"How did you know that we're a gang?"
"I figured it out for myself," she said, a little sarcastically. "The bandannas and identical plaid shirts kinda give it away, you know.
"We don't think of ourselves like that," Ramon said. "I mean, I'm a homeboy, and this is mi barrio. We all hang out together, go to parties and all that, maybe make a little money together, but we're not really a gang. It's those bastardos from the city, they're the real gang. The T-Men. They're trying to move in here and sell drugs, take our money away from us."
"You sell drugs?" Kayla asked.
He shrugged. "They want our neighborhood. They already did this to another gang, the guys that live over by Fulton Street. Killed maybe ten of their guys; the rest are too scared to even go out on the street now. They just got started with us, a few weeks ago. So far, they've hurt one of our guys real bad. Reynaldo is still in the hospital. We got even, Carlos stabbed one of their guys, so now it's a war."
"Carlos is really good at stabbing people," Kayla said, rubbing her gut, which still ached a little as she walked. "Did he study how to do that in high school or what?"
"You could make a real difference," Ramon continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "A bruja, a real witch, to use against them . . . maybe you could change them all into frogs or something, eh?"
"If I could, I'd start with your brother," Kayla said under her breath.
"What did you say?" Ramon wanted to know.
"I doubt I can change anybody into a frog," Kayla said, a little louder. "I don't think it exactly works that way. I mean, I don't know how it works, this is all as weird to me as it is to you. I never knew that magic was real until two days ago."
"I didn't believe in it, until I saw you—" Ramon grabbed her suddenly by the arm, looking back at the street. Kayla twisted to see what he was looking at; a white Mercedes convertible was driving very slowly along the street, maybe thirty feet away. Inside were four young black men wearing blue sweatshirts and baseball caps, all watching Ramon, Kayla, and Jose.
Ramon pushed Kayla ahead of him. "Walk faster," he said quietly. The white convertible accelerated past them, one of the guys turning to look back at Kayla and Ramon. The car disappeared around the corner. Ramon spoke quickly to Jose in Spanish; the other man nodded and took off at a run in the direction of the parking lot.
"Keep walking," Ramon said. "The Fastburger is up ahead, another block or so. Just keep walking."
This is my best chance, she suddenly realized. Jose and Fernando aren't here, Ramon doesn't have a gun—I think—now it's just the two of us walking along the street . . . "Ramon, look!" she said, pointing across the street.
"What?" he asked.
Kayla shoved him, hard enough that he fell against a trash can, and took off running. The police station was only two blocks away . . . she could make it, she knew she could make it. . . .
She risked a glance backward to see Ramon staggering to his feet, then starting to run after her. "Kayla!"
She felt like she was flying, her feet barely touching the pavement. Her gut hurt, but she ignored it, concentrating on running as fast as she could. Another block, only another block . . . she could see the glass doors of the courthouse, the men and women in business suits walking in and out of the building . . . almost there, almost there . . .
A car screamed to a stop on the street next to her. The white convertible.
Oh, shit!
Kayla dived for the closest doorway, a bookstore. The startled proprietor stepped back as she ran past him, going straight for the back door. A moment later, she was out in the back alley, looking up and down the narrow street. Which way to go, which way . . . ? She could see the street off to her left—another left turn, run across the intersection, and she'd be in front of the police station. Her gut began aching again as she gasped for breath, putting everything she had into running.
The white convertible turned into the alley ahead of her, blocking her path. She stumbled to a stop, looking for another direction to run. She yanked at the back door of the closest store, but it was locked. Before she could run to another door, the young men were out of the car and surrounding her. She tried to dive past them; someone caught her by the arm and spun her around. She fell against the wall, sliding in the garbage and mud. She saw the pistol in one guy's hand, saw him pull back the hammer with his thumb.
Oh God, he's going to kill me, he's going to—
Fernando's car screamed to a stop at the end of the alley. Jose was leaning halfway through the window, firing his pistol. The other guys dived for cover, pulling out handguns and shooting wildly. Kayla crouched with her back pressed against the wall as Fernando's car crashed into the front of the Mercedes with a sickening crunch of metal, shoving it backward.