Part 24 (2/2)
”Yeah.”
”Hey, no s.h.i.+t? What do you think, guys--Julio's an expert!” Paco pressed a b.u.t.ton on the knife with his thumb. A long silver blade flashed out, glittering in the greenish light of the boathouse.
”So?”
”So you're going to use it tonight, Julio,” Paco said, grinning broadly and rocking in the chair. The others crouched and held their cigarettes in their mouths.
Danny seemed about to speak up, but he held himself in check.
”On what?” Julio said.
”No, kid--not on _what_, on _who_.” Paco flipped the knife toward Julio's foot, but it landed handle-down and slid to a corner. Julio picked it up, pressed the b.u.t.ton, folded back the blade and put the knife in his pocket.
”All right, who. On who?”
He remembered what the Kats had done to the old woman over on Pregunta. For eighty-three cents.
”A dirty son of a b.i.t.c.h that's got it coming,” Paco said. He waited. ”Hey, kid, what's wrong? You look sick.”
”What are you talking, for Chrissakes? What do you want I should do?”
”Carry out a very important mission for our group, that's what. You're a very important man, Julio Velasquez. Know that?”
Near Cuernavaca, by the caverns of Cacahuamilpa, Grandfather had seen a man lying still in the bushes. The man was dead. But not only that--he had been dead for a long time. Grandfather used to sit after the coffee and tell about it; and it was always terrifying because Grandfather had a quiet way of talking, without emphasis, without excitement.-- ”_Quien fue el hombre, Papa?_”
-- ”_Quien Un hombre muy importante en el pueblo!_”
Always; theii the slow description, unrolling like one of Mama's stringb.a.l.l.s. The man had been a rich one of the village, influential and well liked, owner of a beautiful hacienda, over two thousand acres of land. Then one night he didn't come back when he should have, and the next night it was the same, and the next night, and after the searches, he was forgotten. It was Grandfather who found him. But the flies and the vultures had found him first.
-- ”_Como murio el hombre?_” He had been murdered. The knife was still between his ribs and the flesh had softened and decayed around the knife.
Death . . .
Julio always thought of death as the rich man from Cuernavaca.
”What'd he do?” Julio asked. ”This guy.”
”He got to do something?” Paco said, laughing. Then: ”Plenty. You know when we all went to the Orpheum the other night and you had to stay home on account of your old man or something?”
”Yeah. Sure.”
”Okay. They got Billy Daniels and a picture that's supposed to be good, y'know? Okay, we start to pay when the chick at the window picks up the phone and says, 'Wait a minute.' Pretty soon the bra.s.s comes out and starts to look us over, real cool, see, like he had a bug up or something. I talk to him and it's all right--we go in. Five G.o.ddam dollars. So--the show stinks, the movie: it's cornball, and we go to get our loot back. Guy at the window now, no broad. He says 'Nooo.' I ask to see the manager, but he's gone. They won't give us back our loot. What do we do? What would _you_ do, Julio?”
”Raise a stink.”
”You bet your sweet a.s.s. That's what we do, what happens? Big Jew punk comes barrelin' down the aisle, says he's the a.s.sistant manager. We got to blow, see. But no loot, no, man. Then he took Albert by the hair and kicked him. Right, Albert?”
Albert nodded.
”So naturally this isn't for The Aces. I didn't say nothing after that, except I let the schmuck know he'd get his, later on. So we just casually walked out. And here's the thing--” Paco's eyes narrowed dramatically. ”That louse is still walking around, Julio, like he never done a thing to anybody, like he never insulted all of us. Know what he said? Know what he called us, Julio?”
”What'd he call you?”
”Pachooks. Wetbacks. Dirty Mex b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. c.r.a.pped his mouth off like that in front of everybody in the show.”
”So you want him cut up?”
Paco rocked and smiled. ”No, not just cut up. I want that liddle-Yiddle dead, where he can't c.r.a.p off any more. That's your a.s.signment, Julio. Bring back his ears.”
Julio glanced at Danny, who was not smiling. The others were very quiet. They all looked at him.
”When's he get off?” Julio asked, finally.
”Ten-thirty. He walks down Los Angeles street, then he hits Third, down Third till he's around the junction. It's a break, Julio. We followed him for three nights, and there's never anybody around the junction. Get him when he's pa.s.sing the boon docks over to Alameda. n.o.body'll ever see you.”
”How will I know him?”
”Fat slob. Big nose, big ears, curly brown hair. Carries something, maybe his lunch-pail--you might bring that back with you. Albert'll go along and point him out, in case he wants to try to give you trouble. He's big, but you can take him.”
Julio felt the knife in his pocket. He nodded.
”All right, so this is it. You and Albert, take off in half an hour, wait and hang around the loading docks, but make sure n.o.body sees you. Then check the time and grab a spot behind the track next to Merchant Truck--you know where it is. He'll pa.s.s there around eleven. All right?”
Julio reached for the pill box and controlled his fingers as they removed the last cigarette. Paco grinned.”So in the meantime, let's have our meeting. Whoever got what, lay it out on the floor.”
The boys began reaching into the bags and parcels, and into their pockets, and taking out watches and rings and handfuls of money. These items they spread on the floor.
The rich man, Julio thought, lying still in the bushes, with his fat dead face, waiting for the flies, waiting, while a little Mexican boy with red wet hands runs away, fast, fast . . .
The grating sound of heavy machinery being pushed across cement came m.u.f.fled through the wooden doors of the freight dock. There were a few indistinct voices, and the distant hum of other machines that never stopped working.
The night was still airless. Julio and Albert Dominguin walked along the vacant land by the boxcar, clinging to the shadows and speaking little.
Finally Julio said, ”This guy really do all that that Paco said?”
”He got smart,” Albert said.
”Kick you?”
”You could call it that. Just as good.”
”So what kind of stink you guys raise to cause all that?”
”Nothing.”
”Nothing my a.s.s.”
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