kitchen in back. Jesus Pena. Most of the Pena children were light-colored, honey, like their father, with big moonlike eyes. But Jesus was a duller hue with more Asiatic eyes. He wasn’t their natural child. He was a boy I found eating raw flour from a five-pound bag. He’d been abused by an evil white man; a white man who had paid for his evil with a bullet in his heart. I brought Jesus to Primo and Flower. They kept him as long as I promised to take him back if anything ever happened to them. We’d drawn up the papers and Jesus was my godchild. I was proud of him, because he was smart and strong and he loved animals. The only thing wrong about Jesus was that he wouldn’t talk. I never knew if he remembered anything about his past, because I couldn’t get him to talk, and whenever I asked him about it he hugged me and kissed me, then he ran away.
“What’s wrong, Easy?” Primo asked.
“Somethin’ gotta be wrong fo’me to wanna see my friends and my godchild?”
“Something wrong if you got a jaw that big.”
It must’ve swollen while I napped.
“Got in a fight,” I said. “I won, though.”
Flower frowned at me. She jabbed the side of my mouth with her finger, and I nearly fainted.
“That’s infected,” she said. “You gotta see somebody or it’ll get bad.”
“Soon as I take care of some business.”
“That tooth going to take care of you,” she said, making her eyes big and round. The children all laughed and mimicked her.
“Okay!” Primo shouted, then he yelled something in Spanish and waved his hands as if he were making a breeze to blow the children upstairs.
At first the children resisted, but then Primo started slapping them and shouting.
Flower got them up the stairs and turned to see Primo waving at her. “You too, woman. Easy’s here to talk to me.”
Flower laughed and stuck out her tongue, then she turned and stuck her butt at us. She ran up the stairs before Primo could grab something to throw.
I pulled out the little glass bottle I’d gotten from Jackson Blue. There were five or six tablets left.
“What you taking for that, Easy?”
“Morphine,” I said.
Primo made like he was going to gag. “That’s bad stuff, man, I seen it in the war, in the Pacific. They give the boys that till they got the monkey on the back.”
The morphine was wearing off. I felt like there was a gorilla in my mouth.
“I got a serious problem, Primo. After I take care of that maybe I could see a dentist.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “What’s that?”
“Somebody been on my ass, man. I’ma have t’satisfy myself who it is, an’ then I’ma kill’im.”
“Who?”
“I ain’t gonna tell ya, Primo. If you don’t know nuthin’ then cain’t nobody blame you fo’nuthin’.”
I think that the lack of sleep, the pain, the morphine and liquor were all factors in my craziness then. I could tell that Primo thought I was less than rational, because he spoke softly and in short sentences. He didn’t laugh or make jokes as he usually did.
“So what can I do for you?”
“Me and my girlfriend, EttaMae, might have to get away after it’s done. I thought maybe you wanna take a vacation down in Mexico, back to that town in the badlands you always talk about.”
Primo loved to talk about Anchou. It was a town in central Mexico that wasn’t on any map; no one knew where it was but the people who came from there, or the rare few who were invited by one of the inhabitants. He once told me that the town was mobile; that if they knew trouble was coming they could pack up and move in just a couple of hours. But the Federales didn’t want to mess with Anchou. An Anchou woman, Primo said, would bite off a Federal’s prick and serve it to her man for a love potion.
“Why don’t you just go down to Texas? They won’t find you.”
“Cain’t. Government in this. They ain’t thought they gone to work ’less they cross a state border.”
Mr. Pena frowned at me for a while. He took a drink from his beer and then frowned at me some more.
I was massaging the hinge of my jaw.
“Take the pills, Easy,” he said at last.
I took three, washing them down with the beer Jesus had brought. There were three left in the bottle.
“Take the rest of them,” Primo urged.
“This is all I got left.”
“I got more. Take them so it really stops hurting.”
I downed the rest of the bottle, hoping that the aching would stop and I could sleep well enough to do what had to be done the next day.
“I’ve got five hundred dollars right here, man,” I said. I pulled a folded envelope from my back pocket and handed it to him.
Money always made Primo laugh. The more he had the more he laughed. He counted the twenties and tens I’d squirreled away in my walls. Every bill made his grin wider, his eyes glassier.
Maybe it was the dope kicking in, but I got a flash of fear that Primo was up to no good. Maybe he was in on all that bad luck I was having.
“You gonna help me, man?” I asked.
The fears must’ve shown in my voice, because Primo said, “Yes,” very seriously. He handed me a clay jug from the side of his chair.
“Tequila?” I asked.
“Mescal.”
I took a swig. I knew that it was potent liquor because I felt it even through the descending opiate haze.
Primo told me stories about Anchou.
“It’s an old town,” I remember him saying. “There was a chief there forty years ago who ran with Zapata before he was hung.”
Every now and again he’d reach out to poke my jaw. If I told him it hurt he’d pass the jug over. But after a while there wasn’t any pain.
Primo laughed too. After a while Flower came down and drank with us. She kept me company while Primo rummaged through some old boxes he kept in the corner of the large room.
“She’s a mighty fine lady, Primo,” I said when he came back. He had something like pruning shears in his hand.
“I found it,” he said.
“Yeah,” I continued. I heard him but I was too intent on my own purpose to heed. “I got a woman like’er down in one’a my buildin’s. She got a strong arm like yo’ woman here and she smell like sweet flowers too.”
I fell forward in my chair, trying to kiss Mrs. Pena on the lips if I remember right. I landed on her and got about as close as her shoulder. Then the room started spinning. I found myself on my back, on the floor with Flower above my head. She was pinning my shoulders down with her considerable weight.
“… my cousin was a dentist in Guadalajara many years ago. I kept his tools,” I heard Primo say. My stomach was flopping around, and I would have followed it but for Mrs. Pena’s grip.
“Open wide, Easy,” Primo was saying. He held my nostrils closed with one hand as he held the deadly-looking shears in the other. But they weren’t shears really, they were more like streamlined pliers with an extended, toothy clamp at the nose.
“This is the one,” Primo said as he frowned.
That’s when I started fighting. I couldn’t yell because of that damned tool and I couldn’t turn away because of Flower’s hold. But I bucked. I humped and bucked under Primo like he was my first love. I fought him and bit until all the fight went out of me and I felt something far off in my mouth like boulders rolling around in there.
Jesus Pena was squatting down next to my head. He was staring intently into my face. When he saw that my eyes were open he smiled. I saw that he was missing a tooth, and I moved my own tongue toward the pain in my mouth; at least toward where the pain had been. What I found was a bitter-tasting gauze.
I sat up and spat the wad of cheesecloth to the floor. Jesus jumped back like a frightened kitten. The cloth
