“What about Señora Tangie and the other girl? Did she see what happened to them?”
“She does not know. She runs very fast. She ran very far.”
“And Jaime? How did thee meet him?”
“It was the next day. She fell asleep, near the river. A man came by on a horse. It was Jaime. He took her back to his house. He gave her clothes, and some food. He told her about the dead girl he found on the beach, that she looked like her.”
“She knowth the other girlth dead?”
Rio dropped her eyes as she spoke.
“Yes. She is sorry. Señor Jaime told her about the house, and Señora Tangie, that it is an evil place, that Señora Tangie is the demon X’Tapay. Señor Jaime told her he would die soon, that X’Tapay had come back to claim him, that she had seduced him.”
“He told me that too.”
“Señor Jaime said you were strong, that you had fought off the demon who lives in the tequila, that you were strong enough for X’Tapay. He showed her your card. He said you would pay money to her. Because she lived in the house with X’Tapay. He said you would have magic to protect them. That is why they drove up to your house.”
“Doth thee believe that?”
“She knows that you are a shaman, that you have the magic in your hands.”
“How doth thee know that?”
“From the way you play the guitar,” Hector said. He laughed. “Sounds like you got a groupie.”
Rolly smiled. Compliments were welcome, whatever the circumstances. It wasn’t sorcery, though, that gave him magical hands. It was practice.
“How doth thee know the doctor killed Jaime?”
“A car came to the house. Señor Jaime hid her under the floor. She heard them talking. She heard horrible sounds. When she came out there was blood on the floor. There was a man sitting on the back steps. She hit him with a pot. She didn’t know it was you.”
Rolly nodded. It all sounded plausible, even probable. Ramoñes found evidence of the girl in the house and killed Jaime. The doctor collected on X’Tapay’s bill.
“I think we should talk to my lawyer,” said Hector. “She’s gonna need one.”
“Yeah,” said Rolly.
“Okay if I call him?”
“Ith kinda late.”
“He’ll come over. Me an’ Roberto are like brothers, man.”
“OK.”
As Hector pulled out his cell phone, Rolly’s phone buzzed. He looked at the name on the screen. It was Marley.
“Yeah?” said Rolly, putting the phone to his ear.
“Border Lords,” said Marley. “That’s the name of the game. You ever heard of it?”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Yeah? Well it should be. There’s a mod called Border Field Blues.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And you’re in it.”
El Deudo
(The Pall Bearer)
Rolly peered through the glass door of the high-rise condominium on Tenth Avenue. He waved at the security guard behind the desk. The guard wasn’t Jimmy.
“Yes?” came a voice from the speaker next to the door.
“I’m here to see Sayer Burdon,” Rolly said to the speaker. “He lives here.”
“Is Mr. Burdon expecting you?”
“Yes,” Rolly lied. Perhaps Burdon did expect him, in some weird way. Rolly was part of the game now.
“What’s your name?” the guard asked.
“Rolly Waters.”
“Hold on.”
The guard looked down at his desk, punched a number on the phone, spoke to someone. He hung up the phone. The door buzzed. Rolly grabbed the handle, opened it and walked in.
“You got a business card?” the guard asked when Rolly got to the desk.
Rolly pulled out his wallet, handed the man a card. The guard looked at it, chuckled.
“Mr. Burdon’s a funny guy,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“He asked me if you were ‘Rolly Waters, the rock and roll dick.’”
“Oh.”
“Missing Persons. Insurance.” the guard said, reading from Rolly’s card. “He recited your phone and license number too, to the letter.”
“I can go up, then?”
“Yeah, sure. You must be the guy.”
“Thirteen-thirteen, right?”
“Yeah. It’s crazy how he remembers that stuff.”
Rolly got into the elevator, punched a button. The doors closed and the elevator began its ascent.
He’d left Rio at the restaurant, watched over by Hector and Vera while they waited for Hector’s lawyer to arrive, and walked over to Marley’s loft, where Marley showed him the Border Lords video game. As Marley explained it, enthusiasts could create their own scenarios – mods they were called. The mods included new locations, characters, soundtracks.
Border Field Blues was the title of the mod Marley had downloaded. It looked like Rolly’s whole case file, all the places he’d been – Border Field Park and The Honeytrap, Jaime’s house and corral, Rico Chacon’s bar, Pastor Eddie’s sidewalk church. Each of the locations was marked on a satellite map that stretched from the police recovery lot to the border, all the ground Rolly had trod. The people were there too. The names were different – Cowboy, Red, El Doctor, and Gordo, but it had to be them. Avatars for Rico Chacon and Eddie Sanchez were there, along with various border patrolmen, AFA goons, and young girls like Rio. Jaime’s green truck was part of the game. So was an old hearse.
A new version of the mod had been uploaded last night. Rolly was part of the game now, although his avatar’s face wasn’t as clear as some. His character was named ‘Dick.’
The elevator door opened. Rolly stepped out onto the thirteenth floor, walked down the hall to number thirteen, knocked on the door. No one answered. He knocked again. There was no response. He tried the doorknob. It turned. He pushed the door open, walked in. The apartment was dark, except for a flickering glow at the end of the hall. He walked down the hall, announcing himself as he went, but no one called back to him. Turning the corner, he entered the living room. It was dark too, except for a gigantic TV hanging on the far wall. The screen’s ghostly light overwhelmed the figure slouched on the floor in a beanbag chair, with a pair of large headphones clamped over his ears. The man’s fingers and thumbs danced across the plastic controller he held in his hands, clicking out a soft, frenetic rhythm as the pictures on screen swerved and exploded, a battle between the shooter and some sort of militant zombies.
The man shooting zombies was Sayer Burdon. Vera had misheard the name when taking the order Friday night. It was The Pall Bearer, not Paul Barrere. It was his character’s name. The Pall Bearer. El Deudo, Rio called him. Whatever the name, Sayer Burdon knew something, perhaps everything about what happened Friday night. Rolly just hoped it made sense.
“Mr. Burdon?” he said, raising his voice, trying to get through the kid’s headphones. Burdon didn’t acknowledge him. Rolly stepped in closer. Burdon glanced up at him, unsurprised, with no hint of emotion, and returned to his game. There was something queer about the kid, something damaged, but here he sat, living in his own apartment, capable enough to get by. Rolly waited a moment, thinking the game would end soon, that Burdon would speak to him once he’d killed enough zombies. It went on for a while. A lot of zombies went down, minus various body parts.
The game ended. Burdon dropped his arms, rested the controller in his lap and stared at the screen.
“Mr. Burdon?” said Rolly. The kid turned and stared at him. He didn’t say anything.
“You remember me, from this morning?” Rolly continued. “I’m the detective...”
“Rolly Waters, the rock ‘n’ roll dick. CA PI License two-zero-three-five-one-two. Phone...”
“Yes, that’s me. Can I talk to you?”
“You can talk,” Burdon said.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
Burdon made no response. Rolly continued.
&nb
sp; “When you picked up your car, this morning, when the policeman talked to you, you said a friend borrowed it.”
“Yes. A friend borrowed my car.”
“Is he one of the security guards?”
“He is one of them.”
“Is your friend Jimmy?”
“Yes. Jimmy plays games with me.”
“Do you know why Jimmy borrowed your car Friday night?”
“He took the money.”
“He took money from you?”
“I gave him money.”
“Why?”
“It was Friday. He took the money.”
“He stole it from you?”
“No.”
“He didn’t threaten you? He didn’t steal it?”
“No. I gave him money. On Friday. He went to get the records. They’re tokens.”
“That’s why you gave him the money?”
“Yes.”
“Does Jimmy work for you?”
“He works downstairs. He’s a security guard. Pantera Security. Badge number zero-four-eight-zero.”
“I thought maybe he did other jobs for you, in his spare time, something like that.”
“He’s a security guard. That’s his job.”
“Why did you give him the money? Are you buying those records?”
“It’s a charity. It goes to a charity.”
“What kind of charity?”
“The charity is for girls. For Mexican girls. It’s for a church.”
“Are those the girls in your game?”
“There aren’t any girls in this game. It’s Zombie Apocalypse.”
“Not this game. The one you told me about at the police lot. Border Lords.”
“I play Border Lords.”
“Yes. I know. Are the Mexican girls in that game?”
“There are Mexican girls in that game.”
“So they’re in Border Field Blues?”
“Yes.”
“Did you make up that game?”
“Yes.”
“Did you put me in the game?”
“You’re not in the game.”
“That character, Dick? Did you put him in the game?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Burdon didn’t answer.
“Why did you put him in the game?”
“Everyone’s in the game.”
“But why me?”
Burdon looked blank. Rolly tried another angle.
“Do you know all the characters in the game?” he asked.
“I made them. I put them in there.”
“What about that woman? Red? Did you put her in there?”
“Yes.”
“Is she Tangerine Swimmer?”
“She’s Red.”
“But you know Tangerine, don’t you?”
“Did you have sex with her?”
“No.”
“Then you won’t die.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I programmed the game.”
“I’m not talking about the game. I’m talking about real life.”
“Tangerine sleeps with too many men. That’s what my mother said.”
“Your mother knows her?”
“They are sisters.”
“Tangerine is your aunt, then?”
“Yes. She is Aunt Tangie. That is how I know she is my mother’s sister.”
“Where is your mother? Can I talk to her?”
“You can talk to her.”
“How would I contact her? Does she live here?”
“No. She moved away. With her husband.”
“Your father?”
“No. It is her husband.”
“He’s not your father?”
“My father gave me money. When he gave me the money, she moved away. My father is dead.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rolly. “When did he die?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“What was his name?”
“He’s my ancestor.”
“Yes, I know. What was his name?”
“I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Can you tell me your father’s name?”
“I don’t want to talk. I want to play the game. Do you want to play the game?”
“Some people are dead, Sayer. I need to know why.”
“I want to play the game,” Burdon said, shifting in his beanbag chair.
Rolly paused for a moment. He felt tired. The back of his skull started to throb again.
“What about Border Field Blues?” he said. “Can we play that?”
“Yes. I would like to play that game,” Burdon said. He didn’t move.
“Okay,” said Rolly. “I’ll play with you.”
Burdon pushed some buttons on his controller, closing down the zombie apocalypse, and switching over to Border Lords, selecting Border Field Blues from a list of titles. He paused.
“What is it?” said Rolly.
“You have to choose a character.”
“You can choose it for me.”
“You have to choose.”
Rolly scanned the list of characters and their pictures.
“I’ll be me, I guess,” he said.
“You have to pick someone from the list.”
“Dick, I mean.”
“Dick is a private investigator,” said Burdon, selecting Rolly’s avatar on screen. He handed the game controller to Rolly, reached down and picked up another one lying on the floor next to his chair.
“Who are you going to be?” Rolly asked.
“The Pall Bearer.”
“Of course,” Rolly muttered to himself, then louder, to Burdon. “I’m not very good at these games.”
Burdon reached down, found another headset on the floor, handed it to Rolly.
“You talk into there,” he said, indicating a curved tube of plastic that angled in from the right earpiece. “Dick and The Pall Bearer can play as a team.”
Rolly put the headphones on, adjusted the microphone.
“Can you hear me?” he said.
“This is the Pall Bearer,” Burdon’s voice said, coming through the headphones. “Who’s this?”
“It’s me,” Rolly said.
“Who?”
Rolly looked over at Burdon. Burdon looked at the TV screen.
“Dick,” Rolly sighed.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Burdon clicked his controller. The game started. From an overhead view of lower San Diego County, the game zoomed in towards downtown, then over to Burdon’s condominium building. It switched to an internal shot, looking out on the city from Burdon’s apartment. The picture on the TV screen divided into two halves.
“What should I do?” Rolly asked.
“Follow me,” said Burdon, his voice coming through Rolly’s headphones.
As Burdon spoke, a figure moved into view on Rolly’s side of the screen. It was The Pall Bearer. The figure walked away from him.
“Use the joystick,” said Burdon. Rolly pushed the joystick forward to follow him.
“Where are we going?” he said.
“We have to get the car.”
“What for?”
“I have to look for the dead ones. That’s the Pall Bearer’s first task. To pick up the dead ones.”
El Médico
(The Doctor)
Rolly climbed the wooden stairs to the apartment above the Villa Cantina, opened the door and walked in. No one was there. All evidence of last night’s occupants had disappeared. The bed was made. He sat down at the table, looked at his watch. Eight-thirty in the morning. He’d spent all night in an elevator.
Seven hours earlier, after leaving Burdon’s apartment, he walked down the hall, rung for the elevator. During his descent, somewhere around the fifth floor, the elevator came to a stop. He waited a minute, rang the alarm bell. Nothing happened. He tried the emergency phone inside the elevator. It rang and rang, but no one answered. He took out his
cell phone. The battery had gone dead. He sat on the floor and waited. He fell asleep. At eight-fifteen in the morning, the cables creaked. The elevator rumbled to life. It descended to the first floor and belched him out into the lobby, much to the surprise of the new guard on duty.
“Who’re you?” the guard asked.
“I’ve been stuck in there since one-thirty,” said Rolly.
“Really? Did you ring the alarm?”
“More times than I can count. How long have you been here?”
“Just got in. I saw number three stopped, so I reset it.”
“You have the controls there?”
“Yeah, like I said.”
“Was the other guard here when you arrived?”
“Who are you, anyway?”
“Rolly Waters. I’m a friend of Mr. Burdon’s. Thirteen-thirteen.”
“Oh. You want to talk to him?”
“Who was on duty before you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wasn’t he here when you arrived?”
“No. I can look it up, if you want.”
“Please.”
The guard checked his computer, turned back to Rolly.
“It was that fat guy,” he said. “Bodeans.”
And now Rio had disappeared from Hector’s apartment. She was probably perched in the kitchen with Hector and his crew, bright-eyed and better rested than Rolly, eating chilaquiles and eggs. He wondered if Hector’s lawyer had talked to her yet.
Rolly rubbed the stitches behind his right ear. He’d taken another pill in the elevator, but the effects had worn off. His head throbbed. He went into the bathroom, washed his face, and pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket, then thought about their effect on his speech. A cup of Hector’s coffee might be a better choice. He slipped the pills back into his pocket, walked out of the bathroom, and opened the door leading back down the stairs. A man stood on the stoop. It was Ramoñes, the little doctor, dressed in green scrubs and sporting his pocket protector filled with sharp steel.
“Buenos dias, my friend,” said Ramoñes, blocking the door with his foot.
“Buenos dias,” said Rolly, backing away. Ramoñes entered the room and closed the door.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, indicating the table against the wall. Rolly sat.
“Is this where you fornicate on your whores?” the doctor asked, surveying the room.
Border Field Blues Page 19
