Sailor & Lula (20 page)

Estelle remembered her dog, Gopher, who died after he ate an entire extra large anchovy and onion pizza when she was in the seventh grade. Ernest Tubb buried Gopher under the plum tree in the backyard and Estelle still placed flowers on the grave every year on the anniversary of Gopher's death, April fifth. Estelle thought about these and other things that had happened in her life as the Cherokee bounced down a bad road to only the devil knew where.

Romeo, if that really is his name, looks like the devil, thought Estelle. And that Perdita woman looks weird and dangerous, too. I just hope they're not going to kill us, not before I've even got my cherry popped. That'd be a slap and a half, for sure, after all I've done to preserve my chastity. I should have left it to Stubby Marble. Grace Jane says the Marble boys, Eugene and Stubby, do it better than anyone, and I guess to hell she knows. Stubby kept after me the better part of a month before he gave up. Duane now, he acts like he don't care. I don't know, maybe he don't. I wish I knew what's goin' on here, really. I'm just a college girl with a lot of potential in the field of commercial art who ain't never even
got laid yet. I know life ain't fair or even supposed to be, but this is somethin' different.

Duane pretended to be asleep. He kept his head down and tried hard not to think, but he couldn't help it, the thoughts just kept on coming. This wasn't the end of a good time, it was the beginning of a bad one. If Estelle hadn't insisted on goin' out for a beer, Duane thought, we'd be in our hotel room now and maybe she'd be lettin' me. Be a shame to die havin' been with only one girl, and her just Grace Jane Bobble, who the Marbles nicknamed “The Wide Missouri” not for no good reason. This gal Perdita is a picture, though. Reminds me of that poisonous snake from South America in the reptile and amphibian book we used in biology, one with the triangle-pointed, yellow-red face and orange ice eyes. She's the type'll bite and once the teeth are sunk you'd have to chop off the head with a hatchet to pry loose.

Duane opened his eyes and looked at Estelle. She had her eyes shut and was biting her lower lip and crying. Duane felt like crying, too, but he didn't. He wouldn't stop himself if he started, but no tears came. Maybe I can figure a way out of this, Duane thought. Estelle would be grateful, I bet, and let me do it. I wonder who done it to her other than the Marbles. They said she was some sweet meat. This life's sure got question marks scattered around like dogshit in a empty lot, the way Daddy says. I guess I ain't been steppin' careful enough.

“Tell you who my heroes are, Duane. That way you get a better idea of who I am.”

Romeo and Duane were sitting in chairs on the porch of the main house at Rancho Negrita Infante. Estrellita, as Rome insisted Estelle be called, was asleep in a locked bedroom. It was almost midnight.

“I on purpose am leavin' your legs free, Duane. Sorry about your hands, though. You tell me if the wire's too tight.”

“No, it ain't.”

“
Bueno, bueno.
We got to keep the blood circulatin'. So here's my list: James Ruppert, George Banks, Howard Unruh, Pat Sherrill, Charles Whitman, R. Gene Simmons, Sr., James Oliver Huberty, and Joseph Wesbecker. Know every name by heart. Recognize any?”

“Don't think so.”

“Not even Whitman?”

Duane shook his head no.

Romeo laughed. “Guess you don't do so good in history class.”

“Got a B.”

“Maybe they didn't cover this part yet. Here's what these men done. Ruppert killed eleven people, eight of 'em kids, at a Easter Sunday dinner in Ohio. Banks took out twelve, includin' five kids, in Pennsylvania. Unruh shot thirteen people in twelve minutes in Camden, New Jersey. He was somethin' else, too. Said, ‘I'd've killed a thousand if I'd had enough bullets.'

“Sherrill murdered fourteen at a post office in Oklahoma. Simmons, Senior, got fourteen, too, all family members, in Arkansas. Buried a dozen under his house. Huberty slaughtered twenty-one at a McDonald's in San Diego, I believe. Wesbecker shot seven and wounded a bunch in a printing plant in Kentucky. And Whitman, of course, cut down sixteen from the tower on the campus of the University of Texas in Austin. Surprised you ain't heard of him.”

“When did he do it?”

“About 1966, around in there.”

“Before my time.”

“Hell, boy, so was Hitler, and you can't tell me you ain't heard of him!”

“I heard of him.”

“How about Attila the Hun? You heard of him?”

“I guess so. He was some kind of Turk or somethin'.”

“Well, I don't include those guys had armies or other people doin' their killin' for 'em. I just rate the ones take it into their own hands. Also, I don't count the serial murderers, the ones done it over a long, drawn out period of time. It's only the ones just all of a sudden know they can't take no shit no longer and just explode on the world! There's more than those I mentioned but those are right off the top of my head. This kind of thing is a particular study of mine.”

Perdita came out on the porch and rubbed her left thigh against Duane's right arm. She put her left hand into his thick blond hair and rubbed it around.

“You been tellin' the boy a bedtime story, Romeo?” she said.

“Just fillin' in a few holes in Duane's education.”

Perdita smiled. “I got one or two need fillin', too. You two intellectuals feel like helpin' a lady out?”

Romeo unlocked the door to the bedroom and entered. He stood still for a full minute, listening to Estrellita's breathing. There was a shrill, brief whistle each time she exhaled. Romeo closed the door, bolted it, and put the key in his right front pants pocket. He walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. Estrellita had long, honey-brown hair, and Romeo stroked it slowly and softly with his left hand. She stirred slightly and he stopped, allowing her to roll over on her back, her head turned to the right. Her eyelids fluttered and she pursed her full lips, then relaxed again, whistling softly.

“Hey, Little Star,” Romeo whispered. “Come, Estrellita,
niña
. Romeo
es aqui
.”

She didn't move, and her breathing seemed to cease altogether. Romeo smiled. He knew she had to be awake.

“Little Star, don't pretend,” Romeo said, in a normal voice. “You can open your eyes. All you'll see is me.”

A rivulet of moonlight squeezed into the room through a crack in the second to the highest board covering the window. Estrellita did not move other than to barely open her left eye. She saw Romeo's face in purple shadow, then closed it again.

“You think I come to harm you, huh?” he said. “Why would you think so? Your friend, Duane, he's not bein' harmed. He's getting happy, probably, by now.”

“Where is he?” asked Estrellita. “Is he dead?”

Romeo laughed. “No, of course not, señorita. He's assisting a damsel in distress. Another fair lady, such as yourself.”

Estrellita turned her face to Romeo and opened both of her eyes. He looked like a giant bat.

“You mean Perdita's got him?” she said.

“Yeah, I suppose that's a good way of puttin' it.”

“She reminds me of a kind of snake.”

Romeo smiled. “A pretty snake, though.”

“She looks cold.”

Romeo moved closer over Estrellita's body and touched her left cheek with his right hand.

“Estrellita,
mi flora blanca de la noche. Tu es la luz de mi vida.
”

She moved her head and shoulders slightly to the right, away from Romeo's touch.

“Don't be afraid, Little Star. You're safe with me.”

Estrellita started to laugh, then suddenly stopped and began to cry. Romeo watched the tears stream out of Estrellita's eyes and roll down the sides of her face into the pillow. Slowly he bent his head and with his tongue licked the tears from her cheeks. Estrellita couldn't move. It was as if Romeo's gesture paralyzed her and his saliva made her face numb. She'd never felt this way before.

“Close your eyes again, Estrellita,
bonita
,” Romeo said, and kissed her left ear, her honey-colored hair, her left eyebrow, the tip of her nose. “Romeo is going to take care of you.”

“Well, which one is it gonna be?” asked Romeo. “You think maybe the boy?”

Perdita kicked at the dirt with one of her rattlesnake-skin boots. A soft wind was blowing from the south and it flicked at the ends of her loose black hair.

“
No sé
, baby. This is a tough one.”

“You sweet on him, huh?”

“Be more fun to keep him around for a while, anyway. How about your little vaca, Estrellita?”

Romeo took off his straw Stetson and wiped his thick red-black hair with his left hand. He was sitting on the top rail of the corral fence next to the ceremonial hut. The sun was very strong, as usual, but there was a threat of rain in the air. Perdita leaned against the fence, looking east at the scabrous brown hills.

“She was the real thing, chica,
una virgen
. Bled hot and plenty, like
crème de caramel
.”

Perdita laughed. “Too bad we didn't know it before. To sacrifice a virgin would have made us some serious
mayombérias
.”

“Maybe better to use a local, is what I'm thinkin' now,” said Romeo. “Get a kid from Zopilote. Duane and Estrellita might come in handy down the line.”

“Tell Adolfo to be sure to have enough garlic this time.”

Romeo laughed. “You should have seen his face when I told him how when Satan walked out of the Garden of Eden, garlic sprouted from wherever his left foot hit the ground. Adolfo crossed himself and said, ‘
Madre de dios, es verdad?
' ”

Perdita felt an itch between her legs, reached down with her right hand, balled it into a fist, and rubbed her clit hard.

“You know, Rome,” she said, “the only two real pleasures left to man on this earth are fucking and killing. When those are gone,
guapito
, so are we.”

Rip Ford was in bed with a prostitute named Lupita Luján when Federal Phillips called.

“Sheriff, I'm down here at El Loco's Round-Up. A couple of the boys recognized Romeo Dolorosa, that snake-priest dope dealer from Zopilote, and his girlfriend, The Priestess. Apparently they had a beer or two and suddenly disappeared. Nobody noticed they were gone until they were.”

“That it?”

“So far. Gonna check it out further, see if I can get a fix on if the bastard's runnin' anything through here. Be kinda surprised if he is, seein's how he didn't attempt no disguise or nothin'. And, oh yeah, that old drunk Ramon Montana's talkin' some shit about people killin' a couple Anglos. Might be somethin' to do with Dolorosa since Ramon was carryin' on about a dude with a evil eye. That's
santería
talk.”

“Call me back you hear more.”

“You got it.”

Rip hung up and returned his attentions to Lupita.

“Oh, ho-ney,” she said, “where you get this scar from on your shoulder?”

“Oil spilt from Psyche's lamp.”

Lupita frowned. “How a lamp can do this to you?”

“Just teasin', sweetheart. Old bullet wound from Nam. Guess you never heard about how Psyche woke up Cupid the middle of one night when a drop of oil burned his shoulder, and how his mama, Venus, made the poor girl's life a misery.”

Lupita shrugged, rolled over and pulled the sheet up over her short plump body.

“I don't hear about nothin' stuck in this pisshole. Who was this bitch?”

“Psyche?”

“Yeah.”

“The most beautiful female mortal on earth. Stole away her mother-in-law's admirers.”

Lupita snorted. “No wonder she hated the girl. You know her pretty well, huh?”

“We never exactly met.”

“Then how come you so interested? You lookin' to nail her ass, hey?” Rip got up and pulled on his pants.

“Time to separate reality from myth, Lupita.
Vamonos.
”

Lupita threw back the sheet and stretched. High on her right thigh was a tattoo of a black scorpion with a red stinger poised to strike, sitting on a purple rose. Written on a blue banner beneath it were the words MALA CHICA.

“She have any kids, this
perfecta
?” asked Lupita.

“Matter of fact, yeah,” Rip said. “A daughter, named Pleasure.”

Lupita laughed. “She ever hit the street, she don't need to change it,
es seguro
!”

Romeo listened to the train whistles in the distance. They sounded like wheezes from an organ with a mouse running across the keys. He sat in the driver's seat of the Cherokee, smoking, the windows rolled down, waiting for his cousin, Reggie San Pedro Sula, and Marcello “Crazy Eyes” Santos. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. The crescent moon lit the desert landscape partially, giving it the feel of a bombsite, twenty years after, the only residents rodents, insects and reptiles.

The deal sounded strange, thought Romeo, but if Santos was involved it would, of necessity, be very profitable. Reggie had worked for Santos before, several times, usually as a shooter. He'd do the job, pick up his money and go back to the islands. The money lasted quite a while in Caribe, but sooner or later he'd need another jolt, and as long as Santos survived there would be work for Reginald San Pedro Sula. Romeo was agreeable to the meet, although this was a slightly unusual procedure in a couple of ways. First, Reggie rarely was involved at the top of a deal; and two, Santos seldom ventured out of his hometown of New Orleans. But Romeo was prepared to listen. He knew when and how to be patient.