No Witness But the Moon(98)

“Hey, carnal,” said Vega, spreading his hands. “Chill, man. I’m totally down with what you’re saying here. You were carrying the load. Most dudes, they’d have crumbled. Not you. You held it together. Kept it tight all these years.”

Snow dusted the little bird’s nest of dark hair in the middle of Torres’s head. He shook it off. “I just want to be free.”

“Put the piece down, hombre, and you are.” Vega stepped forward. The snow was falling harder now. The roof was slippery.

“Stay where you are.”

“C’mon, Freddy. The evidence is gone. You said so yourself. Ain’t nothing to tie you to anything.”

“There’s you. You’ll never let it go.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna believe a head case like me anyway, right?” Vega tried to inch his body toward the pile of metal joists. If he could just reach one, he might have a chance. “You’d be saving my ass once again. Like you always do.”

One step. Then two . . .

“Dad? Are you and Dr. Torres okay?”

Ay, pu?eta! Joy’s voice tore through Vega, sharpening all his senses, derailing all his plans. She was on the other side of the locked door and Torres had the key. No way could he risk his daughter.

Do it now! Now is your only chance!

Torres shifted his gaze to the door. Vega lunged for the pile of metal, clasping his hand around an ice-cold rod about two feet in length. Adrenaline muted the sharp stab of frozen steel on bare skin. Vega willed his fingers to wrap themselves around it. Then he threw his full weight against Torres, hoping to knock him down before he could shoot.

Bam.

Bam.

Vega braced for the impact of metal tearing into flesh, the warm spurt of blood. A fitting ending. Live by the gun. Die by it.

“Dad!” screamed Joy on the other side of the door. Torres’s shots missed.

Vega’s rod didn’t.

He struck Torres hard on the shoulder of his thick down jacket. The sound was like a baseball landing cleanly in a catcher’s mitt. No way could Vega do enough damage through that big puffy coat. But it was enough to jolt the gun from Torres’s hand. The Beretta sank beneath the snow.

Joy rattled the door, her voice breathy with panic. “Dad! Are you okay? Say something!”

Vega couldn’t. He was too out of breath. He raked the metal rod through the snow, hoping to find the gun. The cold sliced into his flesh like a filet knife. His limbs felt like they each weighed a hundred pounds.

He couldn’t find the gun.

Torres landed a hard right to Vega’s backside. The rod dropped from his hand. The two men rolled in a tumble of fists. The soft wet snow melted beneath them, soaking through Vega’s pants and jacket. His hands were like slabs of stone he could swing but not feel. He and Torres hadn’t fought since that day over thirty years ago when Torres took the can of black spray paint from Vega’s backpack. Vega had been outclassed then—in weight, size, and skill. But he was in better shape than Torres now. And he had more to lose. His daughter was on the other side of that door.

Vega landed a hard right to the side of Torres’s face. He was too numbed to feel the flash of pain as his knuckles connected with Torres’s cheek. The blow stunned Torres, who fell back against the snow. It bought Vega enough time to sweep his arms through the drifts, willing his frozen fingers to find the gun. His small motor skills were fading fast. And then he felt the sharp outline of metal. He pulled up the gun and aimed it at his old friend as Torres was pushing himself to his knees.

“Stay down!” yelled Vega. “Hands behind your head!”

“Dad! Talk to me!”

Vega sucked in air and tried to catch his breath. He was soaking wet from the melted snow and shivering from a combination of sweat, fear, and ice water.

“Joy! Take Yovanna and go wait by the front doors. The police are on their way. Tell them I’m on the roof. Tell them Torres pulled a gun on me. I’ll explain later.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” she cried.

“You’ve got to. Now do as I say.”

Vega waited until he was sure Joy had retreated. “Get up,” he ordered Torres. “Take the key out of your pants and unlock the door.”

Torres got to his feet. His sweatpants and puffy jacket were dark and heavy with water. He shivered.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Vega ordered.

Torres smiled. “Really, Jimmy? You think being the one holding the gun changes anything?”

“Get the key.”

“You shoot me, you’re going to spend the rest of your career with a cloud hanging over you, man. I’m a pillar in this community. And you? You’re the pigeon crap that people scrape off their windshields around here.” Torres shot a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t count on a swift response from the boys in blue. People ’round here take care of their own—or have you forgotten?” Torres nodded his head to the street below. “Don’t believe me? Take a look down there, carnal.”

Vega wasn’t about to take his gaze off Torres.

“Unlock the door,” Vega hissed at him. Already, his wet pants were freezing up stiff on him. His feet were soaked. His fingers had lost most of their feeling.

Torres reached into his pocket.

“Don’t you hear it, Jimmy?”