“What day is today?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“Plan on coming back Friday. Same number of jars as last time. I’ll call if there’s a change of plans. In the meantime, pass me the one that’s already open.”
Ice water ran off the sides of the jar and dribbled onto the sheets and blanket. As clear as the liquor was, I could see tiny particles of dirt and vegetation floating on the surface as I raised the jar to my lips. “Christ that’s harsh,” I said, then took another long drink and screwed the lid back on. The potato vodka these farm boys brewed was practically lighter fluid, and still I was going through a jar of the stuff a day. After a bad night I would wake up with spasms in my liver seeing all sorts of colorless fireworks exploding across the fluid of my eyes.
“I didn’t say get dressed.”
Kylee held her wrinkled blouse by the sleeve with half of it still balled up on the floor. “What about breakfast?”
“You can eat afterwards. I’m not finished yet.”
“But I’m hungry. My stomach hurts.”
“Here. Drink some of this.”
“I don’t like the taste.”
“No one does. That’s not why we drink it.”
She sucked a few drops of vodka through her pierced lips and gagged almost instantly.
“That’s a girl. Now one more for the road.”
She dug her knees into the mattress and rested her huge stomach on one of the pillows. When we were done she cleaned herself with a bath towel and reassembled her work outfit from the disheveled pieces strewn across the floor. She looked like a refugee, a victim of a far and unfeeling war.
“You still owe me for two nights. I’d rather get it now if it’s all the same.”
“How much does that come to?”
“Two nights. Same rate as always.”
“Right. And is that more or less than what my old man used to pay?”
She stopped buttoning her blouse and looked back over her shoulder at me. “You always ask about that.”
“Yeah. Because you never want to tell me.”
“Yeah. So stop asking.”
“What if I were to pay extra? Would you let me in on the secret then?”
“I would not.”
“How come?”
“Because. That’d be the last money I’d ever see from you.”
I smiled. “That’s why you’re one of the smart ones.”
One of the smart ones. That was the truth. Not that it ever did her much good, poor fat creature. I paid her the going rate plus cab fare back to Porterville. With any luck she’d be able to placate her pimp and still have money left over to bribe the manager for the shifts she missed. Then again, she was smart, not lucky.
After she left I showered and changed into a clean pair of underwear. I had planned on finishing getting dressed, but first I sat down on the bed and had a few more drinks from the vodka jar. I don’t know when I nodded off, or how long I slept, but when I opened my eyes again Ramirez was standing over me with an amused look on his face.
He said, “Sorry to disturb you. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in.”
I moved the blanket off my chest and looked around the room until my head stopped spinning. I said, “I was expecting you earlier this morning. What happened?”
Ramirez took off his Stetson hat and sat down in the easy chair in the corner of the room. Besides my father, he was the best dressed man I had ever seen in these parts, though he kept to a Southwestern style that Dad would have found unacceptably gauche: corduroy jackets, Stetson hats and boots, sterling silver bolo ties. He crossed one leg over the other and rested a manila folder on the side of his calf.
He said, “Something told me you wouldn’t be ready for me until later in the day.”
I took the vodka jar off the nightstand and choked down a heavy swig. It was almost room temperature by then, and practically cauterized my throat on the way down. “I’ve been ready the past two days. I’m not shacking up in this place for my health.”
“I can see that.”
“Cut the crap. Just tell me what you found.”
He turned over the top page of the folder and leafed through the loose pages inside. “There are five women all together. Claudia, Dawn, Jennifer, Katherine, and Sandra. They have twelve children between them, ages two to nineteen. Jennifer’s parents live with her and Katherine’s family in the second house, although I use the term ‘live’ very loosely in their case. Beyond that, they have the usual crew of foremen and hired laborers, most of whom have only just arrived for the start of the season.”
“Twelve children. Jesus.”
“That’s right. And they’re all your father’s as far as I can tell.”
“As far as you can tell? What does that mean?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly get a hold of any DNA samples, of course, but the birth records all match up with the dates on the marriage certificates you gave me. So it’s a pretty good guess they’re kin to you.”
“You’ve been through the county records?”
“You asked for thorough, and so thorough is what I gave. County, state, and federal records all the way back through the American era. I even managed to dig up Sandra’s father’s old military records. Fascinating stuff.”
“Great. But aside from the scrapbook material, what else did you find out?”
“You want a particular answer, you’re going to have to be more specific.”
“What do I need to look out for? And more importantly, who?”
Ramirez took a water glass off the end table and spat a stream of runny brown saliva into it. Until that moment I hadn’t noticed the wad of dip packed into the lower recesses of his gums.
I said, “Seriously? You’re going to make me stare at your disgusting tobacco juice for the rest of this conversation?”
He smiled and nodded his head gently. “I could smell the stink of sex in here from the parking lot. So let’s not quibble over who’s making who endure what.”
“Just tell me if there’s anyone I should keep a lookout for. Any boyfriends or close relations. Anyone who could pose a problem.”
“Jennifer has a foreman who came with her from their previous parcel. Seems to be some loyalty there, though she’s still got him living in shared quarters at the state labor camp.”
“I’m not worried about a foreman. I’m talking about people who can’t be bought off. There must be someone you’re overlooking.”
As quick as it came, his smile disappeared. Apparently I had offended his pride by questioning his vaunted thoroughness. He said, “Well, Mr. Temple, keep in mind, I was only able to observe the goings-on of the farm for a limited time. But from what I can gather, you don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to unexpected wildcards. These wives of your father, or should I say widows, are about as solitary as any subjects I’ve ever investigated. They receive next to no visitors, they have no relatives for you to worry about, and the children don’t even seem to have any close friends in the community. All told, you’re looking at a flock of sitting ducks ready for an ambush.”
“Five women without a single person looking out for them. How is that possible?”
Ramirez rolled the base of his spit cup back and forth over his kneecap. As with the dip, I think he knew it irked me to hear my carefully laid plans described as an “ambush,” but he kept doing it for the same reason middle school boys will keep teasing a classmate long after it’s ceased to be funny. Behind all his affected manners and speech, there was a child’s heart longing for the chance to mess with somebody, to kick dirt onto their polished shoes, if only to prove they never deserved to be taken seriously. He said, “It would seem your father had a taste for vulnerable young women with no real support system to speak of. It makes sense, really. Without anyone else to look out for their interests, these women were at his mercy to provide for them. That would have made them far more pliant in the long run.”