—What you think?

—For a white boy? Not bad.

—I ain’t white.

Dallas did a double check. —You look it.

—Gotta open your mind, girl. Get some information. Color is a concept that keeps us from transformation.

—You’re always rhyming?

—It’s the way I keep myself in shape. If I don’t practice, I’ll sound like an ape.

—That’s pretty bad sounding already.

—I’m playing with you. ’Cause you’re cute.

—You think I’m cute?

—I wouldn’t be talking to you, would I?

Bobby checked all the rooms again. He called Esperanza at Mrs. Hernández’s. She had already left.

—He’s not here, next door, or at the luncheonette. The guys on the corner said they saw him going into the train station.

—Why would Abuelo do that?

—We need to go look for him. He could be in trouble. He’s like a hundred years old. Maybe something happened to him?

Bobby’s stomach twisted up. He was preoccupied with a thought that had never occurred to him before. With Don Chan gone, he would be the last of the Colón family. The end of the line. And he wasn’t ready for it.

—Calm down, Bobby. He knows where we live.

—He forgets what day it is. You think he’ll remember his address?

She couldn’t be bothered with Don Chan’s condition. That’s what they called it, la condición : the condition of the fantasmas, where yesterday and today walk alongside each other. Sometimes it was funny, but recently Dallas had less patience for it. Especially when Don Chan left the house to meet Caridad, at Heaven’s Gate, and she had to go get him. For Don Chan, Heaven’s Gate was the corner of the roasted-chicken place where the smell of chicken was so strong, you felt like you had a full meal before putting anything in your mouth. Don Chan said heaven tasted like roasted chicken.

—We have to go out and look for him, Bobby said.

—That’s what the cops are for. They will call if they find him.

—He doesn’t talk to the cops. He thinks they’re after him. Remember?

—Not all the time. Abuelo gets his wits when you push him a little. Let’s give him some time. It’s still early.

—Mami’s gonna freak! Bobby paced in and out of the kitchen. He exhaled, but had trouble inhaling. He sat on Don Chan’s recliner and rubbed the leather on the armrest. He scared himself with his own reflection in the mirror. Breathe. Bobby put his hand on his stomach to help him focus, to keep tragic thoughts away. Breathe deep, in and out of the belly. What if Don Chan was in the emergency room? What if no one could identify him? He hadn’t realized how much Don Chan meant to him. How he was the last link to his father.

The police precinct told them they had to wait twenty-four hours before they could file a missing-person report.

Don Chan returned before sunset. They were all waiting at the kitchen table and stood up at the same time to grab him.