Page 28

Ask the Right Way

Brenda had texted Hector that she’d forgotten her lunch in the fridge, so after the funeral service he climbed the stairs above the barbershop and grabbed her insulated bag before heading to the reception. He felt a surge of pride as he spoke to the burly security guard at the casino employee entrance. “My wife, Brenda Chavez, is the new director of security. Can someone get this to her? She said she’d be in the security command center.”

Then, as an afterthought, he added, “I’m going to Hank Montgomery’s funeral reception. Do you think I could cut through back here?”

The guard swiped him into the elevator and told him to go to the third floor. Hector pressed the button and mused at how his mother had been right when she had told him things always work out for the best.

About a month before Hector blew up Hank’s boat, he and Brenda had been sitting at their worn Formica kitchen table in their apartment above the barbershop. It was the kind of table that had been around so long it had wheeled out of style as old-fashioned and then back in as vintage. It had been in Brenda’s family bungalow when she was growing up. That table had seen a lot of living with her three sisters, her stay-at-home mom, and her police-detective dad. When Brenda’s parents downsized, Hector suggested he and Brenda scoop up the table for their own place. It was big for just the two of them, but he loved sitting at it with his wife.

That morning, Brenda had looked up from her laptop. “The casino is hiring.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hector had one more chance at the Wordle game until he was officially defeated. It was hard enough when English was your first language, but when it was Spanish: yi,yi,yi,yi,yi.

“They need a director of security.”

“You don’t say?”

Hector had looked across at his wife, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Despite the wrinkles that were starting to show around her mouth and eyes, she was still youthful, with no makeup and wearing a white T-shirt. Some women didn’t need any help. He had smiled at his amor. “You could do that. You should apply.”

When he had first moved here, and they were binge-watching movies to get his English to the point where Hector could hold his own with Brenda’s father—which wasn’t easy when dealing with not only a retired cop, but one of Italian heritage, who for the past twenty-five years had been outnumbered five to one in a household of strong women—Hector and Brenda had been on the sofa sharing a bowl of popcorn, watching Out of Sight. It had been a good choice—a hybrid between Hector’s preferred gangster movies and his new appreciation for romantic comedies. Jennifer Lopez’s U.S. Marshal character had been going toe-to-toe with George Clooney’s seasoned bank robber, when Hector had said, “You could do that.”

“What? Rob banks?”

Brenda had answered.

“No. Be a marshal, or a cop. Even a private detective. You have a degree in criminology. You’re smart and tough. You have a good sense about people. You’d be good at it. It’d be better than selling life insurance.”

Brenda had liked the idea but then been disappointed when she’d been deemed a fraction too short for law enforcement. But she could see herself as a private investigator. She had taken the course, passed the exam, and got her firearms license. Having a dad who had been on the job was a bonus as both a sounding board and a source of contacts. Somehow, the bulk of Brenda’s clientele ended up being suspicious wives. Brenda had spent a lot of time tailing husbands to questionable meetups and made a name for herself in the divorce court circles.

She kept a pregnancy bump on the closet shelf in case she had another target with a fetish for expectant mothers. Brenda had followed up on one wife’s hunch, connected with the man online and then in person, but dodged his request to touch her padded bump and flat out said no to his invitation to join him in his motel room. She had recorded the conversation, and the wife was awarded the divorce settlement she wanted.

Brenda was the most capable woman Hector had ever known, but he worried now that his suggestion for this line of work had been a mistake. He’d never let her know, but many nights he stood a silent sentinel to her stakeout. Following her, following someone else. Just in case. Nothing was going to happen to his amor, not on his watch.

Her interest in the casino job had been music to his ears. He’d sleep better knowing whoever she had to deal with now, she would have a team to support her. He had encouraged her to get her résumé together, and she sent it in to the casino, as the posting directed, to Hank’s attention.

And Hank hadn’t replied.

When Hank had approached Hector at the barbershop about the job he’d needed done, Hector had known Hank was panicked.

“Someone is trying to kill us. Larry, our buddy Andre, and me. We think they killed Dave.”

Hector had hidden his surprise as Hank had continued, “And we need you to figure out who it is and kill them before they kill us. Hire whoever you need. Whatever you need. We’ll pay you well.”

Perspiration had beaded on Hank’s forehead. Hector had dabbed it with a linen towel and had asked only the questions he needed answers to.

After the wives’ chat in the back of the minivan, Brenda and Hector had gone over the scenarios. They’d set cups of coffee on either side of their kitchen table, and two semitas—jam-filled tarts that Brenda picked up at Hector’s favorite bakery as a special treat for him—and had talked it through, like they did most things.

“You think Hank will be back?”

Hector had nodded. “Things will ramp up. I’m not sure how yet, but they always do.”

Brenda had picked up her pastry and had been poised to take a bite, when she’d said, “When he does come back, are you going to ask them for more money?”

Hector popped a piece of crust in his mouth. “I’m gonna do better than that. I’m gonna get you that job.”

Brenda grimaced. “No, Hec-toro. I don’t want to get a job that way. I want to get it on my own merit.”

“Amor. You’re perfect for that position. And qualified. And you know it. The casino would be lucky to have you. I bet the only reason you haven’t heard from them is because Hank is so distracted right now. With thinking someone’s trying to kill him and all. When he comes by again, I’ll ask him to push you to the top of his to-do list, that’s all.”

Hector licked crumbs off his fingers. “You’d be surprised what all you can get, if you ask the right way.”

Brenda narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Don’t tell me. George Clooney. Right? Out of Sight. Explaining to his buddy why he doesn’t need a gun to rob banks.”

Hector tapped her coffee mug with his. “Well done, amor.”

She tapped his mug back. “Well, at least you didn’t say you were going to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

Hector choked a bit on his coffee, smiled broadly at his wife over the rim of his mug, and congratulated himself, again, for making the best choice, that day on the beach so many years ago.

The casino elevator doors opened, and the funeral lilies’ scent snapped Hector back to the moment. Hector congratulated himself again. This time for encouraging Hank to have Brenda’s position confirmed as quickly as he did. Because dead men don’t hire. He walked down the casino hall and scanned the reception room for the three newly minted widows.

He hoped he didn’t have to make them regret what they’d done.