Candy Kid

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  “Why didn’t you drop it then?” Adam asked in the same monotone.

  “I was curious. Beach and I were alike that way, curious.” He probed, “You didn’t know, did you, Adam? You didn’t tell el Greco to set his goons on me that night?”

  “I didn’t know until after you had the package. I wasn’t worried when I did know. I didn’t expect anyone to be curious about a girl buying a perfume, a girl who would have used up her shopping quota the first day. I wasn’t worried until I found out she’d asked you to bring the package to Santa Fe. And it was the wrong package.”

  “Yes,” Jose said. He scowled. “I don’t get why you tried to saddle me with Tustin’s body. The police would have been curious about the package.”

  Adam’s face darkened. “Fool!”

  “You mean you didn’t tell Rags to hire Canario to warn you when I was coming across the border?”

  “That dirty bug,” Rags began.

  Jose said coldly, “Canario didn’t give you away. He handed me a piada about Dulcinda planning it. Like you told him. But she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t know I’d make the bars looking for Beach. Adam was the only one who knew our habits.”

  Adam’s anger had solidified. He didn’t care how much Jose knew, it no longer was important. “The piada was to warn of your crossing. The Senor’s men were to take the package from you because you might become curious. You left the Cock sooner than I thought Beach would permit, especially with the blonde there. I hadn’t time to complete my job.” His hands knotted. “That greedy fool. I paid that cabbie plenty but he couldn’t miss an extra fare. He picked up you and Beach.”

  Jose waited for Adam’s eyes to meet his. He said then, “You didn’t have to kill Beach.”

  From the depths, Adam cried, “I didn’t….”

  Jose cut him off. “Not with your hands. But you ordered it. When your bright boys got scared at his questions and telephoned you.”

  “I didn’t mean he was to die.”

  “What did you tell them?” Jose asked bitterly. “To take care of him? What did you think they’d do, slap his wrist? You killed Beach. Afterwards you hoped it was an accident.” His hand curled over the bottle in his pocket. He could smell it even if the smoke and wine kept it from their nostrils. “I don’t know what’s behind this. I don’t have to know. Harrod will take care of that, he’s close.”

  “I know,” Adam said shortly.

  Rags swung around. “Then why don’t you do something besides gabbing?”

  “Shut up,” Adam grunted.

  Rags couldn’t shut up. “Let’s get started. Do you want to sit here until Harrod walks in with those greaser cops and extradition paper?”

  “You cannot leave without the diamonds,” el Greco blinked. With his toe, he set the rocker creaking.

  “Diamonds!” Rags glared. “Do you think we’d be hanging around here if it was diamonds?”

  Senor Praxiteles stopped rocking. “It is not diamonds?” he quavered.

  Rags put his back to the old man. He demanded of Adam, “What’s more important, a damn list or our lives? I say, let’s get out of here.”

  “Shut up,” Adam roared. He returned his eyes curiously to Jose. “Why are you here, Jo?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe I had to hear it from you. Even knowing the way it must be.” No one believed him. They were watching the shape of his hand clutched in his pocket. “You don’t have to kill me, Adam. I’ve brought you what you’re waiting for.” They were on the edge of their chairs. “I don’t have a gun,” he smiled assurance. “Only this.” He whipped out the bottle. “Catch,” he said. He threw it toward Adam. It was a good catch.

  Adam held the bottle but he didn’t look at it. His eyes were on Jose. “Where’s the rest of it? The candy?”

  “But that was a pilon?” Innocently, he asked Praxiteles, “No?”

  “Where is it?” Adam rumbled.

  “I didn’t keep it,” Jose said.

  “Francisca!” Adam glared at el Greco.

  “Do not be disturbed,” he whined. “She will be found. Even now Salvador and Ramirez—”

  “He’s been saying that for two hours,” Rags shouted. “For Christ sake, how long do we have to wait?”

  Adam looked over his scowl at Jose. “Francisca?”

  Jose smiled. “She is just a child. Children like sweets.” His smile became a taunt. “I wouldn’t wait too long for her. I think she’s safely across the border by now.”

  Adam and Rags were on their feet before he finished speaking. Praxiteles’ chair became motionless. Adam’s fists were knotty but Jose wasn’t afraid. There was no time left for fear.

  “You knew,” Adam accused. “You knew all along.” He realized he was clutching the perfume and with an angry gesture cast it away. The perfume meant nothing; it was identification only. As the glass broke, the smell was overpowering.

  “Call it a hunch,” Jose said. He threw his bluff, “I’d better get back to Harrod before he starts worrying about me.”

  Rags was alarmed. “You aren’t letting him walk out of here?”

  Adam said with cold deliberation, “No. I’m not letting him walk out of here.”

  Jose stood quietly. “Even I, Adam.”

  “There’s no choice,” Adam said.

  The perfume was seeping on the floor like blood. Jose smiled arrogantly. “Without me you will never find Francisca and the dulce.”

  A crash shattered the quietness. Praxiteles teetered to his feet. “It is the window,” he screamed. “My show window.”

  Jose ran first, up the corridor from where the sound had come. The others were on his heels. But Praxiteles was between him and Adam, Rags was somewhere in the rear. Or skinning out the back way. Jose could outrun the old man and the big man. Only in passing did he note the jagged shop window. The vestibule door was open. He ducked through it, heard the whispered, “This way,” and followed the fleet heels into the darkness.

  The bullet spattered as he sprinted across the street. It was offside. Adam wouldn’t want to kill him, not yet. Shooting was out of desperation; it would bring the police. Yet there’d be a sane story to tell them, thieves or hoodlums destroying el Greco’s property.

  Jose kept running because there was nothing else he could do. He didn’t know whom he was following or where. He didn’t hesitate to dart after the shadow into a burrow between two warehouses. He knew then they were on the river bank. The darkness was absolute. A hand touched his, a small hand. He whispered, “For God’s sake, Francisca!”

  “We go this way,” she whispered.

  “I told you to wait across the border.”

  “It was not safe that you go to Senor Praxiteles alone. He is a very bad man.”

  The passage narrowed. He crept after her. “Where were you?”

  “I listen. When I hear them say you cannot leave, I go quickly and I throw a big rock.” Her whisper was fierce. “Always I have wanted to throw a rock through his fine window.”

  He laughed silently. Then remembered, “The sweets! You have them?”

  “No.”

  A stone dropped into the pit of his stomach. After all this…. He groaned, “What did you do with them?”

  “I give them to Jaime. My primo. He will deliver them.”

  Somehow he believed it. They would be waiting at the Chenoweth. On the coffee table in Lou’s room.

  She had stopped moving. “When you go outside, you will slide down the bank into the river. It will be muddy but not very wet. You will run fast and climb up the other side. Then you are safe.”

  “Let’s get going,” he decided.

  Her words were softer than a breath. “You do not need me with you now. You will be safe.”

  He felt for her in the darkness. His hands fell roughly on the thin blouse covering her shoulders. “Get going,” he commanded. “If you think I’m going to let you stay here, you’re crazy. After all I’ve gone through to keep you safe. Anda!”

  She w
riggled through the small aperture. He followed, sliding after her down the rough embankment. Before they hit bottom, the cries came from the top of the bank nearer the bridge. “Alto! Stop! Alto! We will fire!”

  “It is the police who demands you stop!”

  He shouted to her, “Keep going. We’ve got to get across to the other side.”

  She was running ahead of him. Lights were being played over the riverbed. The mud was thick, like gumbo. Adam wouldn’t hold his fire, he’d have to stop them. But they were moving targets, zigzagging, crouching low. The first bullet whined past.

  “Keep going,” Jose shouted again.

  They were across the dividing line. They plowed to the opposite bank. The Juarez police wouldn’t fire on the North American side. It was Adam whose rage wouldn’t permit him to cease.

  She clambered the opposite bank like a mountain goat. He followed laboriously, scraping his hands, ripping the knees of his trousers. But he followed. And joined her at the top. He caught her hand and ran with her into the deep shadows of a protective building. “We made it,” he panted. He caught her up in his arms and hugged her. “Baby,” he exulted, “we made it.”

  V

  Lou clutched her bathrobe around her as she opened the door of her suite. “For God’s sake, what happened to you?”

  They were a sorry mess to barge in on anyone at midnight. Muddy, bloody, but unbowed. They’d walked the back streets to the hotel. Not daring trust a cab. He held tight to Francisca’s reluctant hand. “Fell in the river. Got a drink?” The box was on the table. In plain view, unwrapped. Cactus candy packed by Praxiteles and Company. Still holding on to Francisca, he reached for it.

  Lou went to the bar, poured him a straight one. She watched him pick up the box. “Jaime brought it. Said to give it to you.”

  “Thanks.” He took the drink. He released Francisca but was careful to stand between her and the door. Even now she might bolt. “Better give the kid a glass of wine. She’s had it rugged.”

  Lou poured a glass. “That’s what a girl gets messing with you. Trouble.”

  “Where’s Harrod?”

  “Should I know?” She refilled his glass.

  “I was hoping you would.” He was ready to fall on his face without the drink. Francisca ought to be keeling over. He said, “How about letting us wash up, Lou? So we can rest on your fancy chairs.”

  “Go on. Sit down.”

  “My mother raised me better. You go first, Baby,” he told Francisca. “Bath, shower, get clean.”

  “Shampoo?” She touched her head.

  “Yeah, the works. Lend her a robe, Lou.”

  Lou said, “You and your ideas,” but she went to her bedroom, fetched the terry robe.

  Jose wheeled Francisca to the guest room, pointed the door beyond. “Go on. Scrape off the mud.” He closed the bedroom door on her. She couldn’t skip out for a while now.

  “Where did you find her?” Lou asked.

  “At el Greco’s. The old devil has some good stock.” His fingernail was ripping at the cellophane of the candy box. “See if you can locate Harrod, Lou.” She got on the phone. But she watched what he was doing. He lifted the lid from the shallow box. If he was expecting something fancy, this wasn’t it. The rounds of cactus candy were packed neatly. He took one, bit it in two pieces, put it back in the box. It was nothing but candy. He started on the second piece.

  “Hungry?” Lou wanted to know.

  “Sweet tooth,” he grimaced. The second piece was candy. He began on the third.

  Lou replaced the phone. “Harrod isn’t in. His wife says he’s in Santa Fe. The office isn’t that talkative. He’s out.” She gestured. “Sit down, Jo. Before you fall down. Dirt washes off.”

  He opened the evening paper, spread it on the couch, and rested gingerly on the edge of it.

  “And pass the candy.”

  “Uh-uh. This is mine.” He’d bit into something. He ripped the sticky sweet away from it. Microfilm. A minute roll. He pushed it into his pocket, picked up another sweet. The knock attacked the door before he could bite. “Don’t answer it!”

  “But, Jo—”

  He caught her wrist. “You don’t have visitors at this hour. Not unless they ring up from the desk.” The knocking continued. “Ask who it is.” Adam wouldn’t dare cross the border. There was too much against him. He’d have to send someone after Jose.

  Her voice was uneven. “Who is it? I’m in bed.”

  “It is the police.” The voice was accented.

  Jose dumped the candy into his pockets. He said under his breath, “You haven’t seen me. Stick close to the phone.” He grabbed up the empty box and retreated to the guest room. The door remained open a hairline crack.

  “Just a minute,” Lou was saying. She was refolding the newspaper, placing it on the table, before she crossed to open the door.

  They were very polite. They were so sorry to disturb her. Through the crack he could observe them. Two purple blue suits. And Senor Praxiteles. Yes, Praxiteles would dare come. He would know nothing but that he had delivered a package at the request of the mas importante Norte Americano, Senor Adamsson. Not for pay, por favor, Senor. No one had ever pinned anything on the wily old man. No one but St. Peter ever would.

  He was saying, “I am most sorry to disturb you, Miss Chenoweth.”

  Lou was ironic. “Police?” The purple suits faded back.

  Praxiteles bowed his sly head. “The plainclothes police like in the United States, no? Special deputies, you will see.” His sharp elbow jabbed the nearer one who rustled a dirty paper from his pocket. “At my request, for my protection …” Praxiteles murmured.

  Lou said, “I must say I don’t understand this at all.” She ignored the dirty paper. “There are certain house rules about allowing anyone to come to the rooms without a call first from the desk. And it seems to me there are certain international rules about your police crossing the border.”

  Senor Praxiteles said boldly, “I have permission to call upon you. My police prevailed upon your clerk to make no announcement. I am seeking a girl who has been tempted to run away with an evil character.”

  Jose had to turn away from Lou’s hauteur. Francisca was emerging from the bath. He crossed to her swiftly, spoke into her ear, “Stay in there. Lock the door. El Greco is here.”

  It wasn’t fright that turned her face to stone; it was hatred.

  “Do as I say,” Jose ordered with fury. He returned to his peephole while Lou was concluding, “I fail to understand why you believe you’d find the runaway girl in my apartment?”

  Senor Praxiteles bent down over the rug. “She is here.” He was pointing to the footprints of mud. He folded his hands together piously. “You will tell her, her abuelo has come for her.”

  Lou couldn’t go on with it. She didn’t know enough. Jose opened the door just enough. He stood in the aperture.

  El Greco was not surprised. “Buenos noches, Senor,” he bowed. To Lou he said, “This is the man who has taken her away.”

  “Prove it,” Jose swaggered.

  The old man spat at his men, “He has hidden her. You will find her here.”

  Jose filled the doorway. “You won’t find her here. Unless you’re looking for trouble.”

  No one moved toward him. The goons might be brave in a dark alley but not in the Hotel Chenoweth. Not on the wrong side of their border.

  “What do you want with her anyway?” Jose laughed at the old one. “She gives you nothing but trouble.”

  “She is a thief! I want what she has stolen!”

  “This?” The empty box was still in his hand. He pitched it at the old man’s feet. El Greco wasn’t wearing the carpet slippers. For this foreign call he had taken the pains to change to black patent-leather oxfords, networked with cracks, salvaged from some ashcan long ago.

  Jose knew Francisca could move without sound; he’d thought his angry command would keep her out of this. Until she slipped under his arm. She must have had the kni
fe with her all this night. He caught her just in time, his arm swung her to safety. His right hand immobilized her wrist.

  “I will kill him! I will kill him!” she screamed.

  Praxiteles shrank between his protection. He rubbed his scrawny neck at the spot the knife point had touched.

  “Let me kill him! I am no thief!”

  Jose held her as fast as one could an eel.

  It could have been Ramirez who asked dubiously, “This is the girl you want?” He hoped not.

  “Go get her,” Praxiteles croaked malignantly.

  “You can’t have her,” Jose stated. “The American side wants her. You’ll have to wait until Captain Harrod gets here.” He appealed to Lou. “For God’s sake, can’t you run Harrod down?”

  Lou swallowed. Again she picked up the phone. Her hand was shaking. She hung up at once. Her voice wouldn’t sound. She finally forced it. “Harrod’s just coming into the lobby.”

  Praxiteles said unctuously, “If Captain Harrod wishes this girl, I would not interfere.” He began to bow himself toward the door. “I wish to make no trouble on the border. I am a peaceful man.” His lidded eyes sought Jose. “You will not return my property to me?” He knew the answer. “I can wait, Senor. I can wait,” he threatened softly.

  Jose said to the goons, “Go with him. It isn’t safe for el Greco to wander around by himself.” He emphasized, “On either side of the bridge.”

  They were in a bigger hurry than el Greco. They crowded the old one out of the door.

  For a brief respite they were alone, he holding fast the rigid girl, Lou slumped in the opposite chair.

  Lou said, “You could have held them.”

  “What for? Harrod knows more than I do about the Greek. When he wants him, he’ll take him.” His voice was tired. “You’d better get out the brandy,” he told her. “It isn’t over yet.”

  The door was ajar. Harrod walked in, closed it. “What was el Greco doing here?”