Percival Everett - Damned If I Do

Lem looked on from beside him. The pages were filled with drawings of pentagram-marked monsters and horned devils and bloody, ripped-up bodies, all done in black ink, each figure underscored by a rough rust-colored streak. “Do you suppose that’s blood?” Lem asked.

Fragua swallowed hard. “I think it is. It’s the same all the way through.”

“You know teenagers draw shit like that all the time. I mean, that’s nothing unusual,” Lem said.

“I suppose.”

“Where did you find that?” Lem asked.

“Top shelf, closet.”

Lem went to the closet and pulled a shoe box down from the same shelf, uncovered it. “Howdy, boys.” He tilted the container toward Fragua so he could have a look at the stack of bills. Lem counted them out. “Two hundred sixty-three dollars and this little stash here.” He held up the small vial of white powder to the light through the window. He unscrewed the cap, dipped his finger, took a taste. “Yep.” He sighed. “And this. What do you think it is?”

Fragua looked at the plastic bag that Lem dangled in his face. “Looks like some little animal’s heart.”

“That’s what it looks like to me, too. What was this kid? A devil worshipper or something?” He sat on the bed next to his partner. “Listen, I’m just a dumb cowboy. This is too much for me.”

“And I just want to be on a stream somewhere.”

“Are you scared?”

“You bet.”

Lem heard crying on the other side of the door. He opened the door and startled Rosa Marotta. He stepped into the hallway with her and closed the door so she wouldn’t see any of the things they had found. In the living room he could see the paramedics still tending to the mother.

“It’s okay, Rosa,” he said, touching her hair. “We really want to help. Will you help, too?”

The girl looked at him.

“Was your brother acting strange?”

She nodded.

“How so?”

She sucked in her sobbing. “He would sing in his room, strange things I didn’t understand.” She looked to see that her mother was still on the sofa. “The way he looked at me sometimes scared me.”

“Did he have any friends?”

“A guy named Emilio. They spent a lot of time together.”

“You know his last name?”

Rosa shook her head, then straightened at the sound of the paramedics leaving.

“Is his name Vilas?” Lem asked quickly.

Rosa shrugged, looking toward the living room.

“Thank you, Rosa.”

Fragua came out of the bedroom in time to see Rosa walking toward her mother. He was carrying the notebook and the shoe box and he put them into Lem’s hands. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Marotta and you get these outside.”

Lem nodded and walked behind him to the living room.

Mrs. Marotta was standing, hugging her daughter. Fragua went to her and put his hand on her back. “Are you all right now, Mrs. Marotta?” he asked.

She nodded. She was still crying a little.

Fragua continued to console her with phrases that to Lem grew more and more empty for their repetition. Lem said nothing to her and walked out to stand beneath a sky that had again turned gray. He stood by the car and waited for the other officer. He looked at the field across the road. To live with such beauty, he thought. You really didn’t need money if you could see land like this, just open your door and have it be there. About fifty yards away he spotted a coyote lurking in the brush.

“Are you ready to go?” Fragua asked from behind him, waking him.

They got into the car. “Rosa told me that José spent a lot of time with somebody named Emilio.”

Lem finished turning the car around in the narrow road. “That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? Seems likely, too. I tell you what, you go talk to Mr. Marotta and I’ll go track down Emilio.”

Lem drove to the little duplex on Carson Road that was supposed to be the home of Emilio Vilas, but no one answered his knock. He knocked on the door of the other unit and a robed, middle-aged woman with bright red hair responded, rubbing her eyes, annoyed.

“I’m looking for Emilio Vilas,” Lem said.

“Well, he doesn’t live here,” she said.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. Do you know Emilio?”

“He lives next door, but I don’t know him. I’ve got enough trouble.”

“Trouble?”

She looked at the deputy as if he were stupid. “Men are trouble.”

“So, you wouldn’t have any idea where he is.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Try a bar. He’s a damn alcoholic.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She didn’t say anything, just slammed her door.

Lem decided to take the woman’s advice and check the nearby bars. He drove by one, kicking himself because he hadn’t thought to ask what Emilio’s car looked like. He entered three taverns and asked if anyone had seen the kid. He received little cooperation. Luckily, he had a vague memory of Emilio’s face and in the third dive he saw him. Emilio panicked and made a dash for the back door. Lem gave chase, leaping over a chair, squeezing through stacked crates in front of the rear exit to get outside only to see Emilio’s heels and elbows speeding down the alley. The kid hit a patch of ice and slid into several garbage cans, screamed, and grabbed his leg. He looked back at the deputy trotting toward him, but didn’t get up.

Lem stood over the young man. “How you doing?” He thought it was a funny thing to say.

Emilio just looked at him.

“Broken?”

“No, I just twisted it. What you want with me, man?”

Lem sat, straddling an upset garbage can. “You hear about José?”

“Yeah, he’s dead. What’s that got to do with me?”

“You were pals, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He continued to rub his leg.

A mouse or a small rat bolted from the garbage and across Lem’s feet and he let loose with a short scream. So much for the macho front. He looked up and down the cold, empty alley. “What do you know about José’s body?”

“I don’t know nothing about his body. What do you mean, ‘what do I know about his body?’”

“His body’s gone, stolen right out of the funeral home.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You work there, don’t you?”

“Sure, but, man, I didn’t have nothing to do with José’s body.”

“So, you knew about it?”

“Of course I knew about it. I work there.” He stopped rubbing his leg and looked toward where the alley opened onto Norte Drive.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Nobody.”

“Do you have any idea how they got into Fonda’s?”

Emilio shook his head.

“Can you walk?”

Emilio pulled himself up and tested his leg, nodded.

“Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee,” Lem said.

“I need to be going.” He tossed another quick glance toward Norte.

“No, I really want to buy you a cup of coffee.” Lem looked at his eyes. “It’s the least I can do.” He stood and righted the can, put the lid on it. “Come on.” He supported the man.

Emilio snatched his arm free of the deputy’s help. Lem walked him back into the tavern where they sat in a dimly lit booth. He called for the bartender to bring them a couple cups of coffee.

“So, what kind of stuff was José into?” Lem asked.

“How would I know?”

The bartender brought the coffee and gave Emilio a hard stare.

“What’s his problem?” Emilio asked, watching the man return to the bar.

“Cops are bad for business.” Lem blew at his coffee. “Tell me about José. Tell me about his cocaine deal.”

“What deal? José tooted a little now and then. Big fucking deal.”

“Listen, kid, you can cut the tough stuff. I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to find José so his mama can put him in the ground and feel okay. Hear what I’m saying?”