“It looks big enough.”
“No way, man.”
“Let’s dump him in and see.”
Norberto looked at Martin. Martin shone the light in his face.
“Get that outta my face, maricón.”
“Sorry.”
Norberto couldn’t hide his annoyance.
“Once we dump him in, it’s, like, impossible to get him out, man. So we got to make sure it’s big.”
“It looks big.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“I told you we should’ve dumped him in the forest.”
“I told you, they find ’em in the forest.”
“They can’t find all of them.”
“I don’t care about all of them. I care about this one and we don’t want them finding this one.”
Norberto was getting pissed. There’s a right way to do things and a wrong way to do things. Why be half-assed about hiding evidence? This was a time to do things the right way.
He watched as Martin fired up a joint.
“What are you doing, man?”
“You want some?”
“I want some help diggin’ this fucking hole.”
“I’m just taking a break.”
Norberto glared at Martin. Then he realized that Martin couldn’t see his glare in the dark. Couldn’t see shit. Norberto watched as Martin’s silhouette blew a thick plume of smoke into the air. He knew Martin would be worthless now.
“Fuck it.”
Norberto went back to digging.
Felicia woke up and crawled out of bed. She went into the bathroom and flicked on the light. She sat on the toilet and thought about Roberto. Never in her life had she felt such devotion. Where did it come from? Roberto had fallen in love with a tattoo that looked like her. Actually it looked like lots of women she knew, but for some reason Roberto thought it was her. Was he crazy? No. She didn’t think he was crazy. Not in a clinical way. If he was crazy what did that say about her? She had felt a connection with him from the moment he entered the motel room.
Something was happening. She looked in the mirror and was surprised to see that she was smiling. She couldn’t help herself.
Fifteen
AMADO DROVE. BOB sat next to him with a moony grin on his face. Amado recognized the look as his own after he’d spent a night with a woman. Feeling hollowed out and reborn, spent and revitalized, all at the same time. You get kind of sex-goofy.
“You had a good night, Roberto?”
Bob grinned and nodded.
“Thanks, man. Thanks a lot.”
Amado laughed.
“You want to get a tattoo?”
“No, man. I want to get a ring. I want to marry her.”
Amado shook his head. Gringos were locos. Why were they always getting married?
“Carajo, Roberto. What did she do to you?”
Bob started to answer, but then just grinned and shook his head. Amado laughed again.
“You’re not going to tell me? It’s some big secret?”
“No, Amado. No secret. I want to keep it to myself.”
Amado nodded. He respected that. He himself didn’t like to recount his exploits to his friends. He would show them a tattoo. But he liked to savor the memories of his sexual encounters in privacy. Just like Bob. Amado couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the realization that he and Bob were similar in some way. Not that they looked alike — they could not be more different — or that they came from the same background. There, too, they couldn’t be further apart. But there was something about Bob, a surprising soulfulness, that Amado connected to and admired.
Amado decided to change the subject.
“Are you ready for today, Roberto?”
Bob looked over at him.
“You did your part. I’ll do mine.”
“All you gotta do is tell the truth.”
Bob nodded and ran through the alibi.
“I broke up with my girlfriend. I was very upset. I drove around for hours. I went to a bar. I met someone. We spent the night at the TraveLodge in Glendale.”
“Exacto.”
“And do you know what the good thing is about that?”
“What?”
“It’s all true.”
“Exacto, Roberto. You should never lie.”
“I could pass a polygraph test.”
“Exactamente.”
Bob looked out the window at the passing strip malls and car dealerships, the landscape of the Valley.
“Can we stop at a Starbucks? I could really use a latte.”
Felicia sat on the bed in the motel room drinking coffee and watching TV. She was wrapped in several clean white towels, her body slathered with free moisturizer. Her hair perfumed and soft from the free shampoo and conditioner. She stretched and lounged and felt very, very good. She didn’t have to check out until noon so she lay back and enjoyed the comfort and tranquility of the king-size bed, the cool hum of the air conditioner, the safety of a sanitized toilet. Now, this was living.
She thought about Roberto. She hadn’t noticed his tattoo, the one with her name on it, until they’d been in the shower that morning. Felicia felt so honored that she’d given him a blow job right then and there. Her knees on the wet tile with the nonslip strips, hot water streaming over them. His face obscured by clouds of steam. His moans echoing off the walls. She liked that. She was doing something dirty, but she felt really clean.
As she watched the noticias on Channel 34, she began to feel different. Her instinct was to resist this feeling. It was a wonderful feeling, but at the same time it was threatening. She valued her independence. It was her vida, and if she gave this feeling a chance it would take over. So she tried to push this feeling as far away as possible. She filed her nails, then applied a new layer of color.
This worked for a little while, and then an image of Roberto, kissing her tenderly on the ankle, would pop into her mind. She found herself thinking about him. Remembering what his skin felt like, how his mouth tasted. He was a good kisser and had a nice big cock. But what stuck with her was the way he had looked at her. His eyes shone with a passion, a force, like one of those pictures of Jesus. His eyes filled with devotion. But his love and devotion wasn’t for all the sinners of the world, Roberto’s love was for her.
She had never felt love like that before. Not once. Sure, many men had said that they loved her, but once they’d fucked her they didn’t seem to love her as much as they claimed. She was used to it. She had steeled her heart against it. When they said they loved her, she didn’t believe them, and, even better, she didn’t care. But he hadn’t said anything. He didn’t have to.
The more she thought about Roberto, the stronger the feeling became. It finally became so powerful and insistent that she couldn’t push it away any longer. She succumbed. She let the feeling wash over her in a delicious rush. It made her nervous. It scared her. Because this feeling had a life, an energy, and a power. It could hurt her. It could cut deep into her heart. It could change her for the better or it could fuck her over. But she couldn’t resist. It felt too good. She was enamorada.
Don sat at the kitchen table, his fingers tracing the funky yellow Formica boomerangs as he sipped a cup of coffee. Maura was wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and spreading butter on some toast. She waved a piece of toast at him.
“Sure you’re not hungry?”
Don shook his head.
“I’ve got to get going.”
Maura took her toast and sat at the table. There was an awkward pause, a beat of indecision and dread.