'Just once, dammit,' Paco said.
The plywood wall shook and slid back. When it was halfway across a woman appeared from behind, got at the other end and shoved it some more.
As we drove past her, I saw that she was in her late twenties, tall—over six feet—and dark-haired. Attractive. Wearing a jogging suit with a blue jean coat over it. The coat couldn't keep you from noticing she was a bodybuilder. She looked a trim one seventy and her muscles hopped like rabbits when she moved.
I looked back and saw that she had hold of the plywood and was backing up, pulling it into place.
I glanced at Leonard, and he raised his eyebrows.
I took a deep breath. I could feel my hands fluttering on my knees. Howard's Adam's apple was working slightly and Trudy was watching me intently, her breath audible.
'Park here,' Paco said, and pointed at the concession stand. We parked and got out. Howard and Trudy took the towels off their guns. More professional that way. The cold rain beat on our heads and drenched us to the bone. I found myself looking at where the old drive-in screen had been. I wished it were ten years ago, and I was here for a movie.
Paco went into the concession by himself, came out a minute later. 'Come on.'
We went in. It was dry inside but very cold. There was all manner of rubbish on the floor: beer cans, condoms, old popcorn bags, candy wrappers and a pile of turds that might have been human or animal.
We went past what had been the concession counter and into a room that had a faded sign above it that read OFFICE. Inside there was an old cheap desk made out of what they called pressed wood, but was little more than hardened cardboard. On the desk was a battered black porkpie hat and a frayed black umbrella. Behind the desk was a man sitting on an upright soft drink crate. Through the opening his feet and legs were visible beneath the desk. He was long and lean, dressed in black slacks with hightop black tennis shoes. His red and black plaid shirt poked out over a vanilla wind-breaker. In spite of this light attire, he didn't look cold. Quite the contrary. He had black hair cut short and greased and combed back. He wore a pair of thick-lensed glasses with square black frames. The nose bar and the left wing of the glasses were wrapped with thick white tape. The eyes behind the glasses seemed huge. They were black as his hair and only slightly less oily-looking. He smiled and showed us he was missing some teeth in the right side of his mouth. His face was slightly flushed and pimpled with sweat. He looked as if he were running a fever that was trying to break.
We were all stuffed in the little room and now the muscular woman came in, shook her wet hair like a dog. She had one hand in the pocket of her coat. She leaned in the corner, pulled a leg up and bent it so that the sole of her foot was pushed against the wall. Her face held no more expression than a wax dummy.
'Hey, the revolutionaries,' said the man behind the desk. 'Que Pasa. How the fuck are you?'
'We're all right,' Howard said.
'Glad to hear it,' the man said.
'We'd like to deal quickly,' Howard said.
'Sure,' the man said. 'But let me introduce myself. . . Ah, fucked up. Ladies first.' He nodded at the Amazon. 'That shapely piece of meat is Angel. Me, I'm Soldier. I want you to remember that, know who you're dealing with. Case things don't go down the way you like, you can, come to me and say, 'Soldier, things aren't to my satisfaction.' And I can say, 'Fuck you.' '
I glanced at Leonard. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. Howard and Trudy still had their guns but they weren't pointing them at us anymore; they held them against their legs.
'Do you know what I'm saying here?' Soldier said.
Howard looked at Trudy, and I saw his left cheek jump. Trudy's lips made a thin white line. Chub moved over near the wall Angel was occupying. He was between her and the desk. Paco moved to the right of Soldier. He had his hands in his coat pockets and was looking at the dirty, paper-littered floor.
'Nobody knows what I'm saying?' Soldier said.
'No,' Trudy said. 'We want to deal for the guns. That's all we want. You give us the guns, and we give you the money. We got to see the guns first.'
'You do.' Soldier looked at Paco. 'Hear that, they got to see the guns first?'
'I hear,' Paco said.
'You got guns,' Soldier said. 'All you got guns, 'cept for this one'—he pointed a finger at me—'and the nigger. Right?' He looked at Paco. 'They're the dumb assholes helped find the money, aren't they? That right? I got 'em picked? I know I got the nigger picked. He's the only nigger in the bunch. Black man, you called him. Black my ass. I know a nigger when I see one.'
'Yeah,' Paco said. 'That's them.'
'My folks brought me here when I was fifteen. Moved down from Jersey to get here where you spear-chunkers know your place. And you're worse here. Everything's gotten so goddamn . . . What's the word, Angel?'
'Homogeneous,' Angel said.
'That's it, goddamned homogeneous. You got your best Ku Kluxers up North now. Southerners, they've come to think a nigger's all right. Turns my stomach.'
'Hating a person because of their skin won't solve anything,' Chub said.
'Shut up, Chub,' Paco said.
Soldier looked at Chub in surprise. It was as if he had just seen a miracle. 'Who the fuck asked you to talk?'
'Not everyone feels like you do,' Chub said.
'Not now, Chub,' Paco said.
