“I thought it’d be easy, as a cop,” he said, “but a lot happened.”
I passed him another mate. I felt like he’d talked too much. I was done listening, but then he added:
“I realized I was on my own on this one.”
He pulled a photo from his jacket. He wanted me to take it, but I told him to hold on to it and show it to me from where he sat.
I felt sorry for him, but that’s just how it was. Everybody looked on their own.
I studied the photo in his hands, then I studied him. Something in the girl’s smile and in his body made me think that this time things could be different, that I might get there early for once. I didn’t want another Florensia. I was the one who chose to lie to Florensia’s mom, her eyes trained on me. And the guilt was mine to carry. Maybe things could be different with this guy.
I pictured the other yokes telling him: “She’ll be back, probably off with her boyfriend,” and I got furious at him, at all of them.
I watched him handling the photo and thought of charging him a load of money to get him off my back, but then I remembered the girl.
“It’ll cost you,” I said without blinking.
Yokes got paid to look and do fuck-all. Why shouldn’t I?
He gazed at me in silence. A shadow of cruelty seemed to cloud his face.
“I’ll bring the cash tomorrow, if that’s all right, then we’ll head over to my aunt’s.”
“I’m not getting into no patrol car,” I answered.
He laughed. I liked the look of his white, even teeth. But the face he pulled reminded me of all the little tykes in my neighborhood, and I kept a stern look on my face.
“I’ll bike.”
He shook his head no. So I said:
“This is what we’ll do. We meet again tomorrow, but you only talk about her. Not a word about the precinct.”
He smiled, nodded, and said:
“I’ll come fetch you tomorrow, I’ll bring my car. My name’s Ezequiel.”
The yoke gone, I went to the bathroom. Even though there was no one home, I closed the door so I could get a good look at myself in the mirror. I had changed too. I knew the next few days would be crazy. I wanted to remember my face as it was now, in case it somehow got lost in the coming madness and changed altogether. I switched off the light, walked out of the bathroom, collapsed on my bed, and went on sleeping.
I’ll come fetch you tomorrow, I’ll bring my car,” was the first thought that crossed my mind when I woke up.
It spells trouble, getting into a car with a cuff. I got up and tripped over some combat boots on the way to the bathroom. Walter had brought a girl home. His door was shut and I couldn’t tell if he’d left for the shop or if he was still in bed. Better busy than not, seeing as I hadn’t mentioned I wouldn’t be around. I righted the boots and set one foot beside them. They fit. I’d never had combat boots like those before.
The girl wouldn’t have left without her shoes. She must still be hanging in my brother’s room.
I used the same foot to nudge the boots off to the side and continued to the bathroom. While I peed, I checked to see if Walter had showered, if he’d shaved or whatever. Nothing. The last thing I needed was for one of them to turn up when the yoke finally showed. I scrubbed my face and teeth. The towel was gone: that was on my brother.
I shook my hands dry and ran them through my hair. Back in my room, I tried to change without making a racket. I’d wait for the yoke at the gate, so he wouldn’t have to come in. Where were my pants? I couldn’t go out wearing shorts. I checked my dresser, nothing: a pair of leggings, more shorts. The floor was covered in dirty laundry. I’d have to do a wash soon. Maybe there were pants by the sofa. That’s where I fell asleep most of the time, music sounding on the PlayStation. I hated when Walter cut the music. Still, he either turned it down or off when he got home. Then, I’d wake up at three or four a.m. and not fall asleep again till sunrise. Or later, if the cats were scrapping on the roof. The only way I could sleep through the night was with music.
I found a pair of jeans under the living room sofa. They were pretty clean. There was an empty beer bottle, too, and I left it where it was. I grabbed the pants, shook them out, and slipped them on. I found my kicks, my cell, my backpack. I was hungry but there was no time for food.
I walked outside. The sun shone real nice, making everything seem greener. I was into it. For a while, I forgot I was hungry. There was a scent not only of earth but of plants. I took deep breaths as I walked so that my body would soak up the smell. The last step to waking up. I went up to the gate. I’m not sure why I peered outside, I didn’t know what kind of car he drove. I turned around and leaned against the gate. The lock stabbed into my back and forced me to stand upright. I stared at my house so hard I realized I found it difficult to leave that place. Unclear why. It’s not like I was headed to the moon. Just to the house with the missing girl, and back.
“María’s gone, María’s missing,” I said aloud then turned around.
The sun struck the path. A cat dashed across the fence and two dogs chased behind it tongues lolling.
“Slobbery idiots. Git!”
The dogs ran on and the cat, for a change, fled onto the roof. The dogs snuffled the trash on the corner.
It must be time. I put the key in the lock, opened the gate, and went out. I locked up again and stashed the keys in my backpack.
Minutes later, he arrived.
I climbed into his gray, new-smelling car and he drove off. Ezequiel, he said his name was. As I watched him drive, I had trouble picturing it. As far as I was concerned, he was just a yoke. Now and then he looked at me too, which was awkward ’cause he clearly didn’t know what to say. Outside, the sun shone full. On a corner, a nipper tried to skip over a ditch but misjudged and landed with both feet in the scummy water. The mother, not far behind him, conked him on the head and the brat burst into tears. As I watched them, I thought of the boy’s head stinging from the blow, his feet wet from dirty water, of how pissed he must feel about bungling his leap. That’s how I felt in that car.
“Music?” the yoke asked, like he knew.
I righted myself, switched on the radio. I scanned several stations and found nothing worthwhile. Then I hit on a Gilda song. Mamá had liked Gilda. She was always telling me about how Gilda had been a kindergarten teacher. I shut my eyes and pictured my old lady humming around the house. The only time I ever saw her happy was with music on and my old man out. There, on that mission I didn’t want to go on, my old lady came to me in the voice of a kindergarten teacher who sang with a red-lipped smile and made it all the more bearable.
When the song ended, the yoke said “Thanks” and I opened my eyes. I laughed.
“You like Gilda too?”
“Thank you for coming all this way to do this,” he said.
Suddenly, he didn’t look that much like a yoke anymore. I tried to think of him as Ezequiel. His name.
“I’m hungry,” I said, “but I can’t eat right now anyway.”
He said nothing, kept driving. I thought he’d gone somewhere else, that he didn’t care what I had to say. But then he pulled up to the curb and came out with:
“See that?”