CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      Freddy Munoz flipped a cassette into the recorder in interview room one. “So listen, Victor, we’re gonna ask you a few questions…”

      Victor Ruiz nodded, biting his lower lip. “Okay.”

      “I’m just gonna turn the tape recorder on,” Munoz explained, “so there are no misunderstandings…And I would think on how you answer very carefully, if I were you,’ cause how you do is gonna help determine how we can help you get through this, bro. You understand…?”

      Victor nodded. Hauck, leaning against the wall, noticed the kid’s legs bobbing like crazy.

      “So where were you this morning, Victor?” Munoz began. “Around ten o’clock.”

      “I was home.”

      “No, you weren’t home, Victor. Your mother and sister don’t back that up. They told us you didn’t sleep at home last night.”

      “Well, they’re wrong. They didn’t see me. I was home.”

      “You remember what I said?” Munoz said. “Please don’t crap me, Victor. That doesn’t help things, you understand? You have any clue what you’re in here for?”

      “I don’t know what I’m in here for.” Victor tilted back his chair. “I was home.”

      Munoz nodded. He gave the kid a smirk that made it clear he didn’t believe him. “Lemme see your arm.”

      “My arm?”

      “Your arm, Victor. Your left arm. Whatsamatter, I don’t speak clearly enough for you, hombre?”

      Nervously, Victor yanked up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Munoz twisted it over. On his forearm, there was some kind of tattoo. Like a pitchfork. In black and red.

      “What’s that about, Victor? That the new fashion color scheme for fall?”

      “It’s about nothing, man. It’s just—”

      “Man?” Munoz’s eyes widened and he glanced toward Hauck. “You see a man anywhere in this room, Victor? I’m a police detective who’s trying to save your ass from this bucket of shit you’re about to step into. You understand? You want to know about a man? There’s a man dead who was shot at a gas station in Greenwich this morning, and guess who’s number one for it on our list. So you got any brains left in that little head of yours, Victor, take another look around and tell me if you see anyone named man in here,’ cause Lieutenant Hauck and me, we’re the only ones between you and spending the rest of your life in jail.”

      “No.” Victor wet his lips and rubbed his scalp underneath his cap. “I don’t see no one named man in here, Detective.”

      “Good. Let’s start over again. What’s that on your arm?”

      “Colors.” Victor Ruiz shrugged. “El Diablos.”

      “Diablos? Not Diablos, Victor. Didn’t someone see you wearing a red bandana this morning, bro?”

      “Red bandana? No way, man, that’s DR-17. Ask that cop from Bridgeport, Diablos and 17s don’t mix.”

      “I didn’t ask you if they mixed, Victor. I asked if you wore a red bandana sometimes. Like maybe this morning…?”

      “You must be kidding, ma—” Victor caught himself. “Detective. You got it dead wrong. That’s a sure way to get me killed.”

      “I know another way, Victor, and that’s by not telling us the truth. You heist a truck yesterday?”

      “No way. I never stole no car. I swear.”

      “We got the people who did it on camera. Security video, Victor. How’s it going to look if you’re in here lying to me and then I show you that mug of yours up there on the screen winning a fucking Oscar?”

      “It’s not gonna look any way, Detective,’ cause I never stole no truck. I swear…”

      “So let’s get back…” Munoz turned a page. “What’s a big, brave boy like you, in some macho gang, hiding like some scared poodle in the shower for, anyway?”

      “I saw the news. About those guys that lit up that place. When I heard you coming, I got scared.”

      “What do you have to be scared for, Victor? Because you made some threats? Because you were heard making threats against the family of the man who runs the place that got hit? I bet you weren’t so scared when you were running around saying how you were going to even things up. What you were going to do to those kids who took off and left your sister to die. You did say those things, didn’t you, Victor?”

      Victor swallowed drily. “You got some water in here?”

      “Sure.” Munoz shrugged toward Hauck. “We got some water, don’t we, Lieutenant? You want pizza? We can send out for that too. Maybe you’d like to order in some fajitas, some guac…” Munoz leaned back over the table. “You did say those things, Victor, didn’t you?”

      “Yeah, I said them.” Victor nodded. He brought his hands across his scalp. “But that was months ago. How would you feel, Detective? They left my little sister for dead. But I never meant them no harm.”

      “But you understand, don’t you, Victor, given those things you said, how if you were us you might be looking your way too? You tight with any hombres that might want to make this thing right for you? Maybe DR-17…?”

      “You crazy, Detective. I told you, that’d get me killed.”

      “So then where the hell were you, boy? We’re gonna keep going back to that, Victor, and don’t keep telling me you were at home, not with me trying so hard to be your friend.”

      Victor stared back at Munoz. Worry had started to build up in the kid’s eyes. He dropped back his head, slowly shaking it from side to side. “I just can’t tell you, Detective.”

      “Can’t tell us what, Victor? Can’t tell us something that might save your life? You know at all just what you’re looking at here? You know who that was who you shot?”

      “I didn’t shoot anyone. I swear.”

      “Then help us see that, Victor. We can square this up, just like that.’ Cause that was a federal attorney killed there today. Someone very important, Victor, and the lieutenant and I…we’re all there is from turning your ass over to the FBI and making this a federal crime. And that means the death penalty, Victor. You’re seventeen. Once that happens”—Munoz shrugged— “nothing we can do.”

      Victor rubbed his hands across his face.

      Munoz glanced at Hauck. “Look, we know you didn’t mean to hurt that person, Victor. We know it was just an accident, that