knows that he has to find Doc somehow but he has no earthly idea where to start. There are no signs. No white lines to follow, only black asphalt threading through the shadows of unnamed mountains and disappearing into a starless sky.
And the only visible light is the faint red glow of the taillights of his own goddamn Cadillac melting into the darkness.
V
Graciela was adamant.
"Yah-kee," she intoned again and again as she pursued Doc around the tiny room. Doc did his level best to pretend that he didn't understand a word she was saying and continued to go through the motions of ransacking the room, all the while muttering under his breath. "Where the hell did that bag of mine get to? Manny's got himself one hell of a dose of the clap. If I've told him once I've told him a thousand times to put a rubber on that thing when he goes with those east-side girls."
The game continued until Graciela finally resorted to ducking under Doc's arm as he reached for his hat. Standing on her tiptoes on the tops of Doc's shoes afforded her just enough reach to shove that morning's edition of
La Noticia
into Doc's face, where he could no longer ignore the photo on the front page or Graciela's determination.
"Yah-kee!" she repeated. "
¡Yah-kee en el aeropuerto!
"
"That's Jackie.
Jack-
ie, child. At the airport. I know. Everybody knows. But you don't understand. The airport is way north of town and I don't have a car. How would we get way the hell out there? And it'll be a madhouse and ... there will be cops everywhere and not just the local boys either. I'm talkin'
federales! Migra!
And you illegal and all."
The laundry list of excuses went on for another half an hour but Graciela continued to press her case, alternately pleading and pouting and occasionally stamping her tiny bare feet on the linoleum floor. Mercifully, Doc finally managed to locate his bag and, pointing at an imaginary wristwatch, somehow slipped out the door.
But there was no escape. Manny was sitting at Doc's table in the back of the beer joint reading the
Express-News,
which featured the same wire-service photo of the First Lady as its Spanish-language counterpart. As Doc approached the table, Manny tapped the paper with a short thick forefinger.
"
Yah-kee!
" He grinned.
"Yeah, yeah, I've seen it already. Just drop your pants and lean over the table there and shut the fuck up."
Manny complied and it was all over in an instant. The ritual had been repeated countless times, and Doc, as usual, had preloaded the syringe with an adult dose of penicillin. Manny hauled his suspenders back over his shoulders and walked off the cramp, cursing under his breath. Doc dropped the empty syringe in his bag and snapped it shut for emphasis.
"Oh, did that hurt? Well, good! Maybe next time you'll use your head before you go stickin' your dick where half of the Fourth Army's already been. Those Nigra gals on the east side all got the clap and everybody seems to know it but you, Manny. Hell, they work right outside the back gate of Fort Sam Houston, and for the life of me, I do not understand why you think you need to go all the way over there when there's plenty of girls right here on the south side who would gladly shine your knob for a dollar's worth of dope."
Manny gingerly sat down and retreated behind a shield of newsprint.
"I told you, Doc. I don't shit in my own backyard. It's bad for business. Next thing you know every
puta
on South Presa's lined up at my spot with their hands out and their skirts up."
"Point taken. But at least put a bag on it, son. There are some maladies that a man can contract with his pants down that are beyond my limited abilities to cure."
Manny shrugged and kept right on reading. "It says that the president's comin' here to talk about space medicine. What's space medicine, Doc?"
"That's aerospace medicine. He's coming to dedicate some new buildings at the Brooks Aerospace Medical Center. It's a place where they study the effects of space
And the only visible light is the faint red glow of the taillights of his own goddamn Cadillac melting into the darkness.
V
Graciela was adamant.
"Yah-kee," she intoned again and again as she pursued Doc around the tiny room. Doc did his level best to pretend that he didn't understand a word she was saying and continued to go through the motions of ransacking the room, all the while muttering under his breath. "Where the hell did that bag of mine get to? Manny's got himself one hell of a dose of the clap. If I've told him once I've told him a thousand times to put a rubber on that thing when he goes with those east-side girls."
The game continued until Graciela finally resorted to ducking under Doc's arm as he reached for his hat. Standing on her tiptoes on the tops of Doc's shoes afforded her just enough reach to shove that morning's edition of
La Noticia
into Doc's face, where he could no longer ignore the photo on the front page or Graciela's determination.
"Yah-kee!" she repeated. "
¡Yah-kee en el aeropuerto!
"
"That's Jackie.
Jack-
ie, child. At the airport. I know. Everybody knows. But you don't understand. The airport is way north of town and I don't have a car. How would we get way the hell out there? And it'll be a madhouse and ... there will be cops everywhere and not just the local boys either. I'm talkin'
federales! Migra!
And you illegal and all."
The laundry list of excuses went on for another half an hour but Graciela continued to press her case, alternately pleading and pouting and occasionally stamping her tiny bare feet on the linoleum floor. Mercifully, Doc finally managed to locate his bag and, pointing at an imaginary wristwatch, somehow slipped out the door.
But there was no escape. Manny was sitting at Doc's table in the back of the beer joint reading the
Express-News,
which featured the same wire-service photo of the First Lady as its Spanish-language counterpart. As Doc approached the table, Manny tapped the paper with a short thick forefinger.
"
Yah-kee!
" He grinned.
"Yeah, yeah, I've seen it already. Just drop your pants and lean over the table there and shut the fuck up."
Manny complied and it was all over in an instant. The ritual had been repeated countless times, and Doc, as usual, had preloaded the syringe with an adult dose of penicillin. Manny hauled his suspenders back over his shoulders and walked off the cramp, cursing under his breath. Doc dropped the empty syringe in his bag and snapped it shut for emphasis.
"Oh, did that hurt? Well, good! Maybe next time you'll use your head before you go stickin' your dick where half of the Fourth Army's already been. Those Nigra gals on the east side all got the clap and everybody seems to know it but you, Manny. Hell, they work right outside the back gate of Fort Sam Houston, and for the life of me, I do not understand why you think you need to go all the way over there when there's plenty of girls right here on the south side who would gladly shine your knob for a dollar's worth of dope."
Manny gingerly sat down and retreated behind a shield of newsprint.
"I told you, Doc. I don't shit in my own backyard. It's bad for business. Next thing you know every
puta
on South Presa's lined up at my spot with their hands out and their skirts up."
"Point taken. But at least put a bag on it, son. There are some maladies that a man can contract with his pants down that are beyond my limited abilities to cure."
Manny shrugged and kept right on reading. "It says that the president's comin' here to talk about space medicine. What's space medicine, Doc?"
"That's aerospace medicine. He's coming to dedicate some new buildings at the Brooks Aerospace Medical Center. It's a place where they study the effects of space
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