Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(73)
“This looks nice, very nice.” The young man squinted at the card, though Judy doubted he had enough light to read it properly, and it gave her a moment to look at his face. He had fine features, with a small mouth, narrow nose, and brown eyes, with eyelashes to die for. His hair was a shaved fade that looked oiled, his long neck bore a tattooed crucifix, and his eyebrows were plucked.
“I’m not here in any official way. I just wanted to talk to Carlos about his girlfriend, Daniella. I’m a friend of her best friend, Iris.”
“Okay.” The young man smiled. “Wait here. You can get out if you want. The dogs don’t bite.”
“Sure, thanks.” Judy watched the young man jog back to the group, the dogs running to greet him, yapping at his heels. The men clustered around him, and there was more talking and a new wave of laughter, but Judy was beginning to find her bearings. She cut the engine, told herself not to be a chicken, and got out of the car.
The dogs raced back, barking and wagging their tails. She offered her hand, which they started licking, so she petted them. From her new vantage point, she could see inside the barracks, and as appalling as the sight was, it didn’t completely surprise her. The building had only a dirt floor, cinderblock walls, and a row of wooden bunk beds that looked almost exactly like the mushroom bed she’d seen in the growing house. There didn’t appear to be any other furniture. A soft orange glow suggested that there were space heaters inside, probably powered by the generator. She caught a whiff of cooking chicken coming from the doorway, but she didn’t know what they were making it on, maybe a hot plate. At the far end of the building stood a battered blue PortaJohn.
“Miss Judy!” the young man called out, motioning to her to come over to the group. “Carlos wants to see you!”
“Great.” Judy ignored her jitters, held her head high, and walked over to the men, who gathered around, a group of short and stocky silhouettes whose faces she couldn’t see. She had no way of knowing which man was Carlos, but she wasn’t going any closer.
“My name is Domingo,” the young man said, touching his chest. “I speak English, so I can translate if you want to talk to Carlos.”
“Thank you,” Judy said, forcing a smile. The dogs danced around her ankles. “Hi, everybody.”
“Hola, gringa!” a man called out, and there was general laughter.
“This is Carlos,” Domingo said, gesturing to a thickly muscled man who emerged from the crowd, smoking a cigarette. His shoulders were broad and strong, and he stood with his barrel chest puffed out, straining his grimy T-shirt, a stance so exaggerated it would have been comical if it weren’t genuinely menacing.
Judy found herself stepping back, without knowing why. Then she realized it wasn’t a reaction to him, but rather an unconscious imitation of the crowd, who also edged away, according him a certain status or just giving him a wide berth. She couldn’t see his features in detail, but his eyes were slits in a wide face, his hair was thick and oiled, and his arms were covered with tattoos. The man had the kind of presence that made her instantly sorry she’d come.
“Miss Judy, what did you want from Carlos?” Domingo asked, but Judy noticed a new tension in his tone.
“Can you ask him if he knows where Daniella is? I’m trying to find her so I can ask about Iris.”
Domingo turned to Carlos and spoke to him in rapid Spanish, and Judy didn’t recognize any words except for the names Daniella and Iris. Carlos replied in equally rapid Spanish, speaking without even looking at Domingo, and Judy felt her gut tighten when she recognized one of the words, puta, which meant whore.
Domingo said to Judy, “He says Daniella is home in Mexico.”
Judy hesitated. “Can you ask him if he’s sure? Also didn’t she care that she was going to miss Iris’s funeral?”
Domingo turned to Carlos and translated, and Carlos replied, again without looking at Domingo. Judy sensed that Carlos didn’t like Domingo, realizing why when she recognized another word, maricon, or, gay. Judy heard a quiet descend and sensed a growing fear in the crowd.
Domingo said to Judy, “He said he’s sure she’s there. He drove her to the bus himself. She went home again because she was sad about Iris. She wanted to be with her family.”
Judy hesitated. “Father Vega told me she wouldn’t miss Iris’s funeral.”
Domingo turned to translate, but before he could say a word, Carlos exploded in anger, shoving him in his chest and shouting in Spanish. Domingo reeled, staggering off-balance, but didn’t lose his footing.
Judy gasped, edging away. She had to go. Trouble was breaking out. The dogs started barking and running around.
Carlos advanced on Judy, shouting in Spanish, his dark eyes glittering with malice. Her heart jumped through her chest.
Domingo came over, shaken. “Miss Judy, leave right away. Go. Now. Run.”
Suddenly Carlos lunged at Judy and grabbed her by the shoulders. He reeked of beer and body odor.
“No, no!” Judy struggled in his grasp, terrified. She couldn’t get away. Carlos dug his nails into her, yanked her off her feet toward him, and pressed his body against hers.
“No!” Judy tried to get away but Carlos overpowered her. He thrust his hips into her, his crotch hard.
Judy couldn’t get her hands free. Carlos was shoving her backwards to the ground. Fear electrified her, jolting all of her senses to high alert. Adrenaline poured into her system. She was going to be raped or killed. She had to save herself.