Free The Gatekeeper by Michelle Gagnon Page B

we’re going to use that to buy ourselves some time.”
    “How?”
    “There’s this ancient Malaysian board game, men versus tigers. The men win if they can surround the tigers and block their movements. Right now, that’s our game plan.”
    “Yeah?” Randall eyed him skeptically. “How do the tigers win?”
    Jake pulled off his jacket. “Too many questions, Doc. Just pay attention while I go over everything.”
     
    Kelly winced as Emilio sustained another cuff to the head. He sullenly sank deeper into the chair as the middle-aged woman beside him let loose with another tirade. Kelly had no idea what was being said, but the tone was clear enough. Even Rodriguez looked mildly uncomfortable.
    When they arrived at the door with Emilio in tow, still trying to jerk out of their grasp like a fish on a line, his grandmother grabbed him by the ear, dragged him to the couch, and launched into an impressive verbal assault. It was rare for someone under five feet tall to be intimidating, but Celia Torres was the exception to the rule. It took a few minutes to get a word in edgewise. When Kelly asked her to come down to the station, Celia’s brow darkened with fury. She cast a menacing look at Emilio, snatched an enormous purse off the counter, and marched out to their bu-car. In the backseat en route to the station, Emilio had opened his mouth twice to speak. Each time he was silenced with a sharp look from Celia. Kelly was concerned that upon arrival they might discover that Celia had summoned a lawyer for her grandson.
    But then they got into the interrogation room. Apparently Celia had more than a rudimentary understanding of how to play bad cop, along with a strong flair for theater, neither of which she was afraid to use. Whenever Emilio had the audacity to say something in his defense, she went so completely ballistic they almost had to call in assistance. And the minute Rodriguez mentioned a gang connection, Celia spent ten minutes threatening to do things to Emilio that apparently didn’t bear translating.
    After an hour of this, Emilio was a far cry from the posturing punk they’d chased down. His chin quivered, eyes filled with tears. Celia had switched tactics and was mumbling to him in Spanish. Rodriguez occasionally leaned over to translate. “She’s saying he broke her heart,” he mumbled. “Man, she’s good.”
    Kelly had to agree, it was an Oscar-worthy performance. Clearly someone watched a few too many telenovelas. But it was having the desired effect on Emilio.
    Celia finally sat back and said thickly, “He ready to answer your questions.”
    “Great.” Kelly sighed, feeling like she’d been through the wringer herself. “So, Emilio. Where were you yesterday morning?”
    “In school.”
    “School says you never showed. We called and checked.”
    A small growl from Celia. Emilio avoided her eyes. “Yeah, okay. I didn’t go.”
    “Where were you?”
    “Sí, Emilio. What was so important you miss school, break a promise to your abuelita? ” Celia hissed.
    “Nothing.” Emilio shrugged. “I just…I didn’t feel like going, yo.”
    Kelly held up a hand to stave off Celia’s response. “Here’s the thing, Emilio. There was a raid on an MS-13 house in your neighborhood yesterday. I’m guessing you heard about it?” He shrugged noncommittally. “One of the guns we found was used in a serious crime. And they’re claiming that gun came from you.”
    Emilio paled visibly, and Celia sucked in her breath. “Guns! No no no, not my Emilito.” She cuffed him across the head. “See the trouble? This why I tell you, stay away. But no, you want to wear everything blanco and azul.” She shifted her attention back to Kelly. “These boys, the gang? Filthy Salvadorans. I always tell my Emilio to stay away.”
    “Well, Emilio didn’t listen. We found his fingerprints inside the house. And on the weapon.” Rodriguez threw a closed file on the table. It would be hours before forensic results came