Chapter 3 - The First Move
The three hired guards shifted their weight, their eyes darting to the end of the street as the low, rhythmic rumble of two unmarked police cruisers approached. The blue and red lights weren't flashing, but the high-beam searchlights were on, bathing my front yard in a blinding, clinical white glare.
"Sir," one of the guards muttered, leaning toward Rodrigo. "We need to leave. Now. This isn't what you described."
Ofelia’s jaw set into a hard, aristocratic line. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a vicious, quiet hatred that explained exactly how Rodrigo had become the monster he was. "This isn't over, Ernesto. You think because you wore a piece of tin for twenty years you can touch us? My brother will have this detective’s badge by morning, and your daughter will be begging to come back to our house before the week is through."
"Your brother can try," Mendoza said, his voice entirely flat as his fellow deputies stepped out of the cruisers, their hands resting on their duty belts. "But right now, Mr. Salgado, I suggest you take your daughter inside. Mr. Harrington, you and your mother are leaving this property immediately. If I see these vehicles within five hundred feet of this address again tonight, I’m taking you all in for stalking and deadly conduct."
Rodrigo didn't move at first. He stared past me, his eyes searching the dark windows of my house, looking for the woman he had spent three years breaking down into a quiet, compliant shadow. He wanted to see her fear. He wanted to see her break.
But Valeria didn't look out the window. She stayed in the kitchen, listening to the solid, unyielding sound of my voice on the porch. For the first time in thirty-four months, she wasn't alone in the dark with him.
"Let’s go, Rodrigo," Ofelia said, grabbing her son’s arm with a tight, fierce grip. "We don't argue with civil servants on the street. We do this through the proper channels."
They got back into their black SUVs, the doors slamming with a heavy, expensive thud. The tires kicked up small patches of my lawn as they backed out, their red taillights disappearing into the San Antonio night like twin drops of blood.
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Mendoza walked back up the steps, looking at me through the shadows. "They're going to call every favor they have, Ernesto. By 8:00 a.m., the department’s upper management is going to start feeling the squeeze from the appellate court."
"I know," I said, reaching out to shake his hand. "That's why I'm not waiting until 8:00 a.m."
