Lupe and I moved out into the night. We didn’t talk as we walked past the body shop and liquor store to where Lupe had left her car. Los Angeles. Everything was different than it seemed. Salsa music poured out of an apartment across the street, and a man and woman danced in the open window. I told Lupe to meet me at the office. Without answering, she started her car. Would I be able to depend on her?

When I was fifteen and had asked my best friend, Tina Marks, to help me run away, she had told my parents. I watched Lupe take off down the hill toward Sunset, then throw a right heading back to Hollywood. Outside an apartment building I hid in the shadows, waiting to see if anyone came out of Casa Guatemala to follow us. After fifteen minutes I decided no one was going to. They probably already knew where to find me. I had a killer headache. Walking up the hill past the Cuban restaurant to here I’d parked my car, I felt weak. I got in, rolled down the window, puked on the side of the car and then eased away from the curb.

Punks. Streetwalkers. Palms shimmering in neon. All-night markets carved with foreign words. Everything was a blur. It was a quiet Monday night on the Boulevard. Quietly simmering, on edge. The way the city seems to get premenstrual before the Santa Anas start. By the time I got to the office, I was nearly screaming with pain. I made it up the stairs by hanging on to the railing and pulling myself up like a dead weight.

I came to fast when I hit the landing outside my office door.

WHITNEY LOGAN

ATTORNEY AT LAW

It was dark inside, but I could hear Lope’s voice saying something in Spanish, then the sound of something bumping against the desk or chairs, feet stumbling. They had followed us! They must have left Casa Guatemala while I was walking Lupe to her car. They’d been searching my office to find out who my client was.

I crept toward the door as quietly as I could, but whoever was inside probably couldn’t hear me because Lope’s voice was getting louder and louder. I put my hand on the doorknob and was twisting it oh so slow and careful when I heard a crack, flesh hitting, flesh.

I jumped the door as hard as I could and landed inside. There were two silhouettes against the window: Lupe and a big man who was holding her.

Raul had followed us!

“Stop it right there!” I yelled and hit the light switch with my left hand.

The guy with the bullet head and no neck could only be Lupe’s brother, Hector “Manos” Ramos.

“Hey, dude, what’s going on here?” I asked foolishly. A red splotch was spreading across Lupe’s right cheek.