Do They Know I'm Running? by David Corbett Read Free Book Online Page A

of thick white makeup, which gave her face a clownish unreality. Her glance darted between Roque and Happy, her gifted if irksome nephew, her
marido
’s fugitive son.
    Roque said, “I meant no offense, Tía.”
    She rolled her eyes. Happy downed the last of his coffee.
    Roque said, “Does Godo know you’re here?”
    Happy turned in his seat to get out. “We had our chat.” He rose and offered a grateful nod to Tía Lucha. To Roque, he said, “Walk with me.”
    “I need to check the dressing on Godo’s leg.”
    Happy glanced back down the hall toward Godo’s room. “It can wait.”

    OUTSIDE, THE FOG LINGERED. HAPPY HIKED UP THE COLLAR OF HIS shirt. “You forget how cold it gets here,” he said, walking briskly toward the gate, hunched forward. He cast an impatient glance over his shoulder, urging Roque to keep pace.
    Once they were out on the river road he turned north, one wash of headlights after the other spraying his back as the morning’s first traffic made its way toward Napa. He ignored the cars or trucks as they rushed by but Roque could tell from the dock of his head as each one passed that he was noting who was inside.
    Several hundred yards on he turned off the gravel roadbed into the parking lot for a small weatherworn strip mall—a cash-only car repair, a discount mattress outlet, a combination
panadería/tienda/envío de dinero
. If not for the raid the day before, clusters of bleary men would already be gathered in the parking lot, trying to stay warm as they waited for contractors to swing by, collect them for a day’s work. Happy headed for a battered Ford pickup scalloped with rust, bearing Arizona plates. Climbing behind the wheel, he said, “Get in.”
    As Roque closed the door behind him, Happy lit up a cigarette, the rubbery match flame hollowing his features. After shaking out the match and exhaling a long plume of smoke, he turned to stare across the pickup’s cab with a strangely menacing sadness.
    “Been spending your nights boning some broad twice your age. How’d that happen?”
    Roque felt the blood drain from his face. “Who told you that?”
    “Who says I needed to be told?” Happy tapped his ash through the window vent. “Tell me, Roque, your
vieja
, when she takes you into her bed …” He affected a throaty purr.
    “Fuck you.”
    “Watch your mouth.”
    “You been spying on me?”
    “I know things,” Happy said. “Get used to it.”
    “Yeah? What else do you know?”
    “That’s my business. What’s with Godo?”
    “Tía Lucha didn’t tell you?”
    “Never mind what she told me, I wanna hear it from you.”
    “Hear what?”
    “He’s fucked up.”
    “Ya think?”
    Happy reached across and swatted the back of Roque’s head. “Don’t be such a punk.”
    “Don’t touch me.”
    Happy, in whiny nasal mimicry:
“Don’t touch me.”
Then: “His dick still work?”
    Roque had to process that. “There’s some things we don’t share.”
    “I mean has he gotten it wet since he got back? Given how he looks, I was thinking maybe …” Happy rubbed his thumb and index finger together, suggesting cash.
    “Who am I, his pimp?”
    Happy chuckled at that, then took another long drag, blowing the smoke out, watching it billow against the windshield. “Face the way it is? He looks like a fucking dartboard.”
    “Tell him that. I dare you.”
    Happy let that go, except to say, “You got a point. Nothing wrong with his temper. Spent maybe two minutes with him, he wants to mix it up.”
    “You want Godo mellow, you’ll have to kill him.”
    “There’s a thought.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Fuck’s sake, Roque, chill out. By the way, not everybody who was over there came back fucked up. You get that, right?”
    “How would you know?”
    Happy picked a fleck of tobacco off his tongue. “That’s anotherlong story.” He turned to gaze out at his window at the mold-freckled storefronts. A crow perched on the rain gutter, framed by fog.