Dragon Fruit Read online

  ‘Whoa. Just what I need. My lungs is actin up. The medicines ain’t workin lately.’

  ‘Just the horehound, huh?’

  ‘You got that right.’

  I handed the horehounds to him. ‘Sorry you’re not feeling so good, Charlie.’

  ‘Just old age. That ‘n a few other things. But I don’t complain, since there’s only one cure for old age, and I don’t like the sounda that medicine.’

  ‘Hah. Neither do I.’ I heard the sound of unwrapping candy and several loud sucks.

  ‘But, Jaymie? I know you pretty good. This candy ain’t the only reason you came by.’

  Sometimes I didn’t want Charlie to know how much I depended on him. No, that wasn’t it – I didn’t care if he knew. I just didn’t want to dwell on that fact myself.

  ‘I’ve got one or two things I want to run by you.’

  ‘Run ’em by.’

  ‘The little girl in the flyer? We found out she’s alive.’

  ‘Hooray! Gimme five!’ The hand reappeared.

  I gave his scarred paw a gentle slap. ‘But that’s not all.’

  ‘No, course not. You gotta find her now, get her back to her mom.’

  I rested an elbow on the ledge outside Charlie’s window and gazed out to sea. The waves were agitated, fringed in whitefoam.

  ‘I don’t think I told you about Rosie’s mom. Her name is Chucha Robledo. She’s transgendered, Charlie.’

  ‘What’s that in plain English?’

  Charlie was an old guy, of the old school. I wasn’t sure how he was going to take this.

  ‘Chucha started life off as a boy. She feels in her heart she’s a woman, though. So now she’s in the process of changing sides.’

  ‘Oh, I got ya. Hell, nothin new about that. It was just the fancy lingo that stopped me. Hm. So this Chucha, she’s the mother and the father, I guess?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘I’m kinda surprised at you, Jaymie. It’s interesting, won’t say it’s not, but that don’t change nothin’, does it? What’s holdin’ you up with solvin’ the case?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t change a thing.’ I smiled to myself. I should have known Charlie would understand. ‘Rosie’s alive. But we don’thave a clue where she is.’

  ‘Not good. Not good,’ Charlie muttered. ‘I’m telling ya, there’s some bastards out there in the world.’

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about. That and a few other things.’

  ‘Lay ’em out. Now’s the time.’

  ‘The panga boat carried two children, Charlie. Two little girls. One … died on the trip.’

  The smack of the waves seemed to grow louder, as if a giant hand were whipping them to the shore. I never thought the sound of waves could be ugly. But now it was: under the slap was a rasping sound, like the panting of a pack of hounds.

  ‘I’m sad, Jaymie. Sad to hear it.’

  ‘We may never know who she was.’

  ‘Most likely not. And when you think there’s people that love her out there …’

  I watched a homeless woman, wrapped in a dirty pink blanket, as she combed through a trash can. ‘Maybe there are. Or maybe not.’

  ‘That’s true. Maybe not.’

  ‘I have something else to tell you, Charlie.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘There’s no question about it anymore. This business hassomething to do with the cops.’

  Charlie cleared his throat. ‘Let me get this straight. The dope smuggling, that’s what you’re talkin’ about now, am I right?’

  ‘They’re involved in the drug smuggling. And the children, maybe that too. It’s human trafficking anyway you look at it.’

  ‘Now wait a minute. I know plenty a cops. And maybe I like about a quarter of ’em. But I can’t buy it, Jaymie. Cops, they don’t deal in kids.’

  ‘Cops don’t, as a rule. But maybe there’s a rule-breaker out there, a rogue cop, you know? I can’t ignore the facts of the case, Charlie. There’s too much at stake.’

  ‘Let’s work it through. You’ll have to convince me. Go through it point by point if you want.’

  For the first time since I’d met Charlie Corrigan, I hesitated.

  Usually, I told my friend everything. I trusted him as much as I trusted Gabi or Mike. And I had no reason in the world not to trust him now.

  I looked out to the turbulent water. I wanted to tell Charlie all about Chucha, and about Darren and what he’d seen that night. I wanted to tell him about Del Wasson and the shadowy Tejano. But for the first time ever, I didn’t dare.

  ‘I wish I could, Charlie. But I can’t.’

  ‘That means one thing, Jaymie. Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this. You don’t trust me.’

  ‘I trust you as much as I trust anyone.’ The waves reared back, then roared, filling my ears with noise. ‘I have to protect Rosie, you know? Chucha’s little girl.’

  My cell jangled as I drove out of the lot. Gabi, it said.

  ‘Miss Jaymie. I got some bad news.’

  She sounded as if she’d been crying. It took a lot to make Gabi cry, and I prepared myself for the worst.

  ‘Chucha, she’s in the hospital. Intensive care.’

  I slammed on the brakes and jammed the gear into park. ‘She’s what? What are you talking about? I had lunch with her yesterday—’

  ‘It’s true. I called Cottage Hospital and they told me it’s true. She got attacked. Some guys, they beat her up real bad. Her head, Miss Jaymie, they hit her on her head …’

  I wanted to pound the steering wheel. ‘How did you hear?’

  ‘There was this message on the phone. A funny voice, like somebody, they had a cold. It said, “Chucha Robledo, she’s gone to emergency. I think Jaymie should know.”

  ‘Man? Woman?’

  ‘A woman for sure. Kind of a high voice. Who, I don’t know. Miss Jaymie, it don’t matter who called. The way the hospital lady sounded, I think you better go over there right away.’

  I wanted to ram into somebody, anybody, all the way there.

  Fucking assholes! They had to destroy her, just because she was different. Or maybe Chucha provoked fear in some men. I was no damn psychologist. But just by being who she was, Chucha made some people afraid of themselves.

  By the time I got to the Cottage Hospital parking lot I still hadn’t calmed down. To the contrary: I was now primed to kill.

  I took a deep breath before I entered in through the large plate- glass doors. I knew they were strict here in Cottage these days. Two weeks earlier a woman had entered the maternity ward and helped herself to someone else’s baby. Fortunately the infant had been located a few hours later in nearby Oak Park, curled up in a picnic basket, unharmed.

  ‘Good morning. How are you?’ I managed to beam at the elderly candy striper seated behind the reception desk.

  ‘Oh, hello. I remember you, dear. Last time you were here I think you caused quite a stir.’

  ‘I remember you, too. If you hadn’t broken one or two rules, I wouldn’t have been able to find Uncle Charlie.’

  ‘Yes, Charlie. Now I certainly do remember. He wasn’t your uncle though, was he dear? Tell me, who are you here to see today?’

  ‘My sister. Chucha Robledo.’

  ‘Your sister, hmm? Well, I’m not seeing it. We have a Jesus Robledo. But that would be a man.’

  ‘That’s her. Chucha is just her nickname. Her full name is Jesus Maria.’

  ‘Oh.’ The lady looked at me over the top of her reading glasses. ‘I’d like to believe you, but you’re confusing me. Jesus is a man’s name. But you said you’re here to see your sister.’

  I opened my mouth. I couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth. ‘She’s transgendered. Her name is Jesus Maria Robledo. She’s in intensive care, and I need to see her right away.’

  ‘You have quite a few unusual relatives, don’t you dear?’ She peered at me. ‘But I can see you’re sincere. Tell me your name again.’

  ‘Jaymie Zarlin.’r />
  She pressed a button on her computer, and a visitor’s name badge scrolled from a printer at her left hand. ‘I’m so sorry about your relative, dear. I hope you have some quality time.’

  There was to be no quality time. In fact, time ceased to exist.

  I stared through the glass window at Chucha. She was motionless, lying on her right side. Her wig was gone, and a gleaming white dressing covered her skull. I looked away, then made myself look back again.

  Chucha was hooked up to four machines. Tubes sprouted from her chest, wrist, from lower down on the bed, and ominously,from the side of her head.

  ‘May I help you?’ a male nurse said at my elbow.

  ‘My sister. I want to talk to her.’

  ‘Your sister?’ I saw the nurse take in the color of my skin. Then he apparently decided that anything was possible. ‘We’ve been wondering what to call Jesus – he or she.’

  ‘It’s Jesus Maria – we call her Chucha. And she’s very much a she – just in transition.’

  The nurse was young, but he looked as if he’d already witnessed a fair amount of suffering. He nodded. ‘I can let you in for a minute or two.’

  My eyes filled with tears, maybe because of the guy’s decency. But then I felt frightened. ‘She’s not good, is she?’

  He rubbed the side of his face. I noticed he had dark circles under his eyes. The guy was exhausted, maybe at the end of his shift. ‘It’s not good, no. Critical. But she’s strong. Hanging in there for sure.’

  I studied his expression and read the truth. He didn’t have to say it aloud. Chucha had sustained irreversible brain damage. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Your sister is heavily medicated. We’ve placed her in a light coma. Don’t stay long. I shouldn’t be doing this, but—’ He gave me a wry smile and shrugged.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Chucha’s left hand rested on a starchy white pillow. Two of her fingers were broken, twisted at odd angles. A needle was inserted into a vein. I placed my hand on her wrist. She didn’t stir.

  Chucha’s mouth was open a little, and a trickle of saliva ran down from the corner of her lips.

  ‘Chucha … who did this to you?’

  I made myself look at her beautiful face. It was a mess. Her nose was pushed sideways, her lips split and swollen. A dark purple bruise spread from the socket of her left eye.

  But none of that mattered so much. What mattered was the head wound. The bright white bandage couldn’t hide the fact that Chucha’s skull was smashed. Just above the left temple, it looked concave.

  ‘Chucha, I promise I’ll get who ever did this—’ I fell silent. Somehow this wasn’t what she needed to hear.

  I stroked her strong forearm. Then I bent down and placed my lips near her ear.

  ‘I will find Rosie,’ I whispered. ‘I promise you, Chucha. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find your little girl.’

  THIRTEEN

  ‘Deirdre Krause,’ I demanded. ‘Now.’

  The frog-mouthed woman behind the plate-glass window leaned into her microphone. ‘Quiet down and back off! Or I will have you escorted out.’

  I took a breath. Long and slow, Jaymie. In and out. Then I spoke into the grill. ‘I apologize.’ Like fucking hell I did.

  ‘So?’

  ‘My name is Jaymie Zarlin. Please tell Detective Krause I’d like to speak with her.’ I thought I might choke on my words.

  ‘Go sit.’

  The police department lobby was Spanishy and cute. Colorful old tiles decorated most of the surfaces, and the floor was covered in Saltillo tiles buried under hundreds of layers of wax. Even so, a whiff of vomit and despair, the stink you’ll smell in all PD lobbies, lurked in the air.

  I didn’t ‘go sit’ – I had a little self-respect, I wasn’t a dog.But I did back off to a far corner.

  I watched the receptionist as she poked at a keyboard and peered into a screen. This dragged on for ten long minutes. I knew I was paying my penance.

  At last the woman picked up a phone. As she spoke her expression changed. I couldn’t hear her words, but she seemed to simper. After she hung up she looked over at me. To see how the little doggy was behaving, I supposed.

  No more than a minute later, a side door jumped open and Deirdre appeared. She wore her usual: gray blousy pleated slacks and a silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel. What wasn’t so usual was that she looked flustered. If I didn’t know her better I’d have called her upset.

  I took a step forward but Deirdre held up a hand. She walked over to me instead.

  ‘Zarlin. You shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘What the hell. I’m a citizen. This is my police department, don’t forget.’

  ‘Cut the crap will you? I’m telling you for your own good.’ Her words were sharp, but her round blue eyes seemed almost to plead. Something unprecedented was happening here.

  ‘Bullshit, Deirdre. For my own good, or for yours?’

  Her face scrunched and her tiny bow of a mouth pursed. ‘I’ll meet you … somewhere. Just go.’

  ‘Meet me where?’

  ‘Where nobody will see us. I don’t know. The far end of East Beach, I suppose.’

  ‘All right. At the beach past the volleyball courts. Fifteen minutes?’

  ‘What?’ Her eyes slid over to check on the receptionist. ‘Yes. Yes, all right. But keep your mouth shut about this. I mean totally shut, Zarlin. Do you hear?’

  I parked in the easternmost lot. As I crossed the asphalt to thesand I looked back: the bright red Camino stood out like a shout, an exclamation. So much for undercover. Blue Boy needed a paint job.

  The sea was still rough after the storm, but the tide was way out. I trudged through the dry sand, then stepped onto the wet strip bordering the water. Here the sand was packed hard as concrete. Piles of kelp lay scattered about, simmering under clouds of tiny black flies.

  When I reached the water’s edge I took a moment to gaze westward, toward Stearns Wharf. I could see the spot where Danny Armenta’s body had been cast up by the waves some nine months ago.

  Without wanting to, I pictured Chucha lying in the hospital bed with her skull bashed in. As I stood there thinking about Chucha, something hardened within me. I welcomed the change.

  I turned and looked back in the direction of the old Bath House. A woman was crossing the sand, wading into the stiff breeze. After a minute I realized it was Deirdre. She was short and had an unmistakable overblown hourglass figure, which her lime-green jacket couldn’t hide.

  ‘All right, Zarlin. What do you want?’ Deirdre shoved her hands in her jacket and glared at me. Her hair swirled about in the wind like a big yellow halo. She looked like an angry cherubic demon.

  ‘Don’t give me that, Deirdre. What do I want? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know.’

  Her pout collapsed like a tired soufflé. I’d called her bluff.

  ‘What, the trannie? Don’t talk to me about her. Him, her, it. Not my concern.’

  I looked past the police detective to the cemetery bluff. The old funereal cypresses, high above the beach and black against the gray sky, reminded me of what mattered.

  ‘Deirdre, let’s walk.’ It would be better to be positioned shoulder-to-shoulder, I figured. Otherwise Deirdre and I would be glaring at one another as we spoke, watching for the chance to peck out an eye.

  I didn’t wait for her answer. I put one foot in front of the other. After a moment’s hesitation she followed.

  ‘So speak up, Zarlin. ’Cause like I just said, none of this is my problem.’

  I zipped my old sweatshirt up to my chin before I replied. ‘You haven’t been to see Chucha, have you?’

  ‘Why would I want to be in the same room as that trannie?’

  I ignored the mean-spirited question. ‘I went to Cottage this morning. Somebody tried to kill her and pretty much succeeded. She was beaten to within an inch of her life.’ I glanced at Deirdre, then away. ‘Brain damage. Her skull’s bashed in.’

 
‘OK, it’s bad. Is that what you want to hear?’

  ‘What I want to hear?’ I halted and faced the woman. ‘I want to hear what you have to say. I know something’s on your mind.’

  The woman tightened her mouth and gazed out to sea.

  ‘Listen, Deirdre. I know you were the one who called my office and left the message. You tried to disguise your voice but you didn’t bother to lower it. You called to let me know about Chucha. If you don’t give a shit, then why did you do that?’

  The detective was looking right at me now. I had her full attention, but she wasn’t going to open her mouth to answer.

  ‘Fine, I get it. You don’t give a damn about Chucha. But maybe you care about the little girl who’s missing. By the way, her name is Rosie, did you know that?’

  Two tiny tension lines, sharp as knife cuts, appeared between Deirdre’s eyes. I knew I’d touched a nerve. ‘Rosie is Chucha’s daughter. And you know that’s why Chucha got beat up, don’t you? Not because she’s transgender. Because she was looking for her little girl.’

  The tension lines deepened. ‘Actually, Zarlin, for once you’re making some sense.’

  ‘Yeah? So I guess we agree on one thing: somebody out there put two and two together. Figured out who Chucha was, noticed she was attracting attention. Decided to take her out in case she started talking about the human trafficking. Know what? I think that somebody was a cop.’

  Deirdre’s cheeks flared red. Then the blood was sucked back like an undertow, leaving her face paper-white. ‘Cops don’t hurt kids, you dumb bitch.’

  ‘So everybody tells me.’ I ignored the name calling. I had to, in order to persevere. ‘Listen, Deirdre. How this all fits together, I honestly don’t know. But like I said, Chucha was beginning to cause trouble, and she wasn’t going to stop. And that’s where I think your fellow officers come in. They were already smuggling dope. Why not kids?’

  ‘You’re full of shit.’

  ‘Deirdre, tell me something. Why did you agree to meet me here?’

  ‘Leave me the fuck alone!’ She stomped off. After a few yards she halted and spun back around.

  ‘For the kid, you idiot,’ she screamed in her ultra-high voice. ‘Get it? You’re not the only one in the world who gives a damn!’