Grace played the recording.
Static filled the courtroom.
Then Mateo’s voice.
I had not heard it in thirteen years.
For one terrible second, I was back in the restaurant.
Mateo laughing while he fixed the dishwasher.
Mateo bringing homemade tamales on Sundays.
Mateo telling me his daughter had received a college scholarship.
Then Victor’s younger voice came through the speakers.
Clear enough.
Annoyed.
Mateo said, “I’m serious, Victor. That regulator is failing. We need the replacement assembly.”
Victor replied, “Monday.”
“We cannot run it through Saturday.”
“We can.”
“I’m locking it out.”
“You are not locking anything out.”
“Somebody could get hurt.”
Then Victor laughed.
The same laugh.
Almost exactly the same laugh he had used that morning when he called me a pack mule.
“I have three hundred reservations tomorrow,” he said. “You think I’m losing fifty grand because a fryer is making noises?”
