The Body of Martin Aguilera

by Percival Everett

  Lewis said nothing. They were in front of Fonda’s Funeral Home, a wide, long, single story adobe with a parking lot on one side and an empty lot on the other. The tacky neon sign that Fonda had erected years ago shone with the “a” dark. A breeze came down off the hills. There were no lights on in the building. The street was quiet, no cars, no pedestrians. The parking lot was unlighted. Lewis started toward the back.

  “Let’s see if we can get in this way,” he said.

  Taylor followed, turned around and took a few steps backwards to watch the street. “I hope we find him quick.”

  The back entrance sat under the dim glow of a single twenty-five watt bulb. The light was so weak, it was sick, eerie. Lewis pulled open the outer screen door. He looked at Taylor, then tried the knob. It turned and he pushed inside. He brought a pen-light from his jacket pocket. Taylor was close behind, the fingers of a hand against Lewis’ back.

  “Man, this is creepy,” Taylor said.

  Lewis swept the floor in front of him with the light. He panned the whole room. It was a large room, full of tables and stacked chairs, with a clear, wide path through to an open doorway. They moved slowly, together. A noise came from the next room.

  “What was that?” Taylor asked.

  Lewis looked back at him. He could scarcely see his face. “How would I know?” He led on.

  Pausing at the doorway, Lewis shined the light ahead. The next room was smaller; three gurneys stood end-to-end, the center one occupied, a sheet covering the body. Embalming equipment was beyond the tables.

  “You think that’s him?” Taylor asked.

  “There’s one way to find out.” He stepped to the middle table, bumped it and it rolled a bit, startling both of them. Lewis grabbed the covering. Ready?”

  “No.”

  “Here goes.” Lewis pulled it back and there was the face of a very old Indian woman, one eye open, one eye closed. The cover fell and the men took a couple of steps backward. “That’s not him,” Lewis said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Taylor said.

  “Calm down, okay? It’s just a dead person.”

  “I know that.”

  “One more room.”

  Another noise. Someone ran from a dark corner. Taylor screamed and pulled at the back of Lewis’ jacket, causing him to drop the light. Lewis found himself scurrying out into the room of tables and chairs and toward the door. He was aware of Taylor and several other bodies, all moving the same way. Taylor hit the door first, catching his foot on the screen door and falling. Lewis tripped over him. They sat up and saw three men running, two carrying a body. Lewis was up, but Taylor grabbed him.

  “What are you going to do if you catch them?” the young man asked.

  Lewis tried to catch his breath. Taylor had a point. He watched the last man disappear into the cottonwoods at the edge of the vacant lot. The man limped and Lewis recognized the limp. It was Salvador Alvarado.

  “I know that man,” Lewis said.

  Taylor was kneeling, holding his face in his hands.

  “I know that man.”

  Chapter Nine

  Back in the motel room, Lewis sat in a chair by the window while Taylor went into the bathroom to change his pants. Lewis trusted him now. The man was new to anything like this. He looked out the window at the lot, at the low-rider still parked in the back. The night looked so normal, was the way he thought of it, save the fact that he was viewing it from a room at the Best Western. Looking at the night, he found it difficult to believe he had just sneaked into a mortuary and witnessed the theft of a body.

  “Do you think that was my grandfather’s body?” Taylor asked, coming out of the bathroom.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You said you recognized one of them.”

  “Yeah. Salvador Alvarado, he owns a boot shop.” Lewis shook his head. “I don’t get any of this.”

  Taylor sat on the bed. He studied the towel he held, then tossed it onto the back of the chair at the desk. “Listen, I’m just a truck driver. I don’t need any of this.”

  Lewis nodded.

  “I say we go to the sheriff.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lewis said. “He’s been lying to us and—”

  “And what?”

  “I just don’t trust him right now.”

  “We’d better find somebody to trust. I’m no good at this stuff and you’re… you’re just an old man.”

  Lewis let it all go. The young man was upset. Who could blame him?

  “Maybe things will be clearer in the morning,” Lewis said, standing. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  Taylor said nothing.

  Lewis pulled the door closed behind him.

  Lewis thought as he drove home. If he had not found Martin on the floor of his cabin, he would have thought nothing strange of the report of his drowning and he wouldn’t be in this mess. He was probably liable for prosecution for breaking and entering, but, and he laughed, the only people who could possibly identify him were stealing a dead person.

  He wanted to stop at a phone, get Alvarado’s address from the book and pay him a call, but Maggie would be waiting up, worried sick. And better to get into this stuff about dead bodies in the light of day. There was also the possibility that Alvarado was not the man he had seen, in which case he might get an innocent, superstitious man out of bed to talk about a corpse.

  Maggie was asleep on the sofa. Lewis watched her for a while. She was a small woman. She never seemed small when awake. He sat by her feet and she stirred. He took a foot into his hands and massaged it. She smiled. Her eyes opened and she looked at him.

  “Back in one piece,” she said.

  “What’d you expect after a goodbye like that?”

  Maggie sat up and tried to come awake. Lewis pulled her close and pressed her head to his shoulder. She relaxed against him.

  “Did you see him?” she asked.

  “Not exactly.” Lewis could feel her eyes open more widely. “We got into Fonda’s all right, but—” He stopped, wondering if indeed he should tell her.

  “But?”

  “But somebody was there.”

  “Fonda?”

  “No, not Edgar either. Whoever they were, they stole a body.”

  Maggie sat erect, pulled away and looked at him. “What?”

  “We wandered into a cadaver snatch.”

  “Is that what you private dicks call it?” she said.

  “I’ve run this over in my head all night, allow me some fun.” He got up and walked to the empty fireplace. “I think it was Martin’s body.”

  “You saw it?”

  “No, I just have a feeling. And I think one of the men was Salvador Alvarado. You know how he limps.”

  Maggie walked to him, put her arms around him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. All of this is just—I’m too old for it. It keeps getting deeper and deeper and I’ve forgotten to miss Martin. My friend is dead.” He shook his head clear. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “It’s funny. We’ve sort of known each other for a while. I’ve wanted to be close to you and it’s in the middle of something like this that—”

  “Shhh,” she silenced him, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let’s go to bed?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, smiling.

  “Get in that room,” she said and pushed him in that direction.

  Chapter Ten

  Lewis didn’t sleep well. He held Maggie close most of the night. She was easy to hold and he felt good with her. He liked the way she smelled. One of her small hands lay still on his chest. He removed the hand and tried to slip his arm from under her neck.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, eyes closed.

  “Going to fix breakfast.”

  “And you’re going to bring it to me in bed, right?”

  “Nope.” He sat up and put his feet on the floor.

  Maggie turned over on her stomach. “Please?�
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  He slapped her butt. “Get up. It’s a new day out there.”

  Lewis was showered and in the kitchen when Laura woke up. The child was still in her nightshirt. She ran to him and squeezed him while he flipped a pancake.

  “Hey, honey,” he said. “How’d you sleep?”

  She didn’t answer, just hugged him.

  Lewis looked at Maggie. He put his hand on Laura’s head and tilted her face to his. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Bad dreams?”

  “No.”

  “Just loving me?”

  The child smiled.

  “I’m okay, sweetie.” He checked the cakes. “How many can you eat? Maggie says she can handle nine.”

  Laura laughed. “Two.”

  “So, how would you two ladies like to ride into town with me today?”

  “Yeah,” Laura said.

  Lewis looked at Maggie. “You could stand to pick up a few things.” He looked to Laura. “How would you feel if old sour-puss spent more time with us?”

  “I’d like it.”

  Maggie nodded.

  Lewis delivered the first servings of pancakes and put the bacon on a plate in the middle of the table. He watched Laura eat and considered again sending her home to her parents. He wasn’t sure of his reasoning. It wasn’t clear that there was a threat to any of them, but someone had killed. At least, he believed someone had killed. He could always go back to the theory that Martin had not been dead when he and Laura found him in the cabin, that perhaps he had gotten drunk, hit his head and passed out.

  The smoke became noticeable. “Shit,” Lewis said, turning over the burned pancake. “Sorry, Laura.”

  “It’s okay to say things like that once in a while,” Laura said.

  Lewis smiled and tossed the cake into the sink.

  “This child is spending too much time with you, Lewis. You’re a bad influence.”

  “Am I a bad influence, Laura?”

  “Yep.”

  Maggie made out a shopping list as they drove down the mountain. Laura studied the shadows of the hills on the plateau below, the way the sun caught the Rio Grande Gorge.

  “It looks different than it does in the afternoon,” she said.

  “Completely different,” Maggie said. “There are things you can’t even see in the morning that show up clearly later on. I guess that’s part of the reason so many artists come here.”

  “Part of it,” Lewis said. “We still owe ourselves a fishing trip. Did I ever tell you two about the first time I drove up to Cambresto Lake?”

  “No,” Laura said.

  “It was the first summer I spent here. I was driving my old Jeep and so this fellow told me about a mountain lake. He said I had the right vehicle to get there.”

  “Is this a long story?” Maggie asked.

  Lewis gave her a side-long glance. “So, I followed his directions and drove over this incredible road. There were boulders I had to drive over. It took me twenty minutes to drive three miles.”

  “It was bumpier than this?” Laura said, referring to the dirt road they were on.

  “It was ten times worse. I didn’t see a single car all the way up and I was getting excited about fishing all alone and not seeing anybody.”

  “And?” Maggie said.

  “The place was teeming with people. It was like a parking lot up there. And not just Jeeps and trucks, but Pintos and Novas. To top it all off, there were no fish.”

  Laura laughed.

  Lewis fell silent. It had been Martin who sent him up there. He was amused by how much that excursion paralleled his trip to the funeral home and he thought about the limping man. It was a running joke in town that Salvador Alvarado’s limp was caused by too-tight boots.

  “Did you call Joe this morning?” Maggie asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you want peaches or nectarines?”

  Lewis looked at the road. He was thinking about Taylor. The man was no doubt very embarrassed about soiling his pants. Funny how stupid little things mean so much, thought Lewis.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Peaches or nectarines?”

  “Peaches. It doesn’t matter. Anything is fine.”

  Lewis parked illegally in front of Alvarado’s House of Boots. Maggie slid to the driver’s side and took Laura with her to her house to pick up clothes and other things. Lewis watched the car turn at the light and he felt good about Maggie, but a little silly, too, like he was too old for all this stuff. Not just the business with Martin, but to be dating. The word even sounded too young.

  He entered the shop. Salvador was helping a tourist couple. There were several pair of snake-skin boots laying on the floor. Salvador greeted him with a warm hello, but gave a wary glance a few seconds later. Lewis walked around the store, examining the boots. The prices marked on the tags made Lewis want to laugh. Salvador marked everything really high because of the tourists, but cut the prices greatly for locals. Lewis was behind the man now, looking at his mop of gray hair. The way he was sitting made the collar of his shirt dip down his back. Lewis could see a red mark, a cut or something. The couple, a tall blonde woman and a stocky brown-headed man wanted matching pairs of boots, but couldn’t agree on a style. Salvador looked around at Lewis and offered a nervous smile.

  “Be with you in a minute.”

  Lewis nodded. That was another thing about the way Salvador did business. When tourists were present, he didn’t let on to knowing anyone who entered the shop. Lewis sat down near the counter and looked at a magazine. He read Boot News and was surprised to find it interesting.

  The couple bought their boots and left bickering.

  Salvador shook his head about the tourists. “How are you, Lewis?”

  “Fine, Salvador. What about you?”

  The man nodded.

  “En que puedo servirle?”

  “Yeah, I need a black dress boot. A Wellington. You know what I like.” Lewis looked him in the eye.

  Salvador limped over to the far wall and came back with a boot. “Something like this?”

  “Not so much heel.”

  “I have what you want. Wait.” Salvador went through the curtain into the back of the shop.

  Lewis saw a Bible on the counter.

  The man came back with a lower-heeled black boot. “Just got these in. Haven’t put them out yet.”

  “That’s what I’ve been looking for. Do you have size eleven?”

  “Si,” he said and limped into the back again. It was the same limp.

  Lewis was beginning to put something together. He suspected that Salvador Alvarado was a Penitente, a member of a Catholic sect that practiced self-punishment. That would explain the mark on his back. That would also explain the theft of the body. The Penitentes buried their dead in secret graves. It all seemed far-fetched, but Lewis had nothing else to go on.

  Salvador came back with the boots.

  Lewis removed his shoes. As he stepped into the first boot, he said, “Shame about Martin Aguilera.”

  “Si.”

  “He was a good friend,” Lewis said.

  “I grew up with him,” Salvador said. “How does that one feel?”

  Lewis was standing with the one boot on. “This one is good. The other foot’s the problem.”

  Salvador pulled wadded paper from the second boot and handed it to Lewis.

  “There’s something I never knew,” Lewis said. “If Martin was a religious man. We never talked about that. Guess you don’t think of that stuff until too late sometimes.”

  “Martin was religious.”

  “Are you?”

  “Si.”

  “I heard that somebody stole Martin’s body from Fonda’s. You hear about that?”

  The man nodded. “How’s that boot feel?”

  “Now, see, this one is a little snug.” Lewis limped around the row of chairs. “Somebody might think I was you.”

  Salvador laughed.r />
  “The police are looking to get Martin’s body back.”

  Salvador pulled the loose paper together from the floor.

  Lewis felt badly for scaring the man. “I respect people’s religious beliefs. You know what I mean.”

  “We should all do that,” Salvador said.

  Lewis sat down and pulled off the boots. “The law can’t always stay out of people’s business. The law doesn’t understand.”

  “Do you want the boots?”

  “No.” Lewis put on his old shoes. He paused at the door. “I’ll see you later, Salvador.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lewis walked out of the House of Boots and entered the tobacco store next door. He bought a few cigars. He didn’t smoke as much as he once did, but he still enjoyed them. They calmed him, made him slow down. He unwrapped a Partagas as he passed back out to the street. He bumped into Manny Mondragon.

  “Hey there, prof,” Mondragon said.

  “Manny.” Lewis bit the end off of his cigar and spat it out. He looked at the sheriff’s eyes behind dark glasses. “How’s tricks?”

  “I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

  “Why would I be upset?”

  Mondragon removed his sunglasses. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you mention me in your report on Martin?”

  The sheriff looked down the street at a traffic tie-up caused by a crippled low-rider. Two men were trying to push it into a gas station. “No, Lewis, I didn’t.”

  Lewis was angry. “Why not?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s hard to explain. It’s hard to explain how a man who knew the river better than anyone around here ended up drowning in it. It’s hard to explain how a dead man dies a second time. It’s hard to explain how the sheriff can look a citizen straight in the eye and lie to him.”

  “Okay.” Mondragon was beginning to worry about someone passing by and hearing them. “Settle down.”

  Lewis looked up and down the sidewalk, then whispered, “Settle down? You give me a reason to settle down. Somebody killed Martin Aguilera and if you won’t do something about it, then I will.”

  “Stay out of this, Lewis.”