“Everyone knew,” he explained. There was shame in his voice.

***

I sat in the back of Hector’s sedan and read the gossip blog entry on my phone. It was a short blurb about one “naughty little girl” of a “gazillionaire” getting herself knocked up. There was a reference to the museum fight in case anyone didn’t pick up which gazillionaire they were referring to. It had the typical snarky sign-off that must have sent Valenti over the edge with rage.

I glanced at the back of Hector’s head. If, as Sami had said, everyone knew about Jeanette’s pregnancy, then that meant Hector knew but withheld it from me despite our recent agreement. I preferred to confront him immediately except I needed him at that moment. The latest development had given me an idea that the once-random Victorian home in Alhambra wasn’t so random anymore.

As we approached the house, I handed Hector a security badge from a former associate who was terminated for stealing milk from the communal fridge. Policy for a termination was to escort the fired associate to the elevator and to take their badge so they couldn’t get back onto the floor. The associate was a middle-aged white woman from Burbank, but I made Hector put it on anyway, even though he didn’t look anything like her.

“If you act like you know what you’re doing, people will believe it,” I instructed him as I pounded on the metal gate. “People fall for badges all the time.”

The same impassive face answered the door. This time I simply grabbed ahold of my badge attached to my belt and zip-lined it in front of her face close enough that she couldn’t read the words. She leaned back to get a better look but by that time I muscled past her and stepped into the foyer. Behind me, I heard the zip-line of Hector’s badge being presented, and he cleverly added “Health Inspectors” to the ruse and followed me into the old home.

The once-grand parlor was grand no more. It had been carved up into three or four units separated by makeshift walls and, in some cases, just a simple curtain suspended from the ceiling. The room smelled of sour milk and disinfectant. Murmuring and laughter and the faint cries of hungry babies reverberated through the old walls.

My white skin, navy sports coat, and blue plastic badge convinced the occupants, at least for the moment, that I was some official from the city of Alhambra. Hector in his black ensemble was better suited as a representative from the coroner’s office but for now it was enough to cause confusion and some doubt. We took that opportunity to search the premises for Jeanette.

As we cruised through the rooms, I pointed to random things like exposed wiring and dirty medical devices and sometimes to just blank spots on the floor.

“Insufficient firewall,” I called out. “Improper wiring. Occupancy clustering.” With each mention, Hector scribbled them down on the blank forms we used to screen new job candidates. A black portfolio holding the sheets of paper helped sell it.

“PL5501?” Hector called back.

“5502,” I corrected.

We worked our way through the endless maze of “hospital” beds but didn’t see Jeanette. All of the occupants were of Asian descent and no one seemed to speak any English. Most of the beds were surrounded by family and flowers and foil balloons and had that infectious joy of being around a new life. In the final room on the ground floor we found a family surrounding a young woman, a girl really, but in this cubbyhole there was no joy, just hushed tones and the specter of the empty crib nearby.

Hector and I worked our way up to the second floor. At the top of the landing glared the woman from the entrance and two orderlies behind her. I tried the badge one more time but it had lost its effect and the ensemble didn’t budge. So I budged by them. As hands grabbed at me and my coat, I gave up the pretense of the city official and just started shouting for Jeanette. I heard the struggling voice of Hector doing the same. I caught a glimpse as he took one of the orderlies and launched the bulky frame down the hall. The old man still had some get-up in him.

All it took was one person to doubt us and suddenly everyone came to their rescue. People in hospital scrubs poured out of rooms and I felt like I was going to be ripped to shreds by all the hands grabbing at my coat and face.

“Jeanette!” I shouted, pulling at the arms that tried to hold me back from moving towards the last set of rooms.

“Jeanette!” I heard Hector yelling at the other end of the hall.

I fought my way forward as they ripped the coat off my back. That bought me a couple of extra feet as they stumbled and had to get hold of me again. I took a swing at someone and that bought me a few feet more. But it was short-lived as the circle closed around me. I put my head down and bullied forward, and as I passed each room, I angled my body to see the occupants inside. It was more of the same, but I had to make sure. At last I came to the final room. By then it felt like the entire complex was riding on my back. My knees gave out and I crumbled to the floor and everyone else crumpled on top of me. Through the melee of arms and legs, I peeked into the last room and saw a familiar face — the rotund Filipina who worked as an aid at the convalescent home where Valenti’s ex-wife lived.

We locked eyes for a brief moment, but it was long enough for the surprise to register in her dull eyes. I held her gaze as long as I could, conveying whatever kind of warning I could before I was dragged away.

Hector and I were summarily deposited onto the concrete front yard. My coat and badge were lost. Hector’s suit was intact but his Brylcreem hair was in a chaotic state and indicated he’d had a tough go of it as hurricane gales couldn’t disturb that quaff. We scrambled to our feet and back to the black sedan down the street. We leaned against the hood and took in each other’s condition and let out a belly-emptying laugh. Not because there was anything particularly funny about what we just went through but because for the first time it just felt like we were getting closer to bringing the girl home.

Hector’s pleasure faded quickly. He took on a sullen expression and looked like he wanted to tell me something.

“You all right?” I prodded.

“I didn’t tell you this before,” he started, “but maybe I should have. It’s about Jeanette.”

Hector recalled the day that Jeanette went missing. She had taken a taxi to the Valenti compound and was inside with the man himself for quite a while. Hector was replacing a taillight when she appeared at his side and asked if he could drive her home.

“She was crying,” he told me.

“Did she say why?”

“I didn’t ask. I just drove her back to her mom’s house.”

When they pulled up, she didn’t immediately get out of the car. She lingered in the back seat like she wanted to say something and after some time asked him if he had kids.

“I told her I did — one girl and one boy. Three grandchildren, too. She then asked me if I was a good father. I said I didn’t know. That maybe she should ask my kids.”

Hector apologized for not telling me this earlier, but in his act of contrition, while sincere, it wasn’t exactly clear to me what he was apologizing for.

“I never told you she was pregnant,” he said.

“You knew she was pregnant just from that one exchange in the car?” I asked incredulously.

“You don’t have kids, do you?” he threw back.

“No.”

Hector said nothing more, as if that was enough proof. Behind it was the implication that I shouldn’t question someone in a club of which I wasn’t a member. And this member of the club was coming to an unsatisfactory conclusion about Jeanette’s first foray into motherhood.

“You don’t think she had her baby in there?” he asked, hoping I would tell him that she didn’t.

“I don’t know,” I answered.