Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

The afternoon clientele was a prosperous group. Businessmen in suits sat at the bar, while artist types held court in the mezzanine, crowded together around small cafe tables. Several young couples were seated near the bar, enjoying drinks and appetizers. The gaming tables were busy. Most of the gamblers were middle-class, male, and fairly young. For a fleeting minute, Eddie wanted Isabel at his side, wearing her prettiest dress. They would have dinner, dance to some music, play a game or two at the tables and meet new people.

"Jorobado," a voice said, pulling Eddie away from his thoughts. "I am glad Dominguez found you."

The man looking down at him was in his midthirties, with a fair complexion, brown curly hair nicely trimmed, and prominent blue eyes. His nose was narrow and his strong jaw ended at a square chin. A purely Hispanic face, Eddie thought, without a drop of Indian blood.

"Senor?" Eddie replied deferentially. It had to be De Leon Eddie thought. The unbuttoned sport coat was silk, the trousers hand-tailored, and the linen shirt was open at the collar to display an expensive gold chain around De Leon throat. He wore a Rolex Oyster watch on his left wrist and a large diamond ring on his right hand. The man smiled casually.

"Dominguez tells me that one of my employees was rude to you. More than rude. You are owed an apology. Come." Eddie didn't move.

"It was a small matter, senor, easily forgotten. It is of no consequence." De Leon turned back.

"But it is, my friend. Tradition is very important to me. No one who works here may insult a jorobado. It could bring misfortune. Duffy must be taught a lesson."

"Who, senor?"

"The gringo," De Leon explained.

"Come." Eddie followed him through a door by the bar into the old cantina. The former saloon had been gutted to create a large modern kitchen, an employee dressing room, and two small partitioned sleeping quarters at the front of the building on either side of the door to the street.

Duffy was in one of the partitioned areas, asleep on a cot, his face buried in a pillow, his leg chained to the bed frame. The cot was bolted to the floor. De Leon shook Duffy roughly to wake him. The man rolled over, opened his eyes, and sat up quickly. He had the look of an addict who had gone too long without a fix: sunken cheeks under the beard and bleary eyes that blinked rapidly.

"Mr. De Leon the gringo said in English, scurrying to his feet. "What is it?" The leg chain clanged against the metal frame of the cot as he got up. De Leon pointed to Eddie.

"You were rude to the hunchback. Apologize to him immediately. Wait one minute." He switched back to Spanish and asked Eddie if he understood English.

"A little bit," Eddie answered haltingly in English.

"Go ahead," De Leon ordered Duffy.

"What did I do?" Duffy asked.

"It is a tradition in my country to treat hunchbacks with courtesy. You spoke harshly, and attacked him for no reason. Apologize," De Leon demanded.

"He was outside the cantina," Duffy explained, whining. "I just told him to get out of the way."

"Apologize," De Leon repeated.

"Sorry," Duffy mumbled to Eddie. De Leon slapped Duffy hard across the face.

"Be more respectful, Duffy," De Leon said sarcastically.

"He cannot possibly believe you if I do not. Humbly ask his forgiveness." There was ice in De Leon voice. Duffy did as he was told, his eyes searing into Eddie's.

"I hope that gave you some small satisfaction," De Leon commented, as he walked Eddie back into the Little Turtle.

"You were most kind to do it, senor." De Leon brushed aside the comment.

"I have a dilemma about you. I would invite you to stay as an entertainment for my customers, if you were not quite so threadbare. You can see the Little Turtle is neither a clip joint nor a bordello." He put his hand into his pocket.

"Let me give you something for your trouble." Eddie wavered for a moment before responding, searching for the right gambit. If he could stay, it might get him closer to finding Kerney.

"I cannot take your money, senor, unless I earn it. If you will allow me to make myself more presentable, I would welcome the opportunity to entertain your customers." De Leon smile returned.

"What is your name, little man?"

"Eduardo. Most people call me Eddie."

"You may stay, Eddie. Use the dressing room to clean yourself. All profit that you make, you can keep."

"Thank you, but the sight of me undressed usually offends. Perhaps I could bathe elsewhere and return later."

"That is not necessary. I will have the door guarded to protect your privacy. If you are provided with the implements, can you sew?"

"Yes, senor."

"Good. We will dress you in a cook's uniform. I may call upon you to serve a special guest or two, as a diversion."

"I would be delighted to do so."

"Excellent!" De Leon said, clapping his hands together.

"Come to my table when you are ready."

"Gladly, senor," Eddie replied. *** Eddie wanted desperately to stand under the shower until the ache in his back went away. He didn't dare do it for fear that the guard at the door would get impatient and come in to hurry him along. He washed quickly, grateful to at least feel clean, then put on the artificial hump, tightened the harness, and dressed in the cook's uniform. It hung loosely on his frame, so he undressed, tacked the sleeves and cuffs with a needle and thread, put it back on, tucked in the shirt, and inspected himself in the mirror. He looked comical but not disreputable. The cook's helper guarding the dressing-room door took Eddie to the kitchen, where the staff teased him good-naturedly about his costume. He gladly accepted the order of tamales, frijoles, and strong Mexican coffee, eating the meal with a gusto that pleased the cooks. He stayed with them until the bartender came to tell him De Leon was waiting. His entrance into the casino caused quite a stir. Wearing a chefs hat provided by the chief cook, he paraded behind the waiters, mimicking their movements. Two small children, sitting with their parents in the dining area, giggled at the charade. They came running up when he finished, clutching coins to give him. Eddie let them rub the hump and promised they would have good fortune. He got a round of applause from guests in the mezzanine and gamblers at the tables. He picked up the coins from the floor and went to De Leon bowing formally.

"Senor? I am respectable now, que no?" he asked. De Leon sat at his private table at the end of the bar next to a small dance floor and bandstand. De Leon laugh was hearty.

"Yes. Very much so. You are a very amusing jorobado. I may have to give you a job. You make my place a carnival. I could use you in the evenings and perhaps even later, after hours."

"I could stay for a few days," Eddie countered, "until I must leave to be with my family again."

"You have a wife?" De Leon inquired.

"No woman would have me," he answered.

"I live with my brother and his family."

"And where do you live, Eduardo?"

"Piedras Negras."

"Your home is a far distance."

"It is a poor place with few opportunities. I must travel to earn a living." Eddie turned his palms up to signify resignation to his lot in life. De Leon toyed with the cellular phone on the table, his eyes reflective.

"You must let me decide what is best for you, Eduardo. Consider seriously my offer of a job." Eddie kept smiling, but he heard the warning in De Leon velvet words. There was only one response he could make.

"I am at your disposal, patron."

"Good." The cellular telephone rang. De Leon dismissed the jorobado with a wave of his hand. "We will talk later about the terms of your employment." Eddie thanked De Leon for his kindness and was sent back to provide more entertainment for the customers. He worked the gambling tables and the bar with all the peppiness he could muster, wondering what in the hell he'd gotten himself into. Enrique Deleon stood on the freight dock behind the Little Turtle watching the off-loading of a panel truck of computer electronics. It was a special order of single inline memory modules, expansion boards, and microprocessors, hijacked from a semitrailer on a highway outside of Phoenix. The driver had been paid well to orchestrate a breakdown and leave the truck unattended. The electronic components would go to a Mexican assembly plant and ultimately wind up in cut-price computers shipped back to the United States. Besides the money he would make, De Leon enjoyed the knowledge that he was helping Americans cut their economic throats. The current trade agreement with the United States was nothing more than exploitation of Mexican businesses. Most of the profits flowed north. He checked the paperwork brought to him by the warehouse foreman.