overhanging balconies, formed a tunnel along the shop fronts. Glitter dust sparkled between the concrete bricks, too deep for brooms or wind to dislodge. Tourists shuffled past, nursing kitschy plastic drinking glasses. Locals, dressed in an eclectic carnival of styles, glided along like sharks amongst tuna. Suited men stood before strip clubs, wearing black earpieces like they were Secret Servicemen, pimping the pleasures inside. The streets stank of body odor, exhaust, and beer. Occasional whiffs of oily ganja smoke wafted through, their origins impossible to pinpoint. Malcolm found himself grinning. He was home.
"Excuse me, sir."
He turned to see a short, bald man in a hole-speckled polo smiling at him. Another man stood behind him, grinning around a stubby cigarette.
"I really like those shoes," the bald man said.
Malcolm glanced down at his slightly worn hiking boots. "Thank you."
"What would ya say if I could tell ya where and what street ya got those shoes?"
Smirking, Malcolm rubbed his chin. I guess I don't appear as local as I'd thought.
The man with the cigarette seemed to notice Malcolm's tattooed arms. Eyes widening, the grin fell from his lips.
"I'd say," Malcolm started, "that I got my shoes on my feet on Royal Street."
The bald man laughed and snapped his fingers. "Aw, that's right! On yo feet on Royal Street!" He turned to his friend, still standing like a wax statue. "Man here knows his lines."
The friend shook his head tensely, almost unnoticeably. His lips tightened, as if trying to pass some important, unspoken danger.
"Say, man," the bald man said, turning back to Malcolm. "Since ya already got my line, ya think you can spare a dollar?"
"Don't know. Got any other lines?"
Baldy's smile widened. Two of his bottom teeth were missing. "'Course I got more. Tell ya what—"
His friend thumped him hard in the back. Baldy snapped his head around. The guy with the cigarette gave a quick gesture with his head, stabbing his nose toward Malcolm's hands. Baldy turned back to Malcolm, quizzical. Then his gaze lowered.
Malcolm slowly rolled over his open palm, like a stage magician revealing a materialized ball.
All joviality vanished from baldy's face. "Uh…um…shit."
"You know these marks?" Malcolm asked.
Baldy gulped. "Yeah."
"You knew Ulises, then?"
Both men nodded.
"We was real sorry to hear what happened to him," Smoker said. "Papa Ulises was a good man."
"Do you know who I am?" Malcolm asked.
"Yeah," Baldy said. "You're his boy, the Doctor. He talked about ya. Said ya was off…" he glanced at the worn case in Malcolm's other hand, "…killin' evil."
So much for anonymity. "You men have any ideas who might have killed him?"
They shook their heads.
"Don't know," Smoker said. "I hadn't spoke with him in a while. Always real nice. Helped me out with some stuff when things got bad. He did that. Helped folks."
Malcolm nodded understandingly. "Well, I'm going to be around for a while. If either of you gentlemen hear anything…" He extended a folded twenty from his previously empty fingers.
Baldy held his hands up, like the money was trying to arrest him. "No, no, man. That's all right. Ya ain't got to pay us. Papa Ulises was a friend."
"You sure?" Malcolm eyed Smoker.
He didn't seem to want it either.
"Well, thank you." Malcolm withdrew the bill into his palm again. Ulises had spent long hours, and quite a few drinks, teaching him some basic sleight of hand tricks. Real magic was less obvious, at least until it became dangerous. "I'll owe you one. My name's Malcolm."
"We know that, Doctor," Baldy said. "I'm Julian." He motioned to Smoker. "This here's Dwayne."
"Pleasure to meet you. You know Alpuente's?" Malcolm nodded to the shop just half a block away.
"Jim Luison's place," Julian said.
"That's right. You two hear anything, just let him know." He offered his hand.
Julian looked at it as if maybe the tattoo had teeth. Reluctantly, he shook it. "We will."
Smiling, Malcolm turned
"Excuse me, sir."
He turned to see a short, bald man in a hole-speckled polo smiling at him. Another man stood behind him, grinning around a stubby cigarette.
"I really like those shoes," the bald man said.
Malcolm glanced down at his slightly worn hiking boots. "Thank you."
"What would ya say if I could tell ya where and what street ya got those shoes?"
Smirking, Malcolm rubbed his chin. I guess I don't appear as local as I'd thought.
The man with the cigarette seemed to notice Malcolm's tattooed arms. Eyes widening, the grin fell from his lips.
"I'd say," Malcolm started, "that I got my shoes on my feet on Royal Street."
The bald man laughed and snapped his fingers. "Aw, that's right! On yo feet on Royal Street!" He turned to his friend, still standing like a wax statue. "Man here knows his lines."
The friend shook his head tensely, almost unnoticeably. His lips tightened, as if trying to pass some important, unspoken danger.
"Say, man," the bald man said, turning back to Malcolm. "Since ya already got my line, ya think you can spare a dollar?"
"Don't know. Got any other lines?"
Baldy's smile widened. Two of his bottom teeth were missing. "'Course I got more. Tell ya what—"
His friend thumped him hard in the back. Baldy snapped his head around. The guy with the cigarette gave a quick gesture with his head, stabbing his nose toward Malcolm's hands. Baldy turned back to Malcolm, quizzical. Then his gaze lowered.
Malcolm slowly rolled over his open palm, like a stage magician revealing a materialized ball.
All joviality vanished from baldy's face. "Uh…um…shit."
"You know these marks?" Malcolm asked.
Baldy gulped. "Yeah."
"You knew Ulises, then?"
Both men nodded.
"We was real sorry to hear what happened to him," Smoker said. "Papa Ulises was a good man."
"Do you know who I am?" Malcolm asked.
"Yeah," Baldy said. "You're his boy, the Doctor. He talked about ya. Said ya was off…" he glanced at the worn case in Malcolm's other hand, "…killin' evil."
So much for anonymity. "You men have any ideas who might have killed him?"
They shook their heads.
"Don't know," Smoker said. "I hadn't spoke with him in a while. Always real nice. Helped me out with some stuff when things got bad. He did that. Helped folks."
Malcolm nodded understandingly. "Well, I'm going to be around for a while. If either of you gentlemen hear anything…" He extended a folded twenty from his previously empty fingers.
Baldy held his hands up, like the money was trying to arrest him. "No, no, man. That's all right. Ya ain't got to pay us. Papa Ulises was a friend."
"You sure?" Malcolm eyed Smoker.
He didn't seem to want it either.
"Well, thank you." Malcolm withdrew the bill into his palm again. Ulises had spent long hours, and quite a few drinks, teaching him some basic sleight of hand tricks. Real magic was less obvious, at least until it became dangerous. "I'll owe you one. My name's Malcolm."
"We know that, Doctor," Baldy said. "I'm Julian." He motioned to Smoker. "This here's Dwayne."
"Pleasure to meet you. You know Alpuente's?" Malcolm nodded to the shop just half a block away.
"Jim Luison's place," Julian said.
"That's right. You two hear anything, just let him know." He offered his hand.
Julian looked at it as if maybe the tattoo had teeth. Reluctantly, he shook it. "We will."
Smiling, Malcolm turned
Similar Books
