The Devil's Dance Read online

  Finished with the dishes, all that was left was to clean Ida’s cast iron pan. I scrubbed the skillet clean then towel-dried it as a burner heated. I scooped a large spoonful of lard into the pan, and let it melt into a thin line of white-hot fat that would keep the skillet seasoned.

  A moment later, I heard a strangled scream. At first, I willed myself to ignore it. Romi, it’s none of your business. Then I heard more screams, screams of pain. I peeked out the kitchen window to the breezeway and there was Cesar. A tiny female lay curled on the ground, feebly trying to block his blows, begging him to stop. Cesar kicked and punched as the girl howled and pleaded for him to stop. I fumbled for Ida’s ancient wall-mounted kitchen phone and called 911, but was put on hold. The girl’s screams now had the distinctive gurgle of blood, but he kept stomping her and calling her a whore. He was murdering her before my eyes.

  I have no idea how it happened. One second I was in Ida’s kitchen and the next, I was in the corridor smashing the mad-hot pan across the back of Cesar’s head knocking him to his knees. He spouted curses and tried to recover and get to his feet, but I swung again like I was going for a grand slam. The blistering hot iron crashed across his cheek, laying him out flat. He was completely still and so was the girl. I checked Cesar first. Found a pulse. Out cold. I set down the skillet and used the dishrag that protected my hand from the hot handle to ease out a gun tucked in Cesar’s waistband, a cheap 9mm. I scanned all around me. Every window was dark. No one else around and the only sound seemed to be the rush of my own blood in my ears. I dropped the pistol’s magazine and tucked it my apron, then racked back the slide, clearing the chamber and kicking the round and the gun in the bushes out of reach.

  Then, I could’ve sworn I saw those damn blinds move.

  Blood leaked from the girl’s lips, and her face was already misshapen from broken bones and swelling fast. I had no idea what internal injuries she might have sustained but at least she had a pulse. Her breathing was ragged and foamy blood leaked down her chin. As much as I wanted to stop and assist I couldn’t. I ran back into Ida’s house and called 911 again as I washed any blood from the pan. This time the call went straight through.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “Fire. Casa Linda. Building A. Two people hurt bad in the breezeway.” I hated lying, but knew if I told them I heard screaming we might not see a cop for hours if at all, but apartments like these were riddled with meth-labs that went boom with enough regularity to get rapid response. I hoped the sounds of the running water and racket would distort my voice. I kept it short and hung up. When and if they traced the call, they’d find Ida who’d be a perfect dead end. I poured bleach over the pan to destroy any evidence, my hands shaking.

  I’d broken the cardinal rule. Never get involved.

  I wasn’t afraid of the cops. I was afraid of Cesar, of his crew. I was even more scared of the victim. If she survived her injuries, she could want revenge. It made no sense, but that’s how places like this were. I learned that growing up in the trailer park. When it came to domestic violence, the only person more dangerous than the assailant was often the victim. Sanity didn’t exist in certain places, and Casa Linda was one of those places.

  Ida snored softly as I kissed the softness of her age-spotted cheek and whispered I loved her. I slipped outside as fire trucks and an ambulance roared into the parking lot. I ducked back into Ida’s apartment and peered through the peephole. Two large firemen and a team of paramedics rushed toward the still forms on the ground while the other firemen searched for a blaze that didn’t exist.

  Everything in me wanted to tell the truth, but I couldn’t. I’d sign my own death warrant. I eased out Ida’s back door, setting it to lock behind me, then wove my way through the dark complex and savage pit-bulls chained on patios trying to tear through the bars for a piece of me. I took the long way around so it would appear as if I were some random person stumbling onto the scene. I eased past the emergency crews and police and unlocked my door.

  “Excuse me, Miss. Do you know what happened? Did you see anything? A fire?” a young cop asked over the chatter of his radio.

  “Just got here. Sorry.” I craned my head like a super-interested bystander-looky-loo-pain-in-the-ass. The officer grabbed my shoulder and stopped me. “We need you to stay out of the area. Go on inside.”

  I shrugged and stumbled into my dark apartment. The firemen were sharp and it wouldn’t take long to realize the fire story was bogus. Cops wouldn’t be shocked that people around here wouldn’t talk, but detectives would come calling and I knew I’d crumble after a minute of questioning. I huddled in the boiling darkness trying to hatch a plan. I texted Ed a desperate message. A moment later, I received a response:

  Ed: Will stop by your place after work.

  Chapter Three

  I cleaned furiously to help me keep calm as I heard the police chatter outside. Despite the sweltering heat of my efficiency apartment, I managed to pack everything I owned into three large Hefty bags in less than an hour and place them near the door. I wouldn’t be able to leave until morning. I didn’t want to step into what very well could be a homicide investigation, and I seriously needed some sleep. I whispered a prayer the girl would survive. I had a harder time asking God to let Cesar live. The walls here were thin enough I could eavesdrop. Nothing useful. Still, I listened at the door, my nerve-endings crackling. I tore myself away and scrubbed the toilet, berating myself for getting involved, but how could I have lived with myself if I’d let him kill her? What if he had killed her and it didn’t matter anyway? Ida was wrong. Jesus didn’t love me. I was clearly in his crosshairs. I listened and listened and listened even more, all my muscles knotted and tense from the effort, all the while expecting a banging at my front door.

  An eyewitness saw you brain this man with superlative cookware.

  I kept cleaning and eavesdropping until there was nothing left to scrub. I pressed my ear against the door and heard nothing new or useful. At that point, I knew it was in my best interests to wait it out until morning and hope ‘no one saw nuthin.’ I showered, then slipped on a tank top and blousy yoga pants before passing out on my sleeping bag in the corner of the room.

  Later, a soft knock at my back patio door ripped me from sleep. Then I heard the rich baritone voice. “It’s Ed.”

  I removed the security pin and let him in the patio door.

  “What’s all that out front? You kill someone?” He wore a dusty leather jacket, faded jeans and heavy biker boots. He had long dirty blonde hair threaded with silver that he wore in a ponytail wrapped with a black leather tie.

  “Typical gang-banger drama. Staying out of it,” I replied, not lying but not exactly telling the truth either.

  “What’s going on, Little Sister?” He opened his arms to hug me and I let him. Little Ed Metzger stood about six foot two and was the size of a truck. His eyes were bright blue orbs set in leather, the only part of him that reminded me of Ida. His face was hardened by years of smoking, drinking, and rough living. A thick band of scar tissue split one of his eyebrows giving his Aryan features extra menace. Rumor had it Ed got that scar when a member of the Warlocks bashed him in the face with a beer bottle, and then Ed ripped the guy’s beating heart out of his chest and showed it to him. I knew they were exaggerating because Ed had always been a teddy bear to me and to Ida. Besides, Ed told me he’d gotten that scar falling off a swing set when he was eight. He just let people talk and figured it only helped his street cred.

  “Sorry I was late,” he said. “Couple jokers decided to get in a fight right after closing time. Come on.” Ed ushered me outside into the night that buzzed with crescendo and decrescendo of cicadas. It was almost five a.m. and the quietest this place ever got. I knew Ed worked as a bouncer at The Last Resort Cantina. It was supposedly some biker bar, but some claimed it was actually a front for running weapons and drugs from Mexico. Granted, these were the same people telling the beating heart story, so I was hesitant to bite.
Ed loved his mother and was fond of me. Beyond that I didn’t know much more and didn’t want to, in case even part of the rumors was true. It was best for both of us that way.

  Ed hugged me again then let me go. “What’s going on? Mama okay?” He sounded frightened. I’d only heard his voice waver one other time, the time he asked me to go search for Ida. She’d been getting more and more senile and had wandered out of Walmart. When he went to hunt for her, the police snagged him on some warrants. He’d used his one phone call to make sure someone would find his mother. I’d stepped in without even asking how he’d gotten my cell number. It’s how Ida and I became a pair.

  “I’m in trouble.” I leaned against the rusted metal railing of my tiny patio.

  “What kind of trouble?” He frowned.

  “Have to leave. No choice. I’m out of money and my family needs my help. But I’m worried about your mom. She keeps saying her husband is named Dick and that she never had children, but then sometimes she knows who you are and…”

  Ed’s shoulders slumped. “My father never went by Ed. He went by Dick, which was very fitting.” There was no denying the hurt in his tone. “What are you saying? About leaving?” he asked, furrowing his grizzled eyebrows.

  “I can’t get a job and I need to go home but I’m worried for Ida. I hate saying this, but she needs to be put in a home. She nearly set the apartment on fire tonight.”

  His cold blue eyes bore through me. “We’ll get to Mama in a minute. You said you were in trouble. What went down?”

  “Oh, you caught that.” I crossed my arms.

  “I pay attention.” He stroked his mustache, studying me.

  In less than a minute I’d blurted out the whole story. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand there while he killed her, and trust me when I say he was killing her,” I said as quietly as I could, but all I could think of was the solid thud of impact between fine American iron and Cesar’s head. My voice pitched with hysteria and I ran my hands through my hair and struggled to keep my voice down. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was in the kitchen and the next I was braining this psycho beating on a little girl.” I then relayed what I’d done with the gun and how I’d gotten out of there.

  His brow furrowed as he took a long drag on his cigarette. “Yeah, you got a problem. Cesar’s a Wraith.”

  “Los Espectros? Oh, friggin’ great. Fantastic.” I paced back and forth in the small square of patio.

  “You could be on the radar of some seriously bad dudes.”

  “Worse. They could take it out on your mom.” My voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

  He drew me close and I didn’t care. It was like having a big brother who could tell you everything would be okay and I seriously needed something to be okay. “You worry too much. Even if Cesar thought my mom took him out, he’d never admit it.”

  “No, he saw me. I think he’d hurt Ida to hurt me. Please get her out of here. Please. Promise me. I have to leave town, but your mom…”

  “Will be fine. Cesar’s crew’s dumb, but smart enough not to mess with The Devils. My boys’ll keep an eye on them. She’s enjoyed having you around so much. Do you really hafta go?”

  I could tell from Ed’s expression that he was more grateful than he’d ever be able to tell me in words, but his faint smile, the softening of the hard planes of his face was enough. I could almost see the eight-year-old kid who’d fallen off a swing and met the wrong end of a seesaw.

  “I do,” I replied, trying to maintain my cool. “I’m out of money and my family needs me. And now, this…” I stared off at the quiet parking lot as terror laced through my chest.

  “Where’s home?” He drew out the soft pack of Camels and tapped out another smoke.

  “Middle of nowhere,” I mumbled, distracted by thoughts of where the hell I was going to live once I got there.

  “Where in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Bisby. Bisby, TX. It’s—”

  “Near the Mexican border off FM1313. Double bad luck.” He took a long drag off the cigarette, making the end glow orange.

  I was a little taken aback that Ed recognized Bisby, that he knew the joke about FM1313. “Yes, it is. Surprised anyone knows where Bisby is.”

  “Oh.” He gave a strange laugh and raised both eyebrows. “A lot of people know where Bisby is.”

  The way he said that last statement made chills slither down my arms. I didn’t know what to make of his comment, but didn’t dare ask. It was none of my business.

  “I thought Mama told me you was headed over to Unemployment. No dice?”

  I rolled my eyes. “That was a waste of time and gas.” I fought the urge to tell him about my run-in with Mark Cunningham. Ed also had a reputation for making people disappear and, tempting as it was, I said nothing. “End of the line. Have barely enough money to get me home and now with this Cesar thing?”

  “Come on, Little Sister. You don’t have to leave. The Devils could get you some work.”

  For a second, I almost considered asking him to tell me more, but then I remembered I might be a murder suspect, and any time someone uses the phrase The Devils can get you work, that’s generally sign of a bad plan.

  “Thanks. I haven’t accomplished much in the last year, but my one small victory has been ‘not going to jail.’ And I say that in a very non-judgy way. No offense.” I smiled and patted him on the arm.

  He let out a rough laugh. “None taken. You sure you can’t hang here?”

  “Can’t find anything. Need to do something different.”

  “Yeah, the country’s economy’s in the toilet for sure, but makes business good for me and The Devils.” He gave a sly smile.

  “La la la la la,” I said plugging my ears. “Don’t want to know. La la la la la.”

  Ed smirked and pulled my hands down. “Come on, we could find you something legit. You got spunk girl. You took out that meathead with a frying pan.”

  “No, it was stupid and I want Ida safe.” I scrubbed my eyes, so tired I was half-delirious.

  “Stop worrying.”

  “Wish it were so easy.”

  “I need to ask you a question, and be honest.”

  “Okay.” I gave him a weird sideways look and crossed my arms.

  “How much money you got left?” He gave me a stern fatherly stare.

  I hesitated then replied, “Three hundred and fifty. I paid Mr. Chandramohan the one-fifty for my rent after fleeing the crime scene.”

  Ed gave me a strange look.

  “What?” I said.

  “You paid your last week’s rent?”

  “I owed it, didn’t I?”

  “Sure, but most people bail and pocket the cash.” He flicked a long line of ash over the patio rail.

  I arched an eyebrow. “I’m not most people,” I replied but didn’t confess that I had actually considered keeping the money. Crime was not in my blood and I knew the guilt would have driven me bonkers. Hell, I’d been driven half-crazy with guilt for what Phil had done, and I didn’t even do anything wrong. And now the Cesar thing? I needed a Tums. A bottle of Tums.

  “That is true. You aren’t like anyone I ever met. Have any credit cards?” he asked.

  I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with the questions, but then remembered I had no money. “I have credit card companies that want me dead. That count?”

  “You crack me up, girl. So, you have three hundred and fifty bucks and that little Honda of yours has what? A fifteen-gallon tank?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Say you have a fifteen-gallon tank, thirty-five mpg on the highway. You barely got enough gas money to get where you’re going. What you gonna use to eat?”

  I made a face. “I’d say my looks but that tactic always is more hassle than it’s worth.”

  Ed reached in his pocket for something then stepped in close, his eyes gentle and loving but in a protective un-creepy way. He drew me in for another hug and slipped something bulky into the deep
pockets of my yoga pants. He squeezed me tight and whispered in my hair, “Text me when you’re home, and thanks for taking care of Mama.”

  Ed straddled his Harley and rumbled out of the parking lot as the horizon lightened with the shimmer of pre-dawn. Still in shock, I couldn’t breathe until I could no longer hear the sound of his pipes. I didn’t dare check what he’d put in my pocket until later. I suspected it was something that might get me robbed, and there were few things like armed robbery to put a damper on one’s travel plans.

  The police were still working, so all I could do was collapse on my sleeping bag for some rest. I prayed Cesar’s crew hadn’t come searching for him, because then they wouldn’t be looking for me.

  When I awoke, I was sweaty and sore. As I rubbed the grit from my eyes, at first I thought it had all been some bad nightmare, but then I saw the sparkling clean apartment and all I owned in trash bags waiting near the door. Heavy with fatigue, I changed into a Supergirl t-shirt. The drive ahead would be grueling in more ways than one. I knotted my hair into a messy ballet bun. Comfort first. I still didn’t have the courage to inspect what Ed had passed off to me.