Slowly I walked back to my office to phone Armando Diaz. I would tell him I wanted to come see him and get my photos from him. No, I would just confront him with what I knew about him. He had seen me in the park. He had been watching me. Perhaps had even seen me leaving his studio and guessed that I knew all about him now. Cautiously and quietly I moved across the floor. The hall was empty but shadowy without the overhead lights on.

A dark form sat looking out onto Hollywood Boulevard from the chair behind my desk. I was tired of being surprised. My hand went to the gun as I nudged open the door. As I entered, the chair spun toward the door. I started to draw the gun.

Lupe didn’t say anything and she didn’t seem to notice the nervous action of my hand. She looked shaken.

I took my hand off the gun.

“Joey’s gone!” She raised her face to me. “My baby’s gone.”

I stood awkwardly just inside the door. The sun was directly behind her. “What happened?” I squinted to see her better.

“He’s gone, I tell you!” Her voice edged near hysteria. “I drove over to my house. Nada. I called my cousin. She don’t have him. My mom’s not home. My brother was there, but he said he don’t know where Joey is.”

I wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how. My family is not very touchy-feely. I walked over to her and patted her arm ineffectually. “Hector must be lying to you. He said he’d—”

Words tumbled from Lupe’s mouth. “It’s all my fault. It’s this fucking life. I’m tired of it. Tired of standing on the pinchi streetcorners.”

Had someone taken Joey? Who? Why? Armando Diaz? The Guatemalans? Had they found Lupe’s house and kidnapped him? It was cold blooded, but, after all, they still believed we killed Cathy Vega. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth? Was it Emma Garcia or Tony Guerrero who would order such a cruel thing? Had they sent Raul to grab Joey? Or had her brother Hector really taken Joey, as he had threatened to do the day he busted into my office? My mind raced with these possibilities. I took her hand in mine. She felt so small.

Lupe’s voice was a mixture of rage and anguish. “Why would anyone want to hurt him? He’s just a little boy.”

“Casa Guatemala—” I hesitated, wondering how much to tell her of my suspicions.

“You think they have him?” Lupe erupted. “They seemed like such good people. I’ll kill ‘em if—”