Billy in jeans, jean jacket, old cowboy hat, beard. Wanders alleys and backstreets. Around Old Albuquerque. Not so quaint. Debris and garbage. Dirt streets. No sidewalks. Every step a dust cloud. Cracked walls. Busted windows. Graffiti.

  Two months here. Ready to quit this. Re-think strategy. Back to Los Angeles?

  Passes Indian Center. Used to be gas station. Awning, no pumps. Ghost of a sign. “Rowen’s Texaco and Transmission.” Hears a voice. Stops to peruse bulletin board. Next to open door. Cars and motorcycles for sale. Bands looking for musicians. Musicians looking for bands. Home massage. Babysitters. Opportunity to become millionaire working at home. Lost dogs.

  Listens to voice inside.

  “We must know how old you are.” Delano talking to ancient Indian. Raisened skin. Milky eyes.

  “The government will send me a present for my birthday?” Mummified Indian asks.

  “Please think.” Delano pleads. “This space must be filled in.”

  Delano waves form.

  Inside a few used desks. Mismatched chairs. Copy machine. Young Indian women at most desks. Delano at biggest desk. Piled high with paperwork.

  “There was a war. When I was born.” Old man lisps. No teeth. “A great war, they said.”

  “This was when you were born?”

  The old man nods slowly.

  “Do you know who we were fighting?”

  “We didn’t fight.” Old man shrugs. “It was a white man’s war.”

  “Try to remember. Did you father tell you stories about this war?”

  “Teddy Roosevelt fought.”

  “Hey!” Delano hollers. “Anyone know when the Spanish American War took place?”

  Delano waits for a response. The women look at each other.

  “1898, 1899.” One of them. Chubby girl with glasses. “Maybe ’97.”

  Delano shrugs. Fills in form. He looks up. Out the door. Billy turns away. Walks.

  Delano first one in. Last one out. Every day. Helping Indian winos, elderly, teenage runaways, poor mothers, jobless. Redemption work? Billy doesn’t care. Billy watches.

  Delano closes shop. Late. Locks up. Walks to pick-up. Dodge Ram beater. Billy steps behind him. Hiding behind dumpster. Two-by-four to Delano’s head. Thunk.

  Delano wakes in a hole. Night. Moon overhead. Plywood walls. Four feet by four feet. Eight feet high. Rebar grid at bottom. Feet chained to rebar. Padlocked.

  Delano knows where he is. Inside foundation form. Used to work construction. Sound of truck overhead. Fat rear of cement mixer loom over hole. Gravelly swish-swish, grind-grind of wet cement as barrel revolves.

  Billy appears. Aims cement chute into hole. Leans down.

  “Why’d you roll over on me and Catalina?”

  Delano just blinks.

  “Was it Blue?”

  Delano stays silent.

  “Your own fucking sister?”

  Still nothing. Billy disappears. A clank. Cement starts to flow into pit. Delano backs away. Can’t. Leans against wall.

  Billy reappears.

  “Why?”

  “Money,” Delano says. Watches cement creep up legs. Cold. “So you sold me.”

  “For a good price. The Wop wanted you bad.”

  Cement up to waist. Delano raises hands clear. Stares into Billy’s eyes. “You loved her.”

  “I cried for her.”

  Cement reaches Delano’s chest. Scared now. Cement rises to neck. Stretches his head. Strains to be taller.

  “Who’ll cry for you,” Billy asks.

  “It wasn’t me! I wasn’t me! It was Blue! He got…he…”

  The cement reaches Delano’s face. Billy tries to kick chute away. Too heavy. Dashes to switch. Yanks. Off! Back to hole.

  Only Delano’s hand shows. Billy reaches. Remembers Delano’s chained feet. Digs for padlock key. Presses key into Delano’s hand. Hand grasps key, goes under.

  Billy waits. For a long time. Nothing moves. A bubble emerges from cement surface. Swells. Bursts.

  Blue sits. Back against a dead tree. Brown paper bagged bottle between legs. Clothes filthy. Shiny with grime. Hair lank, matted. Mouth agape. Eyes seeing God. Maybe Usen.

  Billy watches him. Inside a bar. Across the street. Through the front window. Plastic sunshade turns outside sepia. Like watching a movie.

  When did Delano lie? When did he tell the truth? Was he lying to protect Blue. Then changed his mind. When death was close. Or lied trying to save his life?

  The bar was cool. Outside an oven. Blue didn’t seem to mind. Bundled in filthy layers. Blue doesn’t seem to mind anything. Billy watched him get rained on. Watched mean sun bake Blue.

  The bar was dark. A cave. Dusty floor. Dirty windows. Billy drinking Nehi. Chilled bottle. Cold makes teeth ache.

  Men sat at bar. Cowboy boots. Straw hats. Nursing beers. Very little talk. TV on. No sound. No one watching.

  Billy is tired. Beyond fatigue.

  Two people enter bar. Blast of daylight blinds Billy. Glances at them. No threat. Woman and child. Billy contemplates bottle’s sweat rings on tabletop.

  What to do about Blue. Billy has a pistol in waistband. What to do.

  Woman stands at door. Skinny. Dried up face. Child fresh faced. Sad. What twenty years can do. Kid five or six. They walk to a booth. Man drinking shots. Billy watches.

  “Jerry, it’s time to go.” Woman small voiced.

  “One more.” Man growls. “Told ya to wait in the car.”

  “It’s hot in there,” the boy whines.

  “Jerry, you’ve had enough.”

  “Shut up bitch. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Jerry, please.”

  She is answered with a slap.

  Everyone turns. Then turns back. Minding their own business.

  The woman cries. Tears down her cracked skin. The boy sees his mother weeping. Begins to cry along.

  “Stop yer bawlin’, ya little snot.”

  The boy sniffles. Man grabs his ear, twists.

  “Shut up!”

  The boy squeals. Jerry backhands him.

  Billy walks over.

  “Don’t do that,” Billy says.

  “Mind your own beeswax.” The man looks at Billy. Acid washed blue eyes. Bloodshot. Tan line across forehead.

  Billy shoots him.

  One shot. Chest. Knocks Jerry back. He looks at Billy. Surprised. Starts to rise. Billy shoots him again.

  The woman screams. Billy turns to the boy. Kid is stunned. Mother grabs boy. Wraps him. Protecting.

  Billy looks around. Everyone stunned. So is Billy.

  “Fuck,” he says. To himself.

  Bartender reaches under bar. Billy moves pistol bartender’s way. Bartender changes his mind. Raises hands slow. Backs up.

  Billy backs to front door. Eyes on the swivel.

  Outside. Blinks in the sun glare. Steps to black Corvette. Drives off.

  Past Blue. Blue is oblivious.

  Billy drives north. Highway cleaves the desert. He drives fast. Top down. Hot wind dries his tears.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Another bar. Billy’s life. A history of bars. This one – Billy’s bar. Actually, no name.

  No sign out front. No phone listing. Just a bar. People knew about it. Enough. The Gringos’ bar. If anything.

  Another country. Mexico. U.S. border three hundred feet from Billy’s window. He could see it. Watched it every day. Didn’t cross. Not in years. But watched it. At his table. His back to the wall. Drinking.

  Started drinking. Drunk for three months. From bar to bar. Zaragoza, Galeana, Ascension, Palomas. Woke up in this one. Owner a lunger. Looking to sell. No buyers.

  Billy sobered up. Enough to venture back north. Dug up caches. Seven states worth. Maybe more out there. Couldn’t remember. Bought the bar. And drank.

  Not drunk no more. But never sober. Cultivated a haze. A numbness. Deadened.

  Put in a whore. Upstairs. Next to his room. Put in a jukebox. Downstairs. Played music he liked. Fuck everybody else. All American music. Fuck ‘em.

  Had his favorites memorized. Lifted the top. Punched free play button. Richie Havens doing Dylan. Perfect.

  Played the jukebox. Drank. Watched the border. Reads. Books he already read. Travis McGee, Dash Hammett, Ross Thomas.

  “Got the cases all stacked.” Jorge. Fifteen. Odd job boy. A long line of boys. This one eager.

  Billy nods.

  “Drain on the ice machine is clogged again,” Billy tells him.

  “Shit. Okay. After lunch?”

  Billy nods.

  “Want something?” Jorge asks.

  Billy shakes his head. Hardly eats. Skinny now. Meat, bone and sinew. Eyes sunken. Looks like that lunger. Maybe it’s the bar. Haunted, he heard one of the whores say.

  “Inez!” Jorge calls out. “Lunch! Edgar?”

  Inez looks up from her magazine. Soap opera stars. Pretty but plump Inez.

  “Where you going?” she asks.

  “Colonel Sanders?” Edgar suggests. Old man. A regular. Dyed hair pitch black. Dyed mustache. Surface of the moon acne scars.

  Jorge collects money and orders.

  Billy watches him go. Little Honda 90. Kicks up rooster tail of dust. Dusty worm hangs in the air. No wind. Just heat. Billy keeps the bar cold.

  Caddy crosses border. Big pink land yacht. Convertible. Top up. Three men.

  Approaches slow. Parks out front. Three sets of eyes contemplate bar. One slips a hand under jacket. Scratches armpit. Jacket in this heat?

  They enter bar. Cowboys. Boots. Croc and snake. Fancy belts. Big belt buckles. Cowboy hats. Feathered hat bands. Leather vest with conchos. Suede jacket, arrow pockets. Levi jacket, brand new. Drugstore cowboys. Boots never touched horseshit. They swagger. Strut. Big dick walk.

  “Who owns this here roach trap?” Leather vest stares down Edgar. Edgar stone faces it. Seen it all. This, too. Survived them all.

  “I do.” Billy speaks soft. But they hear. Leather Vest walks over. Cowboy heels hard on floor. Other two bracket Leather Vest. Leather Vest sits at Billy’s table. Other two sit.

  “We get us something to drink here?” Suede Jacket demands. Doesn’t ask. These types never ask. Billy sees hint of leather under armpit.

  “Stupid question number one,” Billy says, nods to Edgar. Leather Vest doesn’t like smart ass answer. But laughs anyway. Polite bastard.

  “Three beers. None of that Mexican coon piss. And make them fucking cold.” Suede Jacket calls out.

  Levi Jacket eyes Inez. She crosses her legs. Shows some thigh. Reflex. Never hurts to advertise.

  Edgar puts three Buds on the bar. Clunk. “Beers up!”

  “Well, bring ‘em over here, boy.” Suede jacket calls. “Didn’t figure this was some kinda self service.”

  Inez grabs the bottles. Totes them over. Leans over. Demonstrates cleavage. Grand Canyon cleavage.

  Billy just watches Leather Vest. Suede Jacket’s itchy armpit.

  Levi passes around beers. Smiles at Inez. Wolf teeth grin. “Thanks brown eyes.”

  “You like my eyes?” Inez working it.

  Levi sticks finger out. Pulls down blouse elastic. Peers into valley of breasts.

  “I love your eyes.” Levi laughs at own joke. Inez removes his hand. Playful like. “Cost you a dollar to look.” Inez all coy.

  “What’ll I get for twenty?”

  “More than you can handle.” She sashays away. A pro. “For thirty dollar, heaven on earth.”

  Levi turns to Leather Vest. “Sarge?”

  “Sure Cecil. Wet that wick.”

  “Pussy hound.” Suede growls.

  Levi/Cecil stands. Wraps arm around Inez. “Where we do this?”

  “I got a room upstairs.” She leads him by the hand.

  Leather Vest gets to business.

  “Richie Reyes said you could introduce us to some interesting people.”

  “He did?” Billy rises. Walks to bar. Leather Vest and Suede follow. Billy steps behind bar. They try to go with. Edgar blocks them. Leather Vest shrugs. They take stools.

  Billy dials the phone.

  Jorge returns. Three KFC boxes. Passes one to Edgar.

  “Where’s Inez?”

  Edgar points to ceiling.

  “Her chicken’ll get cold.” Jorge opens his own.

  “She won’t be hungry.” Leather Vest leers. “She’s getting’ a healthy hunk of tube steak.”

  He and Suede dirty laugh. Jorge sets his jaw. Takes a stool far away. Edgar eats chicken. Billy stays near horse’s cock shotgun under bar.

  Answering machine picks up. Billy dials another number.

  Suede squints at Jorge.

  “These greasers don’t got no sense of humor ‘less they’s settin’ dogs afire or somethin’.”

  “Reyes.” Filtered voice on phone.

  “Three men here,” Billy tells the phone. “Cowboys. Leather Vest, Mister Suede and the boy from Levi’s.”

  “Sarge and Cecil,” Leather Vest says.

  “Joe Tarpsman,” Suede says.

  “I don’t want to hear no fucking last names,” Billy barks.

  Tells phone, “Sarge, Cecil and some asshole.”

  “You know what they say.” Reyes laughs. “The bigger the buckle, the tinier the dick. One of them gringos got a tattoo on his left arm? A skull, ‘Born To Lose’? Ain’t that the fucking truth. The fucker wearing suede. In this heat.”

  Billy grabs Suede’s left arm. Slides up the sleeve. Tat like Reyes says. Crude. Prison probably.

  “Oh, shit,” Leather Vest says. “Almost forgot. Bartender, a bag of them peanuts.”

  Edgar tosses. Leather Vest catches. Pockets.

  “They been bonafided?” Billy asks phone.

  “As best can be done. They were regulars of Garcia’s. Not no more. Garcia got dead.”

  “Garcias’s dead?” Billy didn’t know. “Hazard of the job.”

  “Not this kind of dead.” Reyes laughs. Reyes good natured. Unless crossed. “Garcia got drunky. Passed out in a puddle on the way home. Drowneded. In, like, three inches of water. Ain’t that a bitch.”

  “Stupid way to die.”

  “Tell me a smart one.” Reyes hangs up.

  Billy hangs up. Leather Vest grins.

  “Now can we do some business?” he asks. “You tell your people that I don’t want no boo. Just the nose candy. I got me one hundred and eighty large and I expect⁠—”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Billy smiles. “I don’t talk deal. I don’t do your business for you. I just set you up with a meet with the people who do.”

  “Okay, okay. Swear to Christ, you people got more middlemen than the fucking government. Should have known you weren’t the main man.”

  A feral grin. Waiting for Billy to snap at the bait. Join the wolf talk. Billy considers it. He doesn’t like Leather Vest. But he doesn’t like a lot of people. Wants to go back to his window. His drink. His numbness. Leather Vest making him feel something. Pissed off. But it’s still a feeling.

  Leather Vest waiting. Wants to go fist city. Billy doesn’t use his hands. Sawed off does the work for him. Doesn’t have to decide.

  Inez comes tumbling down the stairs. Rolling. Bumpety-bumpety-bump. Half wrapped in a sheet.

  “Bitch!” Levi’s/Cecil comes after. Shirt open. Belt flapping. Fly at half-mast.

  “Come back here you goddamned whore!”

  Inez catches herself halfway down stairs. Levi’s/Cecil kicks her. She tumbles rest of the way. Thumpity-thump-thump. Sprawls. One tit out. Curses him in Spanish.

  “Stupid cunt.” Levi’s/Cecil spread eagled over her. “I paid for that hole. I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.”

  Levi/Cecil bends down. Slaps her. Once. Twice. First in the face. Second in the tit. Inez squeals. Curls up. Ducks the next blow.

  Jorge rushes over. Grabs Levi’s/Cecil’s slapping arm. Suede dropkicks Jorge. Nut kick. From behind. Jorge collapses. Clutches nuts. Vomits KFC and Coca-Cola.

  Levi’s/Cecil and Suede kick at boy.

  SNAP-SNAP. Everyone freezes. Everyone knows that sound. Shotgun round being chambered. Edgar aims sawed off pump. The cowboys stare. Shotgun muzzle big as 55-gallon drum.

  “You want to ease up on my employees,” Billy says, quietly.

  “Leave the greaser, boys.” Leather Vest orders. Turns to Billy. “When we getting’ our business rollin’?”

  “We’ll be at the Best Western. White side of the border.” The cowboys amble toward the door. Suede walking backward. Hand aimed at armpit.

  “Hold it,” Billy says. Again quietly.

  The three stop. Six eyes on the shotgun.

  “You owe me,” Billy says. “For the beers.”

  “And the peanuts,” Edgar adds.

  Leather Vest sneers. Pulls out wallet. Chained to his belt. Withdraws a bill. Balls it up. Tosses it at Billy.

  “And I’ll take a Coke to go.” Smiles. Friendly smile. Evil intent in eyes. Billy grabs Coke from cooler under bar. Tosses it to him.

  Leather Vest catches. Mister Cool. Two finger salute. Saunters out. Other two follow.

  Billy waits. Give them time to change their mind. Muster some courage. Load their guns.

  Engine starts. Billy watches Caddy roll past window.

  Turns to Inez, Jorge. Boy’s eyes filled with hate. Some directed at Billy. You’re responsible, those eyes say.

  Six hours to mull it over. Six hours at the window. Jorge stewing in his own juices. Getting drunk. Fueling a fire with Tequila. Inez watches her brother. Worried.

  She joins Billy. Bump on her forehead. Cut on her chin. Lip swollen. Holding ice to it.

  “You must stop him.” She whispers. “He is talking crazy talk.”

  Billy doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look her way. Semi-truck passes through border crossing. Then a van. A car full of college kids. Box truck.

  “You can stop him.” She won’t go away.

  Billy watches bus come through. Migrant workers. Inez slaps back of his head. He looks at her. He can take a hint.

  “Look at me when I talk! This is important! He will be killed or he will kill somebody. Just as bad. I still die inside. He is my brother. Do something.”

  “None of my business.”

 

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