Page 78 of Absolution

“Gang members shot him.”

“These weren’t gangs. They’re worse. There’s brotherhood in gangs. Friendship. This was business. No family. No heart.”

“What made you stay back that night?” I wonder if he’ll tell me it was divine intervention, or an act of God, and that he’s lucky to be alive.

Instead, he shakes his head and flicks his ash. “I chickened out last minute. Decided I didn’t want to get caught up in all that shit. I should’ve though. I should’ve been there. Maybe he’d still be here.”

I lower my gaze and shake my head. “You don’t know that.”

He doesn’t respond, still staring off.

“Sergio … are you familiar with a man who goes byEl Cabro Blanco?”

Twisting around, he swings his attention to me, brows set to a frown. “Where’d you hear that name?”

“Around.”

“I’d keep it to yourself, if I were you. People start talking. They get suspicious.”

“Do you know him?”

“Everybody knows of him.”

“Any idea what he looks like?”

“I’ve never seen him. But people say he’s big. And his eyes are black as death.”

“That … sounds like something out of aTwilightbook.”

“Look, don’t fuck with that name, or those people, okay? They’re not good people.”

“What makes them bad?”

“They kill children. Rape women. Murder brothers.”

“They killed your brother. He did. ThisEl Cabro Blanco.”

He flicks his cigarette onto the street and jumps to his feet. “I’m not going to tell you again, Ivy. In this place? The girl who noses around, gets her nose cut off.”

Face colored in frustration, he storms off.

32

Damon

Although it’s entirely in Spanish, I attend mass early following morning prayer, but the sound of Father Javier’s voice is only white noise to the thoughts in my head.

The night before, I opened the cupboard of my nightstand to find something I’d never seen before in my life. Something that keeps my focus glued to Father Javier, examining much closer than before, searching for evidence that this man might be capable of the atrocities I’ve heard about. That he might be capable of murdering my family in cold blood.

The bottom of the cupboard had been removed, and a hole big enough for one body extended into the darkness, with a ladder for someone to climb down into it. An underground tunnel that, if I had to guess, was, or is, likely used to smuggle drugs.

And who would question, or bother to investigate, the rectory?

Maybe that’s why none of the other priests have worked out. Maybe they opened their mouths. I probably would, too, if I didn’t come from a world where one keeps their enemies close, until they’re ready to strike.

After mass, I steal the opportunity to greet some of the parishioners in the narthex, most of whom ignore me for Father Javier. A few of the younger women offer flirtatious smiles, but for the most part, I get the sense they haven’t accepted me quite yet.

Standing back a few steps, I observe his interactions with them, the way he’s far more affectionate and kind than he seems. There’s an air of discomfort in the way he keeps his smile slight and clasps his fingers together between greetings.

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