Border Field Blues
Page 20
“No.” said Rolly.
“Where is the girl?”
“I told you I don’t know about any girl.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“I wanted to get out of the house.”
“Sin su madre.”
“Don’t bring my mother into this.”
“She does not approve of your whore mongering?”
“No. I mean, that’s not why I came here.”
“I have seen a truck, on the street nearby. A green truck.”
“I see green trucks all the time.”
“What becomes of your car?”
“The police have it. No thanks to you.”
“Ah, your novia, the one with the muscles, she takes your car?”
“Yes. No. Kind of.”
“You have seen this green truck before, I think.”
“Why don’t you show it to me?”
“You are not helpful to me with these answers.”
“I figure you already know the answers.”
The doctor nodded.
“That is true. I know many things. It is the girl whore who took the vaquero’s truck. That is clear to me now. And now you have the truck. Therefore, I think that you have the girl.”
“You killed him, didn’t you?”
“Who?”
“Jaime. The vaquero. It’s his truck.”
“The vaquero was a whoremonger. He fornicated on whores.”
“That’s why you killed him?”
“He made his own death.”
“But you helped,” muttered Rolly.
“What is that you say?”
“Nothing.”
Ramoñes clasped his hands together.
“You were a surprise to me, my friend, very agile for a portly man. I am glad to see you alive, though. I became angry. I do not want to kill you. That is no good. Then I would never find the girl.”
“I took Jaime’s truck,” Rolly said. “I figured he wouldn’t miss it.”
“I am done with these bothersome lies,” said the doctor. “Let us make an exchange.”
“What do I get out of the deal?”
“You own your life, my friend. It is in your hands.”
“Every single day,” Rolly said.
“We will not bandy words any longer,” said the doctor. “I think you have the girl here.”
“You see her anywhere?” Rolly said, throwing his arms wide to encompass the empty room.
“Did you fornicate on her?”
“I did not fornicate on her or anywhere near her.”
“Perhaps you fornicate on her and throw her away. When you have paid her the money.”
“The flower of her womanhood remains intact.”
The doctor furrowed his brow.
“What do you mean by this?” he asked.
“No girl. No fornication. The seal is still good.”
“What is this seal you speak of?”
“You know what I mean.”
“She is intact, then?”
“The police have a girl, at the morgue. She’s dead. She has the mark. They showed me a photograph. I know all about your little racket. So do the police.”
The doctor looked thoughtful. He walked to the table, looked at Rolly for a moment, sat down in the opposite chair. He pulled out his plastic baggie of smoking supplies, rolled a joint. It didn’t make Rolly feel any better, but at least it bought him some time. The doctor licked the edges of the rolling paper, added a measure of his herbal mixture and rolled it between his fingers.
“You still do not smoke?” Ramoñes asked, twisting the ends of the joint.
“No,” Rolly said. The doctor leaned back against the wall, pulled out a silver Zippo.
“You know what a whore is, my friend?” he said.
Rolly shrugged.
“I will tell you,” the doctor said. “She is nothing. A bag of flesh. She is grease, like the animal fat you consume so much of. She is blood and urine and shit.”
Ramoñes lit the joint, took a hit, held it in for a moment, and exhaled.
“That is what men like you turn them into,” he continued. “I have made it my life, to save the young girls from whoremongers like you.”
“I didn’t touch her,” said Rolly.
“Who?”
“Whoever she is.”
Rolly had never paid for a woman. There’d been so many free ones. The doctor’s definition of whoremongers might not be so finely tuned, though. Groupies might count. He hadn’t violated Rio. That was the point he needed to make.
“I didn’t touch her,” he repeated.
The doctor stared into Rolly’s eyes.
“You will swear on your mother’s grave,” said the doctor. “El sepulcro de su madre?”
“Leave my mother out of this,” Rolly replied.
“You must swear on your mother’s grave.”
“Are you threatening my mother?”
“No,” the doctor, smiled, “I will not harm su madre. But you must be willing to swear.”
“All right, all right,” Rolly said. “I swear.”
“En el sepulcro de su madre?”
“Yes, yes. On my mother’s grave. Just leave her alone.”
The doctor nodded his head.
“I believe you my friend. Your madre is safe.”
The doctor grabbed a tangerine from the fruit bowl, began peeling it.
“My name is Ramoñes,” said the doctor. “Dr. Zildjian Ramoñes. My mother was a whore. Does this surprise you?”
“Should it?” said Rolly. He glanced at the door, considering what would happen if someone walked in. Rio, Hector, anyone.
“You think someone will come?” said the doctor, noting Rolly’s glance.
“I doubt it,” said Rolly.
“We will wait here awhile,” said the doctor. “There is no hurry.”
Rolly looked away. The doctor finished peeling his tangerine, left it on the table.
“You have heard this name before?” he said. “Zildjian, I mean? You are a musician.”
“You mean the cymbals?”
“Yes. Like the cymbals. They are pretty to look at, no?”
Rolly shrugged.
“My drummer uses them.”
“Instrumentos hermosos, sí. The Zildjians are shiny and beautiful, but they have sharp edges. My mother, you see, she knew many musicians. This is how I came by my name. I spent much time with them, the musicians, as a boy. In the whoremonger’s house. I was drawn to the cymbals, these Zildjians. I liked to touch them, to play with them. Zildjian, Zildjian, I would say. Soon, that is what the men call me, the guitar players and mariachis. They would say ‘there goes Zildjian, come here Zildjian.’ They never know my real name.”
“What is your real name?”
“I have always been Zildjian.”
Ramoñes took another toke, offered it to Rolly. Rolly considered it. If he was going to die, he might as well be high when it happened. He shook his head. He needed to be clear. The doctor shrugged, took another toke.
“The Zildjians are beautiful, yes, but they are also dangerous,” he continued. He held up his left hand, revealing a long scar across his palm. “You see this?”
Rolly nodded.
“That is from one of the Zildjians. The cymbals. I gave it a great spin. On the stand. I tried to grab it. It cut me there, much blood. That is when I first learn. There is danger in beautiful things. The things that attract us. Like women.”
Rolly didn’t argue the point. Royal Tinglers often had a sharp edge. The doctor separated the tangerine into two halves. He ate one of them.
“My mother was a beautiful woman,” he said. “Men gave her money. To fornicate on her. I would see them, sometimes, rooting in her body, grunting like pigs. They leave their ugliness in her, like rot. She became ugly with the disease. No man would touch her then. We were put out of the whoremonger’s house, onto the streets. Soon after, she died.”
“Why are you telling me t
his?” Rolly said.
“So you will know. When you die.”
“I told you. I’m not like those men. I didn’t do anything to any girl.”
“We shall see. When she returns.”
“She’s not coming back.”
“Then you will help me find her.”
“Did you sell her to someone? Is that it?”
“I do not understand.”
“The operations. You fix up the girls and sell them.”
“Who would I sell them to?”
“Rich Arabs, somebody like that. Maybe Chinese?”
“For what reason?”
“They pay a lot for virgins.”
“I too would be a whoremonger, then, would I not?”
Rolly shrugged.
“That woman, with the red hair, at the house on the border, is she a prostitute?”
“The Señora is my benefactor.”
“She gives you money?”
“She has provided for me. She has made a place for my work.”
“What’s she get out of deal?”
“I offer my services.”
“A little nip and tuck?”
“The Señora gave her soul to the devil many years ago. We are joined together in sin.”
“I saw you out on the patio, the two of you.”
“You think she is my whore?”
“Something like that.”
“I do not touch a woman with my pito. I am not a whoremonger.”
“What about the other girls?”
“I marry them to God,” said the doctor.
“What?”
“They are whores. I make them as nuns. They leave the world without sin. Immaculate.”
“I don’t understand.”
Doctor Ramoñes leaned forward in his chair.
“After my mother died, I was sent to a home for those without parents, un orfenilato, how do you say it?”
“An orphanage.”
“Yes. The women there, they are married to God. They do not sin as my mother did. They do not fornicate with men. Only God.”
“I’m not sure that’s exactly...”
“A holy man. He joined me with God. His blood is within me. That is why I become a doctor. I am his body.”
There was a noise, from outside, on the stairwell. Both men looked up as the door to the apartment opened. Vera stepped into the room. She was dressed in blue jean cutoffs, strappy sandals, a loosely buttoned shirt with the ends tied in a knot just above her navel. She stopped when she saw the two men, put her hands on her hips.
“Is this your new whore?” asked Ramoñes.
La Pistola
(The Gun)
“Hello, Vera,” said Rolly.
“Where’d you run off to last night?” she asked. “And who’s this jerk?”
“I am Dr. Zildjian Ramoñes,” said the doctor, answering for himself.
“Well ziljun on this, doc,” said Vera, flipping a middle finger at him.
“She is a lively one, my friend,” said the doctor, winking at Rolly.
“I thought you’d gone with Hector,” said Vera.
“Where is he?” asked Rolly.
“They went down to that protest thing. At the border park. He and Roberto. And that girl you came in with last night.”
Ramoñes raised an eyebrow, looked over at Rolly.
“This is not good, my friend,” he said. “You have not told me the truth.”
“When did they leave?” Rolly asked.
“About a half-hour ago, I guess,” said Vera. “What’s the story on that chick, anyway? Hector was bouncing off the walls all morning.”
“I do not like this bouncing,” said Ramoñes, stubbing out his joint in the discarded tangerine skin. “Who is Hector?”
“He and Roberto must’ve spent a couple hours up here talking to her,” continued Vera.
“What about?” said Rolly.
“Getting her a green card, I expect. That’s what Roberto does.”
“They are whoremongers,” said the doctor, shaking his head.
“Fuck you, asshole,” said Vera, flaring her nostrils like an angry gazelle.
Ramoñes smiled and reached for his pocket protector. He withdrew a scalpel and inspected his fingernails, scraping the dirt under them. Rolly recognized the move. It was the doctor’s signature riff. Vera reached for something inside her purse. Rolly slipped his left hand under the table.
“You will please to take off your panties,” said Ramoñes, scraping his cuticles.
Rolly didn’t wait to hear Vera’s response. He lifted the table as he sprang from his chair, slammed it into the doctor as hard as he could. There was a split second of resistance. The table rebounded, bouncing Rolly backwards and into the wall. He heard a loud bang. Bits of pressed wood exploded around him. Someone screamed. Rolly stumbled, fell to the floor. The table flipped over and fell down on top of him. Then something fell on the table, rolled across him and crashed onto the floor. Then silence.
“Shit,” someone said.
Rolly crawled out from under the table, looked around the room. The front door stood open, a shaft of sunlight streaming in across the floor from the alley.
“Vera?”
“Over here.”
The voice came from behind him. He turned around, saw Vera sprawled on the floor between the wall and the bed, one bare leg draped over the mattress, a sandal dangling from her big toe.
“Did I get him?” she asked.
“He’s gone.”
Vera pulled her leg down off the bed. Rolly reached down, helped her up.
“What happened?” he said.
“I almost shot you, you dumbass. That’s what happened,” she said, waving a petite pearl-handled pistol in her right hand.
“Where’d you get that?”
“From my purse. Didn’t you see me?”
“I guess not.”
“That was the guy, wasn’t it? The guy you were hiding from?”
“Yeah, that was him.”
“I knew something was funny when I came in. You looked white as a ghost. Then he started in with that whore shit… Did you hear what he said to me?”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Fuckin’ pimp. I hope I shot his balls off.”
“You think you got him?”
“I don’t know. I had my shot all lined up. Then you had to go and play hero.”
“I thought he would cut you.”
“There’s his knife,” Vera said, pointing at a silver blade on the floor. Rolly knelt down to pick it up, stopped. The police would want the scalpel for prints. He surveyed the room for other evidence.
“Did I get him? You see any blood?” Vera said, sounding hopeful.
“None that I can see.”
Vera sat down on the bed, placed the gun next to her, began rubbing her wrist.
“You okay?” asked Rolly.
“That little fucker’s strong,” she said. “I saw the table up in the air and heard my gun go off, then he came at me. Next thing I knew I was lying over there in the corner.”
“At least you held onto the gun.”
“Yeah.”
Rolly heard footsteps outside, someone climbing the stairs. Vera heard it too. She picked up the gun, pointed it towards the door. A small, round woman stepped into the doorway. Rolly recognized her from the kitchen last night. Vera lowered her gun.
“Jefe?” said the woman. “¿Se duele?”
“Estoy bien,” Vera said. “Estoy bien. No se preocupe.”
The woman lingered at the door, looking back and forth from Vera to Rolly.
“Estoy bien,” said Vera. “Estaré abajo pronto.”
The woman left, chided by her boss’s reassurances. God only knew what she thought, seeing Vera disheveled on the bed, gun in hand, with a strange man in the room.
“You think we should call the cops?” Vera asked.
Rolly nodded, reached in his pocket, then stopped.
“My phone’s d
ead,” he said, recalling his elevator adventure.
“There’s one in my purse,” Vera replied. “Over there.”
Vera pointed behind Rolly. He turned, spotted the purse, retrieved it from the floor near the bathroom, handed it to Vera. She rummaged around inside.
“I forgot about your gun,” Rolly said.
“I get out of here pretty late some nights.”
“Hector told me he bought you one.”
“Romantic, huh?”
She pulled her cell phone out of the purse, flipped it open.
“Wait,” said Rolly.
Vera looked up at him.
“Is it registered? The gun?”
“Yes.”
Rolly nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “No, wait.”
Vera gave him an exasperated look.
“Let’s call Hector first. I want to talk to him.”
Vera punched a button, put the phone up to her ear.
“Hey babe,” she said. “It’s me. Rolly’s here. He wants to talk to you. I think I shot a guy. Call me.”
She flipped the phone shut, offered it to Rolly.
“That should get his attention,” she said. “You wanna call the police?”
“I want to know about Hector and Roberto first. And the girl.”
“They went to that rally.”
“At Border Field Park?”
“Yeah. Hector had his Pancho Villa outfit on. He’s been working on it for weeks.”
“They took Rio with them?”
“That’s your little girlfriend’s name?”
“Yes. She was supposed to stay here until I came back.”
“Where’d you go anyway? Hector was worried.”
“It’s a long story.”
“She went with ‘em. They got her all dressed up too.”
“Why?”
“Everybody’s going as something. That’s the idea. Roberto’s wearing a baseball uniform. I don’t know who he’s supposed to be.”
“You said Hector got all worked up this morning. What’d he say?”
“I don’t know. Lots of stuff. He kept going on about ‘those assholes’.”
“Did he mention any names?”
“It was some kinda group.”
“Was it the AFA? Is that what he said?”
“He said he was gonna nail those fascist assholes.”
“Anything else?”
“He’s always going on about fascists. Roberto came over early this morning. He brought some papers for your girlfriend to sign.”