38. Second Heartbeat

It was the next day at noon, a Saturday. The Alibi was open, but pretty much empty except for the handful of masochists that liked to punish themselves with the coffee and baked goods Anita served during the daytime hours.

Dora had avoided Jason for the past few days. Her body was literally telling her she needed time away from him, so she listened. The general antibiotics Lara's fiancé Dr. Tom prescribed her wouldn't wipe out the infection completely until the lab work came back and he could give her something more targeted.

"You look like a corpse, Dee," Rochelle said, noting Dora's pallid skin and dark droopy eyes as she approached. "You sure you should be here?"

"Yeah, tell me why you look like Lydia from Beetlejuice," Carla teased.

"Because I'm basically dead," Dora groaned. "Or at least I feel that way."

"Why not stay home and rest?"

"Couldn't miss this." Dora slumped next to Carla in the booth. "It's my duty as a big sister to help plan my little sister's quince."

"We're not going to catch whatever you have, are we?" Carla asked.

"It's just a stomach bug, so chill," Dora lied.

Holly caught Dora's eye and gave her a privy expression—she knew exactly what she was going through. Dora rolled her eyes, finally realizing why Holly knew surprising details about her and Red Hood. It wasn't gossip—Holly could simply read people well.

"Speaking of Lydia from Beetlejuice," Holly said, smiling, "remember that red dress she wore at the end of the movie?"

"Oh my god, I loved that dress," Carla said, and jabbed at her phone. She held up an image. "This one, right?"

"I know saw one kinda like it in the Vermilion's dressing room," Holly said. "We could alter it for a better fit and style."

"My mom would never let me wear something like that to my quince. The dress is supposed to be pink or white or blue. At least that's what our cousins wore to theirs."

"It's your day. You can wear whatever you want," Dora said, yawning. "I did."

"What do you mean? Mami's got pictures of you in a rose-colored dress on the mantle. It's the girliest shit I've ever seen you in."

Dora rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Don't remind me. That was my first quince party. Mami and our aunties planned the whole thing by the book. They loved it, but for me it was a fucking nightmare. They were all constantly bugging me for not smiling enough, not dancing better. I hated it so much, Dad let me have a do-over. I wore frock in gray and black plaid to the second one. It was a karaoke party here in the bar. Less dancing, more moshing."

Carla eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'm half his kid, so Dad convinced Mami there was no harm in blending their cultural traditions. He never got to rep Scotland with her around. And then he made her promise not to be so strict with your and Mercy's quinces."

"Wow. Thanks, Dad." Carla sighed. "Fuck, I miss him."

Dora bit her lip. "Don't get sentimental on me. I feel shitty enough as it is, don't add grief on top of it all."

"And speaking of ghosts," Holly said, pointing at the door. "Isn't that your uncle?"

Dora looked up and saw Reilly enter the bar—carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Carla lit up. "Holy shit, Uncle Reilly? I haven't seen you since I was in elementary school! Dude, you got old! And fat!"

"Ouch! And do you know how much you've grown, chiquita?" he said, pulling her into a hug.

Carla returned the hug. "I know, I was there. Are these flowers for me?" She reached for them.

"Actually," Reilly smirked, pulling the flowers behind his back and producing a rolled wad of cash. "This is for you." He switched to Spanish. "Fifteen hundred dollars for fifteen years."

Carla gawked as Reilly placed the wad in her hands. He then gave the bouquet to Dora. "The flowers are for you."

"Me?" Dora hesitated taking them, not sure what to do. She wasn't the type that liked or even knew anything about flowers. "Um, thanks? What's the occasion?"

"Rojito said you weren't feeling well. He wants to see you, but knows you're catching up con la familia, so he sent me with these instead."

"Rojito?" Carla said. "Is that the boyfriend you won't tell me about? Are you finally getting laid? Tell me about him!"

Dora glared at the two of them, trying to manifest Superman's heat vision.

Holly and Rochelle shared a glance. They both begin babble on about useless offhand details.

"What's to say… he likes the color red, I think?"

"He's got more abs than I have fingers to count."

"Raúl!" somebody yelled.

Dora cringed, knowing exactly who it was. They had said Reilly's given name in a perfect Santa Priscan accent.

Anita walked out of the kitchen with all the energy and gravitas of a professional wrestler making her entrance, her stone cold gaze directed at Reilly. He winced, looking at Dora like a man on the gallows.

"Thought she didn't work afternoons," he said.

"If you had come just fifteen minutes later, you would've missed her," Dora said, pinching her fingers together. "Sorry."

Anita pointed at the flowers. "Que es esto? Y quien es Rojito? What kind of a name is that? And what the fuck are you doing here?" What's this? And who is Rojito?

Dora shoved the flowers under the table. "Mami…"

Anita held up her finger. "I asked Raúl."

"Um…" Reilly sighed in such a way that told Dora he was used to this. Dora smirked—she was too. "Uno; flowers, obviously. Dos, Rojito is a mechanic that works for me. Tres, the guys call him that because his name is actually Red. Y cuatro, I'm here to wish my god-daughter a happy birthday." He counted each answer off on his fingers—with a bit more attitude than Dora would have dared if she was addressing her mother in his place.

"This fuckboy named Red, is he part of your pinche club?"

"Um… no," Reilly lied, blinking too much.

"Y es su novio?" And he's your boyfriend? Anita reeled on Dora. "How'd you get involved with a deadbeat grease monkey?"

Dora couldn't meet her eyes. She wanted to deny it, but a partial truth would be easier to sell. "He… fixed the Impala?"

"Ah, si. Y pagaste con su…" And you paid with your… She made a gesture at Dora's waistline.

"MAMI!" Dora exclaimed, the heat in her face getting so intense she felt dizzy.

Carla snorted, smiling with amusement—then Anita snatched the wad of money out her hands. "Hey!"

"You were gone five years, Raúl," Anita snapped at him. "What gives you the right to come back now?"

"I'm their godfather, and Monty's gone, so it's my duty…"

"Don't you play that fucking card. You brought out the worst on Monty, and you'll do that to my girls too. Look, you already got one fucking around with a scumbag motor-head loser just like you."

For a split second, Dora saw a vein pulse on Reilly's temple, and the lid of his bad eye twitch. Then Reilly unleashed a volley of Spanish at Anita that left her shook. She was not used to people matching her ire. Reilly grabbed the wad of money back from her and tossed it over to Carla, at the same time taking a step toward Anita and imposing his height on her. He wasn't a tall guy, but Dora's mom was really short. It didn't matter, because Anita responded to his intimidation by stepping closer herself, chin up, and spitting back a torrent of Priscan slang and curse words Dora could barely understand. For Dora, it was like a telenovella playing out live.

She, Carla, Holly, and Rochelle all exchanged uncomfortable glances and slid out of the booth, giving Reilly and Anita the space they needed for their verbal brawl. At the bar, Rochelle whistled and said, "Holy shit, Dee, your mom's savage. Haven't seen her chew someone out like that since… well, your dad."

"Never seen your mom like this, period. Firecracker, aint she?" Holly grabbed a bowl of peanuts and gestured between Carla and Dora. "You two make more sense now."

Dora looked at Carla and frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Smirking, Holly said, "Nothing."

"Okay, but why does your mom hate Reilly so much?" Rochelle asked.

"Well, if it isn't obvious, my mom knows Reilly is a member of the Street Demonz, and she didn't think it was cool that my dad was friends with a criminal, when we'd always be getting extorted by them… But…" Dora paused, looking back at the two. "After talking to Reilly lately, now I think another reason was that he reminded my dad of his time in the Marines… and all the friends they lost while serving. She thinks it made him drink."

Rochelle followed her gaze and arched an eyebrow. "Is it just me, or are you guys picking up any… uh, sexual tension?"

"What?" Dora blurted. "No fucking way."

"Oh yeah, big time," Holly said, narrowing her eyes at the two. "You don't argue with someone like that unless you want to fuck them… or used to fuck them."

"Ew. Reilly was my dad's best friend. He's my godfather."

"So?" Holly said, popping a mini-pretzel into her mouth and waggling her eyebrows. "Taboo romance. Makes it hotter. Don't act like you don't know, Dee."

Rochelle and Carla both wheeled their gazes on Dora.

"Chismosa, fucking stop," Dora said, rubbing at the tension mounting between her eyebrows.

"I bet there's something there," Rochelle offered.

"There isn't, so drop it."

Carla grimaced. "Actually… you don't know the half of it."

Dora did a double take. "What do you mean?"

"They did date for a while."

"What?"

"It's complicated." Carla shrugged.

Dora just gawked at her. "Explain."

"As much as I want to hear this, I think that's our cue to leave," Rochelle said, pulling Holly away by the arm.

Holly smirked, taking the bowl of mini-pretzels with her. "Toooold you," she teased, flicking a pretzel at them.

When Holly and Rochelle were out of earshot, Dora leaned towards Carla. "Are you telling me they had an affair?"

Carla arched an eyebrow. "I don't know, actually. Is it an affair if it's not technically cheating, but they still hid it from everybody? Or tried to, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"It was after Mom and Dad's divorce," Carla explained. "Why do you think Dad never spoke to Reilly again?'

"Shit," Dora said, realizing that Reilly had omitted an important truth… which felt like he lied. "How come you know this and I don't?"

"Well, the custody agreement. I was with Mami, you were with Dad. I guess Dad never told anyone because he was embarrassed. After Reilly, you were Dad's best friend."

Dora looked back at Reilly and her mom, who's argument was still going strong—boisterous enough that some customers had begun to leave. When Anita noticed this, she spat one last remark at Reilly, slapped him, and stormed off into kitchen. Dora was beginning to have suspicions why they broke up… but now she was more interested in how they got together. "I'm gonna go to talk to Reilly, cool?"

Carla shrugged, saying, "Good luck unpacking that mess." She rejoined Rochelle and Holly.

Dora swung by the bar, grabbed two beer bottles from the cooler, and popped the caps off.

Reilly was rubbing his reddening cheek as Dora approached him, offering a bottle. "So you and my mom, huh?"

"Is it that obvious?" Reilly took a grateful swig from the bottle and held it up to his cheek. His teeth were red. Dora was starting to think her mom used a closed fist when she hit him.

"Obvious to everyone but me apparently. Carla had to fill me in."

Reilly sighed and reclined into a booth. "Before I did prison time, Monty was my best friend and so was your mom. You remember all that. But… Monty and I both got in deep with the Odessa Mob—me running scrips, your dad with the loan sharks. I got caught and went to prison. Your dad got divorced and went to the bottle.

"Five years later, when I got out, Monty was a different person, closing himself off to everyone. Anita was the only friend I had left that wasn't an ex-con. Monty was ignoring both of us, so… two single and lonely 40-somethings …"

"Yeah, I can do the math." Dora popped open her own beer. "But my mom doesn't approve of you being a criminal. What was different back then? What changed her mind?"

"Well, she was okay with me being an ex-con at first. But the romance kinda cooled off when Monty found out about our relationship." Reilly took a long draw from his beer. "What made it finally fizzle out was when I was patched as an officer of the Demonz. As treasurer, I helped broker a deal between the Demonz and the Odessa Mob, running guns and scrips."

Dora gasped. "Reilly, you didn't. Did you know that Kosov was extorting my dad?"

"Yeah, of course I knew. For what it's worth, I was trying to use my leverage to make Kosov ease off your dad, help him get out from under. But it wasn't good enough for your mom. She still loved your dad, even if she wasn't in love with him. Dating her ex's best friend… who was also cinching his noose? Yeah, that was too much guilt for her." Reilly sniffled—Dora had not noticed that he was crying a little. "For me too." Reilly looked at her with watery eyes. "That debt… killed him. I fucked up, Dora. I'm so sorry."

Dora moved seats, and hugged him. "Listen… Reilly, it's not your fault." She really believed that. "My dad made those decisions for reasons beyond your control. He hit rock bottom, yeah… but he recovered. You didn't get to see it, but he was in a good place, before…" Dora swallowed. Before Black Mask. "He was going to AA, working the steps, he and my mom were getting along…"

"Do you think…" Reilly cleared his throat, masking a sob. "If Black Mask didn't… Do you think we could've been friends again?"

"Time heals those kinds of wounds. It's just… my dad's time was cut short, before he could mend things with you. It wasn't your fault. I think you guys would've gotten there."

"You think so?"

"I think so." Dora said sincerely. "No matter what happened between you, my dad never reneged on you being my godfather. And for some reason, neither has my mom so… seems like you're stuck with me and Carla. Step up if you wanna make it up to him."

#

Dora carried a basket with her to the community garden across the street from the Park Row Clinic. The garden was a project funded by the Wayne Foundation, so it was a verdant clearing in the concrete labyrinth of Park Row, with many rows of brick planters growing all kinds of produce. The garden also featured a small park and playground to encourage families to bring their little children and create bonds with the rest of the community. Dora would take Mercy and Carla here for egg hunts on Easter, pumpkin picking on Halloween, grocery shopping on Thanksgiving, and for trees on Christmas. Beyond that, it was always a quaint place to hang out during her lunches when she worked at the clinic.

Stopping by a booth full of golden apples, Dora bought a mason jar of fresh cider, sipping to cool off and soothe the knots in her belly. She was still feeling ill, so although it was a temperate day, she worked up a sweat walking from her car. She took the drink to a picnic table nearby and checked the contents of her basket—a dozen homemade pasteles, a traditional Santa Priscan dish her family made with yuca, chicken, garbanzos, raisins, and peppers, among more subtle ingredients. She and Mercy had worked together to make them, using their abuela's recipe, trying their best with minimal backseat cooking from her mom. Dora had already had a couple and thought they had done a fair enough job. She had put a few aside to share with Jason, but the bulk was here for Lara, as a thank you for taking care of her.

"Those pasteles smell delightful, even from here," someone said, approaching Dora from behind.

Ice trickled down Dora's spine. It wasn't Lara.

Leslie came around and sat on the picnic bench across from Dora, holding her own mason jar of cider. "Good afternoon."

Dora stayed tight-lipped. She had no idea whether to feel betrayed or anxious, scared or angry. She had told Lara to meet her here precisely so they wouldn't accidentally run into Leslie at the clinic. Did Lara rat me out? No, she wouldn't… would she?

Leslie placed her purse on the table, pulling out a paper bag and manila envelope. "So Carla's been attending the NA meetings. Anita says the bar is doing well."

Dora finally settled on feeling annoyed and spoke up. "Surprised you talk."

"Mercy's pediatrician works out of the clinic, so of course we walk. Your mom's happy you're spending more time with the family."

"Well, I finally have the free time."

Leslie took a sip of her cider while scanning their surroundings. They were fairly distant from other people, so she said, "Yeah, Anita mentioned you hired more help for the bar, no doubt because of the windfall from Red Hood."

Dora sighed. Here comes the judgment.

Leslie continued. "Your mom says you spend the day with your family, but you stay out almost all night, every night. Are you hanging out with the Red Hood gang?"

"What I do on my nights off is none of your business; you're not my mother." Dora crossed her arms. "And even if you were, I'm a grown woman."

"Yet you sneak around like a stupid teenager. Did you think I wouldn't find out? Last month, a biker came in riddled with bullet holes, wouldn't stop talking about a short Priscan girl that triaged him on a pool table. A few days ago, several Golatian immigrants came to the clinic, mentioning that a man in a red helmet sent them there."

"I didn't care if you found out."

"Because you were looking forward to never running into me again?" Leslie said. "That hurts, Dora."

"I just don't like the way you criticize me."

"I'm trying to help you."

"And I'm trying to help people," Dora countered. "Red Hood's trying to help people too."

"What about the massacre he left behind in Blüdhaven? It was all over the news. Do you call that helping people? Wholesale murder?"

"Those were human traffickers!" Dora said through gritted teeth, trying to control her volume. "They were enslaving those refugees we sent you! You saw the condition they were in."

"So you're a vigilante now, like him? It's your job to right all the wrongs in the world?" Leslie leaned forward. "Don't you see how he's influenced you? The more time you spend with him, the more laws you break. How long before it all catches up to you?"

"For the last time, who I spend time with is none of your business!"

"Really? Well, as your doctor, I need to know if these late night escapades are why you needed an STI work up." She pushed the envelope toward her. No doubt the results of her lab work. "His whores come by the clinic for the very same thing."

Dora cringed. "You are not my doctor."

"Really?" Leslie scoffed. "Because thanks to you and Red Hood, it seems like I'm everyone's doctor in this neighborhood. What have I told you about sleeping with strange men?"

"Ew, stop. I'm not sleeping with strange men. Red Hood and I have been…" Dora paused, doubting herself even as she said, "… faithful. I know him better than anyone does in this city. We've been careful. We protect ourselves."

"Apparently not careful enough." Leslie locked gazes with Dora. "You're pregnant."

Notes

*mike drop*

Song Reference: "Second Heartbeat" by Avenged Sevenfold

Version 41.1