No Witness But the Moon(51)

One of the board members pulled Lindsey aside to ask him a question. Adele used the excuse to disappear into the crowd. She felt lost and was reeling. She wished she knew what to believe. She wished Vega would tell her. Why couldn’t he just tell her?

After forty-five minutes, Adele grabbed her coat and found her way out through the kitchen. Minutes ticked by. Luis wasn’t there. She turned to go back inside.

“Finally. My nicotine fix.” And there he was, dimpled grin on command, smiling at her as he stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “You smoke?” He held the pack out to her.

“No. Thanks.” She shook her head. His presence one-on-one turned her shy.

Luis regarded the glowing embers of his cigarette. “I keep trying to quit but I’ve been smoking since I was thirteen.”

“That young?”

Luis shrugged. “I was a street kid in Nogales, Mexico. You grow up fast.”

“Did you always sing?”

“Sang. Danced. You name it, I did it.”

“I guess people noticed your talent.”

Luis laughed. He could act, too. He was acting like he cared what Adele had to say. “Nobody notices anything when your belly’s empty. Believe me, I spent years dressing up in ridiculous costumes and doing stupid gong show routines on Sábado Gigante. One wrong move and I could end up back there.” Adele knew the Spanish-language variety show. She used to watch it as a child. “Despite what everyone sees, I was not an overnight success.”

“So how did you get your big break?”

He shrugged. “You make the right connections and then just do whatever you need to keep them. You got my book, right?”

“Um, yes. Thank you.” She hadn’t cracked the spine.

“See, that’s where I am right now. I just wrapped up my first American movie. It’s coming out in July and my agent and a whole bunch of people in Hollywood think this is the career move that’s going to break me out of the Latin market and into mainstream audiences. This shooting—it could ruin everything.”

“I’m sure you’ve got an army of publicists handling that,” said Adele.

“Yes. I do,” said Luis. “But when you told me just now about your connection to the police officer”—he sighed—“I feel bad. I never wanted things to go like this. I know the detective was just trying to do his job.”

“It would be great if you could say that publicly.”

“I wish I could, Adele. But the media, the fans—they could turn against me in an instant. It’s bad enough that I shot this man. All the anti-gun people now hate me. Never mind the fact that every celebrity in Hollywood who is anti-gun walks around with an armed bodyguard. The double standard is ridiculous.”

“You don’t have a bodyguard?”

“I do in Miami. I have to. Here for the most part, I can escape from all of that.”

“Sounds like you don’t like fame all that much.”

“It’s got its upside, sure.” He held his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and took a long pull. Up close like this, without a camera or spotlights, Adele could see the scrawny Mexican street kid he’d once been.

“The problem is, everyone wants something from you,” said Luis as he exhaled a long blast of smoke. “Even when you give, it’s never enough. They always want more. When I made that nine-one-one call, I just wanted it to be over.”

“It? You mean the robbery?”

Luis leaned against the building’s shingles and looked past Adele to the parking lot. “If there was a way I could make things better without destroying my career, I would. I didn’t grow up like this.” He gestured to the Mercedes, BMWs, and Escalades that lined the lot, their chrome and paint sparkling like they’d just come out of the showroom.

The man in the black beret whom Adele had seen earlier hung out the kitchen door. “Ric. You’re needed inside.”

Luis stamped out his cigarette. “See what I mean?” “It’s a shame,” said Adele. “Under different circumstances, Jimmy would have been thrilled to meet you. He’s a musician, too.”

“The detective? What does he play?”

“Guitar. In a club band. They call themselves ‘Armado.’ ”

“Hah.” Luis laughed. “Sorry. It’s just—Armed—that doesn’t sound like the best band name for a man who just uh, did what he did.”

“I know. All the band members are in law enforcement. That’s where the name came from.”

“Hold on a moment, please.” Luis went into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later with a scrap of paper. “This is my private cell phone number. Please tell the detective that if he would ever like a tour of my home recording studio or guitar collection in Wickford, I would be happy to give him one.”

“Thank you,” said Adele. “That’s very kind of you. But I doubt his department would let him.”

“I understand. I’m just trying to offer a—cómo se dice?—a peace offering?”

Adele tucked the scrap of paper into her purse. “I’ll let him know.” She ducked back through the kitchen and found Dave Lindsey.

“I’ve got to go.” Adele didn’t want to pick Sophia up too late from her friend’s house. The girl’s family was doing her a favor as it was.