The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera Read Free Book Online

adrenaline junkie, he couldn’t help but lil-lady-fy her. On occasion Vicky helped him out with dust-ups, taking things down a notch, smiling, acting wise—which she was, always—and sweet, which she was, sometimes. On occasion, like now, she helped him get a read on a body.
    I need you to do it fast, he told Vicky when she climbed into the Bug in her nurse’s uniform. But do it good. I need to know if she was beaten.
    The Neeyanderthal started shaking with laughter, stomach only. They both gaped at him.
    The fuck did you have for breakfast, man? asked the Redeemer.
    It’s just, that’s what I tell the ladies too: Gonna do you fast, but good.
    No one else laughed. Seeing Vicky’s look of hatred, the Neeyanderthal tried to put things right: Oh, hey, sorry bout the trucker mouth. It just slipped out.
    If only you really were a trucker, Neeyan, Vicky said. But you’re not, you’re just tedious. The most tedious people in the world can’t take anything seriously. Don’t worry tho—and with this Vicky patted the Neeyanderthal’s cheek—don’t worry, I speak Hombre, so I know you’re not actively trying to be a prick, you just have no control over your little bullshit organ.
    The Redeemer didn’t know if the Neeyanderthal and Vicky truly hated each other or simply had their own brand of love. He remembered something that had happened just after the brother’s death. They’d been out boozing and he heard the Neeyanderthal recount the accident to a woman, the whole damn thing—stupid pedestrian, flipped truck, death throes—as a line. Neeyan didn’t actually want to open up to the woman, but he recited the drama in an attempt to open up her blouse. The Redeemer had said to Vicky that that was low, even for the Neeyanderthal, but she put on a sad that’s-not-the-whole-story face and said What do you expect, Neeyan cuts a profit whenever he can, and right now all he’s got is his scar. If there was a market for it, he’d cultivate kidney stones and piss them out. Leave him be.
    Before returning to Las Pericas they made a stop at Vicky’s ex-boyfriend’s parents’ place. Actually he was an ex-lover, one Vicky loved for real, but his time was up and she hadn’t backed down over the ultimatum. Vicky might be willing to suffer but suffering wasn’t marital status, and his marriage was already on public record.
    They’re in a state of total hysteria, she said, packed in like sardines because the alarm went off while he was over there with his wife. Dropped in to pay back some money he owed and now they don’t want to leave… seems someone’s sick, and he convinced them to let me stop in and have a look.
    He: the ex-lover. Vicky’s face softened a bit at the mention.
    Can I go with you? the Redeemer asked. Might be able to get something from the father—the nouveau always have the lowdown on each other’s riche. Maybe he’s been cooped up so long he’s ready to wag his tongue. Plus he knows me, I’ve worked with guys close to him.
    Vicky took out a pair of latex gloves and handed them to the Redeemer.
    Don’t touch anyone.
    They rang the bell. A clipped argument could be heard coming from within. Go; No, let him go; Fine, I’ll go; No, don’t you go, mother; Oh, let her go; No, I’ll go.
    Ha, Vicky snorted. Their servant split so it looks like they’ll have to learn how to turn a doorknob on their own.
    It was He who answered. No mask. He smiled poignantly. A smile that said I’ll always love you but my promises are in the pawnshop. He was a sad, handsome little devil. He looked at the Redeemer like an electrician who’d come when the lights weren’t broken.
    He’s with me, Vicky said, and he knows your father.
    They were all in a living room full of wood-and-red-velvet furniture—nostalgia for a finer form of pretense. An antique apiece and a drink apiece. The mother in the armchair, vodka on the rocks in hand, sloshed; the perverse twenty-year-old little brother at one end of the sofa,