Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

Just a catnap, he said to himself as he drifted off to sleep. Sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen at the back of the cantina woke Eddie. He lay motionless, eyes shut, angry at himself for falling asleep. He couldn't feel the hump between his shoulders. The device had slipped out of place, and the sheet no longer covered him. He heard breathing and felt a slight movement next to his face. He opened one eye and saw Duffy kneeling, looking him squarely in the face.

"You ain't no fucking hunchback, are you?" Duffy hissed. His long, stringy hair and beard hid his face, except for the revengeful smile.

"Just another wetback hustler, ain't you, Eddie? Too bad you don't talk English. I don't know if I should fuck you up myself or let De Leon do it. He doesn't like bogus beggars. I think he'd hurt you pretty bad. Comprende?"

"Que?" Eddie said, staying very still.

"This shitty disguise," Duffy responded, reaching across Eddie to shake the loose hump, "is what I'm talking about. Plus you fucked me with De Leon I had to kiss your little Mexican ass. I got enough trouble without you giving me grief."

"Donde es Senor De Leon Eddie replied, looking as confused as possible.

Early-morning sun seeped through the cracks of the plywood-covered windows. The light from the kitchen spilled across the floor between the partitions to the sleeping area. The sounds from the kitchen continued. Maybe two cooks at work preparing food for the vendors, Eddie figured.

No more.

"He ain't here, asshole, that's for certain." Duffy's smile turned wicked.

"And I ain't gonna wait to tell him about you." Duffy's right hand, out of sight at the side of the cot, came up fast. He slashed with a knife at Eddie's throat. Eddie blocked the path of the knife with his right forearm and took a deep cut below the elbow. He gouged Duffy's eye with his left thumb. Duffy pulled back, yelped in pain, and stabbed again, missing completely. Eddie flung himself at Duffy. The leg iron kept him chained to the cot. He sank the edge of his left palm into Duffy's throat, driving the blow as deeply as possible. Duffy choked and recoiled, rocked back on his knees, and pulled Eddie with him. Fighting to keep his leverage, Eddie reached up, grabbed Duffy's chin with both hands, and snapped Duffy's head with all his strength. Their faces were inches apart. He heard a distinct crack and let go. Duffy, still on his knees, fell over, gurgling through his shattered larynx, his eyes fixed on Eddie. Eddie fell on top of him. He could hear Duffy's death rattle.

He pushed himself off the body and crawled backward until he was able to get on the cot. His heart pounded in his chest and his ears were ringing. Reaching back with his wounded arm, he tried to tighten the harness under his shirt. The movement brought tears to his eyes. The knife wound hurt like hell. He used his left hand to fix the hump and pulled his shirt down. There was blood soaking through his sleeve and onto the sheet. He heard footsteps. An old man wearing a splattered apron came around the partition. His wrinkled face was weary and dull-looking.

"What have you done to Duffy?" the man asked, looking from the body to Eddie. His voice was agitated.

"He tried to kill me. Call the patron." The old man's mustache twitched.

"You are bleeding."

"Yes," Eddie answered through clenched teeth.

"The gringo tried to kill me," he repeated. The old man didn't move. His expression was heavy with confusion.

"Are you also dying?"

"No. Get me a towel to stop the blood and call De Leon Eddie snarled through clenched teeth. The man slowly took a filthy hand towel from his back pocket and handed it to Eddie.

"I must call the patron," the old man announced.

"Do that, by all means."

"Jose," the old man called out to his partner.

"The gringo Duffy is dead and the hunchback is much wounded. We will have no help in the kitchen this morning." Jose rushed in to see for himself. The men muttered, shook their heads, and said the patron would not be happy. Eddie listened to their jabbering as they debated what should be said and who would speak on the telephone to De Leon After an agreement was reached, the cooks left to make the call. Eddie bound the wound with the towel, tying it off with his good hand and his teeth.

When he finished, he looked at Duffy. He had never killed a man before. It was not pleasant. He couldn't tell Isabel about this, he thought. She would have him lighting candles for Duffy's soul for the rest of his life. He wondered what Captain Brannon would think. He decided she would not like it at all. One dead man at his feet, no leads on Lieutenant Kerney, and he was chained to a frigging bed with no way to get help. He could not risk discovery as an imposter. He worked on a story he could use with De Leon It took a long time before the two cooks ushered De Leon and Carlos to his cot. De Leon took in the scene without comment.

His face was harsh. Carlos, arms folded across his chest, adjusted his false teeth with his thumb and said nothing. The two cooks stayed back, out of De Leon range.

"Explain," De Leon finally said to Eddie.

"I cannot. I awoke to find Duffy kneeling at the side of my bed. He spoke in English. He was angry about something. He had a knife. He attacked me."

"You understood nothing?" Enrique queried. His eyes searched Eddie's face.

"He said your name several times," Eddie answered. "I think he blamed me for getting him in trouble with you."

"How did the attack take place?"

"He tried to cut my throat. I threw up my arm to ward off the blade. I could not move away because of the chain. He cut my arm." De Leon turned to the pudgy-faced cook.

"Was the hunchback chained?"

"Yes, patron. I only released Duffy from his bed, as I do every morning." De Leon nodded and returned his attention to Eddie.

"You killed him very neatly, jorobado."

"I did not know what I was doing. I am sorry, patron." De Leon gave him a skeptical look and pointed at the body.

"You are not listening. You gouge Duffy's eye, shatter his Adam's apple, break his neck. These are not the skills of a beggar."

"It was by accident, senor." Eddie whined. "Truly. I only fought to defend myself. I was much frightened. I could not escape him. My finger poked his eye as I tried to push him away. I think maybe my elbow hit him in the throat as we struggled. We fell. I was almost off the bed, lying against him as he tried to stab me again. His neck twisted under my weight. I heard the snap. He did not move, and then the old man came to see what had happened." De Leon returned his attention to the cook.

"Did you find Duffy where he now rests?" The old man looked at the body.

"Yes, patron. Exactly."

"Where did the butcher knife come from?" The old man blushed.

"He stole it from the kitchen. I was unobservant." He wrung the towel he clutched in shaky hands.

"Go back to work," De Leon ordered the cooks. The men scurried out of sight.

"Carlos, give me your opinion."

"It is possible. An awkward struggle, perhaps."

"You are not convinced?"

"The jorobado has strong arms and a thick chest. He fought for his life. Perhaps it gave him added power."

"Perhaps," De Leon reflected.

"Let me see the wound. Carlos, unbind it." Eddie raised his arm so

Carlos could untie the bloody towel. De Leon waited for Carlos to roll up the sleeve and wipe away some of the blood.

"It is a deep cut to the bone," Carlos reported.

"Duffy damaged him."

"Very well," De Leon said in a less caustic tone. "Call for the doctor to come and then remove Duffy's body." Carlos nodded, adjusted his upper plate, stepped over the corpse, and left to do his chore.

"Were you not wounded, I would have you replace Duffy in the kitchen," De Leon said, "to learn a lesson. As it is, you will stay chained to the bed until the doctor tells me whether or not you will require more extensive care."