Betrayed: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel (Rosato & Associates Book 13) (27 page)

Suddenly the engine noise cut out and the lights in the doorway and windows flickered off, plunging them all into darkness except for her headlights. Judy swallowed hard. She put the car in reverse, ready to get the hell out of there. In the stillness, she heard dogs barking and men laughing and shouting to each other in Spanish, with peppy music playing from a radio.

She told herself to stay calm. The stench of compost wafted through her open window. She didn’t know where the mushroom growers were, but they couldn’t be far. In the next moment, the engine noise started up again and the lights went back on abruptly.

She put the car in forward gear and cruised ahead. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and in the headlights she could see that a group of men were hanging out in front of the barracks, their white PVC chairs an unnaturally bright white. The engine noise was coming from a portable generator. The only illumination came from the open doorway, which was wide, like a barn door, and threw a warped square of light onto the hard ground, casting harsh shadows on the men. Their beer bottles glinted brown, and the ends of their cigarettes burned red.

They all stopped laughing and talking, and turned toward her, some getting out of chairs and others walking over. Judy’s mouth went dry. She realized there were probably ten or twelve of them, more than she’d reckoned for. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to reverse, but she was in no hurry to get out of the car. Two little mutts came running toward her, barking and jumping up on her door, their toenails clacking.

“Settle down, guys,” Judy said, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking to the dogs or the men. She told herself to remain calm as the first man approached her car, cocking his head to peer at her. His body made a short and wiry silhouette in the light coming from the doorway, and she could see he was wearing a grimy white tank top and floppy work pants, but she couldn’t tell what he looked like, or even if he was smiling or hostile, because he was backlighted. His odor reached her before he did, a strong mix of cigarettes, aftershave, and compost.

“Miss, are you lost?” he asked, with a light Spanish accent, coming over to her car door and shooing the barking dogs away.

“Uh, no.” Judy could see in the reflected light from her dashboard that he couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old, with handsome features and a friendly smile, so she relaxed. “My name is Judy Carrier and I’m looking for Carlos Ramiro. I was told he lives here, by Father Vega.”

The young man frowned. “Are you from the church? Or Mike’s? I never saw you there.”

“No, I’m just a lawyer from the city.”

“You look like you’re from a D.A. or federal, like.”

“No, not at all. I’m in general practice.”

“Is anybody with you? You came alone?”

“Yes, I don’t have anything to do with immigration or anything like that, I promise you. Hold on, I’ll show you.” Judy reached into her purse, grabbed her wallet, and pulled out a business card, handing it to him. “This is me. I work at a law firm.”

“This looks nice, very nice.” The young man squinted at the card, though Judy doubted he had enough light to read it properly, and it gave her a moment to look at his face. He had fine features, with a small mouth, narrow nose, and brown eyes, with eyelashes to die for. His hair was a shaved fade that looked oiled, his long neck bore a tattooed crucifix, and his eyebrows were plucked.

“I’m not here in any official way. I just wanted to talk to Carlos about his girlfriend, Daniella. I’m a friend of her best friend, Iris.”

“Okay.” The young man smiled. “Wait here. You can get out if you want. The dogs don’t bite.”

“Sure, thanks.” Judy watched the young man jog back to the group, the dogs running to greet him, yapping at his heels. The men clustered around him, and there was more talking and a new wave of laughter, but Judy was beginning to find her bearings. She cut the engine, told herself not to be a chicken, and got out of the car.

The dogs raced back, barking and wagging their tails. She offered her hand, which they started licking, so she petted them. From her new vantage point, she could see inside the barracks, and as appalling as the sight was, it didn’t completely surprise her. The building had only a dirt floor, cinderblock walls, and a row of wooden bunk beds that looked almost exactly like the mushroom bed she’d seen in the growing house. There didn’t appear to be any other furniture. A soft orange glow suggested that there were space heaters inside, probably powered by the generator. She caught a whiff of cooking chicken coming from the doorway, but she didn’t know what they were making it on, maybe a hot plate. At the far end of the building stood a battered blue PortaJohn.

“Miss Judy!” the young man called out, motioning to her to come over to the group. “Carlos wants to see you!”

“Great.” Judy ignored her jitters, held her head high, and walked over to the men, who gathered around, a group of short and stocky silhouettes whose faces she couldn’t see. She had no way of knowing which man was Carlos, but she wasn’t going any closer.

“My name is Domingo,” the young man said, touching his chest. “I speak English, so I can translate if you want to talk to Carlos.”

“Thank you,” Judy said, forcing a smile. The dogs danced around her ankles. “Hi, everybody.”

“
Hola, gringa!
” a man called out, and there was general laughter.

“This is Carlos,” Domingo said, gesturing to a thickly muscled man who emerged from the crowd, smoking a cigarette. His shoulders were broad and strong, and he stood with his barrel chest puffed out, straining his grimy T-shirt, a stance so exaggerated it would have been comical if it weren’t genuinely menacing.

Judy found herself stepping back, without knowing why. Then she realized it wasn’t a reaction to him, but rather an unconscious imitation of the crowd, who also edged away, according him a certain status or just giving him a wide berth. She couldn’t see his features in detail, but his eyes were slits in a wide face, his hair was thick and oiled, and his arms were covered with tattoos. The man had the kind of presence that made her instantly sorry she’d come.

“Miss Judy, what did you want from Carlos?” Domingo asked, but Judy noticed a new tension in his tone.

“Can you ask him if he knows where Daniella is? I’m trying to find her so I can ask about Iris.”

Domingo turned to Carlos and spoke to him in rapid Spanish, and Judy didn’t recognize any words except for the names Daniella and Iris. Carlos replied in equally rapid Spanish, speaking without even looking at Domingo, and Judy felt her gut tighten when she recognized one of the words,
puta,
which meant whore.

Domingo said to Judy, “He says Daniella is home in Mexico.”

Judy hesitated. “Can you ask him if he’s sure? Also didn’t she care that she was going to miss Iris’s funeral?”

Domingo turned to Carlos and translated, and Carlos replied, again without looking at Domingo. Judy sensed that Carlos didn’t like Domingo, realizing why when she recognized another word,
maricon,
or, gay. Judy heard a quiet descend and sensed a growing fear in the crowd.

Domingo said to Judy, “He said he’s sure she’s there. He drove her to the bus himself. She went home again because she was sad about Iris. She wanted to be with her family.”

Judy hesitated. “Father Vega told me she wouldn’t miss Iris’s funeral.”

Domingo turned to translate, but before he could say a word, Carlos exploded in anger, shoving him in his chest and shouting in Spanish. Domingo reeled, staggering off-balance, but didn’t lose his footing.

Judy gasped, edging away. She had to go. Trouble was breaking out. The dogs started barking and running around.

Carlos advanced on Judy, shouting in Spanish, his dark eyes glittering with malice. Her heart jumped through her chest.

Domingo came over, shaken. “Miss Judy, leave right away. Go. Now. Run.”

Suddenly Carlos lunged at Judy and grabbed her by the shoulders. He reeked of beer and body odor.

“No, no!” Judy struggled in his grasp, terrified. She couldn’t get away. Carlos dug his nails into her, yanked her off her feet toward him, and pressed his body against hers.

“No!” Judy tried to get away but Carlos overpowered her. He thrust his hips into her, his crotch hard.

Judy couldn’t get her hands free. Carlos was shoving her backwards to the ground. Fear electrified her, jolting all of her senses to high alert. Adrenaline poured into her system. She was going to be raped or killed. She had to save herself.

Carlos pulled her close, pressed his wet lips to her, and bit her hard on the lips, leaving spittle on her lips, the revolting kiss of a sadist.

Judy exploded in disgust, kneeing him with all her might. Carlos crumpled in pain and shock.

Judy reeled but kept her wits about her. She broke free, whipped her can of Mace from her blazer pocket, and aimed it directly at his eyes.

“No, no, NO!” Judy roared, scrambling backwards toward her car. “Stay away from me! Stay
back
!”

She jumped into the car, locked the doors, started the engine, and reversed at speed, almost veering off the driveway.

Her heart didn’t stop hammering until she reached the city.

Chapter Thirty-two

“Penny, down!” Judy petted the dog’s fluffy head, set her purse on the floor, and closed her apartment door behind her, dismayed to find her mother coming from the living room. The eleven o’clock news was on TV, and she’d thought her mother would have already gone to bed. Judy tilted her head down, because she didn’t want her mother to see the bite mark from Carlos, on her mouth.

“Honey, what kept you?”

“Sorry, I had a lot of work. Is Aunt Barb okay?” Judy kept her head down, making much of petting the dog, who was sniffing her shoes and legs, undoubtedly getting the scent of the dogs from the barracks.

“She’s fine and says hi. Her room is private until she gets a roommate, and there were lots of flowers waiting for her, one from that estates lawyer you know. Foxman, his name is?”

“How nice.” Judy kept her head turned away from her mother as she straightened up and headed for the staircase. “Be right down, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I have to pee!” Judy called after her, taking the stairs two by two, with Penny bounding after her.

“Honey?”

Judy hustled into the small bathroom, switching on the light and letting Penny in, because the dog would not be denied. She closed the door, checked her reflection in the mirror over the sink, and grimaced, which hurt. The bite mark looked worse than it had in the rearview mirror, splitting her lower lip on the side, leaving it bloody and swollen. A tremor of fear rippled through her body, an aftershock of the trauma and the very thought of what could have happened.

Judy heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs and got busy. She twisted on the faucet, pumped some cleanser into her hand, and washed her face and mouth with warm water. The wound stung, so she switched to cold, snatched a washrag from the rack, ran it under the water, and pressed it to her lips, trying to control the swelling.

“Judy, what’s going on?”

“I’m in the bathroom, Mom.” Judy checked the washrag, and a pinkish stain blotted the terrycloth, but the bleeding had stopped.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Judy kept her tone impatient to back her mother off. “I’m washing up and going to the bathroom.”

“With the dog?”

“If I leave her outside, she’ll scratch the door.”

“I took her out, but you know, I think you might have a flea problem.”

“Really.” Judy cringed. It was the last thing she wanted for her aunt, to worry about fleas.

“You’ll have to get her dipped. Stop that before it starts. You have no idea what a headache that can be, washing the sheets and everything.”

“Good to know, thanks.” Judy held the cold compress on her lip and reached over to flush the toilet. Penny kept smelling her legs and shoes, sniffing excitedly. “Mom, can I have some privacy?”

“Since when do you want privacy in the bathroom? When you were growing up, you left the bathroom door open all the time.” Judy’s mother wiggled the doorknob. “Honey, let me in. I thought I saw something on your face.”

“I … hurt myself a little.” Suddenly Judy’s cell phone started ringing, and she pulled it from her pocket, checking the screen. It was Detective Boone, and she couldn’t miss the call.

“Judy?”

“Mom, I’ll be right out. Frank’s on the phone and I want to talk to him. Can you please give me a minute?”

“Judy, what’s going on? Something is going on.”

The phone rang again, and Judy had no choice but to answer, but she couldn’t very well fill Detective Boone in without being overheard by her mother. She pressed
ANSWER
and said, “Hi, thanks for calling back.”

“Judy?” Detective Boone asked, concerned. “Are you okay? What were you doing at the barracks?”

“I’m fine, and I’m home now. Can I call you tomorrow morning and fill you in?”

“Sure,” Detective Boone answered, sounding puzzled. “But I got a call late tonight from Father Vega at the church.”

“Oh, really.” Judy tried to keep her tone casual for her mother’s benefit.

“Judy, we would appreciate it if you would refrain from stirring up speculation—”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning. I have to go, okay?”

“You’re doing a great deal of harm, fomenting trouble, and if the press gets wind of it—”

“They won’t, I have to go. Bye!”

Detective Boone paused. “Fine, good night.”

“Good night.” Judy hung up, slipped the phone back into her pocket, and opened the door, holding the compress to her mouth. Penny scooted out of the bathroom, going to Judy’s mother. “Mom, I’m fine.”

“Oh really.” Her mother cocked her head and folded her arms over her chest, managing to look concerned and chic at the same time. “Let me see your face.”

“I hurt my mouth but it’s not a big deal. See?” Judy moved the washrag, and her mother recoiled.

“Oh my, how did you do that? Did somebody
hit
you?”