Moist (16 page)

. . .

Amado entered and looked at the arms on the table. He couldn't tell which one was his. He guessed that it was the slightly grayer one. The other looked fairly fresh and still pinkish. It made him sad. He missed his arm and felt phantom pangs
and sensations. As if his fingers were touching something soft, like fur, sometimes something rough, like his beard. But there weren't any fingers to touch anything. It just felt like it.

Amado looked at Esteban. Esteban gave him a nod.

“Roberto,
vamos.
”

Bob turned around.

“Felicia?”

“Sí. She's waiting.”

Amado watched as Bob looked at Esteban for approval. Esteban nodded and Bob smiled.

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

Amado watched as Esteban mussed Bob's hair again.

“Enjoy yourself, Roberto. You have earned it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Amado caught Martin glaring at Bob. It was a look that Amado had seen before. The evil eye.
El ojo diabólico.
A look ripe with jealousy and murder. Amado had gotten that look from men who hated him because of the women he had. Men who were jealous of his power, his connections. Carlos Vila had that look and had tried to rip off Amado. That's why Carlos Vila was dead. Amado realized that he'd have to watch out for Martin. If he made a move to kill Bob, it could only cause more trouble.

. . .

Any qualms, scruples, or doubts Don may have had about getting involved with someone he was investigating were flushed from his mind the instant her hot, probing tongue had entered his mouth. He knew it wasn't smart, but it'd been a long time since he'd last gotten laid and he wasn't going to
let a little thing like ethics get in his way. Besides, it's not like it's against the law.

Don reached around behind Maura's back and unfastened her bra with a deft snap of the fingers. He'd always had this talent, not that he'd had much opportunity to practice it in the last few years. His former girlfriend, a rough-and-tumble assistant district attorney, had small, squishy little breasts and never wore a bra. But somehow his fingers remembered.

As soon as Maura's tits became unmoored, she pulled her shirt off over her head and pushed Don onto his back. Don couldn't believe how hot she was. Her skin against his skin. Her body and his body creating humidity. She unbuckled his pants and tugged them off. He reached for her crotch but she caught his hand and pushed it up to her breasts. Don was happy to stroke her nipples and watch her back arch in pleasure.

For the briefest possible nanosecond Don thought he should put a condom on. He thought he should say something about the importance of safe sex. This thought crossed his mind. But Maura had taken a firm grip on his cock and was now guiding it inside her.

As Maura began to ride him in urgent animal spasms, Don felt that his entire soul, his inner being, was slowly being pulled into her by the rhythm. He saw her face contorting in pleasure, her breasts swinging to the motion yet reaching for him. His body responded. Automatic and enthusiastic. Thoughts only got in the way.

What happened next was new for both of them. It was like being in a hot, sweaty sauna when someone suddenly
pours a bucket of water on the white-hot lava rocks. There was an explosion of heat, sensation, fluids. Maura spoke in half-syllables, the contractions in her body and the endorphin surge in her brain short-circuiting her speech. Don felt a sharp quiver deep in his spine. And then it snowballed, building until his entire body was ringing like a tuning fork, the energy becoming unbearably intense until it rocketed out of him in a series of eye-popping seizures. For a brief moment they were transported to a world that was unbearably delicious, sensual and tranquil, comforting and releasing.

It was moist.

. . .

Amado drove the car with one hand. Bob sat next to him. He was impressed with Amado. Amazed at how quickly he'd adapted to living life with one less arm. Could Bob have done that? Or would Bob be in some outpatient physical-therapy clinic whining about how he couldn't wipe his ass anymore? Amado didn't do that. He just got on with it.

Bob smiled to himself. He was beginning to learn the difference between boys and men. He was a boy. Amado was a man.

It didn't take long before the thought, a dark and withering fear, entered his consciousness. Bob suddenly feared that Felicia wouldn't want a boy, that she'd want a man like Amado, a man she'd been with before. Bob was suddenly filled with crippling performance anxiety.

“What's she like?”

“Felicia?”

“Yeah.”

Bob watched a smile sprout across Amado's face.

“You'll see.”

“What if she doesn't like me?”

Amado turned and looked at him.

“Don't be nervous.”

“I can't help it.”

“These things are natural,
cabrón
. Don't worry.”

The more Bob tried not to worry, the more worried he became. He began to have doubts. Maybe joining up with hardened criminals, kidnapping and dismembering innocent bystanders, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe these people weren't his friends after all. He tried to push those thoughts from his mind. He was here. He was in a car. He was on his way to make love to a beautiful, sensual woman. He just needed to relax. Relax and get a hard-on. One big erection and everything would be okay.

Bob exhaled.

“Amado, what's the secret to being a great lover?”

Amado looked at Bob.

“Roberto? You don't know?”

“I don't think I'm a great lover.”

Amado steered the car with his knees while he lit a cigarette.

“There is no secret, Roberto. There is only one thing that makes a great lover.”

“What?”

Amado turned to Bob, a twinkle in his eye.

“Enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm?”

“
Sí,
Roberto, enthusiasm.”

. . .

Larga's bloody one-armed corpse lay rolled up in a tarp in the middle of the backyard. Martin and Norberto watched as a tow truck dragged the Mercedes down the driveway and off into the night. Martin clutched the thermos in one hand, then turned to Norberto.

“Where do you want to dump him?”

Norberto lifted a can of beer to his lips and drained it before expelling a thunderous belch.

“I like the Joshua Tree Park.”

“Joshua Tree's too far. Let's just go up Angeles Crest.”

“Maybe, but it's easier to dig a hole in the desert than in the mountains, man. And besides, everybody dumps their bodies in the park. The fuckin' place is getting crowded, man.”

Martin groaned.

“Are you telling me you'd rather drive an extra hour because the park is too trendy?”

“Exacto.”

. . .

Esteban watched from the kitchen window as Norberto and Martin loaded the body into the back of a Ford Explorer. They climbed in the car and drove off. Esteban was tired. He took some ice from the freezer and began to mix himself a drink. He put the ice, five cubes, in a tumbler and then poured Don Julio Silver in about halfway. Cointreau, which was much better than Grand Marnier or triple sec because it wasn't too sweet and tasted more like oranges, filled the glass up to the three-quarter mark. One whole lime, quartered and squeezed, filled up the rest.

Esteban stuck his finger in the drink and stirred. As he stirred, his mind sifted through a sequence of possible scenarios. Martin had asked permission to kill Bob. Esteban didn't know why. The fact that Martin had suddenly become homicidal, something very out of character, made Esteban suspicious. If he could flip so quickly one way, he could flop back the other. A couple of flip-flops and Martin would be testifying against him in court.

Esteban tasted his margarita. It was good, but not as good as the ones Martin made.
Qué lástima
. Esteban would miss those drinks.

. . .

Felicia sat on the bed in the TraveLodge Motel watching TV. She was dressed trashy-sexy in a diaphanous red fuck gown she'd picked up at Victoria's Secret in the Galleria. She'd gotten some lipstick to match at Nordstrom's and had carefully painted her lips a labial red. She thought about getting some stiletto-heeled slippers, but decided that was just going too far. Besides, she looked hot in the gown, her breasts clearly visible through the fabric, the cut making her ass look larger than it really was. These were both good things.

A lukewarm bottle of Modelo Especial sat on the nightstand. She didn't want to drink too much, but she'd gotten bored waiting and cracked open a beer. Her mind drifted from the sitcom on TV to her situation in the motel. She didn't like where she was. Didn't like being put in this position. She wasn't a whore. But she owed Esteban a favor and he'd called on her to repay it. It wasn't something she'd normally do, but she knew she had to do it.

It was complicated.

When Amado told her about the gringo and how he'd fallen in love with a tattoo, well, she was intrigued. Besides, she hardly ever went out with gringos and, after being reassured that he wasn't a dwarf or a freak, just a guy who liked computers, she'd agreed. She was curious. It was hard to meet people in LA.

Besides, Felicia enjoyed sex. She enjoyed it a lot. It was her favorite pastime. Better than going to the movies, more relaxing than going to the beach, more fun than dancing. In fact, she'd rather be fucking than doing almost anything.

It's not like she was some kind of sex addict like the kind she'd seen on the TV talk shows. She didn't need to have sex constantly. She just liked to. She was promiscuous. Deal with it.

Felicia heard a soft knocking. She stood up, twisted her nipples so they'd jump out a little, and answered the door.

Amado came in first and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Then he stepped back and looked her up and down.

“Caramelo mio.”

“You like?”

“Muy caliente.”

“Gracias.”

Felicia noticed that there was something different about Amado.

“Amado, you look great.”

Amado grinned.

“I do?”

“Did you get a haircut?”

“No.”

“Lose some weight?”

Amado turned sideways so she could see that he was missing an arm.

“
Chingao!
What happened?”

Amado shrugged.

“Accidente.”

“You okay?”

“Sí, todo bien.”

Felicia didn't know what else to say. Amado seemed himself, even if part of him was now missing.

“You want to meet Roberto?”

“
Claro que si.”

Amado went out the door and came back with a nervous young gringo.

“Felicia, meet Roberto.”

Felicia smiled.

“
Hola,
Roberto.”

“Hi.”

Felicia couldn't help herself, when she saw the trembling anglo in front of her, she giggled.

“Relax, Roberto. We're going to have fun.”

Bob nodded.

“Okay.”

Amado patted Bob on the shoulder.

“See you in the morning.”

Amado winked at Felicia and then was gone. Felicia locked the door behind him and then turned toward Bob.

“You like?”

She watched as Bob looked at her, his eyes locking on her with the same kind of fervor she'd seen in Salvadoreños when they saw the Virgin of Guadalupe. She moved for him, walking back and forth, letting him have a good look. Packing
every step with an animal sensuality, she twirled in front of him. Teasing him. Allowing her body's movements to arouse them both. Her breasts swinging freely behind the red veil. Her hips, her ass, her pussy open for him to see. She felt her body, supple and strong, yet heavy like ripe fruit. Her skin starting to heat up, her juices beginning to flow. She was ready to be picked.

She watched him watching her. His lips trembling, his knuckles white as he clutched his hands together.

And then something happened. She saw a look in the young gringo's eyes that she had never seen before.

Bob fell to his knees and began weeping. Felicia stopped. She was concerned, but kept her distance.

“Roberto, is something wrong?”

“No. Everything's perfect. Just perfect.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he just knelt there, looking at her with that look on his face. He was grateful. He was in rapture.

She sensed a surrender in him. To what, she didn't know, but she could tell that he wasn't dangerous. He wouldn't hurt her or get weird. She went over to him and stroked his hair. She spoke to him tenderly.

“Why are you crying?”

Bob choked back his tears and raised his head to look at her.

“Because you are real.”

A surge of emotion rolled through her body, taking her by surprise. She knelt down next to Bob and wrapped her arms around him. Bob responded, holding her tightly. Felicia could feel his hot, sweet breath against her neck. They stayed that way for a long time.

. . .

Norberto drove. They hadn't even gotten off the freeway when Martin started in on his plan. He laid it out in casual, almost joking terms. Norberto listened intently, following Martin's logic, step by step.

The plan was simple. Kill Roberto because he was a liability, an amateur who'd easily crack under interrogation. Give Amado's arm to the police. Let them arrest Amado for murder and then indict Esteban for racketeering. With those two in jail, Martin and Norberto could move in on Esteban's businesses, take them over like they were doing him a favor, and make millions.

Norberto recognized that the plan was a good one. Martin was a smart guy. He'd figured it all out. Letting the cops come in and do the dirty work was a nice touch. It kept Norberto's hands clean. Made him a victim of Esteban and Amado's stupidity. For once he would be the smart one. Norberto liked that. He liked that a lot.