Tim Green: Above The Law

Despite the scowls the kid drew from his coworkers for talking too much, he kept going and told Teuch the name of the man who did the hiring, an Indian half-breed by the name of Bill Ells. The kid said he ought to try the rail yard first, though, because they paid only two dollars an hour out at the ranch and even if you caught on for any length of time, the water in the bunkhouses sometimes went bad.

When Teuch asked about the Mexican who got killed out on the ranch the previous week, the kid shut right down. Teuch didn't push it. He had what he needed and he took his time shuffling out of the shade of the building and back into his truck. When he got there, he reached in and drained off the rest of his King Cobra forty-ounce. It had begun to warm, reminding Teuch of piss. He tossed the bottle up by the neck so that it hung in a high arc before smashing outside the bay where the two old-timers worked. That got their attention, but neither of them moved toward him or the glass.

Teuch figured it was weak-ass old-timers like them who gave being Mexican a bad name.

The kid wandered out, though, grinning. Teuch gave him a wink, lit a fresh cigarette, and climbed in. It wasn't far out to the ranch and Teuch gritted his teeth as he pulled past the gravel drive meant for Mexicans. The gringos, they all wanted workers, but they didn't want to treat them like people. That's why the Latin Kings thrived. If you were a King or a Queen, you got respect.

Teuch doubled back and got a thirty-dollar room at the Texas Road Inn on Route 45. He rolled a couple of joints and put his feet up on the bed. He planned on being at the rail yard by six. That would be the safest way into Lucky Star, the least conspicuous, even if it took a couple of days to get picked up. He certainly didn't want to pull up to the ranch looking for menial work with a thirty-thousand-dollar pimped-out lowrider. Even the old-timers at the garage had pegged him for more than a wetback fresh in.

He blew a cloud of smoke toward the water-stained ceiling, confident that by week's end he'd be able to line himself up for a shot at the boss who did Elijandro. Teuch patted the MAC-10 nestled into the covers beside him and smiled, because with a gun like that, how could he miss?

WHO'S WHO SOLD BIG PREMIUM BURGERS TO THE WOMEN who could afford to shop in the adjacent stores, some of Highland Park 's finest. Casey parked her old Mercedes next to a gleaming new white one and marched up the steps. Paige Ludden flagged her from the wooden deck amid the buzzing throng of women taking a break from their shopping sprees and the lucky few who sat with husbands in crisp tailored suits.

Casey sat down, happy for the umbrella that offered some shade.

"Thanks for ordering," she said. "I've got a meeting with the DA at one. Sorry."

"Well," Paige said, arching her back, "what do you think?"

Casey caught her breath and assessed her friend, the only holdover from her past life. There was a lot to look at. Paige wore her brass-blonde hair swept back and held in place with plenty of spray. Her nails, like her lipstick, were fire-engine red. The white sleeveless dress she wore was punctuated by black polka dots and the red belt around her narrow waist matched her nails.

"My boobs," Paige said in her syrupy Southern drawl. "Don't tell me you can't see them."

"Oh," Casey said, "of course. Fantastic."

"C to a D," Paige said, leaning forward to issue a hushed secret. "In and out in two hours."

"C is pretty big to begin with," Casey said, glancing down at her own modest chest.

Paige reached over and slapped Casey's hand. "How do you think I got Luddy in the first place? That's what they like, you know that. We ought to get you some. And where's your makeup? Good Lord, you've got to put it out there for them a little bit. You wouldn't fish without a worm, would you?"

Casey lifted her burger off its plate and sank her teeth in, shaking her head and relishing the taste of blood.

"One rich husband is enough for one lifetime," she said with her mouth half full.

"Doesn't have to be a Ludden or a Jordan," Paige said, chattering like a wren, nibbling at her burger, and dabbing the corner of her lip with a paper napkin. "No one needs that much money. But something for between the sheets, anyway. What about that Mexican you got working for you?"

Casey gulped some diet soda and choked.

"His name is O'Brien," she said. "He's half Irish and he doesn't work for me."

"Mexican, Irish, whatever. God, that's a man," Paige said, sipping through a straw. "Has he asked you out?"

"He can't be much more than thirty. What? Seven, eight years younger than me?"

"Age," Paige said, flicking her fingers. "I'm almost twenty years younger than Luddy. Fix up that face and wear something a little less, I don't know, frumpy."

"Paige."

"I'm sorry, but I'm your friend," she said. "Pleated pants? That mustard blouse? So last year, honey. I remember when you and Taylor came up from Austin for the Margarita Ball that one time. My God, that strapless thing? Shoulders like a goddamn statue. You were the talk of the town."

Casey chewed and took another bite, but couldn't help glancing down at herself. She straightened her back and swallowed.

"I'm going to start running again," she said. "I don't know, it got cold over the winter and one day I just said the hell with it."

"Don't worry about that," Paige said. "You don't have to be as skinny as a model. It's not natural for a girl to run six miles every morning anyway. I'm talking about some style, perfume, heels, a little lace for God's sake. I can see the industrial-grade bra from here. Send out some signals. Date the Mexican if you need to. God, my mother must be rolling over in her grave. I'm serious about the boobs. You only live once, honey."

Casey looked at her for a minute, unable to keep from smiling. She'd known Paige since college, the debutante who took her under her wing like a sister even though Casey came from a poor family in a West Texas cow town.

"Even if I wanted them," Casey said, "they cost too much."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Don't even bring up money with me. Who told you to let Taylor off like that? You could have been rich, no strings attached."

"Well," Casey said, finishing her last bite and removing a twenty from her purse, "I never wanted what wasn't mine."

"Your money's no good with me," Paige said, snatching up the bill and stuffing it back into Casey's purse. "Luddy said it was yours, by law. Not that he ever would, but he said if we were quits he'd be obligated to keep my allowance coming and give me half the house as well as either Aspen or Grand Cayman."

"It's not about that anymore," Casey said. "I'm not saying I'm right and you're not. I wouldn't even be able to do half of what I do without your money, and your friends."

"It'd be more if my trust wasn't set up that way," Paige said, her face dropping into a worried look. "You know that, honey. One million a year for charity sounds damn good, but when you have to split it ten different ways? I asked Luddy if I could funnel it to the clinic another way, but he told me that'd be some kind of fraud and I don't like the sound of that."

"No, you're extremely generous," Casey said. "And you're happy."

"Yes. I suppose."

"And you're helping," Casey said. "Believe me, what you're doing is just as important as what I am. These people need help and my staff can't afford to work for nothing."

"You shouldn't, either," Paige said with a pout. "I tell you that. You're a lawyer. You should get paid. A hundred thousand? Luddy's driver makes that. Pay yourself, and buy yourself some clothes and some boobs. You were one of the best. Susan Lucci, for God's sake, no matter how old she is. How many women lawyers can say that? How many women?"