Candy Kid by Dorothy B. Hughes Read Free Book Online Page A

follow you….”
    It was the last line which stung Jose’s ears to attention. When the nut-brown eyes in the wrinkled monkey face observed the attention, he broke off the song, snapped the cornet to his lips and blared a brassy grin.
    Jose said, “I would hear the song again.” As soon as Canario began inventing a new chorus, he spoke softly. “Perhaps it would give you pleasure to make music for the man who comes behind me? It is possible?”
    “It is possible,” sang Canario, “that the band will play when the man walks down the street—”
    Jose tossed a silver dollar into the cup as Canario shuffled by. He himself slid ahead of two stolid couples who were stacking Juarez up against Alton, Illinois, to the detriment of Juarez. A fresh cacophony from the Canary’s band gave him courage to twist his head about. Tosteen was blocked by music.
    Jose moved on quickly. He did not believe that Canario could delay the seersucker man for long. The musico was not brawny enough for that. Jose wasn’t particularly surprised that Tosteen would follow him, obviously he had blocked the exit from Calle Herrera for a purpose, and also obviously it hadn’t been to stop Jose from proceeding on his errand. Jose could have eliminated the pursuer after he knew where he was going. Until then the chase would be an aimless one guaranteed to tire the wilted man. Nevertheless, he was grateful for Canario’s assistance. If he could get away now, all the better. And it looked as if he were going to make it. The music had halted in the middle of a phrase, an altercation was ensuing. Not a quiet one, an uproar. From a jewelry stall, sly comment was offered, “Canario performs again.”
    There was going to be a chance to duck across the street under cover of a trolley trundling bridgeward. Jose timed it. As he darted out, he managed to glimpse the distant hubbub. Tosteen wasn’t watching him. He was surrounded by a pawing, gesturing, gabbling throng. If the man actually had no Spanish, it would take the police to straighten out the affair. By then Canario would be so innocent of starting trouble and Tosteen so impatient of delay, the matter would be dropped. By then, Jose hoped to have executed his mission with success.
    The opposite side of the street was not crowded. There were dark houses to pass, the shops were soon left behind. It didn’t take long to reach the Plaza.
    Neon was not the decoration here. There was moonlight instead. On the steps of the old church, a few old men rested, a few women wandered inside, and a few women wandered out. There were children everywhere, babies in arms, little boys running after each other in shrill games, little girls rubbing against the protective black skirts of their mothers. The movie theatre was a bright spot; there was a double feature, Maria Felix in one offering, Cantinflas in another. Lads lingered under the marquee, waiting for their particular carita, or for any carita.
    Jose walked close to the darkened shop windows. There was no one following him. There would be as soon as Tosteen could proceed. He must move fast, he was too easy to follow, the white suit was a glimmering beacon. He could ask anyone on the street the way and be directed to Calle de la Burrita. He could ask the way to Senor el Greco’s but that would be less circumspect; the reputation which surrounded the Senor’s name was not savory. His particular concern at the moment was whether mention of the street would automatically point to the seeking of el Greco’s shop. Why else would a fine gentleman wish to be directed away from the bright lights? He would be less suspect if he asked directions to the cribs.
    He made a quick decision because he must. He beckoned a street urchin sitting on the curb. The boy, small and cheeky and ragged, came without haste. “Gimme dime.” He stuck out a hand encrusted with dried, dirty juice of the watermelon. “Gimme cigarette.”
    Jose measured the boy with his eyes. “Chico!” he