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panties and a tank top. Sadie’s mother had been a beauty queen from a respected family. Stella’s mother had been a nanny from a long line of undocumented workers. One time when Stella had been about ten, she’d thought it would be funny to run into her mother’s house and yell, “ La Migra! La Migra! La Migra! ” She’d never seen her stepfather or uncles move so fast. Especially Jorge, who’d bailed out the window. When everyone realized the border patrol wasn’t really coming, she’d gotten in big trouble. In retrospect, she understood that maybe it wasn’t the best of jokes.
    She crawled into bed and nestled into her feather pillows. Even as a kid, no one thought she was as hysterical as she did. G.I. Joe hadn’t thought she was funny. If she ever did meet Sadie, her sister probably wouldn’t think she was funny, either. Or maybe, just maybe, her sister would share her sense of humor. It had to come from somewhere.
    Stella turned on the television across the room. She found a Two and a Half Men rerun with Charlie Sheen before his “winning” and “tiger’s blood” antics. She was positive she wouldn’t fall asleep for a long time and was surprised when she opened her eyes later and sunlight spilled into her bedroom. On the tube, Jerry Springer acted like he gave a damn about the two women beating the crap out of each other over some redneck. She turned off the television and looked at the clock. It was a little after nine A.M. She had slept for only five hours, and she turned on her back and tried to go back to sleep. Her eyes drifted closed but flew back open as someone pounded on her door.
    She lay still. Maybe it wasn’t her door. Bam, bam, bam . Yep, it was her door, but it couldn’t be the property manager. She’d paid her rent on time. If she didn’t answer, the person would go away. She closed her eyes, but the pounding continued.
    “Crap.” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. It was probably Malika, her friend from work, and she stood and moved across the room to her closet. She reached inside and pulled out her short red kimono robe. She was certain everyone had heard about Ricky by now, and she was sure Malika would want the details.
    Although Malika really should have called first, Stella tied the red belt around her waist and walked down the short hall. The closer she got to the door, the more she realized that Malika wouldn’t pound so hard. One of the things she didn’t like about her apartment, aside from the cheap carpet, was that there was no peephole in the door.
    “Who is it?” she called out.
    “Lou Gallo.”
    “Who?”
    “Ricky De Luca’s associate.”
    Crap! Lefty Lou. Ricky’s friend with the thin black comb-over and missing left thumb. “What do you want?”
    “Just a word,” a new voice provided. Probably Ricky’s other friend. The square one. The one as wide as he was tall. Fat Fabian. “One question and then we’re gone.”
    “Just one?”
    “Yeah.”
    She didn’t believe them and left the safety chain on as she opened the door a crack. “What’s your question?”
    “Where’s your boyfriend?”
    “What boyfriend?” Through the crack she could make out Lou’s tropical guayabera and his sweaty neck.
    “The one who hit Ricky last night.”
    “He isn’t my boyfriend. I never saw him before.”
    “Right,” Fat Fabian scoffed. “Who was he? Give us a name and we’ll go on our way.”
    “I don’t know his name.” She had his card. She could give it to them and they might leave her alone. She’d be off the hook, but she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t know Joe, but she did feel a smidge of gratitude toward the guy. Although there might have been a better option than knocking Ricky out.
    “Ricky wants you to come to the bar.”
    “Okay.” She had no intention of ever going anywhere near Ricky De Luca. “I’ll get dressed and drive over.”
    “No. You come with us now.”
    Not going to happen. “Sorry. Can’t