“Eduardo! Samantha!” his mother greeted as we walked into the warm kitchen. The aroma of hot peppers and cumin embraced us. She rushed over to hug us both, her plump arms enveloping us. The embrace forced Eddie’s and my heads together, and our cheeks banged, his hot skin brushing mine. I giggled awkwardly and tried to untangle myself, but her strong arms locked Eddie and me together like conjoined twins. I could feel Eddie’s cheek making a scratchy indent in mine. Able to endure the embarrassment no longer and afraid we would become permanently fused, I patted Mrs. Martinez on the back as though she were a baby with gas, then quickly extracted myself. I smoothed down my hair and adjusted my blouse.
Mrs. Martinez stood back and looked at me, then gasped. “What happened to your face?”
I heard Eddie stifle a laugh. Unamused, I reassured his mother. “Lacy and I kind of collided. It’s no big deal, it feels a lot better now.”
She shook her head, knowing all too well that these things seem to happen to me on a regular basis. She said to me, “Where have you been? We all miss you.” Mrs. Martinez eyed me, then glanced at Eddie. I saw her give her head a little shake when she looked at her son. She studied me again, her chocolate brown eyes quick and knowing. “I insist you drop by more often for dinner.”
“I will,” I promised, feeling warm and welcomed—but also admonished. Eddie’s mother considered food the ultimate expression of love, and by not coming by to sup with the family, I had unintentionally rebuffed her.
“You always eat like you mean it,” she said to me with a hardy pat on the shoulder. Meaning, I make a pig of myself. “That Gabriella,” she spat, “She eats like a bird.” This was a serious putdown, revealing her opinion that Gabby lacked class. Gabby had probably rejected her offers of seconds and thirds, which would not have gone over well. It was like rejecting Mrs. Martinez herself. Eddie’s mom had a generous heart and loved almost everyone. For her to dislike Gabby meant she didn’t think her good enough for Eddie. Mrs. Martinez flapped a pudgy hand at her son, dismissing his interest in Gabby. I loved her more at that moment than at any other time during our acquaintance, and that was saying something.
“What’s for dinner?” Eddie asked loudly to forestall further talk along these lines. He started lifting the lids off of pots and sniffing like a bird dog on the scent.
Mrs. Martinez grabbed a wooden spoon and rapped Eddie lightly on the knuckles. Then she replaced the lid he was holding and pushed him gently away. “What else do I make on Mondays when you come for dinner?” She laughed, her husky voice loud. “Carnitas. Now why don’t you two get a cold drink from the fridge and join your father on the patio. He’s been moping around here since you stopped coming by, Sam.” She laid on the guilt trip like a master, which, being a mother, she was. I accepted the guilt and relished how she said “your father,” as if I were truly part of the family.
Eddie grabbed two Coronas from the packed fridge, and we made our way through the family room to the patio. Mr. Martinez, Miguel, and Eddie’s sister Sophia sat in lawn chairs on the patio, soaking up the last warm rays of the sun. It had been a beautiful day, unseasonably cool but blessedly windless. I was sorry to see that Eddie’s other sisters weren’t there, well, except for Maria, whose absence I was grateful for. At every get-together, she asks, in a voice like a sonic boom, when Eddie and I are going to tie the knot, and no amount of correction kills her conviction that our nuptials are imminent.
Upon seeing us walk out the patio door Eddie’s dad leaped up, shoved Eddie out of the way, and hugged me, the strength of his arms squeezing a small “oomph” out of me. Mr. Martinez runs the maintenance department at the high school, and his muscled arms pay tribute to years of digging and painting and hammering the school into pristine condition. His black hair is now gray at the temples, but other than that he looks as young and handsome as he did when I was in my teens. He used to carry packs of spearmint gum in his pockets and hand pieces out to anyone who asked, despite the school’s ban on chewing gum. Everyone loved Mr. Martinez, especially the girls, and it had nothing to do with gum. Let’s just say that Eddie didn’t fall far from the tree in the looks department.
Sophia, in her late teens, rushed over to throw herself at her brother like she always did, only now she was so big Eddie nearly lost his balance and fell on his bum. She giggled as he stumbled around like a panther shot with a tranquilizer dart. She clung to his strong shoulders and buried her head in his chest. Sophia had mild Down’s syndrome and was open and affectionate with everyone, but she adored her oldest brother above all. Eddie doted on her, protected her from people’s cruelty.
Miguel did not so much as lift his baby finger at Eddie or me. He slouched in his lawn chair, black baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. His purple and gold Lakers’ jersey was voluminous, and his black tennis shoes looked like boats. If his intent in choosing oversized clothes was to make himself look bigger, he had failed utterly—he only looked skinnier swimming in garments suited for imminent weight gain. Miguel took a swig of his beer, his black eyes shifting quickly from me to Eddie.
Once Sophia released Eddie, he and I sat down in the circle of chairs. After taking a long pull from his beer Eddie said, “Dad, Mom said she needs help in the kitchen.”
Mr. Martinez looked at his son and scratched his head. Everyone knew full well that Mrs. Martinez never let anyone help her when she was in the kitchen whipping up one her freakishly delicious meals. Miguel’s eyes darted to his brother, then to me. He took a swig of his beer, pulled his baseball cap lower on his head, and slumped further into his chair. Eddie’s father looked from one son to the other, shook his head, and said, “Come on, Sophia. Let’s go help Mom.” He was used to the discord between Miguel and Eddie and was happy to let them sort it out on their own.
When Mr. Martinez and Sophia had gone, Miguel glowered at Eddie. “Go ahead and get it over with,” he groused, taking another pull from his beer.
Eddie stared at his brother for a moment, frowning. “Word is you’re backing up Raul Castillo’s alibi for the night his brother disappeared.”
Miguel tossed his head in my direction, his lips curled in a sneer. “‘Word is.’ What a crock. Why is she sticking her nose into this, anyway?”
Eddie’s lips compressed and turned white. He set his beer bottle down beside his chair and clasped his hands together. If I didn’t know he wouldn’t hurt a fly, I’d think he was trying to stop himself from slamming a fist into Miguel’s face. Eddie said, “Let’s just focus on that night. You said you were playing poker with Raul. Is that true?”
Miguel shrugged, polished off his beer. “Yeah. We play every Thursday. So what?”
“Who else was there?”
Miguel hesitated, scratching his stubbly jaw while the gears in his brain clicked away. His inability to answer the question immediately was telling. It was not like we lived in Las Vegas and the purported poker game was held in a casino filled with strangers. If Miguel and Raul played every Thursday, then surely they played with the same guys every time. He was probably trying to figure out what Raul would want him to say. He surely didn’t want to make any mistakes and get on Raul’s bad side. One would have thought they’d have worked out their story in advance. Of course, it was possible that Miguel had simply forgotten the script, which wouldn’t have surprised me.
After a minute, Miguel said, “I don’t know, man. It was just some guys.”
Eddie’s lips compressed further. “Right. You play poker every Thursday but you can’t remember who plays. I don’t buy it.”
Miguel shrugged. “I don’t care what you ‘buy,’ bro. It’s just a fucking poker game.”
Eddie unclasped his hands and began thrumming his fingers on his thighs. “The thing is, if you’re lying about this, then you’re lying about Raul’s alibi. Why would he want you to do that? What was he doing that night? Did he kill his brother?”
Miguel’s eyes popped wide open and he stared at Eddie, his thin body suddenly straight and rigid. “No wa
y, man. Raul’s a mean fucker, but he wouldn’t kill anyone.” He didn’t look like he believed that last part.
“Then why are you lying?”
“I’m telling you, Raul couldn’t have killed Pete.”
“How can you be so sure? Do you really know where Raul was that night?”
“I just—“ Miguel stopped and shook his head. He looked longingly at his empty beer bottle. Yanking at his sideburns, he said, “Look, Raul didn’t kill Pete, okay? That’s all I’m going to say about it.”
Eddie reached down and grabbed his own beer bottle, took a nice long swig, his eyes never leaving Miguel’s face. After drinking, he spun the bottle slowly in his hands, one rotation after another, all the while staring at his brother. “I wonder what Mom and Dad would think of you lying for Raul. He’s a suspect in a missing person case. He could have murdered his brother, and there you are, covering for him. ”
Miguel reacted to the implied threat to tell their parents just as Eddie had expected. He inhaled sharply, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. “Come on, Eddie, give me a pass on this one.”
“Pete Castillo is missing, probably dead. I think Mom and Dad are going to be pretty upset to learn you’re involved.”
I decided to throw in my two cents. “Miguel, what Eddie is asking is how you know Raul did not kill Pete. Either you are stupid enough to think he’s not capable of it, or you know what he was really doing that night. Now, which is it?”
I thought he would lash out at me, but he seemed cowed by Eddie’s threat to tell their parents. “I’m not stupid,” he groused.
“Then you know what Raul was doing that night. And we all know it wasn’t playing poker. Spill it, Miguel. What were you guys doing?”
He wouldn’t answer. He just glowered and grimaced and muttered to himself.
I said, voice like a drill sergeant’s, “Miguel Martinez, are you the dumbest man on the planet? Whatever you were doing could not be as bad as murder. You do Raul a favor if you tell us, don’t you get it?”
“He’ll kill me.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
Miguel shrugged it off. “He’d at least beat the crap out of me.”
“For getting him off a murder charge? He should thank you.”
This made Miguel stop and think. “I’m going to get in trouble no matter what.”
“How so?” Eddie snapped.
Miguel hunkered down again.
Eddie said, “So you get in a little trouble. That’s nothing compared to what will happen if you continue to lie for Raul and he turns out to be a murderer.”
“He told me not to tell anyone. Ever.”
“Tell anyone what?”
Miguel shook his head.
I said, “Then don’t tell us.”
“Huh?” He looked at me like he didn’t know English.
“Don’t tell us. I mean, don’t say it explicitly. Think of a way to let us know without actually saying it. That way you wouldn’t be breaking your promise to Raul, strictly speaking. Could you show us, maybe? Take us to wherever you were?”
“It’s not going to be good for me, man, either way. Shit, I’m so screwed.”
Eddie said, “Miguel, think! If you get Raul off the hook, he won’t have any reason to beat you up or fire you.”
“It’s more than that. It’s not just Raul.”
Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “What have you been up to?”
“You always assume the worst. Thanks for being on my side, big brother.”
“I’ll be on your side when you earn it.”
Miguel suddenly sat up straight. “If you don’t trust me, why take my money?”
That made me sit up. Eddie taking money from Miguel? What on earth for? How could Eddie have needed financial assistance from his loser brother? Then I remembered. Coffee Buzz 2. Pete hadn’t been able to secure a big enough loan for Eddie, and Eddie had said he’d made up the difference. Now I knew how.
Miguel noticed me gaping at Eddie. He smirked. “That’s right. Eddie borrowed money from me. Me, his little brother.”
Eddie rolled his eyes at Miguel, said to me, “Miguel seemed to be making money hand over fist. He was flashing it around plenty, so I thought I could put some of it to good use before he squandered it.”
Miguel, making money hand over fist? I didn’t buy it. “How long have you worked for Raul?”
“A year, not that it’s your business.”
“Doing what?”
“I work in the yard, refuel the trucks, load rebar, clean up. Shit like that.”
I eyed him. “And you make a ton of money doing that?” It was too absurd. Eddie must have borrowed thousands of dollars. How could he have asked his brother for a loan when the money had to have been ill-gotten? He must have really wanted to open this second store. I had always known Eddie was ambitious, I just never realized how much. I made a mental note to drill Eddie about all this later, but right now we had to convince Miguel to rat out Raul.
“Back to what we were talking about,” I said to Miguel. “You don’t actually have to say what Raul was doing that night. Just point us in the right direction and we’ll figure it out.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
Eddie said, “Look. Just tell us where you were, not what you were doing. Right?”
Miguel looked like an Irish Setter who’s lost its ball. He blinked, then blinked some more. “How’re those two things different? Raul’d kill me either way.”
Eddie let out a whoosh of air that nearly blew Miguel’s baseball cap off. “Look, it’s not rocket science. Just give us a location. We’ll figure the rest out, okay? You tell us where you were that night, but don’t say Raul was there, or what you were doing. That way, you’re not actually saying anything about Raul. Get it?”
Miguel thought about it, and I could tell by the way he sat up and drummed his knuckles against his thighs that we’d convinced him. He was eager to get out from under this problem, and we’d given him a small chance of escaping with his face intact.
“You promise I won’t get into trouble?”
“I can’t promise,” Eddie said. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about yet. But I won’t forget that you did the right thing by talking with us.”
Miguel nodded, began slowly. “Okay. So, there’s this place out in Cholla Canyon. You need to go out there, this Thursday night, around eleven. Go out past that old water tank, and just keep going on the dirt road for like two miles. When you come to the fork, take the one that’s hardly used, and go like another quarter mile. Just look around. That’s all I’m saying.” Once he had decided to talk, the words had poured out. Unfortunately, his instructions were so vague, I wondered if he were trying to get us lost in the desert so we’d get eaten by coyotes. That was one way to put an end to this.
Eddie read my mind. “You better not be jerking us around just to get us off your case.”
Miguel shook his head. “No way. I’m serious. That’s what you gotta do.”
Eddie and I looked at each other, dubious but also triumphant. We had worked the guy like a piece of bubble gum. Miguel looked genuinely relieved.
Eddie got to his feet, drained the last of his beer. “All right, then. Come on, we better get inside or Mom will give us the third degree.”
Sounded good to me. I was famished.
22
Tuesday morning I awoke with Lacy lying on my head. My nose throbbed from the pressure, and my right cheek felt numb where her head compressed it. I rolled out from under her, ignoring her aggrieved groan. I would have kicked her out of the bed if I hadn’t learned that such attempts were unwise. Once, I nearly broke a femur. Lacy is not a small dog, and I am not a big person. This is a differential that is bound to work out better for her than for me.
I lay in bed listening to her snore. Yesterday’s dinner at the Martinez’s bubbled up in my sleepy brain, and I found myself wishing it were Thursday. I eagerly anticipated following Miguel’s directions
to the mysterious location, where all would be revealed. Alas, it was only Tuesday. That meant I had no excuse to postpone work on my book. I didn’t understand this creative and intellectual lassitude. Usually I enjoy my work. I love learning and making sense of things. I enjoy testing my own assumptions, values, and arguments. And while the writing itself is harder than hell, I find it deeply satisfying to transform complex ideas into simple words that anyone can understand. Successfully doing that means I understand the ideas myself. It’s probably some compulsive disorder, but I need that comprehension, that lucidity to feel that I am in control of my life. Without logic and rationality, life would be all emotion, chaos without logic. How could one tell reality from delusion? How could one make good decisions or judge people wisely? Of course, it was always possible that the rational mind itself was an illusion, that order and control were silly constructs we embrace to feel safe. But, since that could never be proven, I’d take the illusion of control any day.
Still, at the moment, my enthusiasm for the hard work of thinking felt at low ebb. I would rather hike up that dirt road to Cholla Canyon in the middle of the night, lurk about in bushes, and watch Raul’s face when he realized he’d been had. I longed for action, danger, discovery. What I wanted to do, I guess, was investigate, solve the puzzle of what happened to Pete. Of course, my amateur investigations did not pay squat, and the actual paying job I had was a bit on the bubble at the moment. I had promised Vince an interim outline. I groaned so loud Lacy woke up.
She rolled over on me, her long legs landing on my chest, her cavernous yawn sending doggie morning breath my way. It was time to get up. Despite my longing for excitement and adventure, boring realities loomed. I had to get out of the warm bed. I had to make coffee. I had to pour kibbles into Lacy’s bowl, and Lucky Charms into mine (Connor had done the shopping). I had to sit down at my computer and research nuclear waste. Still, I lay there. I scratched Lacy’s belly. She licked my ear. I could hear bird twitters in the trees outside. Somewhere in the distance crows cawed to one another. Faint metallic sounds from the yard revealed Connor already hard at work.
Half Life (A Sam Larkin Mystery) Page 14
