"No."
"But you're doing it anyway."
"Yeah."
He nods. He gets it. We all have our things. His is protecting the club. Mine was Emma. Now it's Angel. I don't know her name. Her face. Her history. But I know her sounds. Her laugh. The way she breathes when she's fighting herself. The way she curses in Spanish when she stops fighting.
And I know she made forty tamales thinking about me.
Know she's thirty-one. Calculated that from her experience. She didn't deny it. Smart enough to be established. Young enough to take risks.
Pull up social media. Search parameters: Phoenix, nurse, Latina, weekend shift, 31. Thousand possibilities. Narrow it down. UNM Hospital tags. Presbyterian. Look for someone who posts about cooking. Wine. Someone with dark humor.
Nothing definitive. Good. Means she's smart. Careful online. Reckless with wrong numbers.
My phone buzzes.Her.
I'm professionally compromised and personally destroyed. Thanks for that.
You're welcome.
That wasn't a compliment.
Yes, it was.
I have masa in my hair and shame in my soul.
And my voice in your head.
Three dots. Stop. Start. Stop.
Arrogant.
Accurate.
I'm too young for you.
Probably.
Definitely.
Didn't stop you from coming.
I'm blocking you.
No, you're not.
I should.
Should and will are different words.
How many people have you killed?
The question hangs there. Truth or lie. I go for a partial.
Less than deserved it. More than I should have.
That's not an answer.
