The Demon Hunters by Linda Welch

was,
the Labiosa family was indebted to me, and this was between just we
two, wasn’t it. She spoke at length and I didn’t catch half of it,
because at some point, from a subtle word here and there, I
realized I’d been warned to keep my mouth shut.
    I asked around, and
discovered more than I really wanted to
about the Labiosa.
    Three days after I spoke to Margot,
two teens looking for a place to make out drove to a semi-derelict
farmhouse in Mantua. They found Gilberto Fuentes body. Mike called
me in on the case two weeks later, so I got to talk to Fuentes
personally. He told me who killed him, and how. But I came out of
there and told Mike I didn’t get anything from the crime scene.
When Mike took me to the scene of Flora’s murder that same week, I
didn’t tell him I already communicated with the child. I just shook
my head to indicate I got nothing, and walked away.
    You see, I’d weighed the pros and
cons, and there were no pros. I know that sounds cold, clinical,
but believe me it wasn’t. If the family had an informer in the
police department, they would soon know I talked. Would I survive
long enough for Mike to find evidence linking the two murders,
evidence which proved the Labiosa killed Fuentes? Whether he did or
not, even if Gerarco and Margot Labiosa went to trial and were
convicted - which I sincerely doubted - I’d be on the run for the
rest of my life, however long it lasted. In the end I chose to keep
my mouth shut. I’m generally a law-abiding person, but I’m not an
idiot.
    Does a weight of guilt bow down my
shoulders, for handing a man over for execution? It did for a
while. Although I didn’t know at the time, I marked that man for
death. I should have checked out the Labiosa before agreeing to
help them. I should have found evidence and gone to Clarion PD.
Fuentes deserved to die, but it should have happened in the
penitentiary, not a back room of an abandoned house.
    But, God forgive me, when I think of
that little girl, I’m glad Fuentes is dead. Don’t judge me unless
you saw that sweet child lying naked at your feet, unless you
talked to her, and saw the terror in her eyes.
    So the Labiosa family owes me and
considers it a lifelong debt. If you’re smart, you don’t collect
from the Labiosa family unless you really need their help, but I
figured this was a good enough reason. Borrego was one of their
own.
    Gerarco got up from his rocker and
both of them ushered me in the house. We went directly to the
living room, a small and cluttered place with plaster Virgin Mary
and crucifix on walls, atop the mantle and on miscellaneous pieces
of furniture. Some truly hideous paintings of a religious theme,
done on black velvet, hung here and there. Doilies lay all over the
place as if they got together and bred like rabbits. There were so
many tasseled cushions on the couch and chairs, sitting without
letting on you feel smothered would be an act of
diplomacy.
    I perched on the edge of an
overstuffed chair and gave Margot the gift I took along: a small
gold rosary inlaid with seed pearls, an inexpensive but pretty
antique. She was delighted.
    Closed drapes muted the
sunlight in the dim room, but it felt stuffy, and still warm enough
to make my pale skin flush. Margo bustled out, leaving me with
Gerarco, and we politely pretended not to see each other. The
Labiosa were grateful for my help, but Gerarco wasn’t inclined to
small talk. However, the formalities must be observed, and Margo
returned with coffee in tiny cups and a plate of biscochitos , little
Mexican cookies. Then she politely inquired of my health, commented
on the heat while waving one hand at her bosom, and I sipped harsh
coffee and nibbled on an over-sweet cookie, replying politely and
trying not to wriggle with impatience. That took up all of ten
minutes. The business part of our meeting took less than
two.
    “ And how may we help you?”
Margot asked as she placed her cup in the saucer.
    I put my cup, saucer and tea plate