The Last Witness

[FIVE]

Forty minutes later, Tito and Juan, in different winter coats than earlier and now wearing helmets, sat on the idling Kawasaki in South Philly. They waited on the sidewalk that edged Girard Park, Juan with his gloved hands on the handlebar grips, chubby Tito on the higher seat behind him, holding a small cardboard box with UNCLE OOGIE’S PIZZERIA printed on the lid.

Tito was getting parts of his face, helmet, and gloves greasy while more or less successfully stuffing a steaming slice of Italian sausage and peppers in his mouth.

They had been there not quite five minutes, looking at the well-kept duplexes lining the opposite side of the street, when Juan nodded in the direction of an overweight girl walking down the sidewalk. She was maybe fourteen or fifteen.

“Think she’s one?” Juan said.

“Shit,” Tito mumbled, trying to finish the chewy slice.

She approached the duplex with the address that Hector had written on the outside of the folded notepaper. Juan had it in his coat pocket.

“She is,” Juan said. “Get ready.”

“Shit,” Tito said again, then swallowed hard.

He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out the folded paper. He tossed it in the pizza box, then with some effort got the lid finally closed with the flaps tucked in.

The overweight girl took a shortcut across the front yard of the duplex.

“Here we go,” Juan said, quickly checking for traffic, then revving the engine with a twist of the right grip and dumping the clutch.

Tito quickly squeezed his knees and thighs against the seat as the big bike jerked into motion. He switched the pizza box to his left hand and put his right on the nine-millimeter semiautomatic in his coat pocket.

The motorcycle roared across the street, then bumped up onto the opposite sidewalk.

They closed fast on the girl. About the time she heard them approaching and started to turn her head back, Tito threw the pizza box onto the walkway ahead of her. He pulled out the pistol and tried to aim as Juan almost ran over her with the front tire.

Tito began squeezing the trigger repeatedly, the pistol bucking as the plastic grips slipped in the greasy glove.

The overweight girl went down.

Tito slapped Juan on the back.

“Got her!” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Go! Go!”

Juan saw the door of the duplex open. A heavyset dark-skinned adult woman came out, then screamed as she ran down the steps to the girl lying facedown in the snow.