Stevan Mena - Transience

“You sure you don’t wanna know the sex?”

Patricia looked at her proud, wide-eyed husband, lost in the moment. “We’ve waited this long.”

“We want it to be a surprise,” Robert said, finishing her sentence.

“Like opening a present.”

“Well, he…or she, is doing excellent. Size, weight look normal for 34 weeks. You wanna hear the heartbeat?”

They both nodded. The nurse turned a dial and the electronic squelch of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room. Robert gently squeezed Patricia’s hand in silent triumph.

Martha lifted the device off her stomach and draped a towel across. She winked at Robert, who took the hint and began gently wiping his wife clean. Martha wheeled the machine over to the wall and grabbed a paper towel to wipe her hands. “I recommend you stay close to home from here on in.”

“Oh, we have our route mapped and everything,” Patricia said. She pulled Robert close and planted a firm kiss on his lips, embarrassing him.

On the drive home, Patricia had an overwhelming feeling of optimism; she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. The world was perfect for a moment. She looked across at Robert, driving extra cautiously, which made her smile widen even more. She placed her hand on his leg and tapped it a few times.

Soon other thoughts began entering her mind, from baby proofing the furniture, to vacuuming the rug and other mundane everyday tasks. And they were having a baby shower in a few days. Then there was the packing for the move, calls to make, paperwork, mail forwarding. Slowly, reality started creeping back in.

“You know, my mom’s so upset about the move, she’s treating this get together like a damn funeral,” Patricia said.

“She can always visit,” Robert said, not really listening, deep in thoughts of his own.

“You know she won’t get on a plane.” Robert pumped his eyebrows, victoriously. Patricia frowned and looked out the window. The clouds passed in front of the sun, graying out the blue sky. “You go see Jack?” Robert’s smile lost its luster. She knew what that look meant. “It doesn’t matter.”

Robert suddenly seemed preoccupied with driving, evasive. “This is a very positive moment in our lives. If your brother doesn’t want to be a part of it, that’s his loss. You tried.”

A string of bells hanging on the door rang out as Jack entered Rivera’s Auto Repair Shop. It was lively inside, the busy sound of pneumatic tools and banging wrenches shouting back and forth. He leaned over the grimy counter to peer into the garage. A Hispanic man with thick salt and pepper hair, wearing faded red overalls, came in and placed a set of keys on a cork board hook. He swiped a customer’s credit card through a reader and waited.

“I’m looking for a Mr. Rivera?” Jack said.

“I’m Rivera,” he answered, not looking at Jack. The machine buzzed and spit out a receipt. He tore it off and stapled it to a form. When he turned to face Jack, Rivera could tell immediately he wasn’t there to have his car repaired.

“I’m looking for Victor Rivera,” Jack said, his voice implying this older gentleman could not be the man he was looking for. He placed the picture of Victor and Carmen on the counter to emphasize his point.

“Where you get this?”

“You know him?”

“He’s my son.”

“Is he here?”

“He’s under the lift, he’s working.”

“What’s your name?” Jack asked.

“Alfonse.”

“Alfonse, I need to speak to Victor.”

Alfonse wiped his mouth with his dirty hand, not moving. Jack couldn’t tell if he was ignoring his request, or if he didn’t understand. Jack flashed his detective’s badge.

“Can you ask him to come out, or do I need to go in and get him.”

Alfonse poked his head into the garage. “Victor!”

“Qué?” a voice called out.

“¡Vete aquí! Ahora!”

Another patron entered the waiting area; an old caucasian man with ghostly white hair and pale skin, visible blue veins on his hands and neck.

“Como esta, cabrón!” The man greeted Alfonse, clearly not his native tongue. Alfonse didn’t return the greeting.

“Your car is ready,” Alfonse said flatly, not taking his eyes off Jack. The old man leaned on the counter and looked Jack over.

“Ha, I told you if ya keep ripping people off you’d get busted. He uses gray market brake pads and tells you they’re factory.”

“Shut up,” Alfonse said.

“You gonna run him in, copper?” the old man said, snickering.

Jack leaned in to Alfonse. “Have Victor meet me out front.”

Jack stood outside in the cold. All the other storefronts were either auto repair or body work. A tiny boombox played merengue across the street at a car wash.

Victor pushed open the door and came out with his shoulders back and chest out. Upon seeing the serious look on Jack’s face, he relaxed his muscles and put away the bravado.

“Victor?”

“Whatchu want?”

Jack flashed his badge, wasting no time with small talk. “Detective Jack Ridge, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“What about?”

“Carmen Muniz.”

Victor blinked, confused. He looked at the ground and nodded a few times. Jack could read a person from their first reaction to confrontation. Victor’s body language said he wasn’t hiding guilt. It was regret. Sorrow. No doubt he’d read the papers.

“You two knew each other.”

“Yeah, a little.”

“You were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“No. I wanted that. She didn’t.”

“She didn’t want to be your boyfriend?”

“No — she wasn’t… we only dated a few weeks. She was a little loco.”

“How so?”

“Had a relationship with God. You know?”

“What do you remember about the night she disappeared?”

“I figure she just took off. Mother had a loose wire. Shit. Just fucked up.”

“Were you with her the night she disappeared?”

Victor got defensive. “No. I broke it off a few weeks before.”

“Why?”

“Long time ago, man. Had no patience back then.”

“I don’t understand,” Jack said. Victor put his hands in his back pockets and twisted in place, trying to put it into words.

“…She was a delicate flower.”

“How do you mean?”

Victor rolled his eyes. “An appetizer, no fun. A…prude?”

“Okay.”

Another worker poked his head out of the garage. “Victor, what weight?”

“10 w 30.”

“He’s got 40 in there now.”

“That’s wrong. Too thick.”

“What?”

“Gimme a minute!”

Jack held up his fingers signaling two minutes . The man mumbled something under his breath and went back inside.

“What else do you remember?”

“She used to paint… so beautiful. Damn, some fucked up shit, man.”

“Yeah, fucked up. Where did she like to go, hang out? Do you remember?”

“Nowhere. School and back. I remember…she won some contest once, they hung her picture in the gallery at the Rec Center downtown. Dragged me there once.”

“Can you tell me where it is?”

“Hamilton, next to the Library.”

“Thank you Victor, I won’t hold you up any longer.” Jack turned to leave.

“Am I a suspect?” Victor called out to him. Jack looked him up and down.

“Of course you are.”

Teresa Mason’s apartment was on the third floor of a six story apartment building. There were five other tenants on her floor. She checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pulling her hair back to swap her cheap everyday earrings for gold ones — a gift from her mother at Christmas. She’d never worn them before.