Read Halfway House for Free Online Page B

through. He stopped in front of Bobby, his heavy-lidded stare examining the tats. Took him about five seconds, then he said two words and returned to his domino game on the porch. “Vice Lords.”
    One of the gang members whistled. Another said, “What the fuck.” They might not have recognized the tat, but almost all of them had heard of the East Coast gang headquartered in Chicago whose territory spanned the inner cities of the Midwest and the South. Older and stronger than the Crips and the Bloods, the Vice Lords had survived for fifty years and would probably survive fifty more.
    “You representing?” Lucy asked.
    “No way. I left the life five years ago. It was just a way to survive.”
    The gang leader seemed to like the answer. He pointed at the bunny. “They call you Nosebleed?”
    “Yep.”
    “Why?”
    “Cause when I get hit in the face, my nose bleeds.”
    “We all get nose bleeds.”
    “No. Every time I get hit in the face, I get nose bleeds. Stupidest damn thing. Whether it’s a five-year-old or a fifty-year-old who punches me—I get hit, I bleed.”
    Lucy chuckled, then turned and fired some rapid Spanish into the house. To Bobby he said, “Put on your shirt. We’re gonna go inside and talk for a minute. My grandma is in there so show some respect.” To Laurie, who still seemed a little stunned by the events that had transpired, he added, “Come on girl, my mother wants to see you.”
    With that he headed toward the house, Laurie and Bobby following close behind. By the time they passed the two old men playing a silent game of dominoes on the porch, Bobby had put his shirt back on.
    Inside, the smell of baking corn tortillas filled the cramped space. Everywhere were images of the Virgin Mary. Pictures, statues, books, 3-D nail art, even a powder blue velvet painting—all showing Mary in different states of divinity. Telemundo was on TV, but the volume was turned all the way down. An ancient woman snored softly in a lounger next to the empty couch.
    Seeing Lucy’s mother working in the kitchen, Laurie hurried into the other room. Soon the happy sounds of reminiscing drowned out the old woman’s snores. Lucy gestured toward the couch. Bobby took a seat facing the kitchen and the old woman in the chair. Lucy sat facing him.
    “That’s my abuela . You can talk in front of her. Even if she was awake, she don’t speak English.”
    Bobby finished taking in the room. Everything seemed so domestic, so normal. By looking inside the house, one wouldn’t know it was the headquarters of an L.A. gang. The image of the grandmother snoring over Lucy’s left shoulder was almost too surreal to believe.
    As if reading Bobby’s thoughts, Lucy spoke. “So what is it you want from us? The 8th Street Angels are local, so our power in L.A. is limited. We don’t like to project too far out. Most of the guys are kids. I give them jobs or things to do to keep them from doing something stupid and ending up in jail, or worse.”
    Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know how much you can help me. My problem is unique. I don’t know if anyone can help me.”
    “I told Laurie I’d help out if I could. I owe her, so you are part of the payback. Tell me what I can do and let me be the judge.”
    “Okay, here we go. I was raised in an orphanage in Memphis, Tennessee. I got a letter from the lady who took care of me after she died. The letter says my father was Elvis Presley and that he’d left his Double Platinum Award for Heartbreak Hotel to me as my inheritance. The award, a platinum anodized album inside of a picture frame, was stolen from the orphanage before I even knew what it was. I think I know who stole it. If I’m right, there’s a good chance the album is here in L.A. I was kind of hoping you’d be able to help me get it back.”
    A siren sounded close-by. Bass beats from the car out front thundered a hip-hop rhythm. Lucy glanced at his cell phone once, read the text message, then resumed staring at