Break the ground beneath your feet with the power of your steps. Stretch your gait past the length of your entire body. Fold space with your speed. Breath fire. Eat air. Take off. Fly.
I was going so fast, I slammed into a bank of phones on the back side of the Sequoia parking lot. First one broken. Second dead. The third had gum in the change slot. I picked it out. It wasn’t quite hard yet. I spit on it. Pulled it off.
I had Daniel’s two jukebox quarters. I jammed one in the slot. Pushed it past the sticky residue with the second quarter. They both fell in.
I stopped myself before I touched the keys. I had to dial right because I didn’t have more quarters.
Twoonethreesevenfourtwothreethreeohnine.
Ring.
Ring.
“Daniel?”
The sheets rustled. “Theresa. What time is it? Where are you?”
“Late. Early. I need your help. Like, now.”
He took a deep, waking-up type breath. “Yes. Okay. I was worried about you.”
“Valentina’s here.”
“You found her?” He jumped at the chance to ask, “Is she all right?”
I caught sight of Antonio’s wife scuttling toward me. “She’s fine. She asked about you.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to soothe Daniel’s ego. Maybe I needed to feel something positive in the middle of a shit storm, or maybe I needed a coin of goodwill in a pocketful of resentment.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“It’s… I mean it’s so bad. There are so many moving parts. You just have to trust me. They have Antonio at Donna Maria’s. They’re going to kill him, or they’ve killed him already.”
A breath. More sheets rustling. “Theresa, I can’t do much. My credibility is shot.”
“I can’t get there. I don’t even know where it is.”
More sheets. A crisper voice. “She lives in the preserve, past the federal parkland. It’s a point of contention, but slow down. How do you know?”
“Valentina overheard them. Please, please, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you how I know. I’ll tell you about Paulie. Just get someone over there.”
“That’s the problem. It’s not accessible to local authorities. It’s three miles into Turner Canyon.”
“You can’t call federal marshals? Are you serious?” Desperation forced my voice a few octaves higher.
“If I send them, anything they find could land him in a courtroom.”
“Save his life, Daniel. Please.”
“How did it all end up like this?”