Under the Skin

been fired and now had an arrest record for various felonies. He figured the police would find it easier to charge him with killing the Avilas than to believe his story. He’d stretched out on the sofa to ease the pain in his gut and to think things over but he must’ve passed out. When he came to, he could tell that it was late in the day. His belly hurt bad but the bleeding had slowed down to an ooze. And then he was out again. The next time he opened his eyes, there I was.

Well hell. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how fast things can change.

What I wanted to know was why the Avilas hadn’t told me the goddamned truth?

Because she told them not to tell anybody, Rocha said. She came up with the stuff about being orphaned and the Picachos being her godparents, and the Avilas went along with it because she said the truth was too complicated and shameful and didn’t matter to anybody around here anyway. Besides, who the hell was I they had to tell the truth to? All they knew about me was I was a pistolero with gringo eyes. They were afraid of me.

She wasn’t. Why didn’t she tell me?

Christ sake, she was a woman—who the hell knew why a woman did anything? He gave a raspy chuckle and said maybe she trusted some guys more than others.

I asked if that was why he’d stayed in Galveston—in some longshot hope that she’d give him a tumble.

He said to go to hell. Maybe she would’ve, if I hadn’t shown up with my goddamn fancy clothes and boots and cars.

I said if he was waiting for me to apologize for spoiling his plans he was going to bleed to death first—and we both grinned. Then his face clenched in pain, and I got busy.

I called Rose from the Casa Verde.

The phone picked up and he said, “Yeah?”

“Youngblood.”

“Why the hell aint you here?” He said LQ and Brando had told him about how smooth the Dallas job had gone. He sounded tickled pink.

I said I’d be there but I was with a guy in bad need of a doctor who wouldn’t ask a lot of questions or pull the cops into it.

“What? Bullet?”

“Knife in the belly. Bunch of other cuts.”

“One of our guys?”

“No, just a friend.”

There was a second’s silence on the line.

“Warrants?”

“No, but he’s Tex-Mex with a record and he’d be an easy fall guy if they connect him to the thing. Double killing. The guys who did it are long gone.”

“Cops onto it yet?”

“No. Once the guy’s safe I’ll phone the cops with an anonymous tip about the bodies.”

“Christ, Kid, what the fuck company you keeping? Hold on.”

It took about fifteen minutes but it seemed like an hour before he was back on the line and saying my guy was cleared for admission to the hospital and nobody there was going to be asking the wrong questions or calling the cops.

“Just tell the guy at the emergency desk your man’s name is Johnny Garcia. They’ve got him down as a driver for Gulf Vending and he’s coming in for an appendectomy. All taken care of. And listen: soon as you drop him off you get your ass over here. We got something here belongs to you.”

Up in the Studio Lounge LQ and Brando were at the bar with Sam. They waved me over and I saw Sam say something to the bartender. A bottle of beer and a double shot of tequila were waiting for me when I got to the bar.

LQ and Brando had been drinking since they’d turned in the collection money to Mrs. Bianco and they were loudly happy and slightly buzzed. Sam was in high spirits himself. He clinked his shot glass against mine and said, “Nice going, Kid. Here’s to success.”

He ordered another round for all of us and said, “Hey, fellas, what do you call a woman who’s having her period and owns a crystal ball?”

We looked at each other and shrugged. “We give up,” LQ said.

“A bitch who knows everything.”

He said for us to come on and we followed him to the office.

Rose was at his desk when we came in. He took three envelopes from a drawer and handed them to Sam and Sam passed them out to us. Each envelope held ten fifty-dollar bills.

“A little something to show our appreciation for a job well done, fellas,” Sam said. “Enjoy.”

I hadn’t told LQ and Brando about the bonus and they were happy as longshot winners. I slipped the envelope into my coat pocket. All I wanted now was to get going.

But then Rose said to me, “So? Who’s the guy in the hospital? Friend of yours, you say?”

I’d intended to have a good story to explain Rocha if I had to, a story that wouldn’t promote too many questions or involve mention of Daniela. But on the way over from the hospital I’d had other things on my mind. All I could think to say now was, “He’s the cousin of a friend. They’re damn grateful for what you did.” I hoped that would get me off the hook for having to know anything more about the guy. The last thing I wanted was to get into a discussion about any of it.

“Come again?” Rose said. “I pulled strings to help a guy who’s not even your friend? Hey, Kid, I aint in the habit of doing big-time favors for just anybody.”

“I know. Like I said, my friend’s grateful. Me too.”

“I get it,” Sam said. “This friend of yours…it’s a girl, right?”

If I said no, I’d have to invent some guy on the spot, and I wasn’t up to it. “How’d you guess?” I said, smiling big. But now I was going to have to give them some of it.

“When a guy does something for no good reason, there’s usually a girl,” Sam said.

“It’s kind of a rough story,” I said.

LQ and Brando had started for the door but paused and gave me a curious look at Rose’s mention of some guy in the hospital. On hearing about the girl, they exchanged a look and sat down on the small sofa. Sam lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. Rose tapped his fingers on the desktop.

Except for saying they were cousins and that I’d met them at a neighborhood party and taken a shine to them—especially her, I said, waggling my eyebrows to show what a casual thing it had been—I told it pretty much as Rocha had told it to me. Why not? But I didn’t clutter it up with a lot of detail. I said it turned out she’d been kidnapped in Mexico by some rich guy and finally got away from him and came to Galveston with Rocha. They were staying with friends of theirs named Avila. Last night a couple of goons who must’ve been the rich guy’s muscle busted into the house and grabbed her. They killed the Avilas—dead witnesses tell no tales—and tried to kill Rocha too but only left him in bad need of a doctor. If I hadn’t shown up when I did, he probably wouldn’t have made it. Or if Rose hadn’t got him in the hospital without the police getting involved.

LQ and Brando were watching me closely.

“I gave the cops a call,” I said. “They’re probably at the scene right now, but they won’t get much. It’s a neighborhood where nobody ever sees anything, even if they do. Anyway, I figure those two are over the border by now.”

“With the girl,” Rose said.

“I guess,” I said.

“Some story, Kid,” Sam said. “You weren’t kidding about rough. You knew the people who got it?”

“Yeah. Nice folk.”

“Jeez, tough break for them.”

“Goes to show you can’t be too careful who you take in under your roof,” LQ said. “Come on, Ramon, I could use a drink.” They got up and went out.

I started to get up too, but Rose said, “Hold on a sec, Kid,” and waved me back down in my chair.

“I better go press the flesh,” Sam said. “Make sure everybody’s drinking up and staying happy.” Then he was