Bobby Boy nodded and said gravely, ‘I was a fool.’
Eddie chuckled. ‘Sometime the boy come close to makin’ sense, don’t he? Yeah, well. We all fools to be sittin’ ’round in the middle of this mess.’
‘Hey,’ said Sebo. ‘Hey, lady.’
Debora looked over at him. ‘Yes?’
‘C’mere, lady.’ Sebo’s face was shiny with sweat, his grin was without mirth. ‘Hurt so bad, I need me some sweet talkin’. C’mere and talk at me, huh?’
‘Wouldn’t be doin’ that, woman,’ said Eddie. ‘Old Sebo, he just wanna grab holda your jaloobies. That’s all he be wantin’. Sebo, he get horny when he hurt.’
‘Me, too,’ said Bobby Boy; he reached out a hand toward Debora, moved the hand around, like an artist gauging the balance of different sections of his work.
‘Cut that shit out,’ said Mingolla.
Bobby Boy turned his stunned moonboy gaze on him. ‘What say?’
‘Hey!’ Eddie gave him a shove. ‘Lowrate, will ya, cool? You got that dingy Spec Four redhead bitch for postholin’, man. Leave these folks be.’
‘She lookin’ nice,’ said Bobby Boy in the same tone he had used to talk about razors.
‘C’mere, lady,’ said Sebo. ‘Little talk ain’t gonna hurt nobody.’
‘Got somethin’ better to do with my tongue than talk to her,’ said Bobby Boy.
Ruy got to his feet, menacing Bobby Boy. This is insupportable,’ he said, and then, to Eddie: ‘Can’t you control him?’
Eddie shrugged.
A smile melted up from Bobby Boy’s face. ‘Thank ya, Jesus,’ he said. ‘This here’s Bobby Boy Macklin praisin’ your name for givin’ me this scrawny bastard to mess over.’
‘I tol’ you to lowrate, man,’ said Eddie anxiously, and Mingolla, realizing that Bobby Boy was very much on the edge, set himself for a fight. No way was he going to try to influence Bobby Boy: Ruy must know how hard it was to influence someone behind Sammy.
‘Sebo!’ Eddie maneuvered himself between Ruy and Bobby Boy. ‘Know what I’s just thinkin’ ’bout? ’Member that ol’ girlfriend of yours, one who wrote you the letter ’cusin’ you of bein’ a killer?’ He gave Mingolla a friendly elbow. ‘We wrote her back, faked the colonel’s signature, and tol’ her Sebo was a fuckin’ hero, went ’round feedin’ the starvin’ kids and all. Shit! Woman wrote back, sounded like she ’bout ready to air mail her snatch to ol’ Sebo.’
‘Get outta my way, Eddie,’ said Bobby Boy. ‘I’m gonna crumble this Frito.’
‘Fuck you are!’ Eddie glanced around wildly as if hoping to light on a solution. ‘Know what, man? Know what we can do? We can run a game!’ He shouted to some soldiers gathered by the wreckage of the next hut. ‘Where that prisoner at? Bring his ass!’
One of the soldiers grabbed a shadowed figure lying on the ground, hauled him up, and hustled him over. Flung him down. A kid of about eighteen, skinny, long black hair flopping in his eyes. Crop of pimples straggling across his chin. He was shirtless, his ribs showing. On his right shoulder was a bloodstained bandage.
‘How ’bout it, Bobby Boy?’ said Eddie. ‘Sebo? How ’bout a game?’
‘Yeah, I s’pose,’ said Bobby Boy sulkily.
‘Awright!’ said Sebo, sitting up straighter.
Bobby Boy punched the kid in his injured shoulder, and the kid cried out, rolled away.
‘Bastard!’ said Debora. ‘Leave him alone!’
Bobby Boy stared at her and made a throaty sound that might have been a laugh.
‘Listen up, lady,’ said Eddie. ‘Bobby Boy will fuck with you, so you better let him have his fun.’
She looked to Mingolla, and he shook his head.
Some of the soldiers moved off along the street, planting what appeared to be large seeds, covering them with dirt, patting it smooth. Planting lots of seeds.
Bobby yanked the kid up to a sitting position. ‘What’s your name, Frito?’
The kid spread his hands in helplessness. ‘No entiendo.’
‘Somebody ask him in Spanish,’ said Bobby Boy.
Mingolla did the duty.
‘Manolo Caax.’ The kid looked around hopelessly at the others, then lowered his eyes.
‘Cash… huh! The beaner’s named for fuckin’ money,’ said Bobby Boy as if this were the height of insanity.
Sebo giggled, his eyes glassy from painkillers. ‘I’m bettin’ on ol’ Frito,’ he said, ‘I do believe Frito’s got what it takes.’
The others began making bets.
‘Ask him if he got any information,’ said Bobby Boy.
When Mingolla asked, the kid said, ‘I know nothing. What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me?’
Mingolla didn’t answer; he found it easy to reject the kid and realized this was because he had already given up on him.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked Eddie.
‘Got frags buried all over,’ said Eddie. ‘Coupla guys get behind the beaner, fire at his heels to keep him movin’, and we see if he can run the street without triggerin’ a frag. He don’t move fast ’nough, the boys’ll wax him.’ He grinned, but sounded more tense than enthusiastic.
Debora leaned close, whispered, ‘I’m going to stop it.’
‘No, don’t.’ He caught her arm.
‘We can’t let them do this!’ she said. ‘I don’t care if…’
‘You better care,’ he said. ‘You better just leave it alone. We can’t save everybody. All right?’
Ruy was looking at them with interest.
‘All right?’ Mingolla repeated, and Debora gave a resentful nod, looked away.
Tully sidled over, Corazon at his side, and said, ‘I can’t touch ’em, Davy. Can you do somethin’?’
‘Uh-uh.’
What you talkin’ ’bout?’ said Bobby Boy.
‘Just talkin’,’ said Tully. ‘Ain’t you got not’in’ better to do dan fuck wit’ dis kid?’
‘Naw,’ said Bobby Boy mildly. ‘Not a goddamn thing.’ He was almost as tall as Tully, with broader shoulders, and Mingolla thought Tully was a little afraid.
‘Buncha damn chickenshits, mon,’ said Tully. ‘Fuckin’ wit’ a kid.’
‘You could be next, nigger.’ Bobby Boy went eye to eye with him. ’How ‘bout that?’
‘Watch your mouth, man!’ Eddie stood and shoved Bobby Boy back from Tully.
Ruy tapped Debora’s arm. ‘Can’t you do anything?’
She turned a bitter glance on Mingolla, then said, ‘No.’