Марк Смит - Moist

The car pulled into the driveway of the safe house. Norberto turned and saw that Martin was conscious.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Bob looked over at Martin.

“Sorry, man. I just lost it for a second.”

Martin shot Bob his toughest glare.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

Bob nodded.

“Cool.”

Martin saw Esteban and Amado chuckling as they climbed out of the car. Bob and Norberto dragged the fat tattooed guy in the tracksuit out of the back and carried him into the house. Martin noticed one of the neighbors, a churchgoing middle school principal who was always friendly, walking his golden retriever. Esteban saw the neighbor too.

“How are you?”

“Good.”

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It’s a fine day.”

The neighbor watched as Norberto and Bob dragged the fat guy through the front door.

“Is your friend all right?”

Esteban looked at Martin before turning back to the neighbor with a shrug.

“Tequila.”

The neighbor nodded. He had heard about the powerful effects of distilled agave.

“You’ve got to be careful with that stuff.”

Esteban couldn’t have agreed more.

“To be sure.”

Martin stepped forward.

“Did you like the papayas we sent?”

“Oh, yes, thank you very much. They were very good. In fact I was telling my wife that I wish we could grow papayas in our backyard.”

Esteban laughed.

“Then you would put me out of business, amigo.”

The neighbor chuckled.

“Oh, I doubt that.”

Suddenly, the golden retriever got a scent of something and started growling and tugging at his leash. The neighbor bent down and scratched the dog’s ears.

“What is it, boy? What have you got?”

The dog was pulling for all he was worth. The neighbor yanked back on the leash.

“Whoa, there, Frankie.”

The dog began dragging the neighbor toward the car. Esteban looked over and noticed that the top had come off the cooler in the trunk, exposing Amado’s arm.

The dog barked.

“Martin. Keep the lid on the meat.”

Martin slammed the lid on the cooler and quickly hustled it inside the house. The neighbor tried to calm his dog. He looked up at Esteban apologetically.

“I just fed him, but I guess he’s still hungry.”

“Steaks. We’re barbecuing later.”

Maura sat across the table and listened while Don told her how he became a detective. It was a simple, straightforward story, but she was captivated. He looked rugged and handsome in the flickering candlelight. Not a movie star, but a well-respected character actor. That’s why she found him attractive, he had character. A cop who knew more about wine and food than anyone she’d ever met. A cop who seemed to understand her, who didn’t judge her. She couldn’t help it, she found herself attracted to him.

The waiter filled her glass with wine that seemed to glow like a big fat ruby.

“What do you think?”

“This is yummy.”

“The French. I don’t know how they do it.”

“Have you ever been to France?”

Don shook his head.

“No. But someday I want to live there.”

“Me, too.”

Don leaned forward conspiratorially.

“To be honest, I’m afraid to go. I don’t speak a word of French.”

Maura smiled at him.

“I do.”

Esteban sat on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. He was tired. Beat. He needed a nap. Chingao . These fucking people.

Martin came in and deposited a fresh margarita in front of him.

“ Gracias, Martin.”

Martin sat down on the chair across from him.

“I’m having second thoughts about this Bob guy.”

“Roberto?”

“Yes. Roberto, Bob, whatever the fuck you want to call him.”

Esteban sipped his drink. It was good. Sharp, sweet, and warm as it flowed through his body.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if we can trust him.”

This sudden change of heart sent off alarm bells inside of Esteban. He knew that Martin was mad because he’d gotten coldcocked, but to stab Roberto in the back so soon made Esteban think that Martin was some kind of rata. If he turns on Roberto, how long before he turns on me?

“Why do you say that?”

Martin shrugged.

“Just a feeling I get.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

Martin reacted.

“Why would you say that? I’m not afraid of him. Why would I be afraid of him?”

Esteban sipped his drink.

“Just asking.”

Esteban liked putting Martin on the spot. He liked watching the smart-ass gringo squirm.

“What do you suggest?”

“Kill him.”

Esteban looked flatly at Martin.

“You want me to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you kill him.”

“Can I?”

“I don’t know, hombre, can you?”

“Do I have your permission?”

“After he delivers the arm to the police.”

Martin stood up.

“Thanks.”

Esteban held up a hand to stop him.

“You have to do it. I don’t want to find out you sent Norberto or anybody else. You got the cojones , it’s okay with me. But you got to be the one to do it. ¿Entiendes ?”

Martin nodded.

“I understand.”

Martin walked out of the room. Esteban smiled to himself. That fucking kid was no matador, he had trouble squashing a bug. There was no way he could bring himself to kill Roberto. Although Esteban had a feeling Roberto might be capable of killing Martin.

The hardware store was unusually busy. Or maybe that’s the way it is in the Valley. Suburban people like to fix up their homes. So there they were, out in force, buying faucets and hammers, electrical doodads and lengths of plastic tubing, brushes and rollers. A couple gallons of paint were hooked up to a machine that was shaking them violently. Norberto stopped and watched. I’d like to see what would happen if you stuck a cat in there, he thought.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Norberto looked up and saw an eager young man wearing a bright red vest. The name Franco was embroidered on the vest. There was no way this guy was really named Franco.

“Is that your name?”

The eager young man pushed his woodshop-style glasses up on his nose and looked down at his vest.

“Oh, sorry, man. I, like, grabbed it off the hook when I came in. My name’s Teddy.”

“Well, Teddy, I’m looking for some kind of tool to cut up some branches.”

“Tree branches? Like you’re going to trim a tree?”

“Exactly.”

“How thick are the branches?”

Norberto thought for a second.

“Like my arm.”

Teddy reached for Norberto’s arm. Norberto took an instinctive step back. Teddy stopped and pulled out a tape measure.

“I need to measure.”

Norberto held out his arm. He couldn’t help but flex his muscle, trying to make the arm thick like the fat guy’s.

Teddy took the measurement and calculated.

“You’re going to need a chain saw, man. There’s, like, no other way.” Teddy pointed Norberto over to where several chain saws were displayed.

Norberto studied them, trying to figure out which one would be powerful enough to do the job quickly. From the descriptions on the boxes these things could sever the leg off an elephant in a matter of seconds.

Norberto looked around for Teddy. He saw Bob bouncing on his toes, as nervous as a little kid on the first day of school. Bob kept picking up stuff — a weed whacker, a lawn sprinkler, a leaf blower — and putting them back on the shelf.

“Roberto. Tranquilo .”