Fourteen

MAURA DIDN’T KNOW why she was kissing the detective. Was it revenge? Proving to herself that Bob didn’t matter? Maybe he never had. Or was it the two bottles of expensive wine they’d consumed with dinner? Maybe it was the dinner itself, perfect and soul-satisfying, with thick garlic-laden sauces that warmed her body like she was wrapped in a warm blanket. Maybe it was the detective. He was handsome enough. And she’d never been with a man who was, well, so straight. A man’s man. A cop. Maybe it was all of the above.

They were sitting in his car in front of her apartment complex. It wasn’t comfortable or uncomfortable. She liked feeling his hot wine-spiked tongue in her mouth. She felt his hand caress her lower back, slide up her rib cage, and gently brush her breasts. She reached around to pull him closer and felt a large, hard lump under his jacket.

“What’s that?”

“That’s my gun.”

“You have a gun?”

Don nodded.

“I’m required to carry it at all times. It’s part of the job.”

Maura felt a strange vibration in her stomach.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.”

Don reached behind him and pulled out a snub-nosed.38 in a clip-on holster. Maura blinked. Even in the darkness of the car, the metal gleamed at her, cold and blue.

“Can I hold it?”

“Just be careful.”

Don handed her the gun. She was surprised at how heavy it was. It had gravity.

“Have you ever used it?”

“You mean shot it?”

“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.

Don reached around behind Maura’s back and unfastened her bra with a deft snap of the fingers. He’d always had this talent, not that he’d had much opportunity to practice it in the last few years. His former girlfriend, a rough-and-tumble assistant district attorney, had small, squishy little breasts and never wore a bra. But somehow his fingers remembered.

As soon as Maura’s tits became unmoored, she pulled her shirt off over her head and pushed Don onto his back. Don couldn’t believe how hot she was. Her skin against his skin. Her body and his body creating humidity. She unbuckled his pants and tugged them off. He reached for her crotch but she caught his hand and pushed it up to her breasts. Don was happy to stroke her nipples and watch her back arch in pleasure.

For the briefest possible nanosecond Don thought he should put a condom on. He thought he should say something about the importance of safe sex. This thought crossed his mind. But Maura had taken a firm grip on his cock and was now guiding it inside her.

As Maura began to ride him in urgent animal spasms, Don felt that his entire soul, his inner being, was slowly being pulled into her by the rhythm. He saw her face contorting in pleasure, her breasts swinging to the motion yet reaching for him. His body responded. Automatic and enthusiastic. Thoughts only got in the way.

What happened next was new for both of them. It was like being in a hot, sweaty sauna when someone suddenly pours a bucket of water on the white-hot lava rocks. There was an explosion of heat, sensation, fluids. Maura spoke in half-syllables, the contractions in her body and the endorphin surge in her brain short-circuiting her speech. Don felt a sharp quiver deep in his spine. And then it snowballed, building until his entire body was ringing like a tuning fork, the energy becoming unbearably intense until it rocketed out of him in a series of eye-popping seizures. For a brief moment they were transported to a world that was unbearably delicious, sensual and tranquil, comforting and releasing.

It was moist.

* * *

Amado drove the car with one hand. Bob sat next to him. He was impressed with Amado. Amazed at how quickly he’d adapted to living life with one less arm. Could Bob have done that? Or would Bob be in some outpatient physical-therapy clinic whining about how he couldn’t wipe his ass anymore? Amado didn’t do that. He just got on with it.

Bob smiled to himself. He was beginning to learn the difference between boys and men. He was a boy. Amado was a man.

It didn’t take long before the thought, a dark and withering fear, entered his consciousness. Bob suddenly feared that Felicia wouldn’t want a boy, that she’d want a man like Amado, a man she’d been with before. Bob was suddenly filled with crippling performance anxiety.

“What’s she like?”

“Felicia?”

“Yeah.”

Bob watched a smile sprout across Amado’s face.

“You’ll see.”

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

Amado turned and looked at him.

“Don’t be nervous.”

“I can’t help it.”

“These things are natural, cabrón. Don’t worry.”

The more Bob tried not to worry, the more worried he became. He began to have doubts. Maybe joining up with hardened criminals, kidnapping and dismembering innocent bystanders, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe these people weren’t his friends after all. He tried to push those thoughts from his mind. He was here. He was in a car. He was on his way to make love to a beautiful, sensual woman. He just needed to relax. Relax and get a hard-on. One big erection and everything would be okay.

Bob exhaled.

“Amado, what’s the secret to being a great lover?”

Amado looked at Bob.

“Roberto? You don’t know?”

“I don’t think I’m a great lover.”

Amado steered the car with his knees while he lit a cigarette.

“There is no secret, Roberto. There is only one thing that makes a great lover.”

“What?”

Amado turned to Bob, a twinkle in his eye.

“Enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm?”

Sí, Roberto, enthusiasm.”

* * *

Larga’s bloody one-armed corpse lay rolled up in a tarp in the middle of the backyard. Martin and Norberto watched as a tow truck dragged the Mercedes down the driveway and off into the night. Martin clutched the thermos in one hand, then turned to Norberto.

“Where do you want to dump him?”

Norberto lifted a can of beer to his lips and drained it before expelling a thunderous belch.

“I like the Joshua Tree Park.”

“Joshua Tree’s too far. Let’s just go up Angeles Crest.”

“Maybe, but it’s easier to dig a hole in the desert than in the mountains, man. And besides, everybody dumps their bodies in the park. The fuckin’ place is getting crowded, man.”

Martin groaned.

“Are you telling me you’d rather drive an extra hour because the park is too trendy?”

“Exacto.”

* * *

Esteban watched from the kitchen window as Norberto and Martin loaded the body into the back of a Ford Explorer. They climbed in the car and drove off. Esteban was tired. He took some ice from the freezer and began to mix himself a drink. He put the ice, five cubes, in a tumbler and then poured Don Julio Silver in about halfway. Cointreau, which was much better than Grand Marnier or triple sec because it wasn’t too sweet and tasted more like oranges, filled the glass up to the three-quarter mark. One whole lime, quartered and squeezed, filled up the rest.

Esteban stuck his finger in the drink and stirred. As he stirred, his mind sifted through a sequence of possible scenarios. Martin had asked permission to kill Bob. Esteban didn’t know why. The fact that Martin had suddenly become homicidal, something very out of character, made Esteban suspicious. If he could flip so quickly one way, he could flop back the other. A couple of flip-flops and Martin would be testifying against him in court.

Esteban tasted his margarita. It was good, but not as good as the ones Martin made. Qué lástima. Esteban would miss those drinks.

* * *

Felicia sat on the bed in the TraveLodge Motel watching TV. She was dressed trashy-sexy in a diaphanous red fuck gown she’d picked up at Victoria’s Secret in the Galleria. She’d gotten some lipstick to match at Nordstrom’s and had carefully painted her lips a labial red. She thought about getting some stiletto-heeled slippers, but decided that was just going too far. Besides, she looked hot in the gown, her breasts clearly visible through the fabric, the cut making her ass look larger than it really was. These were both good things.

A lukewarm bottle of Modelo Especial sat on the nightstand. She didn’t want to drink too much, but she’d gotten bored waiting and cracked open a beer. Her mind drifted from the sitcom on TV to her situation in the motel. She didn’t like where she was. Didn’t like being put in this position. She wasn’t a whore. But she owed Esteban a favor and he’d called on her to repay it. It wasn’t something she’d normally do, but she knew she had to do it.

It was complicated.

When Amado told her about the gringo and how he’d fallen in love with a tattoo, well, she was intrigued. Besides, she hardly ever went out with gringos and, after being reassured that he wasn’t a dwarf or a freak, just a guy who liked computers, she’d agreed. She was curious. It was hard to meet people in LA.

Besides, Felicia enjoyed sex. She enjoyed it a lot. It was her favorite pastime. Better than going to the movies, more relaxing than going to the beach, more fun than dancing. In fact, she’d rather be fucking than doing almost anything.

It’s not like she was some kind of sex addict like the kind she’d seen on the TV talk shows. She didn’t need to have sex constantly. She just liked to. She was promiscuous. Deal with it.

Felicia heard a soft knocking. She stood up, twisted her nipples so they’d jump out a little, and answered the door.

Amado came in first and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Then he stepped back and looked her up and down.

“Caramelo mio.”

“You like?”

“Muy caliente.”

“Gracias.”

Felicia noticed that there was something different about Amado.

“Amado, you look great.”

Amado grinned.

“I do?”

“Did you get a haircut?”

“No.”

“Lose some weight?”

Amado turned sideways so she could see that he was missing an arm.

Chingao! What happened?”

Amado shrugged.

“Accidente.”

“You okay?”

“Sí, todo bien.”

Felicia didn’t know what else to say. Amado seemed himself, even if part of him was now missing.

“You want to meet Roberto?”

Claro que si.”

Amado went out the door and came back with a nervous young gringo.

“Felicia, meet Roberto.”

Felicia smiled.

Hola, Roberto.”

“Hi.”

Felicia couldn’t help herself, when she saw the trembling anglo in front of her, she giggled.

“Relax, Roberto. We’re going to have fun.”

Bob nodded.

“Okay.”

Amado patted Bob on the shoulder.

“See you in the morning.”

Amado winked at Felicia and then was gone. Felicia locked the door behind him and then turned toward Bob.

“You like?”

She watched as Bob looked at her, his eyes locking on her with the same kind of fervor she’d seen in Salvadoreños when they saw the Virgin of Guadalupe. She moved for him, walking back and forth, letting him have a good look. Packing every step with an animal sensuality, she twirled in front of him. Teasing him. Allowing her body’s movements to arouse them both. Her breasts swinging freely behind the red veil. Her hips, her ass, her pussy open for him to see. She felt her body, supple and strong, yet heavy like ripe fruit. Her skin starting to heat up, her juices beginning to flow. She was ready to be picked.

She watched him watching her. His lips trembling, his knuckles white as he clutched his hands together.

And then something happened. She saw a look in the young gringo’s eyes that she had never seen before.

Bob fell to his knees and began weeping. Felicia stopped. She was concerned, but kept her distance.

“Roberto, is something wrong?”

“No. Everything’s perfect. Just perfect.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he just knelt there, looking at her with that look on his face. He was grateful. He was in rapture.

She sensed a surrender in him. To what, she didn’t know, but she could tell that he wasn’t dangerous. He wouldn’t hurt her or get weird. She went over to him and stroked his hair. She spoke to him tenderly.

“Why are you crying?”

Bob choked back his tears and raised his head to look at her.

“Because you are real.”

A surge of emotion rolled through her body, taking her by surprise. She knelt down next to Bob and wrapped her arms around him. Bob responded, holding her tightly. Felicia could feel his hot, sweet breath against her neck. They stayed that way for a long time.

* * *

Norberto drove. They hadn’t even gotten off the freeway when Martin started in on his plan. He laid it out in casual, almost joking terms. Norberto listened intently, following Martin’s logic, step by step.

The plan was simple. Kill Roberto because he was a liability, an amateur who’d easily crack under interrogation. Give Amado’s arm to the police. Let them arrest Amado for murder and then indict Esteban for racketeering. With those two in jail, Martin and Norberto could move in on Esteban’s businesses, take them over like they were doing him a favor, and make millions.

Norberto recognized that the plan was a good one. Martin was a smart guy. He’d figured it all out. Letting the cops come in and do the dirty work was a nice touch. It kept Norberto’s hands clean. Made him a victim of Esteban and Amado’s stupidity. For once he would be the smart one. Norberto liked that. He liked that a lot.

He didn’t, however, like the idea of killing Roberto. He enjoyed having him around. But he wasn’t the kind of man who’d let a thing like affection stand in the way of millions of dollars. He’d gutted people for a lot less.

The only thing that gave him pause was the simple fact that he’d never trusted Martin. Never liked him. Martin had that superior anglo attitude. The same attitude that the ESL teacher had when Norberto beat the living shit out of him. But maybe all anglos had this problem. Maybe they all needed to be taught a lesson. Would the other factions of La Eme let a gringo run the crew? No way, José. What would they think of Norberto taking orders from a gringo? Norberto realized the only way to make this work was to follow Martin’s plan to the letter and then kill him. Besides, if Martin made him kill Roberto, it would make him feel better to return the favor.

* * *

Maura woke up. Her body was relaxed. Loose and filled with heat like she’d just spent the last two hours going through an intense set of asanas in her yoga class. The detective’s body was tangled up with hers. She could feel his warmth, the moisture trapped between them where they touched. She could smell the wine on his breath. She stretched and slipped her body out of the knot they’d made.

She thought about what they’d done. She’d never had sex like that. But she realized that it wasn’t like Don had done anything to her. It wasn’t his skill or expertise. It was her mood, her energy. She had fully committed to the act. She climbed out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. She saw his pants puddled on the floor where she’d thrown them. She reached down and felt around for the heavy metal.

Maura shot a furtive glance over at the detective. He was sound asleep. A big man-lump on the bed. She gently pulled the gun out of its holster and held it in her hands. She’d always been afraid of guns. She believed that they should be banned. They were dangerous. They killed people. From a politically correct point of view she shouldn’t even be with a man who had a gun. And she definitely shouldn’t be standing naked in the middle of her bedroom holding his gun.

But she couldn’t help herself. She felt something inside her. A compulsion. An urgency. She held the gun in one hand and touched herself with the other. Breathless, excited, and honestly a little worried about herself, she came in less than a minute.

* * *

No matter how deep you dug, the fucking holes were never big enough. That’s the way it seemed to Norberto. He’d buried all shapes and sizes of people out here in the desert and it was never easy. Norberto couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. It always seemed to him that he was digging in the exact same spot where he buried the last guy, yet he never unearthed an old grave while digging a new one. Freaky.

Norberto wiped the sweat out of his eyes and looked around for Martin. Their work was lit by one pathetic beam from a flashlight wedged between a couple of rocks. Luckily the stars were out, so they could see what they were doing without attracting attention. Like there was anyone around to see them.

Norberto heard the crunch of shoes on dirt and turned to see Martin coming back from the car with a couple bottles of water.

“You gonna help me, man, or what?”

“I was thirsty.”

Martin handed Norberto a bottle. Norberto drained it in a few greedy gulps while Martin picked up the flashlight and examined the hole.

“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.

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