As Frankie took the girl’s hand, turning her toward the open door, Chapo called to V-man in Spanish, saying, “Hey! Calavero says some white dude stopped, he’s asking for jelly boy. A redneck in a truck.”
Tula’s attention vectored, thinking, Tomlinson?
The girl shook her hand free from the woman, senses probing the darkness beyond the silhouettes of trees. Her mind was alert for the aura of godliness that accompanied the strange man with long hair. Instead, she discerned an unexpected force-something cold out there beneath the stars. It was a focused energy, dispassionate, moving her way. And human… Or was it?
Tula tilted her head, hoping the Maiden would provide confirmation, but received only a vague premonition of violence.
The V-man had his back to Tula and Frankie, relieved to be conversing with Chapo. A gringo stranger was easier to deal with than the redhead’s nasty attitude. Victorino called in reply, “The Gomer asked for jelly boy by name? What’s a redneck dude want, coming out here this time of night?”
Frankie, Victorino realized, had stopped at the top of the steps for a reason. Probably waiting until Chapo was done talking so she’d have everyone’s attention before insulting him again. Victorino was so pissed off by the shit the woman had said, he considered walking over and kicking Squires in the ribs-blow off some steam-then demand to know if jelly boy had told anyone that he’d be at the camp tonight.
Chapo spoke into the radio again, then called, “Dedos flipped the Gomer the finger, I guess. Pissed him off. So maybe the white dude’s a local and that’s why he turned around.”
Victorino said, “Turned around?” but then realized what Chapo meant. He said, “Don’t waste your time worrying about rednecks. Tell Calavero don’t bother us unless he’s got a real problem. Search jelly boy’s truck, then get to work doing the other shit I told you to do.”
Chapo nodded, forgetting that the woman didn’t speak Spanish. He’d already been told the V-man didn’t want her to know about the cans of gas they’d brought and the bag of rags so they could torch the hunting camp.
Frankie, still watching, waited as Victorino changed his mind, saying, “No. First you two help me drag jelly boy in there…” With his chin, he indicated the wooden steroid shack. Then changed his mind again, saying, “Shit, you haven’t found the money yet? You two drag his fat ass by yourselves. I’ll search the truck.”
The woman turned to confirm that Tula was inside the RV, doing something in the kitchen-looking for a towel because of her nose, she guessed. Frankie swung the door closed, stepped down onto the sand and wiggled her index finger, motioning Victorino closer.
“The hell you want?” The man took a couple of careful steps toward the RV, expecting the redhead to take a swing at him or launch into another tirade.
Instead, Frankie produced a joint, lit it, then offered it to the V-man, her chichis sticking out because she was holding her breath after taking a big hit.
Man, that banano grass smelled good. A couple tokes of cokesoaked weed, that’s exactly what he needed. Victorino leaned so Frankie could put the cigarette between his lips.
“The girl has a thing for me,” the woman finally said, exhaling and keeping her voice low. “She wants me to be her teacher-sort of sweet, really. You wouldn’t understand. But all the signs are there.”
Victorino said, “Probably because you talk to her so sweet,” being sarcastic.
The woman shook her head. “Don’t take it personally. I said all that nasty shit to convince her I’m on her side. But I knew you were smart enough to figure it out. I’d have made a hell of an actress, huh?”
The expression of confusion on the Mexican’s face. Priceless.
Frankie grinned, holding her hand out impatiently for the joint as Victorino replied, “Then we still gonna do it, huh? In front of the camera?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your share.”
Victorino took a second hit of the banano as he watched the bodybuilder’s head disappear into the shack, the two pandilleros dragging the man by his feet. He said, “What about jelly boy? Do him later or after you have your fun?”
“Get his clothes off him-at least his pants.” Frankie said, taking the joint from Victorino’s hand. “You meant what you said, didn’t you?”
Cut the man’s nuts off.
The V-man replied, “A dude disrespects the Latin Kings-I got no choice in the matter.” He was studying the woman’s face, hoping to see that hungry look again. And there it was: Frankie flicking her tongue to moisten her lips, eyes bright.
The V-man couldn’t help himself. He kissed the woman, enjoying how she exhaled the last of the banano smoke into his mouth. Frankie let him slip his hand under her bloodstained shirt, too, then drew back and said, “I just wish you made better movies. Last one, you taped the girl’s mouth-you couldn’t hear her scream! What’s the point of that?”
Now the know-it-all woman was being nasty again, telling Victorino that he sucked at making movies, too.
The V-man was thinking, This is one very crazy gringa. High from smoking coke and grass, and probably thirsty for more Crown Royal, the woman’s mood swings were really pissing him off.
In that instant, Victorino decided he was done with Frankie. As of tonight. Wait any longer, he realized, and she would want part of the sixty grand, once they found it. No… she would want it all.
The realization made Victorino want to smile. He was picturing himself using the box cutter on Frankie, too, but only after reminding her why it was better if he didn’t tape her mouth.
You’re the one told me how to make movies, he would tell the woman. No… he’d say, I could make it easier on you, but I don’t want to disappoint my audience.
But the V-man kept that to himself, playing it cool, even when Frankie asked him, “What are you grinning at? You look like the cat that just ate the bird.”
Whatever the hell that meant.
She started to walk to the RV. “I’m going to see the girl. Get started on Harris. When I hear him screaming, I’ll know it’s time to come out and play.”
Tula was inside the RV, rushing to follow the Maiden’s instructions and also trying to come up with some ideas of her own. She had to escape and save Harris Squires. But how?
It was dark inside the trailer, even with the lights of the truck tunneling through the curtains, so first Tula found three candles, lit them, then got busy. Everywhere she went, everything she did, she ran. There was no telling how long Frankie would be out there talking to Victorino. Soon, the woman would come inside, expecting the girl to share her secrets-and her body, too.
Tula had known from the start what Frankie wanted. The same with Victorino, with his vicious gold teeth. The two of them were plotting together, probably outside right now, forging an agreement about who would take her body first.
It made Tula queasy, the thought of Frankie or the Mexican touching her. But she was now aware that she might have to allow it to happen. Jehanne had already promised Tula God’s forgiveness. Whatever was required to win the redheaded woman’s protection, and her help, was permissible.
The thought of submitting herself to Frankie, though, was disgusting. But her feelings no longer mattered. Tula was resolved to do whatever was necessary to save Squires and find a way for the two of them to escape. It was what the Maiden was telling her to do.
However, the Maiden’s written words were also strong in the girl’s mind: I would rather die than to do what I know is a sin.
Tula had repeated the phrase so often that it was part of who she was. She believed she could endure anything rather than disappoint God. But those words, even when whispered as a vow, did not apply to the life of another human being. Allow Harris Squires to die just to spare herself embarrassment and pain?
Tula couldn’t do that. If she could save the giant by surrendering her body to evil, she would. In the meantime, her brain was working hard to devise another way.