“What did you think would happen?” Carlo Magno demanded, turning back to face her. “We were stuck with him, but you chose this.”
“He was protecting you!” shouted Adriana. Marisa leaned back in surprise; she’d never heard Adriana raise her voice, but it looked like she had a spine of solid iron when you riled her up. “Someone was selling drugs in your daughter’s school, and Chuy and the others took care of it. Pati is safe today because Chuy took the bullet that could have hit her.”
Marisa gasped again. “They attacked the Bluescreen dealer? I thought they were just going to—”
“Nobody asked him to go kill people,” said Carlo Magno, “drug dealer or not. We have police for that—”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Guadalupe. “Carlito, we pay ten thousand dollars a month to Maldonado for protection, precisely because we can’t trust the police to help with anything.”
“Then Maldonado should have handled this,” said Carlo Magno, “not La Sesenta. That’s who we pay to be protected from—Chuy and Calaca and all those other rulachos they run with.”
“And they’re not doing their jobs,” said Marisa. “Calaca told us, and then the Maldonado enforcers said the same thing not five minutes later. If we can’t rely on them, La Sesenta’s all we have left.”
“Then we’re packing up and moving to Mexico,” said Carlo Magno, “where it’s safe to walk around in your own damn neighborhood!”
“We need your help,” said Adriana, looking at Guadalupe again. Chito started to fuss, scared by all the shouting, and Adriana switched him to her other hip. “That chundo they have treating Chuy isn’t a real doctor, and he needs a real doctor. Chuy’s too proud to ask, but we can’t afford to go to the hospital, and you can.”
“Absolutely not,” said Carlo Magno.
“He’s your son,” said Guadalupe.
“He did this to himself!” Carlo Magno shouted back. “We can barely afford to pay our mortgage, and he’s out playing cops and robbers in the barrio getting himself shot to pieces, and now we’re supposed to pay for that, too?”
“So you want to let him die instead?” demanded Marisa.
“He’s not going to die,” said Carlo Magno. “She said it’s a flesh wound—worst case he needs rehab—”
“And you’re okay with that?” shouted Marisa.
“I tried for years to teach him this was dangerous,” said Carlo Magno. “Gangs don’t protect you, they get you shot. If this is the only way he learns that lesson—”
Chito started crying.
“Of course we can help,” said Guadalupe, ignoring Carlo Magno and leading Adriana to a table. “Let me get some beans and rice for that baby; I’ll put them in a box so we can take them with us.” She went into the kitchen, and Carlo Magno followed her in. Marisa sat down with Adriana, hoping her parents’ argument didn’t get too heated.
Adriana looked at her without speaking. Did she blame her for tipping Chuy off about the rival dealer? Did she even know? Marisa swallowed nervously, staring back, until her curiosity overcame her fear. She leaned forward and spoke in a low tone, not wanting her parents to overhear. “Who was it?”
“You mean who shot him? How am I supposed to know?”
“Did he say anything?”
“It was a Chinese gang,” said Adriana. “Ti Xu Dao—not one he’s talked about before.”
“My Chinese is terrible,” said Marisa. “Something . . . mention . . .”
“I don’t care what it means,” said Adriana, that hidden steel coming through in her voice again. “They put a bullet in Chuy’s shoulder, but Calaca killed one of them. They’re going to be back for revenge.”
“Ti Xu Dao,” said Marisa, blinking on her djinni to run a search for the name. She growled and shook her head, standing up to walk to the hostess computer.
“Have you heard of them?” asked Adriana.
“No, I just need to run the search over here,” said Marisa. She waved angrily toward the kitchen. “They turned off my djinni.”
“Your father’s pretty harsh.”
“Yeah,” said Marisa, tapping the screen to dismiss the restaurant management app and open a browser window. “In my case, though, he was right. I’m not exactly the best daughter in the world right now. Or sister.” She searched the name, taking a few tries to get the spelling right. “Tì Xū Dāo: the Razors. Plenty of news articles pop up in the search, but no history of drugs. Violent little monsters, though.”