profile, it looked like it had been painted on the air. He eased his. 357 from its holster and waited, his left foot in front of his right, breathing slowly through his mouth, the checkered grips of his revolver hard inside his palm.
He stepped backward, never taking his eyes off the Chinese woman, his left arm extended out the door. He opened and closed his hand so the fading light would reflect off it, then moved his arm up and down so Negrito could plainly see that he was signaling with his left hand and not his right. Please remember what I told you, he thought. This is the moment I have to count on you, Negrito. This is when your skills will be of the greatest necessity.
Krill went down the hallway and could see the woman watching him from the corner of her eye.
“Magdalena?” he said, his voice hardly audible.
She continued to stare straight ahead, her hands absolutely still.
“?Que pasa?” he said. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Negrito? “Senora, look at me,” he said. “It’s Krill. I want to make confession. I murdered a Jesuit priest. I must have absolution. You can give it to me.”
He stepped into the room and felt the barrel of a gun touch the back of his head. “Bad timing, greaseball,” a voice said.
There were four men inside the room, all of them wearing beige-colored gauzy masks with slits for the nose and mouth and eyes. One man stood against the far wall, his left hand on the shoulder of a girl not over ten years old. With the other hand, he held the stainless-steel four-inch blade of a clasp knife under the girl’s throat. The girl’s eyes were wide with terror and confusion, and her bottom lip was trembling.
The man holding the gun to the back of Krill’s head removed the. 357 from his grip. “Who’s with you?” he said.
“A shit pile of people. They’re going to cook you in a pot, too,” Krill said.
“That’s why you came in by yourself?”
“Who are you guys?” Krill said.
“Your worst nightmare, fuckhead.”
“In my nightmares there are no guys like you. I don’t have space in my head for guys in Halloween masks or guys who frighten little girls with knives. These are not the guys of nightmares. These are clowns and eunuchs who were born with penises but no cojones. Why would guys like these be in anybody’s nightmares? That would be a great mystery to me.”
“Antonio, don’t speak to these men,” the woman said.
“I was just clarifying my thoughts to myself, Magdalena. These men and their cleverness are a great mystery to me,” he said. The yard was empty, the light dying in the trees, the windmill spinning against a horizon that looked as though the clouds were dissolving and running down the sides of the sky. Then he saw Negrito moving from behind the barn and around the front of the house, bent low, his greasy leather hat pulled down tight on his head, the M16 gripped with both hands, his heavy, truncated body moving with the fluidity of an animal’s. In the distance, he thought he heard the thropping sound of a helicopter’s blades.
“Take me but leave the child,” the woman said to the man holding the gun to Krill’s head.
“That’s not a problem,” the man replied. “But this guy is. Who is he?”
“A man seeking forgiveness. He’s no threat to you,” she said.
“You a coyote, buddy?” the man with the gun asked.
“No, hombre. I’m a Texas Ranger. I’ve been shooting the shit out of guys like you for many years.”
“You’re a real wit, all right. So smart you came in here and stuck your head in a mousetrap.”
Then Krill heard banging and shuffling noises at the front of the house, booted feet coming down hard on the gallery, and a door flying back against a wall. Krill felt his heart drop. Two more men, each wearing the same masks worn by the men inside the house, were pulling and shoving Negrito into the living room. Blood leaked in a broken line from under the brim of Negrito’s leather hat, running through one eyebrow, streaking the stubble on his cheek. His face was lit with a grin as wide as a jack-o’-lantern’s.”?Que bueno! Everybody is here!” he said. Then Negrito saw the expression on Krill’s face, and his grin faded. “These cobardes come up behind me. I’m sorry, Krill,” he said.
“So you’re the one they call Krill. We’ve heard about you,” the man behind Krill said.
The helicopter passed overhead and circled over a field and began to descend on the rear of the property, the downdraft flattening the grass, blowing dust and desiccated cow manure in the air.
“Hey, Krill, I know who these guys are. They’re Sholokoff’s people,” Negrito said.
“No, we have no interest in these people or the business they conduct,” Krill said.
“Ain’t that right?” Negrito said to his captors. “You work for that Russian prick. We know all about you. I hear a couple of your guys are missing their noses. Be nice to me, and maybe I’ll tell you where their noses are and you can glue them back on.”
Negrito, Negrito, Negrito, Krill thought.
The man behind Krill stepped back and looked at both Krill and Negrito like a photographer arranging a studio portrait. “This is quite a pair,” he said.
“What do you want to do?” said the man holding the knife to the little girl’s throat.
“Take the girl in the kitchen.”
“And?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know if this gig has parameters or not.”
“There’s a key sticking out of the lock in the pantry door. What does that tell you?”
“Lock her inside?”
“Brilliant,” the man with the gun said. “Then take the woman to the chopper.”
“What about these two?”
“That’s a good question,” the man with the gun said.
“I’ve got a question for you,” Negrito said.
“You’ve got a question? Wonderful. What is it, greaseball?” the man with the gun said.
“If you’re born without cojones, does that mean you’re automatically a queer, or is it something you learn? ‘Cause I believe every guy who ever called me a greaseball was probably a maricon. Know why I think that? ’Cause when I was in jail in Arizona and Texas, it was always the Aryan Brotherhood guys who were trying to get me in the sack. That’s right, man. Macho gringos like you was the main yard bitches in every joint I was in. I tell you what, man. ’Cause you look like a nice guy, I’m gonna do something for you. You surrender to me and Krill, I’ll fix you up with some punks that ain’t got a feather on them. You gonna dig it, man.”
“We’re wasting time here, Frank. What’s it gonna be?” one of the other men said to the man with the gun.
“We split the difference,” Frank replied. “Krill is the guy who kidnapped the Quaker. Josef will want to talk to him. The ape seems to have a death wish.”
“Listen to me, hombre,” Krill said. “Negrito is a good soldier. He can be of value to you. He will never give up information to the FBI. Pain means nothing to him. His only defect is he runs his mouth when he shouldn’t. But he can be a valuable man to your employer.”
“I see your point,” the man with the gun said. “We’re all just making a buck. We shouldn’t let it get personal. I totally understand where you’re coming from.”
No one in the room moved. In the silence, Krill could hear the little girl whimpering. The man who had been holding a semiautomatic on Negrito put it away and looked at the. 357 he had taken from Krill. It was nickel-plated and had black checkered grips, and each chamber in the cylinder was loaded with a hollow-point round. “Your name is Negrito?” he said.
“That’s my nickname. It’s ’cause I’m mestizo.”
“Do you mind riding in a helicopter?” the man asked.
Negrito shrugged and gazed out the window, his eyes dulling over, his mouth downturned at the corners.
“Because we don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Can you handle heights? You don’t get airsick or anything like that?”
Negrito looked at Krill. “We had some fun, didn’t we, amigo? They’re gonna remember us for a long time. Don’t let this guy get to you. We’re better than any of them. We’re stronger and smarter and tougher. Guys like us come back from the dead and piss in their mouths and shit in their mothers’ wombs.”
