The Gatekeeper. Michelle Gagnon
the table. It would be hours before forensic results came in, but they didn’t have to know that.
“Where’d you get the gun, Emilio?” Kelly pressed.
“Stole it, bitch,” he spat, recovering some of his bravado. Celia inhaled sharply, brought back her palm and slapped his face.
“Mrs. Torres! You need to control yourself. If you strike Emilio again I’ll have to call in child services,” Kelly said sharply. She really didn’t want to do that, since with a caseworker sitting in they’d get far less compliance.
Celia nodded tersely.
Rodriguez leaned across the table. “Stole it from where?”
Emilio shrugged. Kelly caught a flash behind his eyes. Shame? Embarrassment? She leaned in. “See, Emilio, here’s my problem. I’ve got a group of gang members who are going down anyway saying you brought them a gun. And that gun was used to kill someone.”
“Jesús Cristo.” Celia whispered under her breath, crossing herself. Emilio’s face went a shade paler.
“But I find it hard to believe you would be stupid enough to kill someone, then give that weapon to Guzman knowing it might shift the blame onto him. You understand what I’m saying, Emilio? Because that’s how it would look. I bet that right now, they’re thinking you set them up.”
Emilio blanched completely. Sitting there, hair sticking out in tufts, he looked small and very young. And absolutely, completely terrified.
“You said you stole the gun, rata. Gotta arrest you on that.” Rodriguez leaned across the table, balancing on his knuckles. “And since it was used in a murder, that sends you to intake, not Juvenile Detention. Guess who else is spending the night in intake?”
“Tell them, Emilito. Tell them it’s not true.” Celia was rigid, facing straight front. Tears snaked through the heavy powder on her cheeks.
“It’s not true.” Emilio said in a small voice.
“Qué?” Rodriguez held a hand to his ear. “Didn’t hear you, Emilito.”
“It’s not true,” Emilio said. “I didn’t steal the gun. I found it.”
“Where?” Kelly asked.
“Outside their house. I was there yesterday, hanging around.” He glanced sidelong at Celia, who glared back. “Sometimes they give me stuff to do, but they were all still sleeping. I was sitting on the steps, and I saw it.”
“Saw what?” Rodriguez asked.
“The gun, okay? I saw the handle sticking out from under the steps. Like someone tossed it there.”
“Then you went inside and told them you stole a gun, and were giving it to them?” Kelly asked.
Emilio shrugged. “Yeah. I knows it wasn’t theirs, since it was all fancy and shit. Figured it was worth some cash. They always blowing me off, calling me a naco. Thought if they saw I was serious, they’d bring me in.”
Kelly was tempted to cuff him herself. “What’d they say?”
Emilio colored. “They asked where I got such a bitch-ass gun. They kept it, though,” he said defensively.
“Did you see anyone when you found the gun, or earlier? Someone who looked like they didn’t belong there?”
Emilio cocked his head to the side. “What, like white people?”
“Anyone who looked out of place,” Kelly said.
Emilio slowly shook his head. “Didn’t see no one or nothing.” His chin jutted out.
“What will happen to my Emilito?” Celia asked, lip quavering.
Kelly exchanged a glance with Rodriguez. “Hard to say. But I’d call a lawyer.”
Jackson Burke gazed out his office window. Dusk was falling, sending shadows marching through downtown’s glassy steel columns. The Phoenix skyline wasn’t as impressive as New York or Dallas, but he intended to change that. Soon enough there would be plentiful opportunities for rebuilding.
He sighed. Getting to this point had demanded tremendous time and energy, not to mention financial resources. Thanks to a family fortune he’d multiplied a thousand-fold, cash flow wasn’t an issue. That and a lack of vision were where so many operations had gone astray in the past. But in the end, all his efforts would be worth it. He’d seen the potential, realized what the growing numbers of converts could accomplish if their man power was properly harnessed, disparate groups united in one cause. Now, after more than a decade of planning, he was close to accomplishing that goal. He just needed the last few dominoes to fall into place.
The phone on his desk beeped, and Jackson frowned. His assistant knew he relished these few moments alone at the end of each day. For her to interrupt, something serious must have happened.
He lifted the receiver and listened for a moment before saying, “All right, put him through.”
As Dante spoke, Jackson’s expression hardened. He picked up a rock from the Zen garden on his desk and kneaded it between thumb and forefinger. “I see. And how did you respond?” Another burst of chatter. Jackson thought for a moment, then said, “It’s time to make Grant understand the seriousness of the situation. Do whatever is necessary.”
Nine
Madison awoke in the dark. Despite becoming somewhat acclimated to her surroundings, the shock of waking in a strange place never failed to throw her. Every time she went to sleep, deep down she harbored the hope that perhaps this was one of those dreams within a dream, where you only thought you were awake. She always fell asleep hoping to open her eyes and see her bedroom.
Not this time. She drew the thin blanket up to her shoulders and tried to still her shivering. Wherever they’d taken her was cold for June, and for the millionth time she wondered where she was. Back home on the East Coast, summer was in full swing. Central Park was lush and overgrown, the grass still green after recent rains. It felt like forever since she was there. Madison had skipped the last day of school, and spent that Friday hanging out by the pond exchanging texts with Shane and tossing her lunch to the geese. How long ago was that now? One week? Two? She’d started tracking the days, it had been at least three since they took her. But considering how many times they’d injected her with drugs at the beginning, she could have been whacked out for weeks. She wondered what the hell they wanted, and why it was taking so long. And if anyone was ever going to clue in to her GPS transmitter.
She groped under the mattress and pulled out the DS Lite. Even on the lowest power setting, she was down to the last bar. Madison chewed her lip. Maybe she could ask Lurch to bring her the power cord, it was with the rest of her stuff. Or she could give it to him to charge. That was riskier—he might decide not to give it back. She didn’t think he’d be able to tell it had been altered, but whoever was with him might be shrewder.
Suddenly, the groaning of metal indicated that the door was about to open. She hurriedly tucked the DS Lite back in its hiding place and flipped over to face the wall, regulating her breathing to mimic sleep. A shaft of light sliced the room, casting a silhouette on the wall facing her. Madison drew in her breath sharply. Whoever had come for her, it wasn’t Lurch.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” he said. His voice was gravelly, like he was getting over a cold.
Madison’s stomach clenched. Slowly, she rose to a seated position and turned. His face was cast in shadow, and she squinted in the light. “What time is it?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Time for us to get acquainted, kitten.”
“Sorry, Kel, you’re fading in and out. They’ve got crap reception here.” Jake plugged an index finger in his opposite ear and squinted at the lights below. The sprawling lab facility was visible from Randall’s small