Page 69 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
She presented Julia with another photo. This one was a mugshot of a teenaged Daniel, a baby-faced little troublemaker, with the smirk and the dimple but no stubble. No face tattoo either, although when Weck showed two more photos showing closeups of his torso, she saw he was on his way to becoming the canvas he was now.La Huesudawas there, along with the black hand print, and THE WILL TO LIVE IS THE WILL TO DIE.
“By now, obviously, he’s well and truly affiliated withLa Mano Negra,” Oates said. ‘LAPD arrested him in connection with a drive-by shooting in Inglewood. They would have sent him back to the border, but he escaped police custody and disappeared. Again.” His irritation with the apparent incompetence of the local cops was clear in his voice.
Weck’s pen had started tapping again, an ominous little drumbeat. “Of course, we know where he wound up next. In our backyard. Except, while he’s been here, he’s escalated from drive-bys to full execution-style murders.”
She placed another photo on top of the pile. Julia squeezed her eyes shut, but not fast enough. She observed a man wearing mirrored sunglasses, his head tilted back like he was staring at something fascinating on the ceiling. There was a gaping, blood-rimmed gunshot wound in the center of his forehead. Gore was splattered behind him like the innards of a dropped watermelon. Even with her eyes closed, she saw the image so clearly in her mind it felt painted onto the back of her eyelids.
Oates finally spoke. “Meet Sasha Sokolov. Deceased, obviously.”
Julia kept her eyes shut. Her heart was beating irregularly; it felt a small animal was trying to kick its way out of her chest. “Daniel didn’t do that,” she whispered.
“Oh, he did,” Weck said. “We have eyewitness testimony of him as the shooter.” She paused, then added. “Well, we did have eyewitness testimony. Sadly, our CI, a stripper by the name of Svetlana, is also deceased. She got shot leaving her apartment in Philly before U.S. marshals could get her into protective custody.” She tapped the photo. “But she managed to take this photo before they disposed of Sasha’s body, and she gave us a detailed account of how it all went down.”
Julia tried to ignore the brief stab of jealousy in her gut that came from hearing that Daniel had been spending time in the company of strippers. Jealousy that was both pointless and insensitive, given that the stripper in question was dead. She rested her forehead in her hands and said, “And I suppose you’re gonna try to make me believe he killed her, too?” she snapped.
“Nope,” Oates said calmly, sitting back in his chair. “That was almost certainly the Russians.”
Weck inhaled and folded her hands on top of the folder. Silence stretched to fill the room.
Julia kept her head in her hands. Her skin felt feverish. She simply couldn’t reconcile the picture of Daniel they were painting with the man she knew. The man who adored his brother and loved her deeply. It just didn’t compute.
Before I met you, I was someone else. Someone worse.
She wanted to fling the photos off the table and into Weck’s face. “I know what you’re trying to do.” Her voice had taken on a wobble. “You’re trying to make him out as some kind of monster. But he’s not. So you can show me all the pictures you want.” She swallowed and looked Weck right in the eye. “But you won’t ever turn me against him.”
* * *
Belinda sighed and surveyed Julia over the top of her reading glasses. The girl was still crying. Actually, it had progressed to sniveling. But she was showing an admirable amount of steel in defense of her man.
Okay. So the vinegar hadn’t worked. Time to try some honey.
Belinda turned to Oates and nodded at him. He got the message and stood, smoothing his tie. Then he left without a word, the door slipping shut behind him.
Belinda looked back at Julia and smiled. Just us girls, she communicated silently. Then she scooped up the photos and shoved them back in the binder, with enough irritation to imply that the only reason they were on the table was at Oates’s’s insistence.
She returned her hands to the table, adopting a passive expression. Bad cop wasn’t her strong suit, but what she excelled at was good cop. She’d once had a high-ranking Vice Lord sobbing on her shoulder about how much it still hurt that his momma had abandoned him as a boy. Right before she slapped handcuffs on him for murdering someone else’s momma.
“Look, I get it,” she said. “The attraction. Guys like Castaño, they’re magnetic. Charismatic. They can be charming and sweet and make you feel like nothing else in the world matters to them but you. They’re like a drug, and when you’re with them, it’s the best high in the world.” She adjusted her glasses. “But they’re also volatile. Possessive. And very dangerous.”
Julia wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “None of that sounds like Daniel. None of it.”
Belinda rifled through her bag and pulled out a pocket pack of tissues and pushed them across the table at her. She ignored the gesture.
“Being wifey to one of these guys is no fairytale, Julia. I’m just trying to save you the heartache of finding that out for yourself.”
“You don’t know him,” she insisted. She nodded at the binder. “You think you do from all your bits of paper. But you don’t. And you sure as hell know nothing about me.”
Belinda gave her a sad smile. “Honey, I’ve seen every kind of version of you. I’ve seen the ones who are young and in love and think they’re the only ones in history who’ve ever felt like that. I’ve seen the ones who try to settle down with these guys and marry them, have kids with them, only to find out too late they ain’t exactly the settling down type. I’ve seen the ones who find themselves out on the street because their boos have gotten their asses shot or thrown in jail. I’ve seen the ones who end up in the ER because their one true love got high on amphetamines and rearranged their faces. And I’ve also seen the ones who wind up under a white sheet in the morgue.” She sat back from the table and shook her head. “Now I’m just sitting here wondering which one you are.”
Julia shook her head. “I know he would never hurt me.”
Belinda sighed. “Julia, a woman can never know a thing like that. That’s the problem.”
Julia raked her hair back from her face and stared at the table.
“Do you feel safe in the relationship?”
She glanced up, her expression defiant. “I’ve never felt safer with anyone in my life.”
