Page 5 of Into the Fire

I’m not picky, though my sister Tess certainly thought I was. I just know what I want and what I like and don’t want to waste time with someone who could be my best friend, but didn’t give me butterflies in my stomach.

I wanted a marriage that lasted. Like my grandparents. Like my parents.

I might be single for the rest of my life.

Three

Knowing that Sergio Diaz had worked for The Taco House prior to his arrest, I devised a plan to gather more information before I met with the confessed killer.

Antonio Perez owned the small chain of fast, authentic Mexican food. I had several family members in the restaurant business, and my cousin Homer Orozco and his wife, Millie, owned and operated a popular Mexican restaurant near my house. Through family, I’d met Antonio a few times, but I didn’t know him well enough to start asking too many questions about Sergio. Millie would be the best person to help smooth the path for me.

After talking to Millie to get info on Antonio and her promise to immediately call him and let him know I’d be stopping by, I drove to his office located above his flagship restaurant—the same location where Sergio worked.

This area south of Camelback near the 19th Ave corridor wasn’t the safest. During the day it was okay, though drug deals in daylight were common. At night, definitely better to avoid it. Sergio was a man, making it a bit safer, but even men weren’t safe from muggings or gang activity. He was either brave or stupid to walk home alone close to midnight. Or broke. Cars cost money and he only lived six blocks away.

I’d read the thin file Andy had given me. Sergio Diaz was born and raised in central Phoenix. His dad had walked out on the family when he was ten, and his younger siblings had been four and five. His mom worked two jobs to make ends meet and they lived in a tiny house she rented. Sergio did odd jobs when he could and watched his siblings after school.

At some point, his mother started using drugs. Maybe she always did but had it under control; maybe it was a new thing after her husband left. When Sergio was fourteen, she lost her jobs—likely because of drug use. A year later, they were evicted from the house when the landlord proved she hadn’t paid rent in eight months. She was arrested for prostitution and possession, given a slap on the wrist, but because she and her kids were living in a one-room flop without running water, the kids were put into the system. She spiraled from there and when Sergio was sixteen, three years ago, she shot a man in a drug dispute and was convicted of attempted murder. It wasn’t her first arrest, but the only arrest that resulted in jail time. She likely would have been out after half her ten-year sentence, but while in prison, she killed a fellow inmate.

All of Sergio’s juvenile slaps were during the two years after his mom lost her job, but before she went to prison. He stole petty cash, food, clothes. Got probation and cleaned up, not one ding since he’d been sixteen. But that wouldn’t matter to some people.

It mattered to me. I wasn’t naive. My parents had always been honest and straightforward with us about pretty much everything. There were people who needed to be in prison because they wouldn’t stop their criminal ways. They would escalate and hurt more people, and society demands that we protect people from predators of all kinds.

But I did believe in redemption. I believed that people could make mistakes and learn from them. Especially young people like Sergio who had lost his father to who knew what, who had lost his mother to an addiction she couldn’t or wouldn’t control, who was just a kid himself stealing necessities for his family. Maybe, I thought, as a cry for help. Why did no one see his actions for two years and ask why? Where were the teachers, the neighbors, the churches, anyone who might question why a kid steals food? Look at his home, see how he was living?

Maybe because the story was far too common.

After his mother was arrested, Sergio got his GED and Antonio Perez hired him. There was nothing in the file about where his brother and sister were living.

The Taco House was small, clean, take-out only. Patrons could eat outside at one of the eight cement tables. Customers weren’t allowed inside—they placed orders at one window, picked up at the next—which greatly reduced the cost to the business. No public bathrooms, cheaper insurance. Antonio did two things: tacos and churros. Soft, warm corn tortillas, long-simmered or stewed meat, topped with onions, cilantro, Cotija cheese and choice of salsa—red or green—spicy and delicious. I don’t know why Antonio never tried to market the salsa to stores—I’d buy it by the gallon. It was better than anyone’s, except my abuela’s.

Antonio’s office was up metal stairs on the backside of the building. The door was open, but the security screen was locked. I knocked on the wood frame. “Mr. Perez? It’s Margo Angelhart. My cousin Millie Orozco told you I’d be coming by.”

“Margo!” His loud booming voice belied his small frame as he unlocked the door. “Come in, come in. How are Millie and Homer? I haven’t seen them in months—nearly a year. We’re all so busy, too busy. I told Millie that I’d talk to Anna, have them come over for dinner soon.”

He sat down at his desk and started typing at his computer, an older Apple model. “You know you can text and email with the computer? So easy! Sometimes I think Anna and I talk more over the computer than in person these days. And my kids! They are never without their phones. Fingers always moving, moving.” He shook his head, his hands mimicking texting on a phone.

“How are your kids?” I asked with a grin. “Isn’t Tony graduating this year?”

“Yes, he’s going to be a Wildcat. Your parents went to U of A, didn’t they?”

“Yes, sir, that’s where they met.”

“Aw, young love. I can only hope that Tony meets as good of a woman as your mother. Millie said you have a case, wanted to talk to me, of all people!” He leaned back in his chair and smiled, as if excited to be helping.

“It’s about Sergio Diaz.”

Antonio shook his head. “I never thought he’d do anything like this.”

“What can you tell me about him? Before his arrest, describe him for me.”

“Polite. Quiet. Dependable. I trust him. He was my assistant manager. He has a key to my office, brought up the deposits each night and put them in the safe. A lot more money than he was accused of stealing. Not once were the receipts off by more than a dollar or two. He turned in his keys, because he said he didn’t want me to spend money to have the locks changed.”

If it were me, I’d still change the locks if I thought my manager was a thief and killer. But knowing that Sergio had never been suspected of dipping in the till made the case marginally more interesting. If he was so desperate for money, as he told the police, he could easily have swiped a hundred from The Taco House receipts and probably talked his way out of it.

There could be another reason why Sergio robbed that convenience store. He could have gone with the purpose of killing the clerk.

“Did Sergio have any problems with customers? Other staff?”

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