Land of Entrapment

by Andi Marquette

  Dragon thought about it for a bit. “When Talbot came in for the first part, Cody was with him. But I only saw them together that once.”

  “When was that?”

  “Talbot started his this past March. I did two sessions with him then he quit coming around.”

  “Has Cody been in recently?”

  “Once since he came in with Talbot. I think that was in May. Oh, and he had a girl with him. Cute.

  Looked kind of scared. I remember that because she seemed really nice and I wondered what she was doing with this loser guy. He did ask me if I’d seen that other guy. The one with the chest swastika.”

  “Why’d he come here looking for him?”

  Dragon shrugged. “We get a lot of regulars.

  They’ll come in not necessarily for a new image, but to have touch-ups. And we’re like an ol’ school barber shop. People hang out here. It’s a peace zone. You can chill as long as you don’t diss anybody while you’re here. There’s like a truce thing going on, which is why we have gang-bangers and Nazis hanging out in the same place. They know they can and if they don’t screw around, they’re welcome to come back. It’s even funnier during gay pride, when all these chicks come in for rainbow whatevers or those paw prints on their chests and they’re hanging out in the lobby with Skins and cholos.” He grinned. “I should write a book.

  Anyway, Cody asked about that guy. I can’t remember his name. Ron or something.”

  “Roy. Is he a regular?”

  “He’ll come in maybe two or three times in a month. Because we are the kind of shop we are, we’re sort of a hub for a lot of people. There’s an understanding among them—and this is true of the cholos and other gang-bangers—that they can’t come here to make trouble with rivals.”

  “What happens if they do?”

  “Nobody here will tat ’em and trust me, it’s hard to find people who do good work and are willing to put some of the shit on people that they want. You wanna be a bad-ass mother-fucker gangster with shitty tattoos? No way. They know not to press their luck here.”

  I thought about that a moment. Tattoos as social currency. “So you don’t have any trouble?”

  “Nope. I’ve been here three years and we’ve had no problems with shit like that.”

  “So when was the last time this Roy guy was in?”

  Dragon pursed his lips, thinking. “Maybe two weeks ago? He came in looking for that Cody dude.”

  “Did he find him?”

  “Not that day. I mean, it’s possible that Cody’s come in since May but I might not have known about it.” True. Dragon might’ve been working on someone or eating lunch or any number of things. I smiled.

  “Thanks a bunch for your time. If Cody comes in again, would you call me and let me know? Like, within the next week or two?” I took a slip of paper out with my first name and cell phone number. I always had a couple of these on me when I was doing research. Business cards had way too much information on them and when you’re dealing with extremist movements, it’s generally not a good idea for people to know too much about you.

  “Sure. What’s this about?” He took the slip of paper.

  “That girl who came in with him in April is my stepsister and I haven’t heard from her in a while. I’m a little worried because of the crowd Cody runs with and I was hoping to talk to her.”

  He raised his eyebrows, suddenly looking sympathetic. “Oh, wow. That’s heavy. So she’s not taking your calls, huh?”

  “No. And her family thinks that Cody might be a bit...”

  “Abusive. Yeah. I could see that.” He shook his head empathetically. “Man. That’s tough. ’Cause she’s an adult and you can’t force her to get out of a bad situation. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. And thanks again for your time.”

  “No problem. And seriously, if you want another tat, stop by.”

  “Definitely.” I shook his hand and left. A skinny guy wearing the low-slung jeans, long sleeveless tee, and hairnet of a cholo sat in the lobby, nervously tapping his foot. His skin appeared unmarred. A virgin. I waved at the clerk as I exited into the heat.

  An informative day thus far. Still no Cody, but at least I got the sense that he was in the Albuquerque area.Now would probably be a good time to try the number on his business card. I got in my car and drove to a nearby gas station, where I pulled up to the pay phones, relegated to the back near the air hose. I took two quarters out of the little tray in my dashboard and pulled Cody’s card out of my wallet. I got out and inserted the quarters into the slot, waited, then dialed the number. One ring. Two. Three. Four.

  Bump to voice-mail.

  “Hey, this is Cody. Leave a message. Eighty-eight!”

  I hung up before the beep. So the number was still good. I’d try again later. If he answered, I was going to pretend to be interested in the movement and see if he’d meet me, hopefully at Eight Ball. I’d ask Chris if she could go, though it was probably an unnecessary precaution. If he started trouble, he’d lose his Eight Ball privileges. I got back in my car and headed for Megan’s, needing some time to consolidate my thoughts and prepare for dinner with Melissa, which I wasn’t really looking forward to. Yes, Melissa moved me on some levels still, but the thought of patching things up with her and trying again was too weird.

  There was just too much of the past to unravel. I therefore decided to think about it as if it was a dinner with in-laws. I just had to get through it.

  Chapter Eleven

  I WAS IN the process of getting my stuff out of my car in front of Jeff and Sage’s when I heard the front door of the main house slam open. I looked up. Sage was standing on the porch. “Hey! Get in here,” she ordered. From anybody else, that tone would have irritated me. On Sage, it was endearing.

  “Hold on—let me get my stuff.”

  She watched me, obviously impatient. I grabbed my bag, made sure I had everything, locked up, then climbed the steps to the main house. “What’s up?”

  “Inside.” She pulled me into the living room, agitated. “Cody was here.”

  I stared at her. “What? How do you know?”

  “He was poking around Megan’s about an hour ago.”

  “Shit. Why didn’t you—”

  “Call you? I don’t have your number. Hello!”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Let me fix that right now.” I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and removed a business card. I got a pen out of my bag and wrote my cell phone number on the back. Sage took the card and looked at it. She slid it into the front pocket of her shorts.

  “Okay. What was he doing?”

  “Looking in the damn windows. He probably tried to get in through the front and he couldn’t because you had the locks changed. I wish I was here to see that.” She smiled grimly.

  “All right. From the beginning.”

  She rolled her eyes and sat down on the couch. I sat next to her, setting my bag on the floor.

  “I got home around two and went in through the front. I went into the kitchen and checked out that back window that looks through the laundry room and then through that other window—it’s a habit. I always look to see if Megan’s home. Lately, I look to see if you’re home.”

  I ignored that, though it gave me a little buzz.

  “And I saw this guy looking in the side windows.

  I could not believe it. I went to the window and holy shit, it was that assmuncher Cody.”

  “Assmuncher?”

  “Prick. Is that better?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Listen to me!”

  I shut up.

  “I decided to watch him for a while. You know, play detective and shit. Like you do.”

  I shot her a look that she ignored.

  “It looked like he was pushing on the windows, like he was trying to figure out if he could break in without making a big scene. Then he went back to the front door and he stood looking at it. I wanted to yell

  ‘open, sesame’ for him, ’cause he l
ooked so lame standing there like the door was just going to fling open.”

  I struggled not to laugh. “What was he wearing?”

  “Jeans and a black T-shirt. I thought that was stupid. I hope he fucking sweats to death. Anyway, he stood there for about ten years like he was conjuring secret powers. And the longer he stood there, the more pissed he got. He totally tried to smack the door.”

  “He hit the door?”

  “Yeah. Took his fist and pow! ” She mimicked him throwing a punch. She was laughing. “This part’s funny,” she explained though I was pretty sure it was going to be. “So he punches the door and then he starts shaking his hand because it hurt so bad. He looked at it, to see if there were bone fragments flying out of it or something, and he shook it some more.

  Then he kicked the door. He was wearing work boots so I guess he thought those steel toes could take down a New Mexico security door. Nope. And the whole time he’s shaking his hand because it hurt so bad to punch the door. What a fucking moron.”

  “He kicked the door,” I repeated, envisioning the scene. It gave me pleasure to do so. “What’d he do then?”

  “He stood around looking really pissed off and then he left. I decided since I was being all secret, I wouldn’t tell him to get the fuck off the property and I watched him through the windows as he left.”

  “Was he driving?”

  “No. I thought that was weird. I mean, Megan’s car is gone and since he’s such a prick, you’d think he would’ve taken it.”

  “Unless he didn’t want, say, you to see her car and think she was back.”

  Sage hesitated. “Huh. Good point. Anyway, he went toward Central and I checked on Megan’s. The windows are fine and that door doesn’t even have paint chipped from him.” She sat back, satisfied.

  “Sage, thank you so much for coming home at two.”

  She looked at me, trying to decide whether I was teasing her or not.

  “And thank you for not yelling at him. He’s a loose cannon and I know you could kick his ass into next year, but he might carry weapons and that would really suck if I came back and found you all messed up in your kitchen.”

  Her brow furrowed. “That would really suck.”

  Then she flashed her devilish grin. “If you saw me like that, would you give me mouth-to-mouth?” Her tone was teasing.

  My voice caught in my throat. Okay, she is definitely flirting with me. “Um.”

  She was enjoying my discomfiture. “Would you?”

  “Uh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I managed, scrambling to find words for this most uncomfortable situation.

  Her smile broadened. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  Shit. She had me backed into a corner here and she knew it. I reached down and grabbed my bag and stood. “Look, Sage...”

  She stood as well, no longer smiling. Her whole demeanor shifted. “Too forward?” She asked quietly.

  “Look,” I said, backing slowly to the door, “I’m really flattered. Believe me. But...”

  “It’s because of Megan, isn’t it?”

  I stopped. “Sort of. Megan is like a little sister to me and it’s just kind of weird to, well, to consider dating her friends.” I was totally tongue-tied.

  “You think I’m too young.”

  “It’s the context. Megan’s way younger than I am and dating her friends would be—I’m sorry,” I finished lamely. I continued backing toward the door.

  “How old do you think I am?” She wasn’t following me, thank God.

  “I’m not going to answer that. I’ll fuck up no matter what I say.”

  “Your honesty is refreshing.” She said it without a trace of sarcasm.

  “And besides, what about Jeff?”

  “What about him?” She looked at me, visibly perplexed.

  “Aren’t you and him —” My hand was on the door handle.

  She stared at me, realization dawning. “Oh, hell no. Jeff’s, like, been my best friend since I moved here. He’s like a brother. Oh, my God. He will so die laughing when I tell him you thought we were together.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, thought better of it. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” This is so nuts.

  “K.C., hold on. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” She moved closer.

  I waited, holding the door partially open.

  “It’s just that—” She stopped and regarded me, a little smile on her lips. “I am really attracted to you.”

  I swallowed. “You don’t even know me.” Oh, my God. This can’t get any worse.

  She shook her head slowly. “I think I do.”

  I couldn’t look away from her gaze. I had nowhere to hide. “Through Megan? That’s—I mean, everybody has blinders on when they talk about somebody they like. You’ve only got a tiny bit of the picture through her. I’m not what she thinks and I’m certainly not what you think.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Her tone was intractable. I knew I couldn’t argue with it.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just not a good idea.” I slipped out onto the porch, feeling really shitty, slightly rattled, but also extremely flattered. And as much as it pained me, I had done a mature thing and said “no.” I shut the door quietly and went around to Megan’s. I checked my watch. Four-fifteen. I had to meet Melissa soon. God, this day is starting to really suck. I went inside, leaving the interior door open, and turned on some music as I organized. I knew this wasn’t a date with Melissa but it seemed sort of disrespectful to wear rumpled shorts and a tee to a dinner that would most likely involve flaying open my soul. And then there was Sage. Why did she have to be so... Damn.

  Smart. Funny. Attractive. Young.

  I put on a pair of lightweight khakis and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. This color always brought out the flecks of green in my eyes and for some reason, I really wanted Melissa to see that. Maybe that was petty. I wasn’t entirely sure about my motives. I worked on my hair a little bit and put on some cologne with a nice citrus undertone. As I finished I heard a soft knock at the front door. I left the bathroom and walked through the bedroom.

  “Door’s open,” I called, knowing it was probably Sage.

  “Hey,” she said as she came in.

  I stopped near the kitchen doorway, waiting.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was wrong of me to push you like that. I sometimes don’t really think about stuff before I say it.”

  “I noticed that.” Why can’t I be ten years younger?

  “Jeff’s leaving tomorrow for Las Cruces. Will you come over for dinner?”

  “Sage—” I felt my guts clench.

  “Please? Just to hang out. And talk. And eat. Just dinner.” She cocked an eyebrow. “You know how I am about food and bachelors.”

  I laughed, a little nervous. “Just to hang out?”

  “And talk.”

  “I can do that.” I don’t know where the words came from. But as soon as I said them, I knew I might as well have thrown myself into a den of ravenous lions.

  She grinned. “Anything you can’t or won’t eat?”

  “Nope. Well, wait. I don’t like—”

  “Liver. Bleu cheese. Anchovies or escargot. Or fruitcake. Oh, and gorgonzola.”

  “How—”

  She lifted her left shoulder in a shrug.

  “Never mind,” I said, flustered. “Do you drink wine?”

  She brightened. “Definitely. And don’t worry about matching it to the food. All wine is good.”

  “All right. When?”

  “I don’t get home until six. So how about seven-thirty?”

  “Sounds good. Just dinner. And talking.” I looked at her for confirmation.

  She smiled angelically. “Yep.” She appraised me then. “Hmm. Do I have competition?”

  “Sage—”

  “Kidding.” She put her hands up.

  “I’m having dinner with my past tonight. Honest opinion. How do I look? Wait—
before you say anything. You’re the old lady at Dillard’s and I’m just asking you how I look.”

  She laughed. “Honestly, that’s a great color on you.” She paused, then continued. “So you’re meeting Melissa. I think that’s a really good thing.”

  “You should hang out a sign and read people’s tarot.”

  “I already do.” She flashed that damn grin. “Have a nice time. If you want to talk when it’s done, stop by.” She waved and left. I stood at the door, watching her cross the twenty paces or so between Megan’s and the main house and climb the back steps. I really needed to move because if she turned and saw me watching her, she’d know that under different circumstances, I’d be all over her like a rez dog on a fresh bone. Move away, I repeated to myself. I couldn’t. I didn’t. I stared. Sage pulled the security door on her house open and, yep, she turned and caught me watching her. She stood for a few seconds, eyes locked on mine. I swore I saw a trace of that grin on her lips. And then she went inside.

  “Oh, fuck,” I muttered under my breath. Dinner tomorrow is going to suck, too.

  I PARKED IN the structure north of Old Town on Mountain Street. It was free after five and I didn’t mind walking the block or two extra. I locked up and crossed Mountain, which brought me right to the edge of the Plaza. I walked down San Felipe past the various galleries and “Indian Trading Companies.”

  Roughly two blocks from the corner of San Felipe and Mountain sat La Hacienda, a sprawling restaurant complex in a one-story adobe, vigas jutting from the front, following the line of the roof. The restaurant’s entrance faced the small square in the center of the plaza that served as a park. A gazebo stood in the square’s center and people occupied most of the square’s wrought iron benches.

  I stood watching pedestrians wander past the gazebo. To my right stood San Felipe de Neri, the double-steepled Spanish-style church that Chris’s Abuelita attended. She liked the early service, because it was conducted in Spanish. Stores, galleries, and shops selling little tourist doodads flanked the other two sides of the square and most were doing pretty good business, from the foot traffic entering and exiting.

  I arrived about fifteen minutes early, but since it was Friday, I probably needed to get a table. I went inside the restaurant and waited in the dim lobby behind a group of tourists. The interior evoked heavy, dark Spanish colonial style. To my right a gift shop offered all kinds of things, from cheesy stereotypical rubber tomahawks to colorful jackets made out of Pendleton blankets.