I righted myself and took off after him. No one tried to stop me, but no one moved out of my way, either, so Freddy was out on the street before I caught up with him. I put on a burst of speed, forgetting my sore thighs, my swollen hands, my shoulder. He was crossing the vacant lot to Diego’s truck when I launched myself at him. I knocked him to the ground and fell heavily on top of him.

I heard applause and looked up to see three of the men from the bar, including the guy from the jobsite, laughing and clapping.

“Hey, missus, you go see Lovie Smith, you play for the Bears!”

“What this chavo done to you? Leave you with baby and no money? He got two babies already and no money for them!”

“She’s not the kind, not the kind, Geraldo, mind your mouth.”

Freddy shoved me aside and scrambled to his feet. I grabbed his right ankle. When he started to kick at me, an audience member moved in and pinned his arms. “Don’t run, Freddy, the lady, she worked so hard to catch you, is very rude to run away.”

The rest of the men trickled out of the bar and stood in a half circle around us, except for Diego, who moved uncertainly halfway between Freddy and the truck.

I got to my feet and pulled on my mittens. “Freddy Pacheco, you and I are long overdue for this talk.”

“You a cop, missus?” the man holding his arms asked.

“Nope. I’m the basketball coach down at Bertha Palmer. Julia was a good student and a good ballplayer until this chavo banda ruined her life.”

A murmur in Spanish rippled through the trio. El coche. Yes, but a detective, too, only private, not police; Celine, his sobrina, she was crazy about el coche. Sobrina, my tired brain fished in my high school Spanish. Niece. Celine, my gangbanger, was this man’s niece; she was crazy about me? Maybe I was misunderstanding him, but the notion cheered me no end.

“So what you want to know from this piece of garbage, missus?”

“The soap dish Julia gave you for Christmas last year, Freddy.”

“I don’t know what you talking about.” He was looking at the ground, which made it hard to understand his whining.

“Don’t lie, Freddy. I sent the dish to a forensics lab. You know what DNA is, don’t you? They can find DNA even on a soap dish that’s been through a fire. Isn’t that wonderful?”

He balked some more, but after more prodding and a few threats, both from me and the men, admitted that he’d given it to Diego, who’d given it to Sancia Valdéz. “What Julia think I want with a girly present like that?”