On the Edge (4 page)

THE NEXT NIGHT, I SAT BY MYSELF,
slowly working through my medium fries.

The staff room looked like a cramped locker room, its walls splattered with forty years of McDonald's propaganda. There was even a life-size Ronald McDonald statue, his hands cupped like he was praying. Creepy. I could never sit facing the thing, for fear old Ronald would wink at me.

The door swung open. “Diaz! I was missing you.”

“Hey.” I hadn't seen Manny since last Friday, and I'd actually missed joking around with him.

He slipped his uniform on over his T-shirt, then plunked down beside me. “I been worried about you.”

For once, Manny wasn't joking.

“I'm okay. It was a horrible thing, you know?”

“I know.” And I could tell that he did. You didn't get tattoos like that without having witnessed a few things yourself.

“Everybody thinks I have a death wish because I talked to the police. It wasn't like that. I had to talk about what I saw.” I looked at him. He knew about gangs, didn't he? Maybe I should ask. “Do you think the Reyes will come after me? I heard their leader is . . . brutal.” Which was the mildest way I could say it.

Manny didn't miss a beat. “Salazar doesn't give a shit about you, Maddie. He's not gonna lose sleep over Ramon and Diego. He's got a lot of guys like them. They were small-time, trust me.”

Just the name Salazar made my stomach sick. He was the head of the Reyes, a kingpin who dealt in drugs, guns, and girls. His name had come up many times when I'd researched girl trafficking for my article last year. Not that I had dared name him in print.

“Salazar's got his hands full these days,” Manny said. “He's got a cartel from Tijuana trying to put him out of business. Plus, his dealers are getting robbed left and right. No one even knows who's behind it. Some say it's an underground gang. Point is, you're not even a small fish to him. You're, like, a fucking guppy.”

I smiled. I'd never been so happy to be called a fucking guppy. I only wished I'd talked to Manny days ago. I might have slept better if I had.

“Do you know them, Ramon and Diego?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, kinda. We're from the same neighborhood. Never liked them, though.”

“So you don't think they're . . . planning something. I mean, without Salazar.”

“If Ramon and Diego wanted to get you, they probably would've done it by now. They could've easily called up their friends and told them to burn your house down. No planning necessary.”

That wasn't so comforting. It had only been a week. Maybe Ramon and Diego were slackers when it came to exacting revenge.

“Be careful, though. Reyes are all over the place. You see one coming, you step out of their way. Don't go starting something.”

“I won't, trust me.”

“What you need”—he bent closer, and I could smell his spicy aftershave—“is a personal driver.” He put a hand to his chest. “I'll be your guy.”

“I'll take you up on that sometime. Not tonight, though. My friends are picking me up in a cab. We're going to Iz's cousin's party.”

“Next time, then. I'll take you anywhere you wanna go, Diaz.” He winked. “Anywhere.”

I had to smile. He wouldn't be Manny if he didn't try.

Now this is a party.

It was exactly what I'd pictured college parties would be like—low lighting, acid jazz on the Bose. A stylish crowd was hanging out, some of them dancing, some lounging, some cradling glasses of sangria between their legs.

“Hey, you guys showed up.” Eric came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. The aromas of cumin, garlic, and other spices wafted toward us.

“That smells incredible,” Iz said, giving her cousin a hug and glancing past him into the kitchen. “Is it ready?”

“Almost.” With Eric's good looks and Brooklyn accent, I couldn't blame Carmen for crushing on him. I'd have crushed, too, if there'd been any point. “Here comes my girl, Julia.” Eric's girlfriend walked out of the kitchen. She had wavy dark hair, big earrings and a warm smile. I liked her immediately. He slung an arm around her, and looked down at her proudly. “She goes to U. of M. for creative writing.”

We all said hi. I glanced at Carmen. If she was upset to meet Julia, she didn't show it. I guess she was finally past her Eric fantasy, probably because she'd gone out with Rafael twice this week.

Within minutes, we were all drinking Eric's homemade sangria. Heavy on fruit and light on alcohol, I bet this was his way of keeping the party under control. Me and the girls went into the living room, and since we didn't know anyone, we danced. I loved the music and danced hard, wanting nothing more than to lose myself in it. And I was pretty much succeeding until I saw him.

Him
. Corner Store Guy. He was sitting across the room with a group of guys, watching me. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't looking at some hot chick behind me. When I looked back, he was staring down at his phone.

I had to admit, the sight of him made my heartbeat kick up. It was either that or the dancing/sangria combo. I promised myself that I'd talk to him at some point. I couldn't strike out worse than Iz had last weekend.

The dancing continued, and after a bathroom break, I lost track of the girls. They were probably in the kitchen feasting on Eric's arroz con pollo. Instead of searching for them, I wandered into one of the bedrooms and found myself listening in on some philosophical chat. It was an interesting mix of people—one of Eric's roommates and his girlfriend, along with a few people who worked at Eric's restaurant.

College could be like this, I thought. Great parties and conversation. I just had to make it till September, and then I was outta here.

“Heard you're a writer too.” A girl sat down beside me. It was Julia.

“Well, not a creative writer like you. Respect to that. I'm studying journalism next year.”

“I know. Iz was bragging about your scholarship to Florida State. Ever since I met her she's been bragging about you.”

“That's Iz. She probably made most of it up.” I searched for something to say. “Miami must be really different from Brooklyn, huh?”

“Hell, yeah. But I love it here. The palm trees, the beach. It's a total paradise compared to Brooklyn.”

“I'd love to go there sometime. I've heard it's the most amazing place.”

“It is, but . . .” She sighed. “I was ready to leave. Junior year of high school was kind of crazy. My dad and I ended up moving to Queens so I could finish. It just wasn't the same. Brooklyn will always be where I'm from, but it's not home anymore.”

I wanted to ask what crazy stuff she was referring to, but I doubted she wanted to spill it. Whatever it was, it sounded like trouble. And Julia didn't seem the type to get into trouble.

“I feel the same, in a way,” I said. “My mom married this asshole and it's been a rough ride ever since. She finally woke up, but he's stalling the divorce. I've been dying to leave Miami. To start over.” I was surprised at myself for being so open, but why not? I liked her. “Moving to Tallahassee's just what I need.”

She nodded, like she totally got me.

A game of poker started, and we headed back to the living room. There was a huge piece of artwork on the wall, a gritty Miami street scene. Julia told me how Eric had brought the canvas to his favorite street artist and paid him fifty bucks to do it. I guess having an eye for art was something Eric and Iz had in common.

Julia sat down on one of the couches, and shooed away a guy so that I could sit.

“These are Eric's boxing buddies,” she explained.

One of them was Corner Store Guy. He was sitting on a chair next to the couch, beer in hand. When our eyes met, he actually said, “Hey.”

Julia noticed. “You know Ortiz?”

Ortiz. So that was his name.

“I—we've—at the store.” Way to impress a guy. I hoped the darkness masked my red cheeks.

“He and Eric beat the shit out of each other last week,” Julia said, glaring at him. “I wasn't impressed.”

“That's 'cause you didn't see it,” Ortiz said, a glint in his hazel eyes. “You missed a fight, Julia.”

“I didn't miss the bruises. Why can't you guys play tennis, or something that doesn't leave you messed up?”

“Tennis wouldn't feed the beast. Your man Eric's got the Brooklyn in him.”

“I've got it in
me
, too,” Julia threw back at him. “Next time no black eyes, 'kay? I don't think his boss at the restaurant was too happy about it.”

“Deal.” That's when Ortiz turned my way. To my surprise, he reached out his hand. “Maddie Diaz, right?”

“Yeah.” His palm was callused, a boxer's hand. I felt a shiver go up my arm.

“You have some funny friends,” he said, his mouth curving up. “You're not like them, are you?”

I smiled. I suspected he was flirting with me, but I couldn't be sure.

“I heard all about you, Maddie Diaz. I admire what you did.”

I was startled that he brought it up. I couldn't accept the compliment, though. “Don't admire me. I didn't do enough. I wish . . .” I broke off. The intense look in his eyes silenced me.

“You told the truth,” he said.

I couldn't argue with that. And I had to admit, Ortiz's praise meant a lot. No one else had reacted that way to what I'd done. They'd reacted with worry, horror, or curiosity. Never admiration. Not even my mom.

“Hector practically lived outside the store,” he said. “I used to give him overstock before we threw it out, and he was always grateful. The guy was more polite than most customers.”

A lump rose in my throat. “I can believe it.”

I felt a hand on my shoulder—Julia's.

“Maddie's a writer, you know,” Julia said, abruptly changing the topic. “She did this whole exposé on girl trafficking in Miami.”

I glanced at Julia, part
thank you
, part
you didn't have to do that
. I guess Iz really had been bragging about me.

Ortiz nodded gravely. “I heard about the problem. Girls lured from everywhere with promises of a better life. So, Maddie Diaz. Did you find a solution?”

“I wish. Mainly it's putting the information out there to warn the girls before they get sucked in.”

“What about getting them out?”

“That's the problem. They're so hard to find. By the time the cops get enough tips to search a place, they've been moved somewhere else.”

Since Ortiz looked interested in what I was saying, I kept going. I glanced at Julia, but she'd slipped away. It was girl code at its best: get the conversation going, then leave us to talk. She must've sensed that something could happen between us. Or was it just me?

Ortiz asked more questions. He had this sexy way of scrunching up his eyes when he was thinking, but it wasn't put on. He was a very smart guy. I couldn't help but wonder if he was in college, or if he planned on going. I was about to ask him when he pulled out his phone—a conversation killer if there ever was one.

“Sorry,” he said, cutting me off. “Gotta go.”

“Oh, okay.” Suddenly I felt vulnerable. But I mustered up a smile, hoping he'd ask for my number.

Ortiz got up. He said, “Later” to his friends, then he left.

I stared after him, sinking into the couch. All I could think was,
Are you kidding me?

We hit up an all-night Denny's for the party postmortem. Except for Carmen—she hailed a cab to drop her off at Rafael's place.

“Ba-ba-booty call!”

Iz was the one who shouted it. But I was thinking it. I bet Abby was, too.

Carmen grinned and waved us off as she got into the cab. She'd go back to Iz's later. Since Carmen's parents were strict with curfews, she slept over there a lot. As for my mom, she was easy as long as she knew where I was and who I was with. I texted her to say I'd be home within an hour and that I'd share a cab with the girls.

Denny's was full of Friday night partyers. The lights were too bright, and neither Iz's nor Abby's makeup had survived intact. I doubted mine had either.

“I'm talking chicken wings, cheese sticks, and calamari,” Iz declared. “Two appetizer platters?”

We were all over that. It went without saying that we'd order the greasiest food possible. It was necessary to soak up the alcohol.

“I'm not feeling this Rafael,” Abby said, licking honey garlic sauce off her fingers. “I don't know why Carmen's so into him. It's too early in their relationship for a booty call.”

“Relationship and booty call don't belong in the same sentence,” I said. “I hope she's not expecting more.” I wasn't at all sure Carmen was playing this right. But since she was hypersensitive, I knew better than to question her.

“Rafael is exactly what she needs,” Iz said. “She's always falling for guys who don't look twice at her. It's about time she's reminded that she's a quality girl.” A grin took over her lips. “I bet he's reminding her right now.” She savored her chicken wing a little too enthusiastically, and we all laughed.

Abby looked at me. “So tell me what happened with cute cashier guy.”

“His name's Ortiz. Julia introduced us. Turns out he boxes with Eric.”

“I love a guy who goes by his last name,” Iz said. “That is so classic.”

“And?” Abby said. “Did you give him your number?”

“He didn't ask. Actually, he left really fast. He looked at his phone and then he was gone.”

Iz nearly choked on her chicken wing. “No way. That is so rude!”

“It doesn't mean he wasn't into you,” Abby said. “It could've been an emergency.”

Iz scoffed. “Or it could've been his girlfriend.”