Girls Like Us(49)

“Here’s my problem,” an excited male voice says. “If you look at Suffolk County as a whole, violent crime is on the rise. But if you take out those neighborhoods that are predominantly Latino—Brentwood, for example—it’s actually a very peaceful county.”

“But what’s the solution?” another voice asks. “Do we divide the county? Do we deport people? A lot of counties have affluent pockets and not-so-affluent pockets. Look at Manhattan, for example.”

“Right, but Suffolk County is huge. We have one police force for the whole eastern half of the island. And if they have to spend all their time and resources on a few select neighborhoods—”

“But they aren’t spending their time there. I think you could argue they are spending a disproportionate amount of time and energy servicing the wealthier parts of the county, while at Brentwood High, we’re seeing shootings every other week and no one is doing anything about it.”

“I think if you were to actively deport everyone in Suffolk County who is here illegally, you’d see a different picture.”

I reach to turn off the radio, but Luz beats me to it.

“You live with your uncle, right?” I ask, trying to sound cheerful.

She nods, silent.

“How old is your brother?”

“Miguel is fourteen. Fifteen next month.”

“Miguel is a nice name. My grandfather’s name.”

She turns toward me. “Really?”

“Yeah. Miguel Santos. From Juarez, Mexico. My grandmother was pregnant and they wanted my mom to be born here, so they crossed the border and never looked back.”

“And was she?”

“Yep. Born in Texas. They moved out to Central Islip when she was teenager. Just a few blocks from here, actually.”

“No shit.” Luz covers her mouth. “Sorry. I just—I didn’t think you were Latina.”

“Most people don’t. With a last name like Flynn . . .” I shrug.

“So your grandparents, did they stay?”

“They did. Overstayed, in fact. Got visas that eventually expired. Never did sort out the documentation. Didn’t matter, in the end. My grandfather was a proud American. They had a flag on their front lawn. Every year they’d have a barbecue on July Fourth.”

Luz stares out at the rain. She’s biting mercilessly on a hangnail. I want to put my hand on her shoulder and tell her it’s going to be okay, but I can’t promise her that. My grandparents lived and died in a different time. Their lives weren’t easy. Not even close. They both worked two jobs, sometimes three. They had no health insurance, no education, no safety net. There was never enough money. Sometimes there wasn’t enough to fill the fridge. But the threat of deportation didn’t hang over them the way I know it does for Luz.

“Ria was from San Salvador. That’s how we became friends.”

“Did you know her back home?”

“No. We met at school. I knew she lived down the street. She was different. Really smart. We both studied hard. We wanted to make enough money to get out of here.”

“I get it. My mom cleaned houses during the day and went to school at night. You do what you need to do.”

“That’s what Ria used to say.”

“The police report mentioned that Ria did some escorting to make ends meet. Same with Adriana Marques. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Luz stays silent.

“They both advertised on Craigslist and Backpage at first. But that stopped after they met Giovanni Calabrese.”

More silence.

“You wouldn’t know where I can find him, would you?”

“He didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know Gio. He cared about Ria. Adriana, too. And they made him a lot of money.”

“Because he drove them to and from jobs?”

She sighs. “It was more than that. Before Gio, Ria was putting up ads on the Internet. She’d go meet a client at a hotel or at his house. Sometimes just in his car. It wasn’t safe. But Gio made sure she was okay. He didn’t let anyone push her around and he made sure she always got paid. Eventually, Gio was just working for a few clients. He was really picky about the girls he hired. His clients, they like classy girls. They’re willing to pay. Adriana and Ria were two of his best earners.”

“What happened the night she went missing? He dropped her off in a parking lot of a motel. That doesn’t sound so safe to me.”

“That wasn’t his fault. It was what she wanted. I was with her that night. We were supposed to work a party in Southampton for one of the regular clients. But at the last minute, someone called her. A guy she’d met at a party. He said he wanted to see her privately.”

“Wait, you were in the car with them?” I try to keep my voice level.

“Yeah.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “I never told anyone that because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I don’t know anything, anyway. I didn’t see who she was meeting. We left her in the parking lot. I never saw her again.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have let her stay there alone.”