door.
Your basic police nightstick is a model known as the PR-24. It is the king of nightsticks, revered worldwide. It is three feet long, made of hard wood and in pre-inflationary dollars, costs about seventy-five bucks. It is oblong and curved to resemble a sword; if you ever have the misfortune of getting hit on the head by one, you are guaranteed large medical bills.
Zets went to the door and bumbled with the doorknob and gave it a rattle. A couple of minutes went by as he continued to stare at it. His face was bleak with confusion. Nobody was answering his summons. Not knowing what else to do, he hefted the billy club and had
a bash at the doorâs plywood paneling, wielding the cudgel in a two-handed stance.
An upstairs window opened with a yawn. Lonely Boy, shirtless and barefoot in a pair of dirty khakis with a gun stuck in his belt, jumped out of the window and onto the roof. His chest was heaving; his ribs clung to his skin. A fine sheen of sweat glazed his drawn features. Zetsâs persistent banging away at the front door had made him jittery. He slipped and nearly fell, sliding a few feet toward the rain gutter. Skittering wildly, he teetered at the roofs edge, windmilling his arms and losing his balance.
At the last possible momentâin the fraction of a second when you know youâre going to dieâin the instant when you stop caringâhe regained his footing and leaped over a smelly air shaft to the adjacent building. He flapped his arms in midair, as if he were never coming down. Framed by an aureole of sunshine, he hung crucified in between the two houses, his hands reaching for the sky. His eyes were wet with redemption. His face was hard with exultation. Then he landed on the roof next door, scaring the shit out of a nest of pigeons. He vanished behind a brick chimney to make his escape, leaving Zets dumbfounded.
Chapter Nine
N ews of the cop shooting had swept through the neighborhood like the bubonic plague. The dope dealers shrank into the eateries such as the New Mission Cafeteria and the Acaxutla Restaurant, too afraid to ply their trade in the street. The residents of Clarion, Sycamore and Sparrow Alleys, packed like sardines into rent-controlled tenements, stayed inside their apartments and got drunk. The police beefed up their patrols; cops on Kawasaki dirt bikes peeled through the one-way alleys; cops in white riot helmets were grouped on every corner while helicopters ack-acked over the rooftops, making it impossible to sleep at night.
Durrutti spent all his spare change on calls from the pay phone at the El Capitán Hotel to ask about Jimmy Ramirez. Nobody knew the Mexicanâs whereabouts. Nobody seemed to want to know. The resentment people expressed when they heard his name was not lost on Durrutti. Jimmy wasnât popular. Maybe it would be smarter if he didnât find him.
It wasnât going much better for Maimonides. When Durrutti rang him, he asked how the dalliance with his
social worker girlfriend was proceeding. He caught his partner at an awkward momentâMaimonides was high on Valium and spaced out and coughing into the receiver. âAh, you donât wanna know,â he balked. âFrankly, I canât talk about it. But itâs over between us. The truth is, Iâm incapable of intimacy. I hate it. That shit is rough on me.â
âIntimacy?â
âYes, it kills me. I need my space. Lots of it. More than most people. I donât sleep well, almost never, so we had problems in bed. She had this thing about touching me all the time. In the kitchen, it was just as terrible. At the Royan, I only got a hot plate. A two burner hot plate. So I have particular tastes when it comes to food and her cooking sucked. If you canât cook on a hot plate, you shouldnât even try. Youâll just disgrace yourself. From there, it was downhill. What can I say? Iâm fussy. I like things a certain way and she failed to meet my
Your basic police nightstick is a model known as the PR-24. It is the king of nightsticks, revered worldwide. It is three feet long, made of hard wood and in pre-inflationary dollars, costs about seventy-five bucks. It is oblong and curved to resemble a sword; if you ever have the misfortune of getting hit on the head by one, you are guaranteed large medical bills.
Zets went to the door and bumbled with the doorknob and gave it a rattle. A couple of minutes went by as he continued to stare at it. His face was bleak with confusion. Nobody was answering his summons. Not knowing what else to do, he hefted the billy club and had
a bash at the doorâs plywood paneling, wielding the cudgel in a two-handed stance.
An upstairs window opened with a yawn. Lonely Boy, shirtless and barefoot in a pair of dirty khakis with a gun stuck in his belt, jumped out of the window and onto the roof. His chest was heaving; his ribs clung to his skin. A fine sheen of sweat glazed his drawn features. Zetsâs persistent banging away at the front door had made him jittery. He slipped and nearly fell, sliding a few feet toward the rain gutter. Skittering wildly, he teetered at the roofs edge, windmilling his arms and losing his balance.
At the last possible momentâin the fraction of a second when you know youâre going to dieâin the instant when you stop caringâhe regained his footing and leaped over a smelly air shaft to the adjacent building. He flapped his arms in midair, as if he were never coming down. Framed by an aureole of sunshine, he hung crucified in between the two houses, his hands reaching for the sky. His eyes were wet with redemption. His face was hard with exultation. Then he landed on the roof next door, scaring the shit out of a nest of pigeons. He vanished behind a brick chimney to make his escape, leaving Zets dumbfounded.
Chapter Nine
N ews of the cop shooting had swept through the neighborhood like the bubonic plague. The dope dealers shrank into the eateries such as the New Mission Cafeteria and the Acaxutla Restaurant, too afraid to ply their trade in the street. The residents of Clarion, Sycamore and Sparrow Alleys, packed like sardines into rent-controlled tenements, stayed inside their apartments and got drunk. The police beefed up their patrols; cops on Kawasaki dirt bikes peeled through the one-way alleys; cops in white riot helmets were grouped on every corner while helicopters ack-acked over the rooftops, making it impossible to sleep at night.
Durrutti spent all his spare change on calls from the pay phone at the El Capitán Hotel to ask about Jimmy Ramirez. Nobody knew the Mexicanâs whereabouts. Nobody seemed to want to know. The resentment people expressed when they heard his name was not lost on Durrutti. Jimmy wasnât popular. Maybe it would be smarter if he didnât find him.
It wasnât going much better for Maimonides. When Durrutti rang him, he asked how the dalliance with his
social worker girlfriend was proceeding. He caught his partner at an awkward momentâMaimonides was high on Valium and spaced out and coughing into the receiver. âAh, you donât wanna know,â he balked. âFrankly, I canât talk about it. But itâs over between us. The truth is, Iâm incapable of intimacy. I hate it. That shit is rough on me.â
âIntimacy?â
âYes, it kills me. I need my space. Lots of it. More than most people. I donât sleep well, almost never, so we had problems in bed. She had this thing about touching me all the time. In the kitchen, it was just as terrible. At the Royan, I only got a hot plate. A two burner hot plate. So I have particular tastes when it comes to food and her cooking sucked. If you canât cook on a hot plate, you shouldnât even try. Youâll just disgrace yourself. From there, it was downhill. What can I say? Iâm fussy. I like things a certain way and she failed to meet my
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