Part 16 (2/2)
They sat quietly for a bit.
”Why us, for this?” said the father. ”Have you asked yourself that?”
”I have.”
”And why didn't the good doctor just give us the weapons? To be delivered right off. Have you asked yourself that?”
”I have.”
”And do you have an answer in your gunsights?”
”No ... but I believe the answer may have me in its gunsights.”
The son shut off the light and lit a cigarette. The father got out of the truck. They waited.
”You were raised in El Paso, were you not, Mr. Lourdes?”
”I was.”
”The barrio?”
”The barrio.”
He could not see the son from where he'd walked to in the high reeds. There was only the glow from the tip of John Lourdes's cigarette.
”There was a factory,” Rawbone said casually, ”that sewed American flags. I had a place a few doors up a walking street. Do you know it ... the factory?”
”I seem to recall it.”
”It's only an alley now for telephone poles. There's a p.a.w.nshop on one corner and a gun seller on the other where I picked up this Savage the day before we had ... the good fortune ... of stumble-f.u.c.king into each other.”
He hesitated. There was only the sound of the water slipping down through the channel to the river and the Gulf beyond. As a man, the father felt completely boarded up, the sh.e.l.l that waited upon the wrecking ball.
”My wife is dead, but I have a son. What do you think, Mr. Lourdes? When I get back to El Paso . . . Do I try to find him? You know me. What I am. What do you think of the idea?”
The ash on the tip of the cigarette branded the dark intensely but never moved, never wavered. It held steady as a star in the night sky.
”I wouldn't answer, myself, Mr. Lourdes. A Chinaman is right. Silence is golden. Except, of course, when you're broke.”
They went back to waiting amongst the brittle dry weeds. Each man alone in the wilderness of his existence. From the laguna came the sound of an engine. They could hear it turn into the ca.n.a.l.
”Tom Swift and his motor boat,” said the father, ”on lake whatever the h.e.l.l it was.”
John Lourdes flung away his cigarette. He got out of the truck. He turned the flashlight toward the ca.n.a.l. A voice in Spanish called out, ”Jefe.”
John Lourdes answered and the engine cut off as it slipped to sh.o.r.e.
John Lourdes approached the ca.n.a.l with Rawbone a few paces off his flank. From the boat one man came ash.o.r.e, another remained onboard. The man introduced himself. His name was Mazariegos. He had a pointed face and whittled eyes and he spoke the king's English. John Lourdes let the beam drift over the boat long enough to recognize the man onboard as being the mayor, and that fact he whispered to Rawbone.
Mazariegos carried a lantern. Before he started discussing an arrangement he wicked up the flame and held the light aloft. From beyond the tramway bridge three hors.e.m.e.n came forward out of the reeds. They disappeared into the shadowline of the ca.n.a.l, then lifted up out of the willows on the near sh.o.r.e, their horses snorting and shaking off the wet. The men were rurales and heavily armed.
Mazariegos was there to oversee the discussions, but since both John Lourdes and Rawbone spoke fluent Spanish the talks became direct and unshaded. The price of the munitions had been settled by others, this was about where and when. ”Where” was determined to be the head of the laguna at the place it fed into the ca.n.a.l. The campesinos would bring boats, as boats would give them ample routes of escape should there be trouble.
”When” was the following night. John Lourdes was in the process of agreeing when Rawbone interceded. He wanted it to be three nights from now, as extra time was imperative to ensure a safe delivery. Both sides were adamant, so it was left to Mazariegos to bring about a compromise of two nights hence.
”THE MAYOR DEMANDS protection,” said Rawbone. ”So Doctor Stallings guarantees his security against the very people the mayor is dealing munitions to.”
They were by the truck after all had left, son and father. What one could not surmise, the other was sure of.
”Mr. Lourdes, you're either not seasoned enough or not cynical enough.”
”Given enough selfishness and disdain I'm sure I can measure up to your standard.”
”You're missing the point, Mr. Lourdes.”
”Am I?”
The father came to him. He took the son by the vest collar in a scornful but gentlemanly way. ”Mr. Mayor . . . I can solve both our problems. I want you to put out the word. I'll get you weapons. You get those campesinos to think you're quietly on their side. Put on your best political face. After you deliver them, we'll cut their f.u.c.kin' heads off. How does that sound, Mr. Lourdes?”
”It sounds ... possible.”
”If only the turkey could read a calendar, there'd be no Thanksgiving. Mr. Lourdes, you told me you heard the mayor making veiled threats out of one side of his mouth while asking for protection out of the other. He's a walking conflict of interests. I say they have the mayor in their gunsights. The practical application of strategy ... they mean to have order and they're making a case for intervention. The oil fields are too valuable to the future.”
Rawbone drove back to the Southern while John Lourdes sat beside him in silent council with his thoughts. Along the tramway, when they'd pa.s.s the occasional light from some roadside building, Rawbone would study the man who was his son. The child he'd squandered had defied the crime of chance. He had not been despoiled or destroyed by the laws of a vile gravity.
They entered the Southern lobby. It was down to the nighthawks now and the couples tucked away in quiet corners. A gentleman played piano softly in the bar. Rawbone stopped halfway through the lobby and took John Lourdes's arm so they could talk a moment.
”Walk out of here. Away from this. You've done it. All that was required and more. This is a quagmire, Mr. Lourdes. And it will never end like you think. Whatever I am, I know the world.”
Rawbone went to the bar and ordered 100 proof drinkin' whiskey. He sat alone in the moody dark. He had come to a place in his own life he could not have fathomed. A place he could neither admit nor exceed. The son would never acknowledge him and he would not break faith with that. He would prove himself, he would hold to it, not because it was right or wrong, but because John Lourdes had willed it and he would match him will to will.
As a water gla.s.s with a lethal dose of liquor was placed before him, money was thrown upon the bar. He looked to find John Lourdes easing onto the seat beside him. The father looked furrowed in a manner the son had not seen before.
”We could have made tomorrow night,” said the son. ”Why did you want the extra days?”
The father sipped at the whiskey. Then, setting the gla.s.s, said, ”I was hoping to buy you time to change your mind.”
The son crossed his arms on the mahogany bar. He looked at the father through the gla.s.s behind the bottles.
”Mr. Lourdes, a hundred years from now there will be two gents sitting like we are now. One may be a federal agent for the Bureau of Investigation like yourself, the other may be a common a.s.sa.s.sin like yours truly, and they'll be in another Manila, or another Mexico. And they will be facing the same poison we are.
”There are two governments now, Mr. Lourdes. There is one that controls the White House, and there is one that controls the rest.”
John Lourdes half turned. He reached for the father's gla.s.s. He drank.
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