“Have you ever shot someone?”
Don nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Did you kill him?”
Don nodded again.
“Reluctantly.”
She felt a spasm in her thighs.
“Did he die?”
“Yeah.”
“You must be a good shot.”
“They train us not to miss.”
She handed the gun back to him. She felt a sensation between her legs that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She was wet. Soaking.
“Let’s go inside.”
Esteban was annoyed. His margarita buzz was gone, and all that was left was a dull pain in his head and a metallic taste in his mouth. He stood in the driveway looking at his car. It was ruined. Blood all over the driver’s seat and floor. Maybe such a violent antitheft device was not such a good idea after all. Still, it was better than the fucking guy running to the cops. That was for sure.
Amado pulled up in his car and saw what had happened.
“He tried to get away?”
“Sí.”
“Chingao.”
Esteban could only nod. Of course it was fucked.
“Everything’s set with Felicia. She’s in a motel in Glendale.”
Esteban growled.
“One mess at a time.”
Esteban turned when he heard the sound of the chain saw. He looked up the driveway and saw Bob and Norberto in plastic ponchos get to work on the fat guy. Bob held the arm out, Norberto gunned the chain saw, and seconds later the arm was swinging in Bob’s hands.
Amado nodded at Esteban.
“That’s a good saw.”
Norberto was impressed. He fired up the chain saw and it went through the fat guy’s shoulder like a knife through butter. Muy rápido. Even the bone, the shoulder joint, didn’t slow the saw down. Only the sound changed a little. It went up an octave.
A pink hamburger spray of meat and bone rose up and drifted in the air. Specks and blops of God-knows-what cartwheeled off the blade. Good thing Roberto had thought to get these ponchos, this shit would ruin his clothes.
Roberto was there to catch the arm. Since it was logical that his fingerprints would be on it.
The neighbor came out, not surprising, what with the sound of the chain saw running at night. Esteban was there to head him off.
“Sorry about the noise. We had a problem with a tree and our cable reception.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I was wondering if I could borrow it for a minute.”
“Now?”
“It’d just take a sec.”
Esteban looked up the driveway at Norberto.
“He wants to borrow the saw.”
Norberto looked down at the saw. Illuminated by the garage light, the chain saw’s blade looked like a fucking horror show.
“Un momento.”
Norberto went over to the garden hose and washed off the chains as best he could. This, he realized, is why he hated the suburbs. You could hack some fucker to bits in the middle of Hollywood and no one would notice. They might turn their music up a little louder, but they wouldn’t come over to say howdy.
Bob stood in the middle of the backyard letting the arm drain into the grass. Blood came out in a syrupy drip. Bob had dealt with dead body parts before. It had been his job at United Pathology. But most of those were cold and disinfected, processed and wrapped in plastic like American cheese. They weren’t alive. This arm was different. It was still warm. It even pulsed and twitched a little when the saw went through it.
Bob was trembling. He was surprised that he hadn’t freaked out. He’d wanted to. A part of his brain had urged him to run off screaming down the street. But then, that wouldn’t be very smart. They’d come after him and kill him. Bob didn’t want that. So here he was, trembling in the backyard, wearing a plastic poncho under a clear night sky, helping chop some dead guy’s arm off.
He felt sorry for the guy. No one really wanted to kill him. But the guy had tried to escape and, well, he shouldn’t have. It was really too bad.
Bob had developed an affection for him. He didn’t know why. They hadn’t even spoken a word to each other, Larga being beaten, drugged, or just unconscious the whole time, but Bob had been his caretaker, his guardian, and he felt some disappointment.
Bob watched as Norberto took the chain saw over to the neighbor’s house. His arm was getting tired of holding the arm out. You wouldn’t think that someone’s arm would weigh so much.
As the chain saw roared from next door, Esteban came over and looked at the arm.
“You okay?”
Bob nodded. Esteban patted him on the shoulder and gave him a smile.
“The first time I did something like this it made me puke.”
“I’m okay.”
Esteban mussed Bob’s hair. It was an affectionate, paternal gesture.
“Bueno, Roberto. Qué bueno.”
Martin was making a pot of coffee. He knew that they’d have a long night ahead of them. What with having to dispose of a body and a car. Of course, the car was easy. The chop shop was already sending a tow truck to pick it up. It’d be in pieces and on the way to Costa Rica by sunrise. But the body was now a big messy blob dripping forensic evidence everywhere they dragged it.
Martin considered making it a two-fer. Killing Bob and dumping his scrawny ass in with the blob. Just dig one big hole in the desert and call it a day. But he realized they needed Bob. Bob had to deliver the arm. Then he could die.
Martin carefully poured the coffee into a thermos. He turned and saw Bob and Esteban looking at the two arms side by side on the table. The arms were laid out on newspaper like two freshly caught walleyed pike. The whole scene reminded Martin of fishing trips he’d taken with his father and grandfather. Men standing around admiring their catch, the smell of fresh blood and fresh coffee hanging in the air, maybe they’d play a couple hands of pinochle before bed.
Amado entered and looked at the arms on the table. He couldn’t tell which one was his. He guessed that it was the slightly grayer one. The other looked fairly fresh and still pinkish. It made him sad. He missed his arm and felt phantom pangs and sensations. As if his fingers were touching something soft, like fur, sometimes something rough, like his beard. But there weren’t any fingers to touch anything. It just felt like it.
Amado looked at Esteban. Esteban gave him a nod.
“Roberto, vamos.”
Bob turned around.
“Felicia?”
“Sí. She’s waiting.”
Amado watched as Bob looked at Esteban for approval. Esteban nodded and Bob smiled.
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
Amado watched as Esteban mussed Bob’s hair again.
“Enjoy yourself, Roberto. You have earned it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Amado caught Martin glaring at Bob. It was a look that Amado had seen before. The evil eye. El ojo diabólico. A look ripe with jealousy and murder. Amado had gotten that look from men who hated him because of the women he had. Men who were jealous of his power, his connections. Carlos Vila had that look and had tried to rip off Amado. That’s why Carlos Vila was dead. Amado realized that he’d have to watch out for Martin. If he made a move to kill Bob, it could only cause more trouble.
Any qualms, scruples, or doubts Don may have had about getting involved with someone he was investigating were flushed from his mind the instant her hot, probing tongue had entered his mouth. He knew it wasn’t smart, but it’d been a long time since he’d last gotten laid and he wasn’t going to let a little thing like ethics get in his way. Besides, it’s not like it’s against the law.