“Then no thanks.”
“Ah,” he said. He straightened and climbed the steps. When she tensed, he shifted to sit well apart from her. “Not trying to make problems, chica. I see you at Beyond Beyond all the time. You’ve been talking with La Bruja a lot.”
“Who?”
“Corinda. The witch.”
“She’s not a witch.”
“I know, I know. She’s a psychic. I work there. I get it.” Even so, he shook his head. “She thinks she knows everything, but she don’t know much. Not the way she says. She’s a—”
“She’s my friend.”
Angelo inhaled through his nose, then exhaled slowly. “Okay. Got it. Keep my opinions to myself. What do I know, anyway? I’m just a wetback working two jobs for crap wages. Who am I?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Say what?”
“That word.”
“Wetback?” Angelo snorted. “Ain’t the worst thing I’ve been called. Everybody’s got a different name for me. Lazy, spic, greaser, illegal alien, take your pick.”
“I never say anything like that,” said Dana.
He nodded and measured out half a smile. “You’re more polite than most.”
“I’m not prejudiced.”
“Everyone is,” he said. “Not everyone admits it to themselves.”
“That’s not true.”
“You told me to buzz off ’cause I’m a guy.”
“That’s different,” she said.
“Is it? Why are guys on your hate list today?”
Dana didn’t answer. A black car passed slowly by, and they both turned to look at it.
“Lot of those cats around,” said Angelo.
“Who?”
“Men,” he said, grinning.
“Be serious.”
“Men in black,” he expanded. “Scary guys in black suits driving black cars.”
“They’re probably undercover narcs.”
“No,” he said. “They ain’t.”
“Then what are they?”
He shrugged. “No lo sé. But they’re around a lot lately.”
She wiped her nose and crumpled the tissue. “You changed the subject.”
He shrugged again. “Wasn’t a good subject. We were talking about you hating on guys, and I’m a guy. I can’t see how I’d come out on top of that conversation.”
“Why do you care?”
Angelo tugged at a loose thread on the knee of his work pants. Dana watched the muscles in his hand and forearm flex under the brown skin. She thought about his scars. Saturo had scars like that, but not the same ones. And not on his …
Hand.
Suddenly Dana could hear Corinda’s voice echoing in her head.
I see a knife. It flashes silver. It clicks. Not a … hunting knife. Smaller. Something that folds. I see a silver knife in a strong hand. I see scars. On the knuckle of the … ring finger. On the side of the hand. An old injury. He … hurt it … fixing a car. A wrench slipped. Sharp metal. Last year? Yes.
“Angelo…?” Dana said in a small, tight voice.
“Sí?”
“Those scars on your hand. On the knuckle of your ring finger. How’d you get them?”
He grunted in surprise and looked at his hand. “Those? They’re nothing. I was fixing a friend’s car last year and a wrench slipped. Cut it on some metal. You wouldn’t believe how bad small cuts can bleed. I cut my arm, too, see?” He pushed his sleeve up to show a much longer scar. It must have been very bad, and it cut straight through a small, round tattoo, bisecting it.
Dana stared.
It was a tattoo of an eclipse.
“Where did you get that?” she asked, her voice hollow.
Angelo glanced at the tattoo and quickly pushed down his sleeve. “I got it before I had the accident at the shop. Better than a year ago. What’s it matter?”
Dana stood up. “I just remembered,” she said. “I have to be home right now.”
“Hey,” he said, also rising. “Wait.… What did I say?”
“No. It’s fine,” she said as she snatched up her backpack and held it in front of her. “I have to go right now. My dad’s expecting me. I’m late.”
She ran down the steps and across the field and out onto the sidewalk, throwing terrified glances over her shoulder.
Angelo stood on the bleacher. He looked down at his hand and then at her. Did he frown? Or did his eyes flare with sudden understanding? Dana could not tell.
She ran as fast as she could.
CHAPTER 65
The Observation Room
5:41 P.M.
“She knows.”
Agent Gerlach turned to face the angel. “What do you mean, she knows? Knows what?”
“She’s seen my face,” said the angel.