The Poe Consequence Page 18
When the event ended, Veronica felt tired but gratified with her efforts for the neighborhood children. Patricia, Felix, Liz, and Miguel remained behind to help her bag the trash and fold the chairs and tables. Felix teased Miguel about keeping his eye patch on, but Miguel claimed he wanted to leave his costume untouched for another party.
As everyone strolled outside to leave, they stood in a group underneath the overhang. “It’s dark, Veronica,” Miguel said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Better a young pirate than an old, wet vampire,” Felix quipped, pointing to the faded remnants of his makeup.
“That’s not necessary, Miguel,” Veronica replied. “I’ll be fine.”
Without saying goodbye, Miguel seemed to give her a hostile look before spitting on the ground and stalking off toward his van. Everyone stared at him in silence.
“What’s he so pissed off about?” Patricia asked. “You hurt his macho pride or something?”
“He gave me the creeps, Veronica,” Liz told her. “I’m glad he left.”
“I don’t know what the big deal was,” Veronica said, watching as Miguel drove away. “That was really nice of him to help out, but I just want to lock up here, get in my car and go home. It’s been a long day.”
Veronica hugged them goodbye and watched as they walked toward their cars. After locking the doors, she placed the recreation keys back in her purse, removed her car keys, and opened her umbrella before heading toward the parking lot. She gave a final wave to the others as they drove away. Veronica felt a deep sense of satisfaction for the success of the event, yet the hours of planning and executing left her drained. She looked forward to getting home and unwinding in a hot bath. Arriving at her car, Veronica unlocked the door, hurriedly sat in the driver’s seat and locked the doors again. She tossed the umbrella on the passenger side floor, put the key in the ignition, and screamed.
A gun pushed hard against her temple and an angry hand clamped down on her mouth.
“You wanna die, bitch? Huh? You wanna die?” She felt the hot breath from the threatening voice a few inches from her ear. The distinct aroma of liquor infiltrated the close space between them. Her body seemed paralyzed with fright, yet she realized she needed to respond to his question in some way. With her eyes shut tight, she shook her head, indicating her answer.
“That’s right, bitch, you don’t wanna die,” he said. “You’re gonna shut up and do what I say,” Squeezing his hand tighter over her mouth, continuing to keep the end of his gun pressed against the side of her head, he yelled, “Right?”
Veronica clenched her teeth. With small, almost imperceptible motions, she nodded. He slid the barrel down to rest against her neck. “Start the car.” Veronica did as she was told. “Now turn your headlights on.” After she followed his second command, he continued his instructions. “Listen to me, bitch. I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth.” With a sudden rapid movement, he gripped her hair and pulled it from behind. “You try somethin’ stupid, bitch, I’ll put a hole through that pretty little head of yours.”
Removing his hand from her hair, he slid the barrel of his gun along the back of her scalp. “You got beautiful hair, Veronica. That’s your name, right? That’s what it said on your little badge at the restaurant I seen you workin’ at. They dress you like an old lady, a fuckin’ vieja, but I didn’t care. You wasn’t no old lady under those clothes. I could tell what you got. You can’t hide that gold from Viper.”
He kept the gun close to her head as he climbed into the front seat. He lunged over the top of her body, causing her to lean against the door and shut her eyes in fear. Feeling him slide back off, she realized that he’d grabbed her safety belt to lock her in. “Don’t want you tryin’ somethin’ stupid, do we, Veronica?”
She opened her eyes but kept them straight ahead.
“Got an old man waitin’ to fuck ya, bitch? Who you live with?”
“Just…my mother.”
“Your sweet old mother, huh?” Viper grabbed her purse and dropped it on her lap. “Got a phone in there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Call her. Tell her you’re goin’ to a party. You ain’t gonna be home until real late. Don’t wait up.”
Veronica took the phone from her bag. Viper leaned in close with the gun against the side of her head. “You fuck with me, bitch, you won’t be talkin’ to nobody no more.” Viper circled the end of the gun around the inside of her ear. “You understand me?”
As she made the call she glanced to her right through the darkness. She could see the gun in his hand. Veronica gathered the courage to look his way again. She noticed a cap pulled down over what appeared to be a shaved head, but the illumination from the parking lot lights allowed her to distinguish certain physical characteristics. His abundance of body hair, evident in a plentiful display through his sleeveless tee shirt, made her feel even more vulnerable. He seemed a big man, requiring a lot of space in the seat. Thick, pointed eyebrows framed the fleshy folds of his tattooed forehead showing what appeared to be three letters, and his flattened nose revealed black, angular nostrils that resembled two spiders running from each other. Her eyes widened in panic when she noticed the teardrop tattoo, sometimes signifying having committed a murder, near his right eye, which, along with his left one, looked her body up and down in a depraved sexual examination.
“What…what are you going to do?”
“Have me some fun,” he whispered. “Now start drivin’. I’ll tell you where to go.”
Veronica accidentally shifted into neutral and depressed the accelerator pedal. The gunning engine startled not only her, but apparently him as well.
“Hey, what the fuck!” he yelled, grabbing her by the throat with one hand and wielding his gun with the other.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” she shouted back, shutting her tearful eyes in fear once again. “I’m…I’m scared.”
Removing his hand from her neck, he brought his face close to hers. “You wanna live to see tomorrow, bitch? Do ya?”
Veronica nodded her head. “Yes.”
“Of course you do. That’s why you’re gonna listen to me.” He rubbed her cheek with his fingers. “If you’re good to Viper, he’ll let you go. You gonna be good to Viper?”
Veronica knew nothing acceptable could be said except one word. “Yes.”
Viper directed her from one dark side street to another. She couldn’t help but notice that somebody seemed to be following them. A sense of dread iced her gut as she wondered at the possibility that more than one person was involved. The realization of her fear soon revealed itself when she turned and started driving up a darkened hill. The trailing car continued to remain behind. Within moments, its lights flashed.
“Slow down and let him pass.” Viper ordered. “Then follow him.”
Veronica felt like she’d been sucker-punched when the van passed her. She now understood. Miguel had set her up. A moment later they arrived at an isolated area behind a bank of large trees. Viper ordered her to stop but keep her headlights on. She watched as Miguel walked to the back of his van and peeled off what appeared to be a blank magnetized strip that companies use to advertise on their cars. When he stepped aside, she gazed in horror at the large, painted face of a snarling wolf, a lobo, covering most of the two doors. Miguel pounded his heart and pointed at the doors.
“He wanted you to see it,” Viper said, smiling. “Ain’t it beautiful?”
In silent desperation, Veronica watched Miguel turn the handle to the back of the van. As the doors opened, the head of the wolf seemed to split in two, exposing a large mattress that filled the entire inside area except the front seats. Terrified, Veronica understood. She was about to enter the belly of the beast.
* * *
As dawn broke and Veronica lay in a semi-conscious state inside her car from the copious amount of alcohol she was forced to consume, a sudden flash of recognition reminded her of where she was, her nakedness,
and the unspeakable experience she had endured. In panic, Veronica lunged for the door locks, but the brutal cramping and burning pain from her violation struck without warning, causing her to collapse against the seat before forcing herself to open the door and vomit to a point of near unconsciousness. She cried with relief when she saw her keys still dangling from the ignition and her clothes crumpled in the back seat. Struggling to dress, she couldn’t avoid looking at the caked blood on her inner thighs. Desperate to find her way out of the isolated canyon, she drove along unknown stretches of road until she somehow approached the familiar streets leading to her home. The tears fell heavier at the sight of her driveway, but the loud sobs erupted as violent and sudden as an earthquake when she entered the house.
For her brother’s protection, Veronica persuaded her mother to refrain from telling him anything. She knew that Alex wouldn’t rest until he accomplished his own form of justice, and that he would either kill or be killed. She intended to protect him from dying, either at the hands of the Lobos or the hands of the law.
Veronica also refused to let her mother take her to the emergency hospital. She took Miguel’s threats seriously not only about what the Lobos would do to Alex, but also to her friend, Patricia, if she told anyone. Knowing the doctor would recognize what happened and inform the police, she couldn’t afford to take that chance. She had her mother purchase two home pregnancy tests, one for each week it took to recover. When the tests showed a pregnancy hadn’t occurred, that made her hopeful, but the confirmation from her next period removed any uncertainty. When she regained enough strength to leave the house, she went straight to the hospital for an HIV test. Upon hearing the result as negative, she broke down from the final, lingering fear of the real-life nightmare that had plagued her every waking moment. She emerged a changed woman, losing confidence in her own judgment and her previous faith in God. With a heart cloaked in doubt and cautiousness, her life now centered on the one goal of earning her degree and leaving the neighborhood behind forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kevin Palmer is on vacation. That’s how the announcement read at the bottom of the second page of Monday’s Los Angeles Times. Truth be told, he’d been suspended for a week, justified by accusations such as “exhibiting shoddy professionalism” and “a disturbing lack of respect for his job.” One more screw-up and the only thing he’d be writing is a resume.
Kevin had quit his previous job at The Daily News before his impending termination, when the importance of his drinking superseded his deadlines. He wondered if that same path confronted him again. Each evening, between the time Seth went to bed and the completion of his articles, he consumed the requisite amount of alcohol to prevail through another night. In his attempt at balancing work and inebriation, he attempted changing his routine by writing during the day, but he scrapped that unlikable idea and returned to his original practice of working at night, convinced he could make the combination manageable.
He believed his firing an imminent realty when his boss summoned him into the office, so he took the news of the suspension with a certain amount of relief. With valid indictments hanging over his head, he knew better than to let pride interfere with the person who held the noose with one hand and the lever to the trap door in the other. His biggest concern over this entire scenario concerned a possible investigation by the Department of Child and Family Services. The court documents showed him to be Seth’s legal guardian, but those people wouldn’t look too kindly upon a guardian with a suspected drinking problem.
His frustration over Veronica anchored his emotions further. Seth’s association with her seemed beneficial, contributing toward a healthier attitude toward school, but Kevin’s own relationship with Veronica remained stuck in neutral. From the day they had that first coffee together at the mall, he thought of little else but her. Meeting Veronica for a lunch date left him hopeful, yet nothing more had transpired. E-mails and texts, sometimes nonsensical, other times heartfelt, continued to be exchanged, but in person her demeanor seemed reserved much of the time, as if she was a different woman. In those few instances when Veronica appeared outgoing and laughed freely, she lifted his spirits and calmed his tortured psyche, albeit temporarily.
Kevin desired her more than any woman he’d ever known, but Veronica’s curvaceous body continued to form nothing more than a shapely question mark. The impenetrable wall around her needed to be removed and he believed he now understood the reason for her hesitancy; he was white and she was a Latina. Veronica’s unwillingness to take the plunge from the safety net of friendship to the mysterious excitement of a love affair proved disheartening, but Kevin was determined to pierce that social armor.
Until then, however, without Veronica or assurances of a future together, Kevin consoled himself at bedtime with the only substitute available to him. He made love to his scotch.
* * *
As Veronica entered the lobby of the day care center, Kevin rose from his chair and approached her. “I need to talk with you,” he said.
“Can it wait, Kevin? I have to get back to work right now.”
“Then I’ll come back when you’re finished,” he replied, an unintended tone of urgency to his voice.
“Alright,” she said. “Sounds like it’s important. I’ll be done at four thirty.”
When he returned to his car, he sat for a while, seeking to calm his anxiety. Checking the time, he realized he had over two hours. Without any work to do, he decided to go to a hamburger joint where he and Seth had eaten before. On his way there, Kevin called him at home.
“Can I eat the leftovers in the fridge?” Seth asked. “I’m hungry.”
“Sure, go ahead,” he said. “I called to let you know I have a meeting with Veronica at four thirty. I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”
A lengthy pause followed. “Is it about me?”
“No,” Kevin answered. “This time it’s about me.”
“You?”
“Yeah, me. And her, too.”
A familiar Eric Clapton guitar lick blared over the speakers as Kevin walked through the restaurant door. He plucked a Time magazine from a rack near the hostess counter before she escorted him to an open booth. After ordering a cheeseburger and fries, he started thumbing through the pages and arrived at an article on Latino gangs that highlighted the alarming rise in violence in America’s southern states, focusing mainly on the region’s most violent gang, MS-13, Mara Salvatrucha. The Los Angeles Times had also written about this gang in the past, and Kevin still remembered several disturbing facts: They were a group of thirty to fifty thousand strong in at least a half a dozen countries, including an approximate ten thousand membership in the United States. MS-13 first formed in Los Angeles in the 1980’s, originating from the guerrillas and refugees escaping the civil war in El Salvador. Now they were spreading through the country like a noxious virus, with crimes such as attempted murder, drug trafficking, sex trafficking, and extortion reported in twenty-two states. Even Europe wasn't immune from the reach of their poisonous tentacles. The article made Kevin realize how much he’d changed, that his past rationalizations about poverty and lack of education as causes for the gang culture, what Warren always labeled as “excuse-making bullshit,” was just that—excuse-making bullshit. MS-13? The North Rampart Lobos? The Alvarado Street Diablos? There was no justifying the type of individuals they were. These sick-minded, violent thugs didn’t possess an ounce of human decency.
Kevin placed the magazine aside when his lunch arrived, contemplating, once again, how he’d approach the sensitive subject of race. “I understand the importance of culture and family history,” he would say. “I never want to deprive you of who you are and what you stand for.” He closed his eyes, picturing the unpleasant scene, an unhappy ending based on her upbringing and racial divisions. “I’m sorry, but I can’t,” she would tell him. “I care for you as a friend but we could never be lovers.” He couldn’t let that happen. Kevin feared his burgeoning apprehensi
on might cause him to do or say the wrong thing. He felt too wound up and needed a drink.
Spotting the waitress, he waved his hand to get her attention.
“What can I getcha?” she asked.
“Tell the bartender I want a glass of your finest scotch, please, no ice.”
Returning several minutes later, the waitress set the auburn-colored tumbler on Kevin’s table. Looking at his watch he replied, “I may want another one.”
Ten minutes later Kevin ordered that second scotch, and, with each proceeding gulp, his confidence level increased. He pictured a different scene in Veronica’s office, culminating in an embrace and passionate kiss. He left the restaurant feeling a sweet sense of optimism surging inside of him. He entered his car and realized he’d forgotten his breath mints, but was that really such a big deal? Everything was going to be all right. Driving with extra caution, he arrived at four thirty, took a deep breath, and made his approach toward the dawn of a new life with the woman he loved.
* * *
Kevin sauntered into the day care center and watched as a frail, red-haired boy gave Veronica a big hug. “See you next time,” he told her.
“Don’t forget your poetry, Jimmy,” she replied, cupping the back of his head with her hand. “I want to read it.”
“For sure,” he answered.
Looking toward Kevin, Veronica smiled. “You’re not the only writer in this room, Mr. Palmer,” she said.
Kevin looked at Jimmy. “I’m sure you got me beat in the poetry department, kiddo. Roses are red, violets are blue, but I can’t rhyme as well as you.”
Veronica gave Kevin a quizzical look and turned to address the woman standing with the young boy. “I’ll see Jimmy in two weeks, Lynn,” she said.
Kevin winked at Veronica as she escorted them into the lobby. When she returned, she looked at Kevin with a slight tilt of her head. “You’re sure acting a lot different,” she said, displeasure in her voice. “You sounded so serious before, you had me worried.”