Page 70 of Shameless in Vegas

“Hola, manito,” Isla chirps over the Bluetooth with a small laugh. “What are you—”

“Hey, put your douchebag on the phone.”

She scoffs. “Wow,rude. Okay, give me a second.”

There’s a small flurry of activity and muted voices before Malachi speaks.

“What is wrong, Joaquin?” he says in a tone so bored that I’m surprised he doesn’t yawn.

“Hey, Mal. I have a—”

“How many times do I have to tell you tostop calling me that?” he snaps.

“You know what, I don’t give a fuck,” I retort, “I got a fuckin’ situation that’s way more of a problem than what the fuck I call you, so listen up,Duke-bag.”

Malachi utters a bored sigh. “What is it then?”

“I need the name and number of your P.I.”

“What?”

“Your fuckin’ private eye,” I repeat. “The dude you hired to watch thosecholosthat were stalking Isla. I need his number.”

“Oh.” There’s an extended pause. “Well… I can give you his number, but I can assure you he doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because thosecholosmurdered a couple of his best men when they were getting information for me,” he explains with another long sigh. “He told me not to contact him again.”

“Then I’ll just pretend I don’t know you. Gimme his friggin’ number.”

“Whydo you need his number so badly, Joaquin? What is going on?” Malachi hesitates a beat and then speaks in a lower voice. “Is something going on? Has the cartel contacted you? Does Ernesto—”

“I can’t fuckin’ tell you right now, bruh. I just need the fuckin’ number, Goddamn.”

There’s an even longer pause. “Fine. I’ll text it to you. But if you want any semblance of assistance from him, do not mention my name, and if he asks, you heard about him from someone else.”

“Thanks.” I reach for the button to hang up. “Be nice to my sister, Mal.”

“Stopcalling me—”

I end the call as I hook a left to get on the road that leads to the Washington Bridge so I can make my way into Manhattan. I don’t think Natalia would actually go to the condo, and she told me to stay away from it, but I have to at leastcheck. Malachi’s text message comes through a minute later, displaying the P.I.’s name and number on the screen in the dashboard, and that guy’ll be able to find her. I heard Malachi and Papá talking about him enough that I know he’ll be able to find something that’ll lead me to wherever it is she’s gone.

It’s just as I’m pulling onto the avenue where the condo is located that another text pops up on the screen.

It’s from Natalia.

For your own good, do not try to find me.

I immediately dial her number again. It rings over and over and over before rolling to voicemail. I try again. I try a third time.

The fourth time I try, it goes straight to voicemail, which means she turned off her phone.

And that’s fine.

Fuckfor my own good.

There’s only one thing that’sfor my own goodanymore.

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