‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think they went back to their hotel.’ She looked at him askance. ‘You’re bleeding! What happened?’
He touched his brow, his fingers came away red. ‘Got a little bump,’ he said, smiling at Ruy. It was too bad about Tully and Corazon, he thought. But he wasn’t going to postpone things. They would just have to fend for themselves.
‘That looks serious,’ said Marina. ‘You should have it tended to.’
She was acting nervous, fidgeting with her skirt, unwilling to meet his eyes.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, feeling a heady mixture of rage and glee. The blue plastic shell of the palace suddenly seemed the inside of a vast skull, Carlito’s skull. In the beams of light slanting from the ceiling he saw the haywire geometries of Carlito’s thought; the air had the stink of his stale brainwaves, and the dancers, the group by the table, the inanimate robot, all of them were the sorry creatures of Carlito’s imagination, whirling and talking and pretending to be real, each of them moved by some strand of plot or whimsy. But that was coming to an end. He pictured the blue walls cracking, unable to contain the power that Carlito had inadvertently kindled.
‘I’ve had an interesting time tonight,’ said Mingolla. ‘What you might call a real eye-opener, isn’t that right, Ruy?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Ruy said.
‘No, I bet you don’t.’
‘You should have that cut seen to,’ Marina said with some agitation. ‘I’d be…’
‘Don’t trouble yourself.’ Mingolla glanced around at the others; they were staring at him with puzzlement as if they sensed something imminent, but weren’t sure what, and though he had planned to wait until he and Debora got clear, he realized that now was the time, that he couldn’t leave without at least witnessing the beginning of the end. That he, like Carlito, delighted in dramatic presentation.
He took Debora’s arm, steered her away into a clear space at the edge of the dance floor. He turned back to the group by the table. They looked nervous.
‘Somebody tried to kill me tonight,’ he said.
Somebody turned off the music, and everyone was whispering.
‘It’s not that important for the culprit to be singled out’—he raised his voice—‘because every damn one of you is guilty. But I think it’s appropriate that some punishment be meted out.’
Marina pushed through to the front of the group. ‘How did it happen, David?’
‘Somebody sicced the army on me while I was walking,’ he said.
‘Ruy!’ She spun about to face him.
‘It wasn’t me!’ he said. ‘I’ve been here all night.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Mingolla called out to the dancers, ‘How ’bout some more entertainment, folks?’
‘I wouldn’t risk myself just to get back at you,’ Ruy said to Mingolla.
‘Who was it, then?’
Ruy was caught without an answer for a moment. He searched the crowd for a likely candidate. ‘Marina?’ he said.
She looked injured, disappointed, like a teacher let down by her prize pupil.
‘It was her… don’t you see?’ Ruy said to Mingolla. ‘She’s trying to get back at me, trying to set me up.’
‘My God, Ruy,’ Marina said, and gave a pitying laugh.
‘It had to be her,’ said Ruy. ‘All these years she’s pretended that she’s forgiven me, but I knew she hadn’t.’
‘Forgiven you for what?’ Debora asked.
‘Years ago,’ said Ruy. ‘I did something to her. I didn’t mean to, I was crazy about her. But…’
‘You’re the one who made her lose her child!’ said Mingolla, putting together Marina’s flighty behavior that evening with her pleasure in punishing Ruy, with other hints and clues.
‘This is ridiculous!’ said Marina.
‘Yes, yes!’ Ruy moved closer to Mingolla, eager now. ‘And she’s been crazy ever since. But she’s managed to make everyone think her craziness is something else. Dedication, efficiency. She’s just been waiting her chance. She knew I’d be accused if anything happened to you.’
Guilt was plain in Marina’s face, but Mingolla was unable to redirect his anger; the fact of her treachery was not at all surprising, considering what Ruy had done, and he had hated Ruy for too long to give up his vengeance. In any case, he wasn’t concerned with specific guilt, but rather with example, and Ruy, with his pleading manner, his sweaty fear, made a perfect example.
‘’Bye, Ruy,’ he said, and struck with stunning force.
Ruy sagged, his knees buckling, and went down on all fours. His saturnine face emptied, and he collapsed onto his side. Mingolla stood over him, plucking at his mental knots, undoing them one by one. ‘What we call this, folks,’ he said in a lectoral tone, ‘is field-stripping the human mind. Easy as pie once you get the hang of it.’ Ruy tried to speak, but succeeded only in making ugly dream noises. His hands scrabbled on the floor, his legs twitched, and he gazed up at Mingolla, his mouth working, his brow creased, as if trying to recall something important, something that would save him. ‘Doesn’t take long at all, as you can see,’ Mingolla said. ‘Be glad to give lessons.’
The Madradonas and Sotomayors were silent, their expressions ranging from the horrified to the bemused.
‘Know where you are, Ruy?’ Mingolla asked with vast solicitude.
Ruy looked worried. ‘I… unh… I…’
‘Real good, Ruy.’ Mingolla gave his shoulder a pat. ‘You’ll make a terrific soldier. Defending the Sotomayor honor. Shitting in the street, clubbing the other zombies. You’ll do just fine.’
Ruy ventured a weak smile.
‘But it’s gonna be tough. Know how tough it’s gonna be?’
Ruy had no idea, but was all ears.
‘Lemme show ya.’ Mingolla seized Ruy by the shirtfront and began to slap him. Each slap seemed to win a little battle in his heart, to wipe out the last vestiges of compassion.
Somebody grabbed Mingolla from behind, but he shook them off and sent a wave of hatred across the dance floor, a signal powerful enough to summon the army. The families retreated, leaving him and Debora and Ruy in a cleared circle. He studied them, and they returned measuring stares, looks of appraisal. He saw that they weren’t upset by what he’d done; they were merely gauging his relative worth, the risks involved in dealing with him. They appeared to have no conception of defeat.
‘We understand your reaction, David,’ said one of the Sotomayor men. ‘But we can’t let you take matters into your own hands.’
‘Show’s not over, folks,’ said Mingolla. ‘Time for the big finish.’
A noise behind him. He turned, saw Marina kicking Ruy, who was curled up, trying to protect his head. Mingolla caught her arm, ripping a seam of her silk dress, and backhanded her to the floor. She rolled onto her stomach, sat up, demented-looking, all her elegance dissipated. She went crawling back toward Ruy. Mingolla shoved her away with his foot.