Do They Know I'm Running

There was a lull in the kitchen. Happy dared a glance over his shoulder. Hilario was wiping his hands with a towel, Osvaldo lit up a smoke. El Recio stepped into the doorway, looking skeletal without the snake.

He approached slowly, almost wearily and Happy wondered what depths got tapped in the torturing of a child, then recoiled at his own phony righteousness. A birdlike hand reached out, resting on Happy’s shoulder.

“Didn’t have time to tell you,” El Recio said. “Finally got word about Lonely. Now, what I heard, it’s like secondhand, thirdhand, some don’t even make sense, all right? But word I got is damn near his whole clique went down.” His lips were drawn. A vein the size of a night crawler throbbed on the side of his shaved skull. “Cops sent the riot squad in, storm-trooper shit, snipers and dogs and choppers overhead, shut the whole barrio down, went door to door like it’s fucking Baghdad. You know how those assholes love a show. Lonely and ten other dudes, slammed with gang beefs and that’s like no bail, no luck, no hope, know what I’m saying?”

Happy had expected this explanation. It was most likely true and thus the perfect lie. The weightless hand lifted off Happy’s shoulder, vanished into a pocket, reappeared with an asthma inhaler. Two quick pumps: bob of the Adam’s apple, hiss of albuterol. He didn’t seem particularly short of breath. Maybe he just liked the taste.

“And here’s the shit, guey. Way I hear it, this Guatemalan comandante your cousin got tangled up with, this clown named El Chusquero?”

“I know who you mean.” Happy worried his hands around the tejuino bottle, the rough glass reassuringly solid. “We had to wire down money to pay him off.”

“Yeah, well, he’s the one who made the call. Maybe it’s bullshit, you know how some of these idiots think, but this is what I’m hearing, all right? Supposedly this El Chusquero cocksucker got fucked out of some deal by your cousin, they was supposed to take some boat up the Mexican coast or some shit-”

“I heard about this, look-”

“Just listen, all right? Your cousin and uncle, they skipped out, last minute, and this El Chusquero asshole said: Okay motherfuckers, try this. He picked up the phone, tapped some old pals in uniform down in El Salvador, called in a favor, whatever. And the hammer came down.”

Another thumb-punch on the inhaler, eyelids fluttering, a clenching swallow of mist.

“So, like, even if you did have some deal with Lonely, it’s useless now. I swear to God, I never heard word one, never saw a fucking dime, and now I’m not gonna, no matter what. Sorry, just the way it is.”

He slipped the inhaler back into his pant pocket, rubbed at his eye. From the kitchen, ragged sobs.

“Checalo, there’s guys who seriously want to fuck your cousin up, given all the shit that came down back in San Salvador.”

“Look, Roque’s not perfect, I get that.” Happy again had to bite back mention of his father’s death. “But way I hear it, Roque turned down this El Chusquero to honor the deal with Lonely. So why’s he in the shit for that?”

“Law of unintended consequences, just the way it is. Besides which, there’s some girl supposedly in the picture too. I never heard about this till yesterday, some chick Lonely sent up to gain a little juice with Don Pato.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“You don’t need to know. I need to know. Right? Just like I need to know who ropes the pollos, who rounds up the guias, who watches over the safe houses and makes the bribes and launders the money. I need to know all that because they rely on me. They rely on me to enforce the motherfucking law, right? You need to know one thing-what I tell you.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I’m just making a point, okay? Don Pato knows about this girl coming up with your cousin. He knows what’s supposed to happen. I don’t make it happen, I look weak. I can’t afford that. I look weak, next day I’m dead.”

Happy realized finally what El Recio was saying. “I don’t know why Roque would have a problem handing this girl over.” Thinking: Now who sounds weak?

“Things happen, you know? I hear she’s like crack for the eyes, guey, and she’s got a voice. You know how all the big shots down here wanna be sung about. You’re nothing unless there’s a corrido on the radio pimping you up. There’s talk this pichona and your cousin, like, connected or some such shit.”

“You want me to talk to Roque, explain what the deal is?”

“When the time comes. Maybe, yeah. Meanwhile I got some bad news on another front.”

Osvaldo appeared in the kitchen doorway, a disheveled silhouette, and made a chittering sound with his tongue and teeth. El Recio, without turning, gestured for patience. “Momentito, cabron.” Reaching again into a pocket, this time he withdrew not the inhaler but a small plastic bag of salted plums called saladitos. They smelled like something plucked from the inside of a pig and brined in lye. He lifted one to his mouth, tilted the bag toward Happy, shrugged when the offer was declined, then continued. “This Arab dude you wanted to bring across. There’s a problem. An American showed up last week, frumpy motherfucker, kinda fat with crooked glasses, lugging this big old briefcase with him, he met up with Don Pato over dinner at El Gallo. Again, okay, I don’t know everything, but the fat guy was, like, way interested in this friend of yours and some kinda deal got made. Just so you know, the Americans are pissing blood over the way things are down here. Too many bodies, too much news about it, and the news is, like, freaky. They’re willing to go with a winner, even tip their hand, pick a favorite, if it means things calm down. None of this is official, it’s all secret- handshake spook shit, but whoever the winner turns out to be-and this guy was here to say they’d be happy with Don Pato-he’s gotta understand, we can’t be moving ragheads across the border. Them, we turn over to this frumpy fat motherfucker and his people. Hear what I’m saying?”

He saved my life, Happy thought, wondering if he should believe that anymore. “What happens to him after you turn him over?”

“Not your problem, guey.” The skeletal hand returned to Happy’s shoulder, a lingering squeeze. Deep in their sockets, El Recio’s red-veined eyes warmed. “You stepped up tonight. I wanted to see you carry your weight. You done good. You’re part of the picture now, right?” He licked bits of saladito off his teeth. “You got no place to go to up north, there’s serious heat on you there. And there’s people down south now want your fucking head, or your cousin’s head. Yours’ll do in a pinch, hear what I’m saying? Best idea you got, stay here with me. Don Pato, the others I mentioned, they’re serious cats-run the whole goddamn show, this stretch of the border. Anything moves across, it’s got their brand on it, otherwise you die. I do what’s necessary, they watch my back. Same thing with you and me. Be cool, stand up, don’t give me nothing to worry about, I’ll look the fuck after you. I’ll get your cousin across. The rest can’t be helped.”

From the kitchen doorway, Osvaldo made his tetchy little sound again. The mother was mewling hysterically behind her gag. Hilario backhanded her but she wouldn’t settle down.

“Back to business,” El Recio said, stuffing the bag of saladitos back in his pocket. “We’ll talk more over breakfast.”

THOUGH THE WATER WAS TEPID THE SHOWERS FELT LIKE LUXURY-first Lupe, then Roque, finally Samir, each of them scrubbing off the grit and stickiness and toweling dry in the small spare room, nothing but a twin bed for furniture. What else was needed, given its usual hourly occupants? Bergen took a room for himself, Pingo would sleep in the van. The tally of money owed was inching upward-three hundred dollars per person for the ride, which Bergen said would barely cover gas, even at Pemex prices, then the room, food. They’d already pooled their money and handed over what they’d had, the rest being due on credit, for which Roque gave his address, the names of both Tia Lucha and Lalo as guarantors of his debt. Bergen had never promised charity but it all added up so fast. Still, Roque supposed, better that than paying out to some salvatrucho or pandillero who’d just keep the shakedown going forever back home. He got it now, it wasn’t just that nothing was free. The moment you agreed to pay, you opened the door to hell. Bergen was simply a friendlier breed of devil.

Lupe joined him outside and they sat together beneath a roadside mango tree, gazing through the darkness and the day’s last traffic at the fishing fleet moored to its lantern-lit docks. The breeze carried the scents of sea salt and beach rot and the echoes of beery laughter.

– We should have gone for a swim before the shower, he said.

Using both hands, Lupe spread her damp hair to let the wind help dry it, lifting her face toward the starlight. The bruising from Lonely’s beating had all but healed.-It’s stupid to swim at night. You can’t get your bearings.

– There’s plenty of light from the bar, the docks.

– The waves can be dangerous. Her voice was adamant, almost shrill.-I heard of a woman whose neck was broken just a few months ago and she was a very strong swimmer. The