Tequila Sunset (20 page)

Emilio fell silent and José allowed the hush to continue uninterrupted for a long time. Flip fidgeted in his seat. Finally José said, “I want everybody here to make a decision. Does Emilio stay, or does he go?”

The verdict started at the door and worked its way around the room, every Indian rendering judgment in turn.
Stay. Stay
. Flip felt the pressure bearing down on him until it was his turn to say something and his mouth was too dry to form words.

“What do you say, Flip?” José asked.

Emilio watched him.

“He should stay,” Flip croaked out.

“Then the decision is made,” José said. “It’s unanimous. He stays.”

Flip saw all the stiffness go out of Emilio’s spine and Emilio drew a ragged breath. He smiled a little at some of the brothers who congratulated him. There was the sense of something dark having passed over and when José put on the lights even the shadows were chased out of the room.

When Flip picked up his beer again, his hand shook. He hoped no one would see.

The gathering turned social and more drinks were brought from the kitchen. Flip didn’t know whose apartment they were in and it didn’t seem to matter. Someone ordered pizza. Emilio fell into conversation with two men Flip thought he might have recognized from the club. It was all so casual. Flip wanted to flee.

He got up to use the bathroom and found José in his way. “Hey, Flip,” José said, “how’s it going?”

“Fine, José. How are you?”

“Better now. Emilio’s one of my best guys. I don’t like to see him in this kind of mess.”

“He’ll beat the rap.”

“Maybe. Like you beat the rap?”

“Some guys aren’t lucky.”

“Your luck has changed, I think,” José said.

“You think?”

“I think.” Flip started to go. José stopped him. “Listen, Flip: I wonder if maybe you and your boss could meet with me sometime. Sometime soon. I’d like to have a word with him.”

“What about?”

“Oh, this and that. You think you can set it up?”

“I don’t want to get him into any trouble.”

“No trouble, Flip. We’re just going to talk. What, you worried about your job?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of you. Just remember: sometime soon. When you have it all worked out, you call me.”

“Okay, José.”

“That’s a good boy.”

“I got to take a leak.”

“So go take a leak! Nobody’s stopping you.”

Flip locked himself into the bathroom and a wave of tremors came crashing over him. His eyes were tearing up. He thought he might be sick. In the end he could barely piss, though he thought it would let go when he first stepped into the apartment. He sat on the edge of the bathtub clutching his hands together trying to will them to be still. Outside in the apartment there was laughter now, as if nothing had happened.

His phone was in his pocket but he didn’t know who to call. He wished he could speak to Graciela, but now was not the time to call her. How could he explain that he was in the toilet of a strange apartment, hiding from everyone there? It was not something he could do.

He flushed the toilet and washed his hands in very hot water. When he came out again the pizzas were almost all gone and the beers, too. Some were getting ready to leave.

Flip found Nasario. “I need a ride back to my place.”

“Yeah, we’ll take you, just chill a little while.”

In his corner of the room, perched at the edge of the couch, Flip watched Emilio talking to a few others, his face animated, his hands in motion. Flip tried to imagine what Emilio was like when the police brought him in, and whether he had been nonchalant then, as well. Maybe he had been. Maybe Emilio was just that cool.

Flip remembered when the police grabbed him in the last time, the time that sent him to Coffield. He hadn’t been cool. The detective talked to him for what seemed like hours and when he was done Flip told the man everything he knew. They promised him a deal and they made good on their promise, but there were still four years he would not get back.

More left and then Flip knew it was time to go. Nasario gave him the signal. He went with Nasario and César without the fear hanging over him, the dread of the apartment fading away with every step farther away. By the time they got to the car he felt all right, not twisted up inside. He did not want to go through that again.

TWENTY

“A
RE YOU READY?”
M
ATÍAS ASKED
. “O
UR
reservations are for nine.”

“I’m coming.”

Elvira emerged from the bathroom, fixing an earring into place. She was dressed in slacks and a blouse, not too extravagant, and her makeup was done just right. Matías still wore his suit from work, though he considered changing. In the end he thought it was good enough.

“You look wonderful,” Matías said.

“You look like you’re ready to go back to the office.”

The question occurred to Matías again. “Do you think I should change?”

“No, just be yourself,” Elvira said and kissed him on the cheek.

They left the apartment and went down to the street. The streetlights were on, and one cast sodium illumination directly onto the roof of Matías’ car like it was on stage. Matías went around to the passenger side to open the door for Elvira. “
Señora
,” he said.

“Thank you,
señor
.”

He got them on the road and then put on the radio to something soft. The evening traffic jams were gone, the streets open, and they made good time. Only once did he see an army vehicle guarding a lonely corner and there were no roadblocks. Matías hummed to the music, his hands light on the wheel.

Frida’s was their destination. The restaurant was not far from
the border and its façade was meant to evoke classic Mexican adobe architecture. There was valet parking and a man with white gloves held the door first for Elvira and then for Matías. Matías tipped the man more than he probably should, but the drive and the night made him feel generous.

Inside guitar music and gentle singing came through speakers close to the ceiling. A short line of people waited at the maître d’s podium. The walls of the foyer were decorated with rustic paintings. In the restaurant itself there would be reproductions of Frida Kahlo work all around, so that it was impossible to look anywhere without seeing her eyes staring back. Matías put his arm around Elvira and pulled her close to him.

When it was their turn, Matías gave their names. “Yes,
señor
, your table is ready now,” the maître d’ said and a waiter hurried up to escort them. He brought them to the main dining room, where softly lit metal stars were suspended from wires and the round stage was surmounted with a stylized depiction of the sun. A
guitarrista
all in black played and sang.

It was dim, but light enough to read the wooden-framed menus. Not far from their table was a shrine to Frida, lit with flickering candles. A photograph of Frida looked idly on, as if distracted.

Elvira reached across the table for Matías’ hand. “It’s good to go out,” she said.

“I’m glad,” Matías said.

“What should we start with?”

They ordered and the food came quickly. Matías ate shrimp ceviche and carne asada and drank beer to cool the peppers. Elvira had a salad and chicken mole with wine. Matías had never liked wine. They shared a slice of cinnamon and vanilla cheesecake as the
guitarrista
finished for the night, bidding everyone in the dining room a fond farewell and leaving the stage bare except for an empty stool and a microphone stand.

“He was good,” Elvira remarked.

“Yes. More wine?”

“You don’t have to get me drunk, you know,” Elvira said and touched his leg with her foot beneath the table.

“I was only asking.”

“No, I’m ready to go home.”

Matías paid the check and they left the darkened restaurant. Out on the street the temperature had dipped. Matías would have given Elvira his jacket, but then everyone would see his weapon. He put his arm around her instead.

“I’ll get your car,” the valet said, and stepped away.

Elvira turned Matías’ face toward her and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you,” she said. “We needed this.”

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long.”

The valet came with their car and left the engine running as he jogged around to the entrance. Later Matías would not remember exactly when he sensed it. The recognition came to him suddenly as a pair of headlights washed over the three of them on the sidewalk. He pushed Elvira back toward the door as the long side of a dark blue SUV came to a stop facing them from across the narrow street. The windows were already down and the weapons sticking out.

The first volley shattered the windows of Matías’ car and punctured the hood in a dozen places. The windshield exploded into mad white spiderwebs. Matías felt the bullets passing him, heard them strike the front of the building.

Elvira stumbled over her own feet and fell hard to the ground. Matías looked at her and in that second another fusillade of bullets raked the restaurant. One of the doors collapsed into fragments. The valet was on the sidewalk bleeding from the neck. Somehow they did not find Matías.

He drew his gun and ducked behind the front wheel of his car. The engine block absorbed more rounds and Matías heard the left front tire explosively deflate. “Elvira!” Matías shouted. “Elvira, come to me!”

There was a pause. They were reloading. Elvira lay almost prone on the glass-scattered concrete, her face twisted up in naked fright. She heard his voice and crawled to him. Matías put his arm around her and pressed her hard against the side of the car. He could feel her trembling.

Gunfire split the night and the car shuddered. The engine died. Matías felt his palm slick against the grip of his pistol. He did not want to raise his head to fire.

The SUV abruptly gunned its engine. Its wheels shrieked and then it was accelerating down the street. Matías rose to his feet in time to see the taillights shining at the end of the block before the truck veered around the corner. His ears were full of the sound of his heartbeat and he almost didn’t hear the approaching sirens.

“Elvira,
¿estás bien?
”

“I’m all right.”

Matías went to the valet. The blood was everywhere and the valet was pallid. He holstered his weapon and pressed his hands to the wound that still leaked freely over the man’s collar and onto the concrete. “Someone call an ambulance!” Matías shouted. “
¡Ambulancia!
”

People crowded into the entryway, but Matías did not take his eyes off the valet’s face. Blood oozed between his fingers. The valet’s pulse was thready and weakening.

“Matías…”

“Not now, Elvira! Use your phone, call an ambulance!”

He heard more tires squealing and then the front of the restaurant was awash in flashing colored lights. Elvira was on her phone, calling 066, pleading for an ambulance. The valet’s eyes glazed over. His heartbeat stopped.

PART THREE

ONE

F
LIP LET THE DAYS SLIP BY AND THEN HE
called Graciela on his lunch break. He stepped away from the picnic tables so no one could hear. “Hi,” he said. “It’s me.”

“Flip.”

“I want to apologize again.”

“Is that all you want to say?”

“No. I wanted to know if we could go out. Get something to eat.”

“When?”

“How is tonight?”

“Maybe I’m busy tonight.”

“Are you?”

Quiet. “No.”

“Then we can go out?”

“What time do you get off work?”

“Four o’clock.”

“Tell me how to get there.”

Flip gave her directions and waited while she wrote them down. “You sure you want to pick me up here?” he asked.

“You embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then I’ll see you at four,” Graciela said and hung up.

Flip went back to the tables. He sat down by Alfredo and opened his lunch.

“You look like someone spit in your eggs, Flip,” Alfredo said.

“It’s nothing. Girl trouble.”

“I know all about it, son.”

They ate without talking about it anymore and then it was time to go back to work. Flip did not spend time chatting with the other men on his team; he did the job and waited for four o’clock to come around. Whenever he checked the clock, it barely seemed to move.

At quitting time he gathered his things and went outside. Graciela was by the gate.

Alfredo came to lock the doors. Flip saw him spot Graciela, but there was no look of disapproval. “Are you going with her?” Alfredo asked.

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then. I’ll make excuses to your mother.”

Flip went down to the gate. Graciela was not dressed up, but he thought she might have done something with her hair. He didn’t know whether to compliment her or not. Instead he said, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You ready?”

“Let’s go.”

They went to her car and Graciela got behind the wheel. She didn’t look at him and he didn’t look at her. He wanted to touch her hand or hug her or give her a kiss, but he could not breach the space between them.

“Where are we going?” Graciela asked.

“How about El Pasito?”

“Okay.”

She drove him in silence and Flip contained himself until he couldn’t do it anymore. “Are we still together?” he asked.

“Do you want to be?”

“Yes. You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” Graciela said and she touched her cheek, though
he saw no tear there. For the first time she looked over and Flip felt the thaw happening. Impulsively he reached out and took her hand from the wheel, squeezed it in his.

“If I could take it all back, I would,” Flip said.

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“What we want to eat.”