Page 51 of A Hidden Past

“Everything okay, Marco?”

“No. Get in the fucking truck.”

I look around uneasily, half-expecting to see a bunch of equally hard-faced gangsters staring at me. “There a problem with talking here?”

“You want to pay my ticket when LAPD pulls me over for blocking the bus stop? Get in the truck.”

I consider my options. None of them are good. If I try to leave, then Marco will just find me at Autumn Downs. If I go with him…

Well, what? What did I do to him anyway? He’s probably just offering me a job. I’ll have to figure out how to tell him no, but I can tell him the police are watching me because of Lila’s murder. It’s better if I lay low for a while.

“Do I have to get out and drag you? Get in the truck, pendejo.”

I doubt that Marco could drag me considering I outweigh him by forty pounds, but I also don’t want to get into a fight with him, so I get in the truck. He pulls away and accelerates rapidly to the speed of traffic, but thankfully doesn’t weave recklessly.

“Everything okay?” I ask again.

“No. But we’re going to talk about it over lunch, okay? I’m pissed right now, and if I talk while I’m pissed, I’m just going to end up yelling at you.”

My eyes widen. I’ve never heard of Marco even attempting to control his emotions. I don’t want to risk ruining that, so I don’t say anything.

He drives back toward the L.A. Flats, the high-class area near the similarly named neighborhood of Beverly Hills where Autumn Downs is located. I frown and ask, “Are you taking me back to Autumn Downs?”

“No, stupid. We’re getting lunch.”

“In the Flats?”

“They sell tacos there too.”

I decide it’s better if I don’t say anything else, so I wait until he pulls into the parking lot of a very nice-looking Mexican restaurant that looks like the kind of place the residents of Autumn Downs might frequent.

“Um… are you sure we’re dressed right for this place?”

He gives me a look that’s full of so much contempt that I actually flinch. That’s the only response I get from him. He gets out of the car and heads inside.

I follow after a few seconds and once more fall silent until we have our food, and we’re sitting at a table on the restaurant’s patio.

Marco efficiently works his way through a plate of four tacos al pastor. I am no longer even remotely hungry, but I don’t want to put Marco in an even worse mood, so I finish the two carne asada tacos I have on my plate and stay silent.

When Marco finishes his last bite, he takes a long sip of water, then looks me right in the eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot, bro.”

I nod. “So I’ve heard.”

“Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I’m trying to keep cool, but there’s only so much I can take, even from Marco. “It might help if you told me what exactly has you so pissy,” I fire back.

“I just came from Vivian’s place.”

I flinch again. My frustration flares into suspicion and anger. “Doing what?”

He frowns. “Mowing her fucking lawn, dipshit.”

I feel heat climb into my cheeks. “Okay. I was just asking.”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I’m actually not an asshole.”

The heat migrates to my neck. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

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