Tularosa

Chapter 9

Frustrated, Eddie worked the streets of Juarez near the bridge to El Paso, trying to locate Lieutenant Kerney. After a failed attempt to reach Captain Brannon by phone the previous day, Eddie had continued his search for Yardman. When he made contact with the captain at midmorning, she had told him to drop Yardman, find Lieutenant Kerney, and back him up. Still in his humpback disguise, Eddie questioned street vendors, cops, cab drivers, and merchants along the boulevard, asking about a tall gringo cowboy with a limp. He kept his cover story simple-the gringo had ripped him off. It got him a lot of sympathy but no leads. Captain Brannon hadn't given Eddie much to work with. She had told him that Kerney was trying to get a line on the major smugglers in Juarez. That meant Kerney could be anywhere in the city, if he was in the city at all. Just about everything could be bought or sold on the Juarez black market, and you didn't have to cross the border to conduct business.

With no clear direction from Captain Brannon, Eddie felt as if he were spitting into the wind. Early in the afternoon, he gave up trying to find Kerney directly and started buying information about big-time smugglers, hoping he would get lucky and intercept the lieutenant. All it bought him was repeated pportunities to get thrown out of fancy clubs, trendy restaurants, and xpensive casinos. Eddie settled on the steps in front of the hacienda across from the Little Turtle, wondering how he could wangle his way inside without getting kicked out on his ass. He knew the Little Turtle was a front for drug distribution, and it had been mentioned frequently on the streets as an after-hours playground for the criminal elite in the city. It was worth a try to see if he could get in. While he waited for the fat cop, Dominguez, to put in an appearance, Eddie made almost twenty dollars.

The hacienda was a high-class whorehouse catering to a well-heeled clientele. Glumly, Eddie decided it was about the only interesting bit of information he had gathered during his search for Kerney. The day had been a complete bust. At the end of the plaza, Eddie saw Dominguez strolling casually among the cars parked along the sidewalk, chewing on a toothpick. Halfway down the block, Dominguez spied him and hurried over. Eddie waved, reached for some pesos, and had them ready for Dominguez when he arrived. The money disappeared into a pocket and a smile crossed Dominguez's face.

"Senor De Leon wishes to speak with you, my little friend," he announced.

"Por que?" Eddie inquired.

"A small matter. Come with me." Dominguez waddled officiously toward the Little Turtle, and Eddie followed. At the entrance, Dominguez told him to wait and went inside. After a few minutes, he reappeared, looking quite pleased, rubbed Eddie's hump, and told him to go in. Eddie stood in the open doorway. The Little Turtle was a long, deep, and softly lit hall with ornate chandeliers suspended over gaming tables. Dark mahogany dining tables circled the periphery of the gambling area, and an elaborate mezzanine with a polished staircase and railing jutted out over the room. A long antique bar with a full-length mirror behind it was under the mezzanine at the back of the hall.

The afternoon clientele was a prosperous group. Businessmen in suits sat at the bar, while artist types held court in the mezzanine, crowded together around small cafe tables. Several young couples were seated near the bar, enjoying drinks and appetizers. The gaming tables were busy. Most of the gamblers were middle-class, male, and fairly young. For a fleeting minute, Eddie wanted Isabel at his side, wearing her prettiest dress. They would have dinner, dance to some music, play a game or two at the tables and meet new people.

"Jorobado," a voice said, pulling Eddie away from his thoughts. "I am glad Dominguez found you."

The man looking down at him was in his midthirties, with a fair complexion, brown curly hair nicely trimmed, and prominent blue eyes. His nose was narrow and his strong jaw ended at a square chin. A purely Hispanic face, Eddie thought, without a drop of Indian blood.

"Senor?" Eddie replied deferentially. It had to be De Leon Eddie thought. The unbuttoned sport coat was silk, the trousers hand-tailored, and the linen shirt was open at the collar to display an expensive gold chain around De Leon throat. He wore a Rolex Oyster watch on his left wrist and a large diamond ring on his right hand. The man smiled casually.

"Dominguez tells me that one of my employees was rude to you. More than rude. You are owed an apology. Come." Eddie didn't move.

"It was a small matter, senor, easily forgotten. It is of no consequence." De Leon turned back.

"But it is, my friend. Tradition is very important to me. No one who works here may insult a jorobado. It could bring misfortune. Duffy must be taught a lesson."

"Who, senor?"

"The gringo," De Leon explained.

"Come." Eddie followed him through a door by the bar into the old cantina. The former saloon had been gutted to create a large modern kitchen, an employee dressing room, and two small partitioned sleeping quarters at the front of the building on either side of the door to the street.

Duffy was in one of the partitioned areas, asleep on a cot, his face buried in a pillow, his leg chained to the bed frame. The cot was bolted to the floor. De Leon shook Duffy roughly to wake him. The man rolled over, opened his eyes, and sat up quickly. He had the look of an addict who had gone too long without a fix: sunken cheeks under the beard and bleary eyes that blinked rapidly.

"Mr. De Leon the gringo said in English, scurrying to his feet. "What is it?" The leg chain clanged against the metal frame of the cot as he got up. De Leon pointed to Eddie.

"You were rude to the hunchback. Apologize to him immediately. Wait one minute." He switched back to Spanish and asked Eddie if he understood English.

"A little bit," Eddie answered haltingly in English.

"Go ahead," De Leon ordered Duffy.

"What did I do?" Duffy asked.

"It is a tradition in my country to treat hunchbacks with courtesy. You spoke harshly, and attacked him for no reason. Apologize," De Leon demanded.

"He was outside the cantina," Duffy explained, whining. "I just told him to get out of the way."

"Apologize," De Leon repeated.

"Sorry," Duffy mumbled to Eddie. De Leon slapped Duffy hard across the face.

"Be more respectful, Duffy," De Leon said sarcastically.

"He cannot possibly believe you if I do not. Humbly ask his forgiveness." There was ice in De Leon voice. Duffy did as he was told, his eyes searing into Eddie's.

"I hope that gave you some small satisfaction," De Leon commented, as he walked Eddie back into the Little Turtle.

"You were most kind to do it, senor." De Leon brushed aside the comment.

"I have a dilemma about you. I would invite you to stay as an entertainment for my customers, if you were not quite so threadbare. You can see the Little Turtle is neither a clip joint nor a bordello." He put his hand into his pocket.

"Let me give you something for your trouble." Eddie wavered for a moment before responding, searching for the right gambit. If he could stay, it might get him closer to finding Kerney.

"I cannot take your money, senor, unless I earn it. If you will allow me to make myself more presentable, I would welcome the opportunity to entertain your customers." De Leon smile returned.

"What is your name, little man?"

"Eduardo. Most people call me Eddie."

"You may stay, Eddie. Use the dressing room to clean yourself. All profit that you make, you can keep."

"Thank you, but the sight of me undressed usually offends. Perhaps I could bathe elsewhere and return later."

"That is not necessary. I will have the door guarded to protect your privacy. If you are provided with the implements, can you sew?"

"Yes, senor."

"Good. We will dress you in a cook's uniform. I may call upon you to serve a special guest or two, as a diversion."

"I would be delighted to do so."

"Excellent!" De Leon said, clapping his hands together.

"Come to my table when you are ready."

"Gladly, senor," Eddie replied. *** Eddie wanted desperately to stand under the shower until the ache in his back went away. He didn't dare do it for fear that the guard at the door would get impatient and come in to hurry him along. He washed quickly, grateful to at least feel clean, then put on the artificial hump, tightened the harness, and dressed in the cook's uniform. It hung loosely on his frame, so he undressed, tacked the sleeves and cuffs with a needle and thread, put it back on, tucked in the shirt, and inspected himself in the mirror. He looked comical but not disreputable. The cook's helper guarding the dressing-room door took Eddie to the kitchen, where the staff teased him good-naturedly about his costume. He gladly accepted the order of tamales, frijoles, and strong Mexican coffee, eating the meal with a gusto that pleased the cooks. He stayed with them until the bartender came to tell him De Leon was waiting. His entrance into the casino caused quite a stir. Wearing a chefs hat provided by the chief cook, he paraded behind the waiters, mimicking their movements. Two small children, sitting with their parents in the dining area, giggled at the charade. They came running up when he finished, clutching coins to give him. Eddie let them rub the hump and promised they would have good fortune. He got a round of applause from guests in the mezzanine and gamblers at the tables. He picked up the coins from the floor and went to De Leon bowing formally.

"Senor? I am respectable now, que no?" he asked. De Leon sat at his private table at the end of the bar next to a small dance floor and bandstand. De Leon laugh was hearty.

"Yes. Very much so. You are a very amusing jorobado. I may have to give you a job. You make my place a carnival. I could use you in the evenings and perhaps even later, after hours."

"I could stay for a few days," Eddie countered, "until I must leave to be with my family again."

"You have a wife?" De Leon inquired.

"No woman would have me," he answered.

"I live with my brother and his family."

"And where do you live, Eduardo?"

"Piedras Negras."

"Your home is a far distance."

"It is a poor place with few opportunities. I must travel to earn a living." Eddie turned his palms up to signify resignation to his lot in life. De Leon toyed with the cellular phone on the table, his eyes reflective.

"You must let me decide what is best for you, Eduardo. Consider seriously my offer of a job." Eddie kept smiling, but he heard the warning in De Leon velvet words. There was only one response he could make.

"I am at your disposal, patron."

"Good." The cellular telephone rang. De Leon dismissed the jorobado with a wave of his hand. "We will talk later about the terms of your employment." Eddie thanked De Leon for his kindness and was sent back to provide more entertainment for the customers. He worked the gambling tables and the bar with all the peppiness he could muster, wondering what in the hell he'd gotten himself into. Enrique Deleon stood on the freight dock behind the Little Turtle watching the off-loading of a panel truck of computer electronics. It was a special order of single inline memory modules, expansion boards, and microprocessors, hijacked from a semitrailer on a highway outside of Phoenix. The driver had been paid well to orchestrate a breakdown and leave the truck unattended. The electronic components would go to a Mexican assembly plant and ultimately wind up in cut-price computers shipped back to the United States. Besides the money he would make, De Leon enjoyed the knowledge that he was helping Americans cut their economic throats. The current trade agreement with the United States was nothing more than exploitation of Mexican businesses. Most of the profits flowed north. He checked the paperwork brought to him by the warehouse foreman.

Everything was in order. The mordidas he paid to make the shipment legal and untraceable were minor compared to the profits. Delivery to the assembly plant was scheduled for the morning. Enrique employed a Japanese style of management. He stocked no unnecessary inventory and shipped only at the point of need. It made his business even more profitable by cutting the overhead for labor and storage. He walked through the warehouse, greeting the few employees on duty. Aside from the computer consignment, the only other scheduled delivery for the next day was VCR components to another large American company operating in Juarez. He used the old mercantile storeroom only for small, highly valuable commodities. It was made of hand-cut stone, three feet thick, and supported by huge timber beams. His other facilities, sprinkled throughout the city, were much larger but held no charm. He admired the old stone walls, the floor paving bricks, and the rough cut beams in the building. The restoration was expensive but the results were splendid.

He must do more with old buildings. When the hacienda was rebuilt, he would look around for another project. It gave him a feeling of fulfillment to preserve the heritage and history of the city. De Leon had decided to add one of the swords and scabbards from the missile range shipment to his collection of antiques. He would hang it over the fireplace at the hacienda. He also decided to keep Eduardo, the jorobado. The hunchback seemed intelligent. He would house him in the old cantina with Duffy until he was sure Eddie was trustworthy. If it worked out, Eduardo could do small, useful errands for De Leon when he wasn't entertaining customers. De Leon liked his decision. Now that the Little Turtle was fully revived and profitable, the hunchback would add good fortune to the casino. *** Major Tom Curry felt particularly good. His daily session at the piano had been a resounding success. Finally he could approximate the unique lefthanded roll of Erroll Gamer. He was so pleased with himself he ran through five renditions of "I'll Remember April" before his wife told him it was time to get dressed and go to work.

He entered Sara Brannon's office humming the bridge to the melody. She swiveled her chair away from the desk and stood up, her expression guarded.

"Relax, Sara," Curry said. "I'm not here to chew you out again."

"Major…" Tom cut her off with a wave of his hand. One apology was sufficient.

"It's a new day, Sara. Let's leave it at that. I have news for you. Our sister service, the Navy, has just informed me that Petty Officer Yardman turned himself in to the San Diego shore patrol a week ago. Your analysis was right on. It seems he went on quite a crime spree in Mexico to support his gambling habit. The police chased him from Juarez to Tijuana before he crossed the border. Nice of the Navy to let us know so promptly, wouldn't you say?"

"That is good news," Sara said, her voice brightening. She sat down at her desk and changed the subject.

"Agent Johnson called and gave me his preliminary findings."

"Did your story hold water?"

"So far. But there's more I need to tell you." Curry sat down in the chair in front of Sara's desk, his good mood evaporating.

"What is it?" he asked tersely. Sara took a deep breath and started talking. She held nothing back about Kerney's discovery of Gutierrez's inventory, his theory of the source of the treasure, and his decision to try to find the pipeline into Mexico. After the briefing. Curry left Sara's office feeling relieved and damn glad that this Kerney fellow was in Juarez, and not Sara. If what she said was true, and he had no reason to doubt her, the value of the treasure, historically and monetarily, was astounding. If artifacts of such importance vanished from the missile range, he would have to explain it to some very unhappy people with stars on their collars. And it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference that nobody knew about the treasure until it was stolen. The case was either a career-maker or career breaker for Sara. Failure to solve a case of such importance would dampen Curry's retirement party, which was not that far off. Curry didn't like that thought; it would be much better to go out on a high note. He went back to Sara's office and told her he wanted all available investigators assigned to the Yazzi homicide, and every piece of evidence, every interview, and every report gone over with a fine-tooth comb.

"Keep Tapia in Juarez," he ordered.

"Tell him to back up that sheriff's officer, if he can find him. And not a word to anybody about the treasure, Sara," he cautioned. "Keep it under wraps."

"Yes, sir." When Curry left, Sara almost whooped with delight as she reached for the phone. *** After midnight, the clientele at the Little Turtle changed, this time dramatically. The bohemians, young couples, families, and run-of-the-mill gamblers were gone, replaced by fashionable men and sleek ladies, some with bodyguards. The women were as elegant as any Eddie had seen in the fashion magazines Isabel brought home from the grocery store. The men were dressed in suits that cost more than Eddie made in three months, and sported watches of thick gold and jewels. The women favored diamond necklaces, pins, and earrings. De Leon had assigned a watchdog to Eddie, a middle-aged thug named Carlos. His face was pockmarked, his breath smelled of garlic, and he had an upper plate of false teeth that he constantly adjusted with his thumb. A bushy mustache completely covered Carlos's upper lip, and a low forehead gave him the appearance of a permanent frown. Eddie was told to greet arriving guests at the entrance. Carlos stayed with him, twitching his fingers at the hem of his suit coat to keep the shoulder holster under his armpit hidden. By two in the morning the Little Turtle resembled a commodities market for smugglers, drug wholesalers, and politicians.

Deals were being made by men throughout the room, in person and on cellular telephones, while the women gambled, drank, and socialized in small groups. Eddie made good money at the door, by Mexican standards, most of it in American dollars. Carlos, as a payment for his attentiveness, took half of it off the top. Enrique De Leon moved among his guests, occasionally glancing at the door to watch the jorobado, who seemed to be a popular attraction. De Leon wore a white linen banded collar shirt under a black linen jacket, with dark gray trousers. At his side, the director for cultural affairs solicited a donation.

"You know how important the Garcia Mansion is to the people of Juarez. And so close to the mayor's residence. We cannot allow it to be razed,"

Ramon Olivares said. De Leon looked down at him. Olivares, short, pudgy, and sweating, smiled up at him.

"It would be a tragedy," Enrique said.

"Have you plans for the building?"

"A fine arts museum. The mayor supports it."

De Leon nodded approvingly. "Have you a sum in mind?"

"We're asking one hundred thousand dollars from benefactors," Olivares replied.

"Of course, I'll participate," De Leon said, knowing Olivares would pocket 10 percent of the donations, "but Ramon, I'll want something more than my name on a plaque."

Ramon's smile turned into a knowing grin.

"As always. I have a Spanish Colonial wardrobe from the seventeenth century in storage. A modest piece, but significant. I had planned to consign it for auction. It would look perfectly at home in your hacienda, once the renovation is complete."

"What was to be the minimum bid?" De Leon asked.

"Five thousand dollars," Ramon replied, "but if it catches your eye, I would gladly present it to you as a gift." De Leon laughed and patted Olivares on the shoulder.

"You must show it to me. Do you like my jorobado?"

"He's wonderful." By the time Eddie was relieved of duty it was four in the morning and the crowd was rapidly thinning out. Carlos took him into the cantina and shackled his leg to the steel frame of the empty cot. Duffy, also chained for the night, was sprawled on his rack and snoring in spurts through an open mouth. Eddie, exhausted, tried to stay awake. He loosened the harness slightly to reduce the pain in his shoulders and stretched his muscles as much as he dared. He covered himself with a sheet to hide the hump and rolled on his side. One more day in the disguise was all he would chance. But with Carlos as his jailer, he would need to figure a way to escape. His eyes were heavy.

Just a catnap, he said to himself as he drifted off to sleep. Sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen at the back of the cantina woke Eddie. He lay motionless, eyes shut, angry at himself for falling asleep. He couldn't feel the hump between his shoulders. The device had slipped out of place, and the sheet no longer covered him. He heard breathing and felt a slight movement next to his face. He opened one eye and saw Duffy kneeling, looking him squarely in the face.

"You ain't no fucking hunchback, are you?" Duffy hissed. His long, stringy hair and beard hid his face, except for the revengeful smile.

"Just another wetback hustler, ain't you, Eddie? Too bad you don't talk English. I don't know if I should fuck you up myself or let De Leon do it. He doesn't like bogus beggars. I think he'd hurt you pretty bad. Comprende?"

"Que?" Eddie said, staying very still.

"This shitty disguise," Duffy responded, reaching across Eddie to shake the loose hump, "is what I'm talking about. Plus you fucked me with De Leon I had to kiss your little Mexican ass. I got enough trouble without you giving me grief."

"Donde es Senor De Leon Eddie replied, looking as confused as possible.

Early-morning sun seeped through the cracks of the plywood-covered windows. The light from the kitchen spilled across the floor between the partitions to the sleeping area. The sounds from the kitchen continued. Maybe two cooks at work preparing food for the vendors, Eddie figured.

No more.

"He ain't here, asshole, that's for certain." Duffy's smile turned wicked.

"And I ain't gonna wait to tell him about you." Duffy's right hand, out of sight at the side of the cot, came up fast. He slashed with a knife at Eddie's throat. Eddie blocked the path of the knife with his right forearm and took a deep cut below the elbow. He gouged Duffy's eye with his left thumb. Duffy pulled back, yelped in pain, and stabbed again, missing completely. Eddie flung himself at Duffy. The leg iron kept him chained to the cot. He sank the edge of his left palm into Duffy's throat, driving the blow as deeply as possible. Duffy choked and recoiled, rocked back on his knees, and pulled Eddie with him. Fighting to keep his leverage, Eddie reached up, grabbed Duffy's chin with both hands, and snapped Duffy's head with all his strength. Their faces were inches apart. He heard a distinct crack and let go. Duffy, still on his knees, fell over, gurgling through his shattered larynx, his eyes fixed on Eddie. Eddie fell on top of him. He could hear Duffy's death rattle.

He pushed himself off the body and crawled backward until he was able to get on the cot. His heart pounded in his chest and his ears were ringing. Reaching back with his wounded arm, he tried to tighten the harness under his shirt. The movement brought tears to his eyes. The knife wound hurt like hell. He used his left hand to fix the hump and pulled his shirt down. There was blood soaking through his sleeve and onto the sheet. He heard footsteps. An old man wearing a splattered apron came around the partition. His wrinkled face was weary and dull-looking.

"What have you done to Duffy?" the man asked, looking from the body to Eddie. His voice was agitated.

"He tried to kill me. Call the patron." The old man's mustache twitched.

"You are bleeding."

"Yes," Eddie answered through clenched teeth.

"The gringo tried to kill me," he repeated. The old man didn't move. His expression was heavy with confusion.

"Are you also dying?"

"No. Get me a towel to stop the blood and call De Leon Eddie snarled through clenched teeth. The man slowly took a filthy hand towel from his back pocket and handed it to Eddie.

"I must call the patron," the old man announced.

"Do that, by all means."

"Jose," the old man called out to his partner.

"The gringo Duffy is dead and the hunchback is much wounded. We will have no help in the kitchen this morning." Jose rushed in to see for himself. The men muttered, shook their heads, and said the patron would not be happy. Eddie listened to their jabbering as they debated what should be said and who would speak on the telephone to De Leon After an agreement was reached, the cooks left to make the call. Eddie bound the wound with the towel, tying it off with his good hand and his teeth.

When he finished, he looked at Duffy. He had never killed a man before. It was not pleasant. He couldn't tell Isabel about this, he thought. She would have him lighting candles for Duffy's soul for the rest of his life. He wondered what Captain Brannon would think. He decided she would not like it at all. One dead man at his feet, no leads on Lieutenant Kerney, and he was chained to a frigging bed with no way to get help. He could not risk discovery as an imposter. He worked on a story he could use with De Leon It took a long time before the two cooks ushered De Leon and Carlos to his cot. De Leon took in the scene without comment.

His face was harsh. Carlos, arms folded across his chest, adjusted his false teeth with his thumb and said nothing. The two cooks stayed back, out of De Leon range.

"Explain," De Leon finally said to Eddie.

"I cannot. I awoke to find Duffy kneeling at the side of my bed. He spoke in English. He was angry about something. He had a knife. He attacked me."

"You understood nothing?" Enrique queried. His eyes searched Eddie's face.

"He said your name several times," Eddie answered. "I think he blamed me for getting him in trouble with you."

"How did the attack take place?"

"He tried to cut my throat. I threw up my arm to ward off the blade. I could not move away because of the chain. He cut my arm." De Leon turned to the pudgy-faced cook.

"Was the hunchback chained?"

"Yes, patron. I only released Duffy from his bed, as I do every morning." De Leon nodded and returned his attention to Eddie.

"You killed him very neatly, jorobado."

"I did not know what I was doing. I am sorry, patron." De Leon gave him a skeptical look and pointed at the body.

"You are not listening. You gouge Duffy's eye, shatter his Adam's apple, break his neck. These are not the skills of a beggar."

"It was by accident, senor." Eddie whined. "Truly. I only fought to defend myself. I was much frightened. I could not escape him. My finger poked his eye as I tried to push him away. I think maybe my elbow hit him in the throat as we struggled. We fell. I was almost off the bed, lying against him as he tried to stab me again. His neck twisted under my weight. I heard the snap. He did not move, and then the old man came to see what had happened." De Leon returned his attention to the cook.

"Did you find Duffy where he now rests?" The old man looked at the body.

"Yes, patron. Exactly."

"Where did the butcher knife come from?" The old man blushed.

"He stole it from the kitchen. I was unobservant." He wrung the towel he clutched in shaky hands.

"Go back to work," De Leon ordered the cooks. The men scurried out of sight.

"Carlos, give me your opinion."

"It is possible. An awkward struggle, perhaps."

"You are not convinced?"

"The jorobado has strong arms and a thick chest. He fought for his life. Perhaps it gave him added power."

"Perhaps," De Leon reflected.

"Let me see the wound. Carlos, unbind it." Eddie raised his arm so

Carlos could untie the bloody towel. De Leon waited for Carlos to roll up the sleeve and wipe away some of the blood.

"It is a deep cut to the bone," Carlos reported.

"Duffy damaged him."

"Very well," De Leon said in a less caustic tone. "Call for the doctor to come and then remove Duffy's body." Carlos nodded, adjusted his upper plate, stepped over the corpse, and left to do his chore.

"Were you not wounded, I would have you replace Duffy in the kitchen," De Leon said, "to learn a lesson. As it is, you will stay chained to the bed until the doctor tells me whether or not you will require more extensive care."

"What will you do with me, Don Enrique?" De Leon sighed and prodded the body with the toe of his shoe.

"Duffy is no great loss. He was not going to be with us much longer anyway. I do not tolerate those who lie or steal from me. Duffy did both. Have you lied to me, Eduardo?"

"No, Don Enrique."

"Very well. I will accept your story for now and pay for your care."

"I will work for you tonight," Eddie proposed. He had to get unchained.

"I will work with one arm, if necessary, patron. I will repay your kindness with loyalty and labor." De Leon chuckled in amazement.

"Were you a whole man, Eduardo, I would have much better work for you to do. Your tenacity is strong. If the doctor agrees, you may work tonight."

"Thank you."

De Leon gave him one last searching look and left. The subservient expression on Eddie's face vanished. He was getting tired of kissing De Leon ass. The man was nothing but a gangster. More than ever, Eddie wanted to get back to the United States. Carlos dragged Duffy's body away, and the cooks brought clean bed linens. They moved Eddie to Duffy's cot, secured him with the leg iron, and changed the bloodstained sheets, muttering to each other about the loss of Duffy's help in the kitchen and the unfair burden it placed upon them. The doctor arrived promptly. He was a harried looking man about thirty who talked to himself during the examination.

Round-shouldered, wearing a rumpled suit, he had a narrow face, and his nostrils flared above a wide upper lip. He asked no questions about the knifing and deferred to Eddie's request to stay fully clothed. He cut the shirt sleeve away, studied the wound, and pronounced it nonlethal. He told Eddie he might lose some mobility in the arm if it wasn't quickly repaired. Eddie asked how long he could wait for the surgery.

"I would be reluctant to see you delay for more than two days," the doctor answered.

"It would be best to fix the damage now so that the scarring will be minimized."

"How long would it take?"

"One night in the hospital." Eddie could not risk going to the hospital.

"I have promised Don Enrique I will work tonight. It is a matter of honor that I do so."

"Carlos said you were a tough jorobado." He raised a finger and shook it under Eddie's nose.

"Do not use the arm. I will disinfect and tape the gash, bind it, and give you a painkiller. I will fashion a sling for you and tell Carlos to bring you to the hospital tomorrow morning." He opened his bag and began removing his medical supplies.

"Thank you."

"Do you fear the hospital?" the doctor asked, swabbing away the coagulated blood. So often, especially with the poor, it was hard to overcome a patient's apprehension of modern medicine.

"No. I wish to show the patron that I am trustworthy."

The doctor nodded his head. "That is an important quality if you wish to work for Senor De Leon. Prove yourself and he will reward you well." He worked quickly to close the gash.

"The wound is away from the arteries. You are lucky."

"So far," Eddie allowed, wincing.