Page 54 of Sangre
“Damn. I let you down. You shouldn’t have gone through what you did last night. I’m sorry. I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’m coming over.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
He smiled; she never could stay mad at him. “You can let me hear the new songs you’ve been working on.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll be there soon.” Sangre tucked the phone in the inside pocket of his cut and finished his sandwich and fries. He went back inside and came over to Eagle. “I had Ron on the schedule to watch Isla. What the hell happened?”
“After I talked with her, I called Ron. He said that Jon had called him and told him he was on the schedule and there was a mix-up. Ron balked at first, but he said the dude was practically crying about not having enough hours, and Ron’s had over ninety this pay period, so he said okay to Jon. I was surprised when Isla said no one was there until a few hours later. I tried to call Jon to sort it out, but he’s not answering his phone.”
“I know where he lives. I’ll swing by and try and make sense of what happened last night. And make it clear to Ron that unless it comes from us, he does the post he’s given. I’ll let him slide this one time, but next time, he’s out on his ass.”
As he turned to leave, Shotgun came up to him. “Are you gonna meet me at the pool hall?”
“I forgot about it, bro. Something came up, so we’ll have to do it another time.”
“Meeting your friend?” Army sniggered and the others joined him.
Ignoring them, he walked out of the club into the brilliant summer sunlight. After donning sunglasses, he straddled his Harley. Nearby, the faint buzzing of bees filled his ears while he breathed in the sweet scent of hay. It was a hot, still day. The trees stood mute in the summer air, the sun beat upon his back relentlessly, and wavy lines hovered over the road in front of him.
He rode over to Jon’s apartment and banged on the door, but there was no answer. He checked out the parking lot and the streets around the complex, but he didn’t see his car. After several calls to Jon went to his voicemail, Sangre climbed the metal steps once again to Jon’s apartment and pounded several times on the doors and windows before he left.
By the time he arrived at Isla’s two-story, brick house, beads of sweat poured down his neck, and the bandana he wore across his forehead was soaked. He took it off and threw it in a plastic bag then pulled out a towel from one of the saddlebags and mopped his face. He saw a colorful stand between Isla’s house and the one next to it; two young girls sat behind the small counter. A man stood in front, his head tilted back and a cup to his lips. Sangre took off his sunglasses and saw the man wore a deputy sheriff’s uniform. He ran the towel through his thick hair, tossed it in the plastic bag, and walked over to the stand.
“Would you like some lemonade, mister? It’s homemade,” a girl with brown pigtails said.
The deputy turned around and grimaced, and Sangre stiffened.What the hell is Jeffers doing in front of Isla’s house?“Did you make it yourself?” He looked at the large pitcher filled with ice and lemon slices. His throat was parched, and a big glass of freshly squeezed lemonade sounded damn good.
“Our neighbor did. It’s her own recipe,” the other girl said, pointing to Isla’s house.
“Then I’ll take the largest glass you got.” As the pigtailed girl poured, Sangre turned toward Jeffers who’d been staring at him since he’d arrived. “I thought you people go to donut houses.”
The deputy’s face grew taut. “What’re you doing over here?”
“Same as you. Having a glass of lemonade on a hot as hell day.” He looked over his shoulder and saw Mark approaching him.
“Here you go. It’ll be one dollar for a large,” the girl said.
He handed the money to her then drank it down all at once. “That was damn good, girls.”
“Isla made it for us this morning. She gave the recipe to our mom.”
“Isla?” Jeffers said. He glanced at Sangre.
He’s such a bullshitter. There’s no way he doesn’t know Isla lives here. He didn’t just randomly come into this neighborhood for some damn lemonade.
“You know that, officer. You kept telling us her name was Jordan. Don’t you remember?” one of the girls asked.
“No, I didn’t. You must’ve misunderstood me. I said I knew a girl in high school who used to bring lemonade to some of the school functions that tasted just like the one you have. I said her name was Jordan.”
The girl’s pigtails flew back and forth as she shook her head. “That isn’t what you told us. You said—”
“You girls have a crowd here,” a blonde-haired woman in shorts and an oversized T-shirt said as she came over.
“We’re doing real good, Mommy.” The girl in pigtails showed her mother a big jar that had coins and dollar bills. The other girl beside her nodded vigorously.
She smiled and extended her hand to Deputy Jeffers. “I’m Faith—the entrepreneurs’ mother.”
