“I saw a movie once in Guatemala City,” Tula told the man, aware of a strange feeling in her chest. “My father took us, my brother and me. The movie was about Hercules, the strongest man in history. He was so strong that he pulled down marble columns and defeated the Centurions who killed Jesus. But I think you are stronger than him. You are much larger.”
For the first time since she had met Harris Squires, a pleasant smile appeared on the man’s face. In that instant, Tula could see how the giant must have looked as a little boy. He had been a sweet child, probably, maybe a little shy. It caused the girl to wonder what had happened in this man’s life to make him mean and to do dirty things such as take photographs of naked women.
Squires replied, “Hercules, no shit? Well, it’s all about living clean and using the right vitamins,” as he plunged the needle into his bicep and emptied it.
He wasn’t done. He used two more syringes-one to load the steroids, a second needle to inject-and pinned a darker oil into the cablelike muscle that angled from his neck to his shoulder.
“Dianabol,” Squires said, sounding dreamy and satisfied, rolling his shoulders. “By God, I love a big hit of D-bomb. I don’t need any food now, I’m good to go.”
Tula watched the man, wondering what that meant as he added, “It’s twenty-some miles to Immokalee, but I don’t expect there to be much action on the streets. Not on a Wednesday. But if that’s what you want, let’s do it.”
Tula felt a thrill as the Maiden came into her head again, instructing the girl what to say next.
“We’ll go to the churches,” she told Squires. “On a Wednesday night, people will be praising God and singing. We will find people there who might know about my mother.”
Squires was shaking his head. “Where do you come up with this crazy crap? People don’t go to church on Wednesday nights, not even Catholics. Unless it’s to play bingo or some kind of shit. At least, they didn’t back when they made me go.”
“The Maiden speaks to me,” Tula told him, interested in the man’s reaction. “If she says it’s true, then it will happen.”
Saying it, the girl felt as if she was sharing a secret with Squires, something that increased the weight on her chest and gave her an odd sensation in her abdomen. It was a warm feeling, standing close enough to the giant now to touch her head briefly against his elbow just to see how he reacted.
This time, he didn’t yank his arm away. So Tula took another chance by placing her fingers on the man’s huge wrist as she told him, “We can trust the Maiden. Whenever I need guidance, she is always there for me.”
It felt strange to the girl, her fingers on a man’s skin, but Tula decided that she liked it.
Squires turned off the burner, then the lights, before padlocking the door closed. As they walked toward the RV, he said, “The Maiden
…? You mean that saint you mentioned? Don’t ever tell a shrink what you just told me. They’ll throw you in the damn loony bin. Which is probably where you belong.”
“Joan of Arc is my patron saint,” Tula said, her voice firm. “She does speak to me. Usually at night-that’s when the visions come to me.”
Irritated, Squires said, “Night visions, too. You’re even screwier than I thought. Listen, I don’t want to hear every damn detail. You talk too much.”
“But it’s true,” the girl said. “I see things that will happen in the future. Sometimes I see things during the day, too. But it’s better if I’m alone. For me, sitting in a tree is a nice place.”
Remembering that the girl had spied on him from a tree caused Squires to feel the dianabol he’d just injected accelerate to his temple, vessels throbbing. It created a blooming chemical anger in him, and he clenched his fists as he reconsidered what was happening.
Why the hell was he being nice to this crazy little chula? He brought her out here expecting to strip the girl’s clothes off, then have some fun. The little brat could send him to Raiford Prison if she wanted. At the very least, he should kill her.
It’s not too late. I can take her out to the pond, shoot her in the back of the head, then drive to Mexico on my own. I don’t need her. Why put up with any more of her crazy talk?
But from the sick feeling Squires got just thinking about it, he knew he couldn’t do it. Maybe later but not now. The reasons had to do with the girl’s irritating kindness… and also the haunting familiarity of her face.
Even so, it pissed him off the way this know-it-all wettail kept chattering away, so Squires decided to shut her up by saying, “I don’t want to burst your bubble, chula, but that Joan of Arc bullshit, it’s all just fairy-tale crap. You’re talking about the girl who carried a sword and dressed like a dude? It’s total bullshit.”
Instead of waiting for the girl to answer, he continued, “She’s a goddamn cartoon character, for Christ’s sake. Like Santa Claus and the Easter bunny. The Disney World people probably came up with that Joan of Arc stuff. What in the hell ever convinced you that she talks to you?”
Tula was a couple of steps behind Squires as they walked toward the RV, but she hurried ahead and grabbed the man’s wrist, which caused Squires to stop and peer down at her.
“Don’t ever say that again,” Tula told him, her expression fierce. “The Maiden is real. I can show you in the history books! She led King Charles’s army, carrying her banner and sword. She forced the English sinners out of France. At first, even the king didn’t believe that she was sent by God, but the Maiden proved it to him.”
Tula gave the man’s wrist as shake. “She was a great leader and her soldiers loved her. The Maiden lived a pure life. She died a virgin, as a woman without a husband should. Have you committed so many sins that you don’t want to believe such a good person could exist?”
Squires didn’t know what to say. He felt ridiculous, allowing himself to be lectured by this skinny little teenager with her boy’s haircut, breasts just beginning to blossom.
“And something else,” the girl continued, giving the man’s wrist another shake. “Stop calling me a chula. My name is Tula. Please show me respect. And no more profanity! It hurts me when you use those words. Why do you intentionally hurt me when you know I care for you? I want to help you to be happy again, but then you say such awful things!”
Harris Squires got a funny feeling in his throat when the girl said that. It was stupid to react that way, he knew it, but there it was.
He stood silently as he watched the girl march off toward the truck, then turn with hands on her hips before saying to him, “If we’re going to Immokalee, let’s go. But you can’t go like that-not into a church. You have to change your clothes.”
Squires growled, “What?” He was carrying his shirt in his hand, wearing baggy shorts and flip-flops.
The girl didn’t back down. “If you hadn’t thrown me into your truck this morning without even asking, I would have brought my extra shirt. But you have clean clothes hanging in the trailer. I saw them.”
Squires thought about arguing, maybe even threaten to slap the girl’s face to let her know who was in charge. But then he thought, The hell with it.
The little brat was exhausting. Besides, it wouldn’t kill him to get cleaned up a little. It might even make him feel better, because his shirt was soaked with sweat-he could smell its hormonal stink-and he hadn’t showered since almost having his ass eaten off by Fifi the night before.
“You mind if I take a little nap first?” he said to the girl, being sarcastic, but he meant it. He was suddenly very tired despite the fresh D-bomb juice and testosterone pulsing through him.
“Will you put those steel things on my wrists again, the handcuffs?” the girl asked. It made her nervous, the idea of being alone with the man in the trailer. He might start drinking again. Drink himself into a different mood, and Squires might even try to force her into his bed-Tula would have preferred a bullet in the head to the horror of a man’s hands on her body.