Page 114 of Nightshade

“I said no deal because I knew I could be the collateral. I couldn’t make a deal without ending up disbarred or in jail myself.”

Stilwell shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Don’t you see? He wouldn’t have come to you if he was going to deal you in. That makes no sense. His ace in the hole is Mayor Allen. Baby Head’s willing to trade him to save his own ass.”

“I don’t know about that,” Juarez said.

“Give me the number he called from.”

“It won’t matter. He uses burners and changes phones all the time. It’s never the same number.”

“Then where is he?”

“I told you—I have no idea. This is a nightmare. If I’d known what was going to happen, I would have warned you. I would’ve stopped it.”

“I wish you had.”

“But I didn’t know. Stil, you have to believe that.”

Stilwell didn’t answer. He was thinking about what Juarez had just told him: Terranova was willing to make a deal to give up a bigger fish than himself. It had to be the mayor.

“Who is he?” he asked. “How come he has no record? Not even a juvie jacket in Bakersfield. I checked.”

“Because he’s smart,” Juarez said. “He stays clean and makes other people do his dirty work for him. Like me. He gets something on you and then you have no choice. It’s probably how he played the mayor. He got something on him.”

“What’s he got on you, Monika?”

“We…”

Juarez shook her head in disgust—with the question and herself.

“We did things when we were younger,” she said. “Things I’m not proud of. He has pictures, okay? Photos that would destroy me. That’s all I’ll tell you. That’s all you need to know.”

“Then this could be your way out. You must be able to get a message to him.”

“What message? He’ll have me whacked if he sniffs a setup—and believe me, he’ll know.”

She pointed to the whitish scar that ran along the left side of her jaw.

“He gave me this,” she said. “When I told him I was leaving to go to college, that I wanted to be a lawyer someday. He did this to me, and you know what, I didn’t even call the police. I lied about it to my mother—said I crashed my bike—because I knew he would do worse if I turned him in.”

It was a terrible story, and despite himself, Stilwell felt sympathy for Juarez and her lifelong predicament. But it didn’t alter the contradiction between her actions and her pose of victimhood.

“Look, you need to figure out a way to contact him,” he said. “Tell him you thought about it and there is a deal to be made. He said it wasn’t his play, so we’ll hear him out. If he comes in and gives up the bigger fish, you’ll deal.”

Juarez shook her head as she thought about that.

“And so what happens to me if a deal is made?” she asked. “What’s to stop him from throwing me in to sweeten the pot?”

“You said he’s smart,” Stilwell said. “If he gets what he wants out of it, why would he burn you? He’ll want to keep you for the next rainy day.”

Juarez considered that and Stilwell could read her face. She saw it as the smart move.

“And what about you?” she said. “What happens to me with you?”

“I don’t know,” Stilwell said. “If you help me take these guys down, I will try to move on.”

“How can I trust that?”