The Dead Women of Juarez

“I’ll think about it.”

Urvano shrugged.

“How about I get back to you next week?”

“This place isn’t going anywhere.”

Kelly lingered. A few of the other fighters emerged from the back with their hair still wet from the showers. “Okay,” Kelly said. “Thanks.”

“You could fight all right, you stop getting hit in the face,” Urvano told Kelly. “You’re not too old yet.”

This time Kelly had nothing to say. He left the gym and stepped back out under the sun. His hands shook a little. He realized he didn’t recognize any of the buildings here, or the names of the streets.

He was too tired to run anymore. He oriented himself by the light. North to the border was as constant as a midnight star, and all points in Juarez were judged by their relationship to Texas, though the land was no less flat, no less dry, no less hot.

A dented old working truck loaded with teenaged boys cruised past. Kelly felt predatory eyes on him and the truck slowed. He didn’t look them in their faces, but he didn’t turn from them any more than he’d turn from a pack of feral dogs.

The truck dragged on another twenty feet and then the driver gave it the gas. One of the boys in the back tossed an empty bottle in Kelly’s direction and it smashed in the crater of a pothole. “?Maricon! ” the boy yelled and the others all laughed.

FIFTEEN

KELLY PAID HIS RENT REGULARLY and on time, which was more than many could afford even with a steady job. The men who ran the maquiladoras liked to say that they paid more than the average worker could ever hope to make outside the factory and that was true, but factors balanced out when apartment space grew short and prices for food and rent rose.

The landlord didn’t seem to care where the money came from so long as it came, so he didn’t bother Kelly back when he mounted his heavy bag on the balcony. Nor did he come around when Kelly bought a metal pipe from a scrapyard and figured out a way to make a pull-up bar out of it with nails and screws.

Today it was nearly one hundred degrees and the air was paper dry. Kelly perspired putting the pipe up, but he never felt hot; his sweat wicked away almost as quickly as it came.

He didn’t hear Paloma at the front door or her key in the lock. He saw her shadow against the window and got down from the milk crate he used as a stepladder. “Hey,” he said, “come see.”

She came onto the balcony looking pretty and tanned and smelling faintly of something sweet. Kelly grabbed the pipe and did a half pull-up to show off. The pipe stayed in place.

“I thought you were going to that gym,” Paloma said.

“Yeah, but I want to get more workout time at home.” Kelly wiped his face with the back of his arm. His skin felt hot. “You thirsty? I got some Gatorade in the fridge.”

Kelly served up lemonade-flavored Gatorade in plastic glasses. His refrigerator was clean inside and the cabinets in the kitchenette were neat.

They retired to the couch. Paloma watched him over the rim of her glass. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Good. It’s working out.”

“When are you going to fight?”

“I don’t know. I have to talk with Ortiz.”

Paloma frowned. “Why Ortiz?”

Kelly looked back over his shoulder to the balcony. He could just see the pipe. It could take his weight, so now he just had to get out there and use it. “Urvano doesn’t have the juice to get me booked in sanctioned fights.”

“And Ortiz does?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You should stay away from him, Kelly.”

“Don’t start with that again.”

“You don’t know the things about him that I know.”

“Then tell me.”

Paloma shook her head. “It’s not time for that. Just… stay with Urvano. He’s a good man. Not like Ortiz. And besides, Ortiz won’t be around for much longer.”

“How’s that?”

“When people find out what he’s into, he’ll be gone.”

“How are people going to find out? You going to tell them?”

“Maybe.”

Kelly rubbed his eyes and pushed away a burgeoning headache. “You’re just talking crazy. I was thinking I could fight under another name. Ortiz has some pull with the right people; he can get them to book me without too many questions.”

“I’m telling you, Kelly, Ortiz knows all the wrong people.”

“Will you cut it out? All I need to do is make it in. That’s the hard part.”

Paloma nodded as if to herself. She put her empty glass aside. “You can do it,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned in to kiss him and everything else fell away. Kelly found wells of that sweet smell behind Paloma’s ears and at the base of her neck and she breathed deeply when he kissed them. In the bedroom he lay her back and went between her legs with lips and tongue, tasting salt and wetness and feeling the heat of her. She was still trembling when he moved on top of her and pushed his way inside.

After they lay on the bed facing each other. Kelly traced the curve of her hip with his fingers again and again, the flesh pliant beneath the skin. Paloma put her hand against his chest over his heart.

“I love you,” Kelly said.

“Shut up.”

“You always say that.”

“And you never shut up.”

“That’s because—”

“Hush,” Paloma said. She urged him onto his back, straddled him and made a face when he entered her from below. They moved together, her breasts brushing his face. Kelly kissed and sucked her nipples. The urge overcame him. Paloma pushed her hips down hard when he came into her.

Now Kelly was quiet and they heard the sound of traffic, not so distant and never still. Kelly drifted to sleep. When he awoke, Paloma breathed deep and even in the crook of his body. He pulled the sheet over their hips. He listened and watched until she stirred.

“I love you,” Kelly said.

“Fuck you,” Paloma said.

“Why can’t I tell you I love you?”

“Because I don’t like it,” Paloma said.

She started to rise. Kelly held her back. “That’s bullshit,” he said. “You don’t want to hear because—”

“Because why, Kelly?” Paloma sat up and pulled the sheet around her completely. Her hair was mussed, but it didn’t make her unlovely. Kelly didn’t like it when she looked angry and she did now. “Why?”

“Because I’m white?”

Paloma’s expression curdled. “?Pinche cabron!”

She left the bed and gathered her clothes. Kelly didn’t move; he knew he should stop her, but he couldn’t and didn’t. He heard her in the front room putting her shoes on. He was sweating again.

Kelly expected to hear the door slam. Paloma reappeared. She was flushed. When she pointed her finger at him, it trembled. “You are a goddamned baboso, Kelly! Is that what you think of me? Are you my fucking white-boy stud? Why are you such an idiot?” Paloma demanded.

“What the hell did I do?”