One of the trucks was lost.”
“Lost,” Angela said. She looked stricken.
Miron nodded. “It turned up in the desert. Empty. And there’s been another since then.”
“Which was the one that Oscar’s boys were on?” Keller asked.
Miron looked away. “The second one.”
“So you knew,” Angela said. “You knew there’d been trouble. And you took Oscar’s money, and you arranged for his sons to be put on a truck, and…” She rose to her feet. Her face was red with growing rage.
Miron didn’t stand, nor did she meet Angela’s eyes. “I thought maybe it was an accident. It had only happened once.”
“So what happened when the second truck went missing?” Keller asked.
“The one with Oscar’s sons on it,” Angela added bitterly.
“He said he was going down there,” Miron said. “To the entry point. And he was going to find out what had happened. He was going to find the boys.”
“So where is this place?” Keller asked. “This entry point.”
Miron shook her head. “That, I can’t tell you.” She held up a hand as Angela began to speak. “Because I don’t know. All I have is a phone number. And an e-mail address.”
Keller tried not to grit his teeth in frustration. “So who are these people? Sounds like they’re the ones we need to talk to.”
Miron shook her head again. “I can call them. See if they’ll agree to meet with you. But I can’t make any promises.”
“Can you call them now?” Angela said. “Please.” She said the last word as if she hated it.
Only then, did Miron look up and meet her eyes. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll try. But you’ll need to wait outside.”
“Okay.” Keller stood up. “Come on, Angela.”
She stood up as well. Angela took a card out of the pocket of her blouse and laid it on the edge of the desk. Miron made no move to pick it up. “This is where I can be reached,” she said. Keller followed her out the door.
Outside in the hallway, Angela leaned her head against the wall. “She knew,” she whispered. “They knew. They knew something was wrong. That it might not be safe. And they put people on the truck anyway. Children.”
“I know,” Keller said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “But we have to work with them. At least for now.”
Angela reached up and put her hand over his for a moment. Then she straightened up. “I need to use the restroom,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
“I’m going to step outside and get some air,” Keller said. “Come get me.” She nodded.
Keller passed the kitchen and went out on the porch. He took a seat on the top step. The men had moved over to the picnic table and were wolfing down the food. The basketball game was still going on.
He agreed with Angela. Putting those people, including children, in danger was unconscionable. But they needed the information only Miron could give them. Without it, they were at a dead end.
“Hey,” he heard someone said. He turned to see the teenager, Magdalena, taking a seat on the step next to him. She was smiling broadly.
“Hey,” Keller said, as noncommittally as he could. This I absolutely do not need.
If the girl noticed his chilly tone, she gave no sign of it. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jack,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Maggie.” She stuck out a hand.
Keller took it. “Short for Magdalena, right?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I hate that name. It’s so…old sounding.”
“It’s not so bad,” Keller said. She was still holding on to his hand. He pulled away.
“So that lady you’re with,” she said, “is she your wife?”
“No,” Keller said. “Just a friend.”
“Maggie,” a male voice said. Keller looked up. The tall young man from the basketball game was standing at the foot of the steps. He didn’t look happy.
Maggie sighed theatrically. “What is it, Cesar?”
He said something to her in Spanish, low and fast. Keller didn’t catch all of it, but he thought he heard the word puta, and that gave him the gist. He saw her jaw clench. She replied to him, also in Spanish, practically spitting the words back at him. The other young men had begun to gather, and Keller heard one of them snicker. Goddamn it.
Cesar bent over and tried to grab the girl’s wrist. She yanked it away. “You keep your hands off me!” she said. Cesar reached again.
“Hey,” Keller said quietly, “knock it off.”
Cesar straightened up, eyes narrowed in rage. “Stand up, asshole.”
Keller stayed put, looking up at him. “Really?” he said. “You’re really going to do this?”
“I said get up,” the young man yelled. “You fucking pussy!”
Keller sighed and stood up. “I’m not going to fight you, kid.” He noticed that the group of older men had left the picnic table and were hurrying toward them. He hoped they would get there in time to short-circuit the confrontation the kid seemed determined to have.
Cesar nodded. “Yeah,” he sneered. “That’s what I figured.” He started to turn, as if to walk away, then came back, fast, throwing a hard right at Keller’s jaw. He was quick, and fired up, but the feint was so obvious, the kid might as well have sent Keller a postcard. Keller threw a cross block that directed the punch past him, the kid’s momentum spinning him around and leaving him off-balance and sideways to Keller, his ribs exposed. Keller fought down the reflex to step forward and break those ribs with a short jab to the torso. Instead, he grabbed the young man by the shoulders from behind, turned him the rest of the way around, and shoved him hard. As Cesar stumbled, trying to get his footing back, Keller raised his leg and gave him a shove in the ass with his boot. Cesar went sprawling on his face in the dirt. The girl screamed. Cesar rolled to a sitting position, glaring at Keller with hate in his eyes. He started to get up.
“Kid,” Keller said, “if you stand up, it better be to shake hands. Because if I have to put you on the ground again, you’re not getting up. At least not on your own.”
“Son of a bitch,” the young man said. He struggled to his feet and crouched as if ready to charge.
“CESAR!” a voice barked from behind him. Keller didn’t take his eyes off the kid. He sidled to his right to put the speaker in his field of vision. It was Rosita Miron. She spoke to the kid rapidly in Spanish,
