Into the Beautiful North(72)

Atómiko splashed Carla.

“Te amo,” he said.

“Excuse please?” said Nayeli.

“Yeah. She’s in a hotel. I wrote the number down. She’s here. In town. Flew in today.”

“Here?” cried Tacho.

“Yeah, mon. She’s got the hots for that Chava dude, if you ask me.”

Atómiko clutched her and they sank beneath the waves.

Inside, Yolo let out a long cry.

Tacho’s eyebrows rose.

Nayeli covered her eyes with her hand. She walked down to the alley to be alone.

“I see,” Tacho said.

His shoes were black with mud. The bottoms of his white jeans were a hideous brown. His shirt was torn. Tía Irma had arrived. Yolo had stolen the boy.

Tacho said to no one in particular, “What a day.”





Chapter Twenty-six



Carla’s bikini almost cut Nayeli in pieces, it was so tight on her. She sank into the water of the inflatable pool. It was late and the sky was hazy—she could barely see any stars. Few cars passed by on Clairemont Drive. She thought: None of them know I’m here.

Yolo, her betrayer, was asleep in Matt’s arms in his bedroom. Vampi was gone with El Brujo, so Tacho was asleep in her bed. Atómiko snored like a tractor on the couch. All very domestic. All very peaceful.

She was the only one who couldn’t sleep.

How could she?

She submerged, felt her hair lift, the cold water shrinking her scalp. She came up staring at the vague smear of moon in the haze. The palm tree fronds made awful skeletal sounds. She watched a battered cat saunter by. He paused to back up to the pool and spray it before vanishing into the alley.

“Perfect,” Nayeli said. “Just perfect.”

She could not comprehend where she’d been, what she’d seen, who she’d met, or what she’d lost. Now that La Osa was here, she was reminded that she was far from her home, and even farther from her true mission. She had lost Yolo, and she had lost Matt. Vampi? Well, in some ways, she never had Vampi. Not even Vampi had a real relationship with Vampi. But even she was gone with that Satanic busboy. She pondered Chava, too. Now that she had found him, would she lose Aunt Irma? To love? Was this whole absurd experience an elaborate dating service for La Osa? Of all the threats of the journey, Nayeli had never imagined romance would be the most ruinous.

With Aunt Irma here, would she lose the entire project? There was no way La Osa was going to allow anyone but herself to recruit the warriors, Nayeli realized. She was being demoted, even if Irma didn’t mean to demote her.

She slapped the water.

Her world was coming apart.

Pretty soon, it would just be her and Tacho.

KANKAKEE, she told herself.

What else remained but KANKAKEE?



When Nayeli, Tacho, Vampi, and that tramp Yolo walked into the Bahia Hotel on Mission Bay, they found Aunt Irma sitting on a couch in the lobby, talking bowling with a retired couple from El Paso. She was resplendent in black slacks, a bright yellow top, and tight pin curls in her hair. Her socks were silver.

“Oh, my God,” muttered Vampi. “She dyed her hair.”

“Shh,” said Nayeli.

“My girls!” Irma cried, struggling out of the couch. She hugged and patted and kissed them and lifted Nayeli off the floor. She turned to Tacho. “And you.” She smacked his arm.

She spied Atómiko and Alex the Wizard slouching outside the glass doors.

“Good God,” she said, “what is that?”

“Well…” said Nayeli.

La Osa gave them a withering look.

“This is what you managed to find?” she said. “In all of the United States, you came up with two drug addicts?”

Before Vampi could speak up to defend El Brujo, Tía Irma screwed a cigarette into her mouth and marched to the doors. They gasped open before her, and she stomped out to the lurking males. She looked them up and down.

“?Y ustedes?” she demanded. “?Qué?”

“I am Atómiko!” the Warrior announced.

Alex glowered at her and didn’t say anything.

“Hey, you jerk,” Atómiko scolded. “Light the lady’s cigarette.”

“No mames, buey,” Alex muttered. He lit Irma’s cigarette. They stood there glaring at each other.

“So,” Irma said. “You two degenerates got hold of my girls.”

Angel, the mechanic from Camp Guadalupe, stepped up.

“Ma’am?” he said. “I am not a degenerate.”

The other two snorted.

“I haven’t touched the young ladies.”

“Yeah,” said Atómiko. “He’s after Tacho.”

He and El Brujo laughed and slapped hands.

She inspected Angel. A nice, clean boy. Muscles like cantaloupes.

“You’re not much,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Angel.”

“That’s a pimp’s name,” she said. She blew smoke at him. “Have you even reached puberty yet?” she asked mildly.

Frightened by La Osa, Angel retreated and lurked in the shadows.

Irma smoked her cigarette.

“I am Alex.”