Gangster's Court Page 9

  “Audi S5. Black.”

  “Nice. We gotta race sometime.”

  “Sure.” Omar gave a nod. “At a track. Can’t risk attention.”

  Rose rolled his eyes. “Man, I like that you cautious. But you gotta live.”

  “You right. After this die down, we do it.” Omar looked at the door. “When you done tonight, leave my car with the keys in it, somewhere it get stolen. I’ll report it stolen in the morning. So wear a hoodie and a hat.”

  “Okay, Dad. This ain’t my first time.”

  Omar forced his body to shiver. “I’m nervous. Just trying to be careful.”

  “Aight.”

  “You gonna give me that back?”

  Omar looked at Rose, holding the gun. “We in business now, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I need to trust you.” Omar held up his left hand. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hand this to you, yet.”

  “Then what?”

  “How ‘bout you walk ahead of me, out the door, out the other door, get in the driver’s seat of your car, and pop the trunk. I’ll toss it in there.”

  “Okay.”

  Omar’s left hand felt around under the table. He peeled off a piece of duct tape and grabbed another pistol. He stood, tucking it in his belt. “Wait.” He emptied the bullets from Rose’s gun and put them in his pocket. “I want to wash the prints and DNA off this first.”

  “Paranoid? Don’t trust me to do it?”

  Omar shrugged. “Meet you outside. Pop your trunk for me.”

  “How I know you’ll be there tonight with the cash?” Rose stood up.

  “I know who you are. I respect you. And I just want to earn a living, man. If this goes well, maybe even kick up to you for protection.”

  “Okay,” Rose said with nearly orgasmic excitement. “Tell me the name of the park I should go to. And your office address.”

  Omar gave him the information. Then repeated it. “We clear on the plan?”

  “Yeah,” Rose said, heading out the door. Omar locked it behind him, jogged to the bathroom. He pumped the soap dispenser repeatedly onto the gun until it was covered in soap. He grabbed a wad of paper towels and worked the soap into every crevice of the gun. He grabbed a smaller wad and used it to grab the gun.

  A few seconds later, he was back at his desk. He pulled out his cell phone and saw that Rose was sitting in his car with the trunk open. He might have another gun. Omar opened both doors, his eyes squinted against the bright outside. After four quick strides, he tossed the gun into the trunk, then backed away until he got to the first door. He opened it, darted inside, then locked it. He locked the next door and kept a watch on his cell phone.

  Rose was out of his car fidgeting in front of his trunk. A second later, he closed it, went back to the driver’s seat, and drove away.

  Omar’s scheme was only partially planned—and he barely controlled shit. Maybe Santiago was right. Maybe he should call his cousin Tomas, a captain in MS-13 down in Tijuana. But Filthy Rose is also a MS-13 captain, and older, and La Eme. “Estoy chingado,” Omar whispered.

  13

  [You busy?] Jo held her breath when she saw the text from Omar.

  “What’s up?” Dzuy asked when Jo sat upright at the kitchen table.

  “Omar. Asking if I’m busy.”

  Dzuy flipped a pancake. “Tell him ‘Yeah, about to eat Dzuy’s world-famous pancakes.’”

  Jo set the phone on the table. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Judge much?”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “You don’t think that’s getting a little old?”

  “Nope.” Dzuy turned back to the burner, put a thick pancake down on the plate, topped it with fresh bacon crumbles and a drizzle of syrup, and proudly presented the plate to Jo.

  “I’m not judging on presentation of the food or the chef, just the taste. So, hand me a fork, please.”

  Dzuy handed her one and turned to the stove to pour another pancake. He turned back to see Jo smiling with appreciation after the first bite.

  “So amazingly good. It’s got the most interesting flavor,” Jo said, mouth half-full. She tore off another bite. After a few chews and a swallow, she asked, “What’s your secret?”

  Dzuy smiled as he turned away to flip the pancake. “I can’t help it, everything I do is special,” he called out over his shoulder.

  “No, seriously,” Jo commanded. “What’s in this?”

  Dzuy turned around, smile gone. “Come on, Jo. The usual. Flour, eggs, milk, oil-.” Dzuy’s eyes went wide and they bugged out. “Oh shit!” He paused, then turned around to shut off the burner.

  He spied his keys on the entry table. “We’re going right now.”

  “Peanut oil?” Jo asked, feeling her throat getting itchy and tight.

  “It’s called cooking oil, from the farmers’ market; it might have been peanut oil.” He walked around the counter and took her hand.

  She pulled her hand away. “I don’t have an EpiPen. You have Benadryl, the pink pills. Get me two.”

  She felt her heart pound as Dzuy ran to the bathroom. He ran back with the bottle, his hand shaking as he removed the top and dumped pills into his hand. She picked two from his palm and tried to swallow them dry. “Water,” she choked out.

  He rushed to the sink, filled a cup halfway, and set it in front of her. She swallowed the pills. “I’m not supposed to move. Can you carry me to the car?”

  Surging with adrenaline, Dzuy easily scooped her tall, slender frame into his arms. She draped her arms around his neck to ease his load. He paused at the table by the front door to grab his keys. He was barefoot, wearing only gym shorts. She was wearing a revealing and cute, not overly sexy, two-piece pajama set.

  She rested her head on his shoulder, her wet hair resting on his upper back. They were having brunch after a great morning hike and a fresh shower. A perfect day. Then Omar texted, and he wasn’t even the biggest threat to her life.

  Dzuy paused, turning back to the entry table to grab his phone, shoving it into the pocket of his workout shorts.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Dzuy didn’t bother to lock the door behind him.

  “I know.” She tried to remain calm and took slow, full breaths. “It’s been so long. I’m not sure how bad it’ll be.”

  The elevator came. “You don’t have an EpiPen in your car, just in case, do you?”

  “No,” Jo said, feeling a tightness in her throat.

  Dzuy carried her inside the elevator, pressed the level two parking button, and waited impatiently for the doors to close. He leaned against the side of the elevator, easing the burden of carrying Jo. “When was the last time you were exposed?”

  “Years. I think.”

  “How do you feel?”

  Jo leaned her head against Dzuy’s shoulder. “Scared.”

  The elevator doors opened, a young man looked questioningly at them. Dzuy pushed past him without a word.

  He stopped at the passenger side of his white SUV, set Jo down, opened the door for her, and rushed around to the driver’s side.

  “Must have been some sight for that guy.” Jo tried to smile.

  Dzuy pulled out of the parking spot. “Which hospital are we going to?”

  Jo put her hand on her throat and pressed against her neck. “It’s not hard to breathe. I might be okay. Maybe Dad’s office. He’ll have an EpiPen, and it’s closer than Sharp.”

  Dzuy turned onto the one-way street from the building’s garage. “Is it open?”

  “I know the code to get in. No key needed.”

  “Okay, it’s just up in Hillcrest, right?”

  Jo nodded. “I left my phone. Can I call Dad from yours?”

  Dzuy fished it from his pocket.

  Jo took the phone and dialed her dad’s number. “Hello?”

  “Dad, it’s Jo. I had something with peanuts about five minutes ago. I feel okay. My throat is itchy; I’m able to breathe okay. We’re going to your office in case I need an
EpiPen.”

  “What did you have?”

  “Peanut oil, we think.”

  “And you’ve got symptoms?” Dad asked with surprise.

  Jo cleared her throat. “Minor.”

  “Peanut oil is processed, which removes a lot of the allergens from it.”

  Jo held the phone away from her mouth. “Slow down. Dad says peanut oil rarely has any allergens. I’m probably fine.”

  “Thanks, Dad. What should I do?”

  “Head to the office. I’ll get mom to drive me there and we’ll check you out. If you can’t breathe, call 911 and race to my office or a hospital. Whichever’s closer.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Jo sighed with relief, letting her head droop.

  “What’d he say?” Dzuy asked, eyes darting back and forth between the road and Jo.

  “Peanut oil has less allergens than peanuts. Which is why I’m not dead, yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “From embarrassment when my parents see us dressed like this.”

  “Think your dad’s office has some extra scrubs we could put on?”

  Jo put her hand on Dzuy’s shoulder. “Ask me where we can find some scrubs.”

  “Okay.” Dzuy looked at her with puzzlement. “Where can we find some scrubs?”

  “Hanging out the passenger side of his best friend’s ride,” Jo sang, laughing.

  “What?”

  Jo kept laughing at her joke. “From. The song,” she gasped out between laughs until she started coughing.

  “You okay?”

  Jo kept coughing, sucking hard at the air between coughs. Calm down, Jo commanded herself. She put her hands on her knees and leaned forward. With all her focus, her coughing turned into wheezing.

  “That’s the office, right there.” Dzuy signaled to pull into the two-story, four-unit, building that Dr. Channing shared with other doctors and a dentist.

  Jo looked up. “Good,” she wheezed out.

  “What can I do?” Dzuy asked, skidding into a handicap spot in front of the office.

  Without responding, Jo opened her car door. Hunched over with labored breathing, she walked around the SUV until Dzuy caught up to her and grabbed her arms to help her walk.

  Jo kept trudging past the front door of the building.

  “Jo, here’s the entrance.”

  “Side,” Jo wheezed out. “Use code.”

  “Okay. Okay. Should I carry you?”

  “Just help.” Jo was hunched over, walking around the side of the building. A moment later, she was leaning on Dzuy as they walked, barefoot, on a concrete walkway around the side of the small brown two-story office building.

  With trembling fingers, Jo pushed the code into the metal buttons and pulled at the lock. “Damn it,” she coughed out. She pressed seven buttons again. Dzuy pulled the handle.

  “What’s the code?” Dzuy asked.

  Jo slumped against the office wall and wheezed out numbers, one at a time. Dzuy pressed them into the keypad, then pulled the handle, and the back door to the office opened.

  “Got it,” he exclaimed, wedging his foot between the door and the jamb. He reached over and pulled Jo up. She struggled to walk inside the back of the office.

  Jo’s eyes went wide in fear. They were so close to an EpiPen, but where did Dad keep them? This was the break room area with a fridge, microwave, old brown fabric couch; it probably wouldn’t have any medicine. Focus. Think!

  Dzuy directed Jo to the couch. “Sit. I’ll get it. Where is the EpiPen?”

  Jo looked helplessly at Dzuy, shaking her head. “Don’t know,” she wheezed out.

  Dzuy opened the door to the rest of the office, scanned the wall, and flicked on a light. He darted into the closest exam room, opened the cabinets. He opened the drawers. Nothing.

  He popped back into the hall, looked at the other exam room, then darted to a closed door. The door opened to a small closet containing a vacuum and other cleaning supplies. He slammed the door and spotted Charles Channing’s personal office. He ran into it and opened the cabinets along the wall. He found samples of probiotics, antibiotics, and lotions, but no EpiPen. Nothing that said adrenaline on it.

  He shot behind the desk and pulled at drawers. The top was locked. He tapped his pocket; his phone was in the car. He ran back to Jo, who was doubled over on the couch, laboring to suck in air. She was still breathing.

  Dzuy opened the door to the outside and had taken two steps towards the car when he realized he didn’t know the code. He stopped, lunged back, and barely caught the door before it closed. He glanced at the ground. No rocks were within reach. He pulled off his shorts and stuffed them in the doorway to keep the door from closing, then tore off running, buck naked, to his car.

  He saw Jo’s parents pulling into the parking lot as he approached the car. He slowed his pace and put his hands down to cover his privates.

  “I had to keep the door from closing!” He yelled. “This way. I can’t find the pen.” He turned around and ran for the door.

  Jo’s dad and mom followed him.

  Dzuy flung the door open. Jo looked up to see him standing naked in the doorway, reaching down for his shorts. “Your dad’s here.”

  Jo kept forcing air past her restricted airway. She nodded.

  With his shorts back on, Dzuy stood holding the doorway open, waiting for Jo’s dad. Just as he peeked his head out the doorway, he saw Chip grimace with each quick long stride he took.

  “Where is the EpiPen?” Dzuy called out.

  Chip held up his hand, signifying he had one with him.

  “She’s right here. On the couch,” Dzuy called, not sure what else to do or say.

  Chip walked through the door and saw his daughter.

  Jo looked up and smiled at her dad. “Thanks, Dad,” she gasped out.

  “How long has it been?” Chip asked.

  “Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty,” Dzuy answered. “We gave her Benadryl pills right away.”

  Chip took a knee next to Jo, watching her chest heave with each breath. Chip put his left hand on Jo’s chin. “Open.”

  Jo opened her mouth and Chip looked inside. “Irritated. Swollen. Not closed up.” He set the EpiPen on the couch’s arm, then stood. “What did she have?” he asked Dzuy.

  “Cooking oil, from the farmers’ market. It’s a blend and probably has peanut oil in it. It has a high smoke point without a lot of flavor.”

  Chip sighed. “Probably has unfiltered peanut oil, that’s the culprit.”

  Dzuy looked at the EpiPen. “Aren’t you going to use that?”

  Chip shook his head. “Not unless she gets worse.” He sat down on the couch next to Jo. “Could you get my stethoscope? In my office.”

  Dzuy darted from the break room to the office.

  “I’m going to be okay?” Jo gasped out between breaths.

  Chip nodded. “Absolutely.”

  With that, Mom burst from her spot in the entryway to Jo and hugged her.

  “Give her some space to breathe,” Chip commanded.

  Mom let go and retreated to lean against the counter near the fridge.

  Dzuy returned with Chip’s stethoscope and white lab coat. “I thought she might want to wear something more.” He handed Chip the scope, and the coat to Jo.

  “In a second,” Chip told Jo. He put the end of the stethoscope on her back. “I want to listen first.” The room was completely silent, except for Jo’s strained breathing. Chip changed the locations of scope on her back a few times. “Her lungs are getting plenty of air. She should be getting better soon.”

  Chip scooted to the edge of the couch, patting the middle while he looked at Mom. She took the cue and was next to Jo in an instant.

  “Thank you, sir,” Dzuy said. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

  Mom looked at Dzuy. “Did she tell you about her allergy?”

  “Yes. I just didn’t know there was peanut in the oil. I didn’t think.”

  “That’s right, you didn’t think,” Mom
responded. “Be more careful.”

  “Of course,” Dzuy said.

  “All things considered, you did well,” Chip said. He let out a little chuckle. “What was with the running around naked? Trying to impress Mom?”

  Dzuy’s face pinked, he looked at the ground in embarrassment. “I couldn’t find an EpiPen anywhere in your office. I found a locked drawer and wanted to make sure it was in there before I tried to break into it. So I had to call you, but my phone was in the car.”

  Dzuy pointed to the shut door. “I ran out there and remembered it would lock me out if I didn’t prop it open. I looked at the ground but didn’t see anything, and didn’t know if Jo could open it for me. So I used the only thing I had, my shorts.”

  Chip laughed. “I finally understand why my mom used to say you should always wear clean underpants. In case you need shorts to prop open a door.”

  Jo and Mom joined in the laughter. Eventually, Dzuy did, too. A moment later, Chip made Dzuy promise to always keep an EpiPen in his kitchen. And he made Jo promise to carry one with her when she leaves the house. He showed them both how to use it.

  “The Benadryl should be working against the reaction. We’ll just stay here and relax for a bit,” Chip said.

  “Thank you,” Dzuy said, as he looked at Jo resting, with a lab coat as her blanket and her mom snuggled against her.

  14

  I feel like a homeless guy. Santiago repressed the urge to wipe the dirt off his clothes. He stood, sweating heavily onto a dirt path in Mission Trails Park, doubting Omar’s plan. His legs were tight from the thirty-minute bike ride on the hot summer night, it didn’t help that he had a large blanket strapped to his back.

  With his eyes fully adjusted to the moonlight, he looked at the rolled-up blanket he had dropped on the dirt between some gangly brush. He looked out at the parking lot, then down at the blanket, then over to the brush between him and the parking lot. He crouched down, wincing from the strain put on his exhausted legs and confirmed one bush would get in his way.

  Santiago’s heavy boots crushed the twigs in the chaparral bush. He felt the noise contrast starkly with the quiet of the night. Fucking Omar is smart. He crouched behind the heavy blanket and looked at the parking lot again, good sightline.