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Besides, I’d promised Andy I would find out one way or the other, and the one thing I couldn’t do was let down a friend.
Eight
Faith Jones had worked with Sergio at the 19th Ave Taco House until Antonio promoted her to assistant manager of Dunlap. She, more than Antonio, might know Sergio’s secrets.
I walked up to the window, ordered a churro, paid, and put a dollar in the tip jar. “Is Faith here?”
“Faith!” the young man called behind him. “There’s a woman here to see you!”
The way he said it made me feel old. I was only twenty-five.
A moment later a girl of about nineteen or twenty came up to the window. She said, “Can I help you?”
It was only four, so not too busy. Customers were mostly high school kids hanging out after school.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk in private?” I asked. “It’s about Sergio.”
A cloud crossed her face, then she glared at me.
“Are you a reporter?” she snapped. “A cop?”
“Margo Angelhart, private investigator,” I said. “I’m trying to help Sergio.”
Faith’s expression said she didn’t believe me.
“Who hired you?” she demanded.
“That’s confidential,” I said.
“I don’t have to talk to you.”
“No, but if I tell you that I think Sergio is innocent and covering for someone, would you be willing to chat?”
“You lying?”
“Faith, I’m trying to help Sergio and from what Antonio says, you’re his closest friend. Judging by your animosity, you don’t think he’s guilty. I’m his best chance at proving that.”
She narrowed her eyes, then said in rapid Spanish to her co-worker, “I need to talk to this gringa, five minutes.”
Gringa? Me? I was as Mexican as Faith.
I sat at the only unoccupied table, the one closest to the street, and waited. Faith’s attitude wasn’t worth getting into an argument about, and I needed her help.
I ignored the questions I’d already answered and asked, “Did you know Sergio before you started working at The Taco House?”
She shook her head. “Nope. He had just been promoted to assistant manager when I started working there about eighteen months ago, at the 19th Ave location.”
“And you became friends.”
“Just friends,” she snapped, as if I’d implied something more. I didn’t think I had.
“Okay. Have you met his brother and sister?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“If you’re going to be confrontational throughout this conversation, we’re not going to get anywhere in five minutes.”
“They’re good kids, they don’t deserve to be dragged into this.”
