Page 21 of Sinful
"Los Coyotes took him. Two days ago." She's crying now, trying to talk through it. "They... Helle, they're torturing him. They sent a video. His hand, they?—"
"Stop." I can't hear this. Can't process this. "Why? The truce?—"
"The Judge died. Last week. Lung cancer. Everything's void now." She takes a shaky breath. "But that's not all. That's not why they took him." Here it comes. Whatever bomb she's about to drop, I feel it building. "They think Dad killed someone. A Los Coyotes prospect named Andrés Medina."
The cigarette falls from my fingers.
I watch it roll across concrete, still smoking, heading toward a puddle of something dark. "The one you dated," Elfe continues, and there's something in her voice. Knowledge. Suspicion. "They want justice. Whoever killed Andrés, or they kill Dad."
"I didn't—" My voice cracks. "It was just a few dates. I barely knew him."
"I know. But they think Dad found him and killed him." Elfe pauses. "Did he?"
"What?"
"Did Dad kill Andrés?"
No. I did. I tracked him down after I found out what he was.
After I realized every conversation we had, every laugh, every time I thought he loved me—it was all a lie.
Intelligence gathering.
Using me to hurt my family.
I put two bullets in his chest and one in his head.
Left him in an alley in Houston. Never told anyone. Never will.
"I don't know," I lie. "Why would I know?"
"Because you knew him. Because you might remember something that could help." Elfe's quiet for a moment. "Helle, I need you to come home."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. I know you're scared. I know Dad said things?—"
"He said I was a disappointment. A failure. That I betrayed the family worse than any enemy." The words still hurt, sharp as the day he said them. "Why would I come back to that?"
"Because he's your father. Because he's dying, and they're torturing him, and maybe you can help." Her voice breaks. "Please. I can't do this alone."
"You have Oskar?—"
"I need my sister." The words hit like bullets.
I need my sister.
When's the last time someone needed me?
When's the last time I was anything but a burden, a disappointment, a cautionary tale?
"I don't know if I can help."
"You know him. Andrés. You know things about him that might give us leverage. Where he lived, who his friends were, anything." She's grasping. "Please. I'm begging you. Just come home for a few days. If you can't help, fine. But at least try."
I think about the note in my pocket.
Tell your sister hello.
