here by myself.”
They listened to
the dance in the plaza winding down. Terri nodded off in her chair, and Chaco
lifted her and placed her beneath the covers. She snored a little, but did not
stir until a few minutes after 3:00, when she woke with a start. Her hair was
plastered to her temple, and she was disoriented.
“Chaco?”
“I’m here,” he
called in the darkness. “It’s okay, Terri.
“Can you…would
you sleep over here? Please?”
He crossed the
room in silence, lifting the covers and matching his form to hers. He held her
in his arms, kissing the back of her neck as he shared her pillow, and they
fell into a deep and contented sleep, just like that.
THIRTEEN
They rose at
dawn.
After a quick
breakfast of coffee, fruit and buttered tortillas, they were moving through the
streets of Cerritos. The last of Benny Hines’s contacts was expecting them.
The body shop
stood at the end of a long alley; the lane serviced the backs of a series of
dilapidated pastel apartment buildings. A few children sat on fruit crates,
studying them with hungry eyes. Chaco handed out coins, earning guarded grins
in exchange.
He whistled
their arrival at the chain-link fence and a half dozen dogs of various shapes
and sizes—all of them mutts—barked up a frenzy, skittering back and forth on
the other side.
After a long
minute, a large man with a prodigious Buddha belly and a panama hat sauntered
out of a little single-wide trailer. He took his time crossing the
garbage-strewn lot.
“Yeah?” he
grunted.
Chaco spoke to
him briefly in Spanish. The man turned to Terri. A thick pink scar lanced down
across his eye (clearly a glass prosthetic) and onto his stubbled cheek.
“Ms. James?”
“Yes, sir. Ben
Hines sent me.”
Buddha belly
grinned. “Ben Hines is good man. Come.”
He shouted at
the dogs and they scampered away from the gate, which he swung open before
locking it behind them. They followed him inside. Two young men sat at a table,
playing cards and drinking coffee. The news was on in the corner of the room.
Neither of them looked up from their game.
“La oficina,” he
said, pointing to a dim room in back.
Chaco led the
way, holding Terri’s hand. Buddha belly (Benny had provided only an address and
a nickname; he called him “Tuna,” and nothing else) sat behind the desk. He opened
a drawer and threw a pair of keys up on the grease-stained blotter.
“Gracias, Senor
Atún. Muchas gracias,” Chaco said.
They bantered in
Spanish for a time, and then Chaco turned to Terri. “He wants $600—U.S.
dollars. That sound right?”
Terri shook her
head. “Benny’s quote was three. What do you think?”
The silence was
interrupted by the sound of a hammer being cocked on a pistol. Chaco and Terri
turned. There, in the doorway, arms crossed over their chests, stood the young
men. They watched the negotiations with boredom in their eyes—seemingly pissed
to have their card game interrupted.
Chaco turned to
Terri, a plea in his eyes. She saw, horrified, that his hand was inching toward
his waistband.
“$600 is fine,
Mr. Tuna,” she blurted. “Thank you for your help.”
His grin
widened, and Chaco’s shoulders relaxed as Terri handed over six crisp bills.
Buddha belly made them disappear and, just as quickly, the two young men were
no longer in the doorway.
“Come. This
way,” Buddha belly said, and then they were back outside. He led them to an
impound yard. There were dozens of cars there, the majority with their innards
strewn about in haphazard piles.
“Works good,”
Buddha belly said, stopping at maroon Chevy Beretta. He kicked a bald tire and
Terri winced. She sincerely doubted the engine would turn over. It was dented
halfway to hell and had a sagging bumper held in place with bungee cords. A
constellation of cracks clouded the passenger side of the windshield. She could
only speculate on how that perfect little indentation had happened, but every
scenario she could conjure included a
They listened to
the dance in the plaza winding down. Terri nodded off in her chair, and Chaco
lifted her and placed her beneath the covers. She snored a little, but did not
stir until a few minutes after 3:00, when she woke with a start. Her hair was
plastered to her temple, and she was disoriented.
“Chaco?”
“I’m here,” he
called in the darkness. “It’s okay, Terri.
“Can you…would
you sleep over here? Please?”
He crossed the
room in silence, lifting the covers and matching his form to hers. He held her
in his arms, kissing the back of her neck as he shared her pillow, and they
fell into a deep and contented sleep, just like that.
THIRTEEN
They rose at
dawn.
After a quick
breakfast of coffee, fruit and buttered tortillas, they were moving through the
streets of Cerritos. The last of Benny Hines’s contacts was expecting them.
The body shop
stood at the end of a long alley; the lane serviced the backs of a series of
dilapidated pastel apartment buildings. A few children sat on fruit crates,
studying them with hungry eyes. Chaco handed out coins, earning guarded grins
in exchange.
He whistled
their arrival at the chain-link fence and a half dozen dogs of various shapes
and sizes—all of them mutts—barked up a frenzy, skittering back and forth on
the other side.
After a long
minute, a large man with a prodigious Buddha belly and a panama hat sauntered
out of a little single-wide trailer. He took his time crossing the
garbage-strewn lot.
“Yeah?” he
grunted.
Chaco spoke to
him briefly in Spanish. The man turned to Terri. A thick pink scar lanced down
across his eye (clearly a glass prosthetic) and onto his stubbled cheek.
“Ms. James?”
“Yes, sir. Ben
Hines sent me.”
Buddha belly
grinned. “Ben Hines is good man. Come.”
He shouted at
the dogs and they scampered away from the gate, which he swung open before
locking it behind them. They followed him inside. Two young men sat at a table,
playing cards and drinking coffee. The news was on in the corner of the room.
Neither of them looked up from their game.
“La oficina,” he
said, pointing to a dim room in back.
Chaco led the
way, holding Terri’s hand. Buddha belly (Benny had provided only an address and
a nickname; he called him “Tuna,” and nothing else) sat behind the desk. He opened
a drawer and threw a pair of keys up on the grease-stained blotter.
“Gracias, Senor
Atún. Muchas gracias,” Chaco said.
They bantered in
Spanish for a time, and then Chaco turned to Terri. “He wants $600—U.S.
dollars. That sound right?”
Terri shook her
head. “Benny’s quote was three. What do you think?”
The silence was
interrupted by the sound of a hammer being cocked on a pistol. Chaco and Terri
turned. There, in the doorway, arms crossed over their chests, stood the young
men. They watched the negotiations with boredom in their eyes—seemingly pissed
to have their card game interrupted.
Chaco turned to
Terri, a plea in his eyes. She saw, horrified, that his hand was inching toward
his waistband.
“$600 is fine,
Mr. Tuna,” she blurted. “Thank you for your help.”
His grin
widened, and Chaco’s shoulders relaxed as Terri handed over six crisp bills.
Buddha belly made them disappear and, just as quickly, the two young men were
no longer in the doorway.
“Come. This
way,” Buddha belly said, and then they were back outside. He led them to an
impound yard. There were dozens of cars there, the majority with their innards
strewn about in haphazard piles.
“Works good,”
Buddha belly said, stopping at maroon Chevy Beretta. He kicked a bald tire and
Terri winced. She sincerely doubted the engine would turn over. It was dented
halfway to hell and had a sagging bumper held in place with bungee cords. A
constellation of cracks clouded the passenger side of the windshield. She could
only speculate on how that perfect little indentation had happened, but every
scenario she could conjure included a
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