Fire Sale

The first time I visited Rose Dorrado, Diego was outside her apartment, playing his stereo at top volume, and Josie said if Pastor Andrés came around he’d totally fix Diego’s truck like he had before.

“What did the pastor do to Diego’s truck?” I asked.

“Not his truck, missus, his stereo.”

“Diego, he starts parking his truck right here, in front of Mount Ararat, during the services,” Celine’s uncle explained. “He crank his stereo up real loud. No one even knows why, was he playing to Sancia, trying to get her to come join him, or bugging his ma, she’s real religious, her and Freddy’s ma, they’re sisters, they both pray at Mount Ararat, but Pastor, he warn Diego two, three times, you turn that off during the sermon, and Diego, he just as much a chavo as Freddy, here, he jus’ laugh. So Pastor, he fix up a metal dish with a rubber plug, put in some nitric, put it on the stereo, acid go through the plug, go through the wires, shut Diego down ’bout halfway through the worship.”

In the poor light, I couldn’t make out anyone’s expressions, but I could tell the men were laughing.

Freddy was furious. “Yeah, everybody think, whatever the pastor do, thas cool, he cost Diego here three hundred dollars to fix his amp, his speakers, and you guys think it’s all a joke because the pastor did it, but the pastor, he put glue in the locks at Fly the Flag, I saw him.”

In the shocked silence that followed, the man holding Freddy must have loosened his grip, because Freddy broke free and bolted for the truck. Diego ran ahead of him and jumped into the driver’s seat. I tried to follow but tripped on a piece of rubble and fell hard. As one of the men helped me back to my feet, Diego laid down rubber and the taillights of the truck disappeared down Houston.

I could hear the murmur in the group. Was this true? Could you possibly believe Freddy Pacheco? One man said, yes, he had heard the same thing before, but the man from the jobsite said he could not believe it of Roberto.

“He’s at the church now with his Bible study. He has to tell us, tell this lady, here, did this chavo tell the truth or not? I work with him every day, he is the best man on the South Side, I ca

Five of the men returned to the bar, but the rest of us crossed the street, an uneasy band, not talking, no one wanting to be the person who confronted Pastor Andrés. We pushed our way into the church, through the sanctuary to the big room in the back where they’d served coffee after the service on Sunday. In one corner, some toddlers were playing with plastic trucks and dolls, or just lying on cushions sucking on bottles. At a deal table near the door, Andrés was sitting with a group of some dozen parishioners, mostly women, hard at work on the Prophet Isaiah.

“What is this?” Andrés demanded. “If you have come for Bible study, Missus Detective, you are welcome, but if you are here to interrupt then you must wait until we are done. The Word of the Lord takes precedence over all human worries.”

“Not all, Roberto,” his coworker said. “Not when it is life and death.”

He switched to Spanish, speaking so fast I could follow only in part. El coche, that was me, then something about Freddy, Diego, the fire, the factory, and pegamento, another word I didn’t understand. Andrés fired something back at him, but the women at the table looked shocked and started speaking, too. Andrés realized he was losing control of his group and shut his Bible.

“We will take a five-minute break,” he a

All of the men who had come with me from Cocodrilo followed us through the robing room to the pastor’s study. There were only two chairs in it, besides the seat behind his desk, so the men, and many of the women from the study group, crowded around the doorway.

“Now, Missus Detective, what is all this? Why do you keep harassing me, especially in church?” Andrés said when he had seated himself behind his desk.

“Freddy says you put glue in the locks at Fly the Flag. Is that true?”

“Yes, Roberto, did you do this thing?” Tomás asked.

Andrés looked from Tomás to the group at the door, as if deciding whether to bluff it out, but no one gave him any encouragement. “Frank Zamar was a man who had to choose between what is right and what is easy, and he didn’t always know how to choose wisely,” he said heavily. “After 9/11, he was busy making flags for everyone in the world, and he got a big order from By-Smart. He added a second shift, he bought new machines.”

“Then he lost the work,” one of the men said. “We know all that. My old lady, she one of the people got laid off. Why you go put glue in his doors because he lost his contract?”

“It wasn’t because of that; when he lost the contract, wasn’t I the first one there to help your wife sign up for unemployment? Didn’t I find housing for the Valdéz family?” Andrés burst out.

There were murmurs of acknowledgment, yes, he had done these things. “All the more reason to ask, why the glue, Roberto?”

Andrés looked directly at me for the first time. “It’s what I told you this afternoon, that Zamar signed a new contract with By-Smart in a panic. And to warn him-I am sorry to confess it, I am ashamed to confess it-I did put the glue in his door to show him what could happen to him if he hurt the neighborhood. It was a child’s trick, no, a punk’s trick, now I am sorry I did it, but for me, as for many, repentance has come too late for amendment of life.”

His voice was bitter, and he paused, as if swallowing his own bitter pill. “After the glue, first Zamar made threats, saying he will take me to court, but we talked, and he promised me, he will go back to By-Smart-like I told you already.”

I nodded, trying to evaluate his tone, his eyes-his truthfulness. “Whoever destroyed Fly the Flag did it very carefully so as not to kill the illegal immigrants working the graveyard shift. Rose Dorrado said if you knew about the sweatshop Zamar was ru

“I did not even know until this afternoon that he was ru

This brought some calls of support from the women crowding in at the door-and some dark glances in my direction-but Tomás looked at him soberly: Andrés was not just a coworker but a leader in the community. Tomás, at least, needed to know he could trust the pastor.

“The fire was set using the same method you used when you put Diego’s stereo out of commission,” I said. “Maybe you didn’t start it yourself, but perhaps you showed Freddy how to do it.”

Again, I took the drawing out of my pocket. I laid it on the desk in front of him. “Did you draw this for Freddy?”

To my astonishment, instead of rapping out a denial Andrés turned the color of putty and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Oh my God. That is why-”

“Why what?” I demanded.

“Freddy came to me, he wanted some nitric acid, he said it was to clean the rubber that had melted into the truck bed when I ruined the stereo. He said I owed him, but now-oh, now, oh, Jesus, oh, what have I done in my pride? Shown him how to burn down a plant, and to kill a man?”

“But why would Freddy do such a thing?” Celine’s uncle asked from the doorway. “Freddy, he’s just a chavo, he would only make such a-a esquema for someone else, not because he thought of it himself. Who ordered him, who paid him if not you, Pastor Andrés?”

“I think Bron Czernin was making the plug in his kitchen workshop,” I said, “and I found the drawing near where Billy the Kid’s car was wrecked. Bron was seen with Freddy, but why would Czernin want to burn down the plant?”