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"Are you kidding? Lazaro was my other half, and I was his. Yin to Yang, you know. I wanted to experience life and have fun like him, but he needed my more grounded ways.”
As she recounts their adventure, I smile, imagining a young Lana and Lazaro, hearts racing with the thrill of their escape. I’d had a few adventures myself as a kid, although never one involving stealing a car.
"We got caught, of course," Lana adds with a rueful grin. "But it was worth it.”
“The owner didn’t press charges?” I ask.
She smirks at me. “He was an associate, so no.”
“Ah.” I suppose a Mafia business associate won’t go against the boss. Or… should I say organized crime associate since she told me they didn’t use Mafia?
“After that, we'd find any excuse to come back here,” she continues. Her smile falters, and I feel a downward shift in the atmosphere.
"It wasn't always fun and games, though. One night, when we were about sixteen, we came here with Lazaro’s new car… this car.”
I sense her pain, but is it from being in her lost brother’s car or the story she’s telling?
I remain silent, giving her space to continue.
"A group of older boys showed up. They'd been drinking, and when they saw the car, they were assholes like boys with hard-ons for cars can be. But then they saw me…”
My stomach clenches at all the possibilities of where this story can go.
"They started making crude comments, getting too close. I was terrified.” She glances at me. “Does that surprise you that I’d be afraid?”
I shake my head. “No. Why would it?”
“I imagine you think we’re always carrying a gun and welcome violence.”
I shake my head and hate that my impression that this story was going to be painful is right.
“Lazaro, of course, he didn’t hesitate.” She turns to look at me, her eyes shining in the dim light. "You have to understand, Henry. Lazaro was always protective of me. Those boys were pawing and groping, making lewd comments.”
My fists clench in my lap. I hope Lazaro wiped the pavement with them.
"Something snapped in Lazaro. He went after them like a wild animal. He didn't care that they were bigger, older, or that he was outnumbered. He fought like… like he had nothing to lose."
I can picture it vividly, a young Lazaro, driven by fury and the need to protect his sister, taking on a group of older boys without a second thought.
"By the time it was over, two of them were unconscious, and the others had run off. Lazaro was bleeding, bruised, but he just turned to me and asked if I was okay. He didn't care about his own injuries at all."
My initial thoughts and feelings are all cheering Lazaro on. But then I realize that Lana’s crusade to find her brother isn’t that different from his protecting her. Sure, she’s not having to beat anyone up, but the fierce protective instinct is there.
“Did you come back again?” I ask gently.
She nods. “I didn’t want to, although I didn’t come out and tell him I was afraid. But he knew. He told me no one would fuck with us again. And they didn’t. I always wondered if he did something or had our dad do something to insure our safety.”
“Like what?”
She arches a brow.
I shake my head. “I’m not trying to get something incriminating. I’m just… curious.”
She sighs. “My family carries a certain amount of respect and influence.”
I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t. I can read between the lines. “I guess those kids didn’t know who you were or who your father was.”
“They certainly knew who Lazaro was after that. It’s where the myth of his feral, untamable behavior came from.” Her smile is bittersweet. Her connection to Lazaro is more than just sibling love. It’s a deeper, spiritual link. It must be the thing that has her believing he’s still alive.
