Moist

Four

AMADO LAY IN the bathtub. He was a big man, muscular and dark, his face permanently sunburned, worn and cragged by wind, cigarettes, and tequila. Still, he was undeniably handsome with a sensual quality that women found irresistible. There was something about his eyes; even with some serious blood loss, they were intense, focused. Men found it difficult to look Amado in the eye. Even Esteban, a man you wouldn’t want to fuck with for any reason, was uncomfortable holding Amado’s gaze for too long. It was an animal stare, like he was sizing you up for dinner. For some reason women found this arousing, and would melt into his stare, surrendering to him.

Amado groaned and shifted in the tub. A bag of ice and several towels were strapped to his shoulder where his right arm used to be. His torso was uncovered, revealing tattoos of naked women and couples engaged in intercourse. Every possible sexual position explicitly and beautifully rendered. The Kama Sutra inked on his body.

A slick smear of bright red rolled down the porcelain toward the drain, the blood appearing redder than usual in contrast to the brightness of the tub. His jeans were soaked through, the dark trail stretching to his cowboy boots. Amado reached down for the bottle of Herradura tequila that was wedged between his thighs. He pulled it to his lips and took a long gulp. Replacing the bottle he let out a shout.

“¡Pendejo!”

An extremely handsome young man, Norberto, his long hair gleamingly groomed and tied back in a ponytail, entered the room carrying a lime and a knife. The usually cool and stylish Norberto was nervous, sweaty, unsure what to say or do. He had been getting ready to go salsa dancing at Rudolpho’s and didn’t want to get any blood on his clothes. He had found this crazy purple sharkskin suit at a vintage store and just got it back from having it tailored to fit his slender frame. He could see himself spinning, swaying, and glimmering on the dance floor.

But no, he had answered the door and now had to babysit an amputee. It wasn’t a choice. Amado was his friend, and more important, his boss. Norberto had to look after him. Still, he felt slightly conflicted. It was understandable given the circumstances.

“You want some lime, man?”

“I want a fuckin’ doctor.”

“I called. He’s coming.”

Norberto whipped the butterfly knife open in one deft move and sliced the lime into bite-sized wedges. He held one out. Amado took another long pull on the Herradura, then opened his mouth. Norberto brought the lime up to Amado’s lips. He was careful of his fingers as Amado bit down on the lime, sucking the juice out in anger, frustration, and pain.

“Esteban’s been calling, man.”

“Fuck him.”

Norberto reached for the bottle of tequila. Amado swatted him away with his good arm.

“I need this.”

Norberto sat down on the toilet next to the bathtub.

“What about me? I need something for my nerves, cabrón.”

Amado sighed and handed the bottle over. Norberto took a long pull and then popped a piece of lime in his mouth.

“Don’t drink it all, pendejo.”

Norberto handed the bottle back. He looked at Amado.

“Where’s your arm, man?”

“I left it in Carlos Vila’s garage.”

Norberto thought about that for a moment.

“What were you doing in Carlos Vila’s garage?”

“Killing him.”

“¿Por qué, man?”

“Carlos and me, we had a deal. Then that maricón decided to sell me out.”

“So you killed him, man?”

Amado nodded, took another pull on the bottle. He turned his head and glared at Norberto. Norberto understood immediately and held out another piece of lime for Amado to chomp down on.

“If you killed him, what happened to your arm?”

Amado sighed again.

“I was hanging him in his garage. Make it look like it was suicidio, you know? I was up on this ladder fixin’ the rope and somehow, man, somehow I hit the fuckin’ switch for the automatic door while my arm was stuck in the rails. This fuckin’ chain wrapped around my arm and just… mira… look what it did. Just ripped my arm off.”

Norberto stifled a laugh.

“Qué bárbaro, man.”

“It’s not funny, pendejo.”

Norberto straightened up, more out of fear than respect.

“Sorry, man.”

“Pinche puta madre, cabrón.”

Norberto cut another piece of lime as Amado slugged down more Herradura. Norberto popped the lime into Amado’s mouth, avoiding the gnashing teeth.

“Las placas is gonna be looking for you, man. You left your fingerprints.”

Amado shook his head.

“I wore gloves.”

“Yeah, patrón, but you left your fuckin’ arm there. They’ll get your fingerprints right off your fingers.”

Amado’s expression changed, his face twisting in frustration.

“¡Carajo!”

“You’re fucked, man.”

Amado turned to Norberto.

“Go back and get my fuckin’ arm, pendejo.”

“¿Ahora?”

“Sí, ahora.”

“What about the doctor?”

“Leave the door open.”

“Open? This barrio ain’t safe, man.”

Amado turned and glared at Norberto, letting his eyes make the threat. Norberto handed Amado the lime and hurried out the door.