Muerte Con Carne by Shane McKenzie

the back of the man’s head as she rolled the tacos in tinfoil. When she turned to hand him the paper sack, Marta saw that she was pregnant. Nearly full term from the look of it. She bumped the man with her belly, and he gave her a sideways glance.
    Marta realized she was staring and moved her attention back to the menu. “Can I please have four barbacoa tacos? Oh, and how is your menudo?” She was delighted to see it on the menu, hadn’t had menudo in years, always loved it.
    The man smiled, rubbed his chin. He leaned his body further out of the window and licked his lips. “You ain’t had menudo like this, baby. Mamá's is the best.” His eyes slowly roamed Marta’s body and he sucked on his teeth and rubbed his palms together. “I know you’ll love it, bonita.”
    “He’s not kiddin’. You oughtta give it a try, miss.”
    Marta started, put her hand to her chest and chuckled when she saw the sheriff standing next to her. He tossed his garbage into the plastic trash can, wiped his hands on his pant legs, smiled at Marta. The sores on his lips were scabbed over, though the one at the corner of his bottom lip looked freshly picked at. A translucent goo oozed out, and when the man caught Marta looking, he wiped at it.
    The man at the window eased his self back into the trailer, his smile never leaving his face. His eyes ping ponged from Marta to the sheriff and back.
    Marta forced a smile, crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, I’ll take two bowls of menudo then.”
    The pregnant woman now stood beside the man, her eyes narrow slits as she stared Marta down. The man wrote down Marta’s order, his grin widening, tongue sliding over his gold tooth. When he turned and found the woman hovering over him, he shoved her backward, slapped Marta’s order to her chest. Even as she was pushed back into the trailer, her eyes stayed on Marta.
    The man said something to her under his breath, and the woman nodded, got back to preparing the food. She shot one final glance in Marta’s direction, her mouth a perfect arch, eyes as sharp as razors.
    The man leaned back out the window with a grease-stained paper sack in his hand, called out an order number. One of the Mexican men standing by quickly retrieved his food, wiped the shine from his lips as he waddled off, already opening the bag and glaring into it.
    Marta’s stomach gurgled as she paid. The rough man spread Marta’s change over her palm, running his fingertips over it. Marta yanked her hand away, frowned at him, and stepped aside. Her face nearly plunged right into the sheriff’s chest. She had forgotten he was standing there, and he tipped his hat with one hand, the other caressing his fat stomach in a circular motion.
    “How you doin’, ma’am?”
    “Hungry.”
    “I hear that. I hear ya. You’re gonna love Cristobal’s food. That’s a guarantee. No doubt about it.” He cleaned his teeth with his tongue, hooked his thumbs into his belt. “What brings you ‘round these parts, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
    Marta sat at one of the wooden picnic tables lined up on the side of the store, flies suckling at its surface. Various etchings marked the wood, declarations of love and hate carved into its gray surface. The smell swirling off the taco trailer hit her in waves, and her stomach churned in response.
    “Am I in trouble, sheriff?”
    He glared at her with one eye squinted. “Trouble? Didn’t say nothin’ about no trouble. Just ain’t never seen you before, and pardon me ma’am, but we don’t usually get pretty young girls like you ‘round here.”
    “Just passing through. I’m staying at the motel down the road…can’t remember what it’s called.”
    “I know the one. Only one we got.”
    “Yeah, well I’m staying there with my husband. We’re on a drive across the state, and we decided to stop and take a few days off, relax a little bit.” She smiled, rested her elbows on the table and her chin on top of her fists. She didn’t