Page 99 of Nacho Boyfriend

“That would be chores truly.”

“So he was supposed to meet you? Not three surfer-looking guys?”

“Surfer-looking guys? No.”

“Well, as soon as Ignacio got here, he left with them in a V.W. bus.”

“Way way way way wait. Back up. Nacho was here? Just now?”

“Yep.”

“And he left with three surfer dudes?”

“Uh huh.”

He snaps something out in Spanish I don’t understand. Probably something curse-wordish.

“I knew something was going down, esa, but wasn’t chure what.”

“Going down? What do you mean by that?”

“The fire. I saw some guys hangin’ around the restaurant about three days ago. They be acting all suspicious but I dinnit think twice, chew know? But if these locos are who I think they are… órale, Nacho’s in deep caca.”

“Deep… who do you think they are?”

“The Point Break Posse. Only the meanest surfer gang in Los Angeles.”

“Surfer gang? That’s really a thing?”

He shrugs, bobbing his head side to side. “Well, not really. I never heard of any other surfer gangs actually. But that doesn’t mean they ain’t around.”

Surfer gangs. Arson. This is so nuts.

“We gotta do something,” I say. “Call the police.”

“Lady, I’m tight with the cops. I’ll call my homies down at the precinct. You call Nacho’s old man.”

“Wait. Ignacio said something about a man… Francisco Ortega. Does this have anything to do with him?”

“Pancho Two? That fool? He’s bad news but I dunno about any connection with the Posse.”

I reach into my tote bag for my phone. “I have his number.”

Carlos raises a brow, which disappears into his bandana. “Better call Nacho’s dad first. I’m going outside to make my calls. Then we can figure out what’s going on with Pancho Two.”

“Right. Thank you.”

Carlos leaves me alone in the office, and I open my dialer only to realize I don’t have anyone’s number. Well, except for Pancho Two. I’ve got that. But Nacho’s family? Nope.

Realizing it’s a long shot, I go around to his side of the desk to boot up his computer but spot an iPad. Contacts are on iPads, right?

There’s a post-it note taped to the computer monitor with the iPad password in bold sharpie. I suppose that’s for Rosa, or whoever else might need to get info for the restaurant system.

Once I’m in, I click on folders, searching for anything that looks not restaurant related. Honestly, gleaning important info from someone’s device looks a lot easier in spy movies.

And then I notice a green icon, showing a notification. Clicking on it, I discover it’s an app for finding lost devices—and people. I’m totally channeling my inner 007, navigating this app like a boss. It’s not long before I find a blinking cursor on a map labeled ‘My iPhone’. It has to be Ignacio.

Yes!