“We protect our own,” I reminded them, and I watched the remaining hands rise.
“Then it’s settled. We’re going to get Chalupa the representation he needs, and we’re going to bring him home.”
I stood around there watching everyone cheer, realizing that over the course of a few years, we’d really built a family here together, one that Padre would’ve been proud to see in action today. I thought for a moment about what Chalupa had said the day he got arrested, telling me that I should’ve never even thought about giving up my name because of how significant it was. Being here with all of them reminded me that I was still a part of that family, even though we’d lost one of our own, and I had to make sure that didn’t happen again.
We’re going to get you out, Chalupa.
Eight
Lacey
I don’t know the first thing about undercover work, and I’m scared they’re going to see right through me the moment I pull up there pretending to be someone I’m not. I have no idea who these people are, how dangerous they could possibly be, or what’s really going on, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. I have to keep a straight face and pretend to be naïve. If they start to catch on that I’m investigating them, and something is indeed wrong here, I don’t know how long I’m actually going to last.
Yes, I was scared, but this was a job given to me directly from the DA himself and I couldn’t disappoint. They saw an opportunity to get to the bottom of what was happening at Ortega’s Autos, and if it would mean putting some criminals behind bars, then I had to do my part in assisting.
I glanced at my reflection in the entryway mirror, pulling my hair back into a low ponytail while I took a deep breath, trying to relax my face and get rid of the fear that sat conspicuously behind my eyes. I gathered my thoughts, remembering why I’d agreed to do this in the first place, and headed out into the parking lot to have a look at my car.
I pulled out my cell phone, doing a quick search for potential car problems that I could inflict myself with in order to have a good excuse for showing up at Ortega’s. I decided on one that I could get done under the hood of the car itself, and hoping that it wouldn’t break down before I got there, I popped the hood, fiddled around with parts I didn’t even know existed until I felt something finally loosen up, and dropped it shut.
I got into the driver’s seat and wound down the front windows for some air, but it didn’t help much with the scorching heat and beaming sun overhead. I threw on a pair of sunglasses, started the engine, and took off down the road, making my way to Ortega’s, ready to get to the bottom of what was really going on there.
When I pulled up in front of the place, my heart was beating so loudly that I swore I heard it in my ears, but I tried not to panic, watching the hood of my car begin to smoke, while a man approached me from outside.
“Whoa, what seems to be the problem?” the guy asked, and I got out of the car, shaking my head, pretending like I didn't know exactly what I’d done to get it in that condition.
“We’re a little short-staffed today, but I’m sure I can give it a quick look,” he said, and I nodded.
“That would be amazing.” I said, and he smiled. “I don’t know what happened to it, but I have somewhere to be in a few hours, and I’m afraid I’m not going to get very far without my car. I really appreciate you taking the time to help.” I glanced down at his tattoos, the sweat rim around his neck on his white wifebeater, while he grabbed the rag in his pocket to wipe his hands.
“Come on inside, it’s way too hot out here,” he said, and I smiled, heading into the open garage while he reached into the mini fridge at the side, offering me a bottle of water.
“Thank you very much,” I said, taking it from him, opening it up, and taking my first sip while I glanced around the garage for anything suspicious. It all looked like a normal, functional garage, and there wasn’t any sign of carmachines being disassembled, but then again, I had no idea what was happening around back. What I saw on the surface looked pretty normal to me, but I started to have a bad feeling, like I was missing something that was right under my nose. I began to walk around, while the nice man brought my car in and started looking under the hood. I eyed the toolboxes, the benches, the wires that tangled on the floor, while I looked down to watch where I was going.
I don’t see anything here that would give me reason to believe this place is a chop shop, but maybe I’m not looking hard enough.
I heard the man call out for me to come and join him, and I was sure he’d found the root of the problem, which was of course, my handiwork.
“How in the world did you manage to do this?” he asked, and I shrugged my shoulders.
“I have absolutely no idea. I ran out of my front door a few hours ago in a rush, but I noticed that there was something weird with the ignition when I started it up. Is it fixable? Or is it going to cost me an arm and a leg?” I asked, acting like I was really worried.
“It’s nothing too severe. I can have it done in an hour or so, if you’d be okay with waiting around,” he said, and I smiled.
“Of course.” I sat down on the white plastic chair that was directly under the shade of the garage door while I watched him work. I finished my water in the scorching heat, feeling the sweat start to trickle down the back of my neck, and I wished I would’ve worn something a bit cooler to venture all the way out here.
I sat while he worked on my car, trying to take in my surroundings and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. A few people came and went, but other than the occasional appreciative glance, nobody paid me much attention, for which I was grateful. A delivery van showed up with what I presumed were spare parts, and someone came out of an office to sign for them. There was a radio playing in the back and I could hear a man singing along as he worked.
The time seemed to pass rather quickly, and before I knew it he was finishing up the job. I thanked him and paid him for his services, got in my car, and drove away, without seeing any kind of sign of any strange behavior coming from anyone that was working in the shop. I remembered the faces I saw today, just in case I would have to deal with them again, but nothing struck me as odd.
I’m terrible at this. I need to do better,I thought, feeling my stomach grumble. I passed a small restaurant named Tiny’s and decided to turn around and head back there for a bite to eat.
I headed inside and was greeted by one of the waitresses that was scooting by with a large tray stacked with plates of food.
“Sit anywhere you like, hun,” she said in a high pitched, nasally voice, and I thanked her. I took a small table that was out of the way but had a good view of the place. Peering over the menu while I decided what to eat, I looked around to see if anyone looked suspicious.I really suck at this detective stuff,I thought. Everybody looked perfectly normal to me; if there were any criminals lurking around, I certainly couldn’t tell.
When the waitress returned, I ordered a burger and fries and poured a glass of water from the pitcher she brought, just as I heard the whirring of bike engines coming from right outside the restaurant.
I looked up at the door to see a few bikers trail in with their matching leather jackets and menacing expressions, behaving like they owned the place. I watched as they took the booth at the far end of the room, trying to stay out of sight, but something about them made me feel uneasy. I wasn’t one to judge, but I’d heard about the biker that had recently been arrested for stealing a car, and the suspect that was arrested after him, both supposedly with ties to Ortega’s Autos. I was starting to wonder whether these bikers had anything to do with what was really going on at the auto shop, but I needed to do more digging to find out for myself.
