Last Summer of the Death Warriors (23 page)

“I told you the truth. You said maybe you wouldn’t kill me if I told the truth. You’re gonna kill me anyhow, aren’t you? Why the bathtub? You don’t want to make a mess?”

“I don’t want your daughter to see you right off when she comes in.”

“How do you know about her?”

“I saw her from across the street.”

“You’re not gonna hurt them, are you?”

“No.”

“You have to find it in your heart to forgive me. God knows I don’t deserve to live, but you don’t have to kill me. I’ll do anything. Give you anything. You need money? I got money.”

Pancho stopped. “Maybe there’s something.”

“What? Name it.” Sweat rolled down Robert Lewis’s cheeks.

“You have anything that shows you loved my sister?”

“Yeah, yeah! Hold on. I’ll show you.” Robert Lewis moved around the bed excitedly. He opened the bottom drawer of a white dresser. Pancho moved closer with the pistol. Robert Lewis lifted an orange sweater and took out a leather notebook. Inside the notebook was a picture, which Pancho accepted. It was a picture of Robert Lewis and Rosa, taken in a motel room, maybe the same room she died in. Robert Lewis had taken the picture by
holding the camera at arm’s length. In the background Pancho saw a flowered headboard and a desk with glasses, a bottle of gin and a Dr Pepper can. Rosa was looking up at Robert Lewis and laughing with that loud, childish, uncontrollable laugh that so often embarrassed him.

“She was happy with me until I done went and messed it up. Please don’t kill me,” Robert Lewis pleaded. Pancho stuck the picture in his back pocket.

“What would you do to me if I knew your daughter was allergic, so allergic she could die of it, and I gave her something to drink so I could do more sex things to her?”

Robert Lewis covered his face with both hands and sobbed.

Pancho made him lie facedown in the bathtub. He pressed the two-inch snub of the revolver to the back of his head and spoke. “You need to count to one hundred before you get up. If I see you before one hundred seconds are up, I will kill you. Start counting.” He walked out of the bathroom, closed the door behind him, went to the girl’s room, and looked at the dolls on the shelf. Then, out of curiosity, he picked up the fingernail polish and examined it in the light. It wasn’t black. It was purple.

J
uan was sitting on a wooden chair next to Rafael when Pancho drove up. He pretended not to be happy to see Pancho. On the way back to Helen’s house, he asked Pancho, “You get done what you wanted to do?”

“No,” Pancho answered, “but that’s all right.”

They pulled up into the driveway. Helen’s SUV was there and so was the sports car she drove the time she took him to see Johnny Corazon. “Everyone’s here,” Juan said. He didn’t sound pleased.

“Everyone?”

“La Misses
is back.
El Señor
Stu. And he don’t like Johnny Corazon much.”

Pancho didn’t ask why. He had an idea.

Juan excused himself to go to his apartment. He patted Pancho on the back, either congratulating him or wishing him luck, Pancho wasn’t sure which. Pancho went in through the kitchen door. He felt exhausted. Climbing over the stone wall, writing in Rosa’s diary, holding a gun had drained all the strength from
him, but he felt the lack especially in his arms, the way a boxer can barely lift his arms in the last round of a fight. He heard voices in one of the rooms downstairs and walked toward the sound.

They were all seated in a room he had never entered before. D.Q. was in his wheelchair. Surrounding him, as if to prevent any possible escape, were Helen, a man he didn’t know, and Johnny Corazon. The man he didn’t know saw him first. He was thin and short and had an intense look beneath his gray eyebrows. He remained seated but extended a hand to Pancho. “Hello, I’m Stu.” He squeezed Pancho’s hand hard and Pancho squeezed back harder. There was still enough strength there, he discovered.

“Pancho,” D.Q. said. His voice was faint but happy.

“How was your evening out with Juan?” Helen asked.

Pancho ignored her and went up to D.Q. “Do you still want to go back to Las Cruces?”

“Yes,” D.Q. said. A thin, knowing smile crossed his face.

“Do you want to wait another week or do you want to go now?”

“Now.”

“We’re heading back to Las Cruces,” Pancho told the group.

Everyone around the room looked at one another.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, legally or otherwise,” Stu said. He looked amused by Pancho’s actions.

“He’s better off here, Pancho,” Johnny Corazon added. “We’re making progress.”

“It’s his decision,” Pancho said firmly.

“He was feeling better last night and this morning with Johnny’s remedies, and then that girl came, and when we got here he was worse,” Helen said. “He can get better. He
will
get better!”

“What do you wanna do?” Pancho took a few steps closer to where D.Q. was sitting. He noticed that he was sitting in the St. Anthony’s wheelchair and not the motorized chair.

“Will you come to Las Cruces now and then?” D.Q. asked Johnny Corazon.

“Yes,” Johnny Corazon answered immediately without looking at Helen.

“Then I want to go back to St. Tony’s now,” D.Q. said.

“Honey…” Helen extended her hands toward D.Q. even though she was too far away to touch him. “Let’s go,” Pancho said.

“Do something!” Helen yelled to Stu. Stu quickly stood up and put his hand on Pancho’s chest.

One punch,
Pancho thought.
One simple straight jab and I could crack his face.
He had already committed a crime that evening. Robert Lewis could go to the police and file charges for attempted murder. The cops might be out looking for him even then.

“You really think you can stop me?” Pancho asked.

Stu dropped his arm and lowered his eyes. “I’ll have the state troopers stop you before you reach the interstate. I’ll have you arrested. It’s no use.”

“I’ll take him for a short ride, then.” Pancho made his way to the wheelchair.

Helen was shouting, “Johnny, do something! I don’t believe this.” She stepped in front of the wheelchair.

“Mom, don’t make things worse,” D.Q. said. “Be smart. In Las Cruces you can come see me or rent a house near St. Anthony’s—God knows you have the money—and we can spend more time together. Johnny already said he would come see me. You can help me by paying his way. You need to trust that Las Cruces is where I am meant to be.”

“And the clinical trial? I’m willing to take a chance that you don’t like me. You think I’m doing this for my sake? I want you to live as long as possible!”

“I know you do,” D.Q. said to her. “I want to live as long as possible too. I saw that picture you painted of me. I know how strong your hope is. I’ll get tested again in Las Cruces. If the clinical trial makes sense—if it makes sense all things considered, we’ll talk about it. But I’ll decide if it makes sense or not.”

D.Q. and Helen stared at each other, neither one of them moving. Finally, D.Q. nodded to Pancho. “Let’s go,” he said.

Pancho looked at Stu one last time. If he was going to use force to stop him, now was his chance. But he stood frozen in place. Pancho pushed the wheelchair toward the door. Helen stepped out of the way, a look of grief on her face.

“I’ll file a court order in the morning
and
a warrant for your arrest,” Stu said behind him.

“I don’t expect anything different.” Pancho smiled. He always knew he was going to end up in prison.

“Wait,” Johnny Corazon ordered. Helen looked hopefully at him. “There’s a thermos of tea in the refrigerator you should take with you. I’ll come see you soon.” He squeezed D.Q.’s hand as he went by.

Juan came out into the driveway when he heard the noise of the wheelchair on the ramp. “I need to ask you for the keys,” Pancho said to him.

“I going with you,” Juan said. Before Pancho could answer, he had climbed in the driver’s side and started the truck. Pancho helped D.Q. into the truck and threw the wheelchair in the back.

“They’re gonna fire you,” Pancho told Juan as they peeled out of the driveway.

“Is time to retire,” Juan said.

“It’s a good thing I had the perico in my pocket,” D.Q. said, holding it out for all to see.

“Don’t puke on us,” Pancho warned him. “We’ll set you in the middle of the desert and leave you there. You can have some of the stuff from Johnny Corazon’s thermos if you like.”

When they were on the edge of Albuquerque, Juan told Pancho his plan. They would all spend the night at Rafael’s. Then early the next morning, Rafael would drive them to Las Cruces in his truck and Juan would return to
La Misses.
D.Q. agreed that it was a good plan and so did Pancho. If they took the truck or a bus to Las Cruces tonight, they could be stopped by the police and taken back to Helen’s (or off to jail, Pancho thought). But if they reached St. Anthony’s the next day, D.Q. at least could stay there a while.

“If we make it to St. Tony’s,” D.Q. told Pancho, “I’ll make sure Helen doesn’t press any charges against you.”

“Oh yeah? How you gonna do that?”

“I have my ways,” D.Q. said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pancho,” D.Q. said. “Damn, I’m tired.” He closed his eyes and then he opened them. “I never asked you. How’d it go with Marisol by the petroglyph?”

“None of your business,” Pancho said.

“That good, huh? That’s good, Mr. Pancho. That’s very good.”

It was around noon the following day when Rafael’s truck rattled into St. Anthony’s. There were four or five students over by the basketball court. Memo was one of them. He shouted and jumped up and down as soon as he saw Pancho lift the wheelchair from the back of the truck. Soon everyone at St. Anthony’s had gathered around them. Father Concha was the last person to emerge from the building. The students made room for him to reach D.Q. “I’m back,” D.Q. said.

“Welcome home,” Father Concha said, smiling a smile bigger and happier than Pancho had ever seen before.

Pancho put two hundred dollars into Rafael’s hand as he said good-bye. Rafael waved to D.Q. and left. Father Concha shook Pancho’s hand. “The police may be looking for me,” Pancho told him.

“Helen called this morning,” Father Concha said. “You’ll be okay for a while. Unless you’ve done something I don’t know about.”

Pancho shrugged his shoulders mysteriously. “Is she going to try to get D.Q. back?”

“She and her husband are considering it. I told her we had
engaged a lawyer and we would file the emancipation petition for Daniel tomorrow morning. She would have a fight on her hands. She needs to think about it. If she gets him back, she’ll lose him for good. If she lets him go, he will let her into his heart.” Pancho felt someone punch him in the arm. It was Memo. “Come, I want to show you something,” Father Concha said.

The group with D.Q. in the middle moved all together toward the basketball court. When they got there, everyone stopped and turned to study Pancho’s reaction. Behind the basketball court stood the boxing apparatus from the trailer. The swing set was newly painted bright red; the heavy bag and two speed bags hung from the top pole. There were ropes and boxing gloves and headgear all lined up on top of plastic containers.

“We’re gonna get back the boxing club again, like old times,” Memo told him.

Pancho turned around and saw that the boxing area was visible from the window of D.Q.’s new room. Father Concha followed Pancho’s gaze. “Let’s go inside,” he said.

D.Q. went in first, with Coop pushing him. Pancho followed. Coop opened the door to D.Q.’s room. “Oh, man,” Pancho heard D.Q. say. The room was painted light green, with the reading chair and the tall bed in exactly the spots that D.Q. had described. Light streamed into the room and landed on the white bedspread. D.Q. reached into his pocket, took out the perico, and gave it to Pancho to place on the small table between the bed and the chair.

“Look at this,” Memo called out from across the room.
He had opened a door that Pancho did not remember being there.

“We cut through the wall and joined the rooms,” Father Concha told him. Pancho saw a small room painted pale blue. There was a normal-height bed, a wooden desk and chair, a lamp. The room reminded him of the room in Juan’s apartment. They made way for D.Q. to roll in.

“This is your room, Mr. Pancho,” D.Q. said.

“What’s that door?” Pancho asked.

“You guys will have to share a bathroom,” Father Concha informed them.

“Why does he get a telephone and I don’t?” D.Q. pretended to be upset.

“So I can call Memo when you need your diapers changed,” Pancho said.

They moved back into D.Q.’s room, and Father Concha told them, “I figured you guys didn’t bring any clothes, so we put some regular things in the dressers. We’ll leave you alone. There are some sandwiches in the dining room if you’re hungry, Pancho. Daniel, Lupita can make you something.”

“Tell her to come see me later,” D.Q. said. “There are some teas and herbs I need her to get for me.”

“Let’s go, guys.” Father Concha pushed the group out.

“Pancho, you wanna go a few rounds later?” Coop asked.

“Sure,” Pancho said. He lied. He was going to sleep in the shade of a pecan tree for a week.

D.Q. was fiddling with a control pinned with a safety pin to his bed. He made the bed go down as far as it would go. Then he
stood up from his wheelchair, lay down on the bed, and pushed the up button until the bed was even with the window. Pancho took off D.Q.’s shoes. He moved to close the curtain to keep the sun out of D.Q.’s eyes, but D.Q. stopped him. “It feels good,” he said. He turned his face toward the window. Outside, two boys were playing a game of one-on-one.