“Yes, Marta.”
“You aren’t married?”
“No.”
“That’s why you’re always alone.”
They sat in silence. Now is when I should make my move. Fucking stiff! It’s in my way. But it doesn’t seem to bother Marta. Like she’s getting used to it. Or she’s got something else up her sleeve. Any other gal would be crying, acting hysterical and going on about her honor and her virginity. Fucking virginity! With this one, it’s me who’s acting like a chump. But the truth is, things have gotten complicated. I’m not one to get spooked by my own shadow, but I’m not used to making love with a dead body in the room. Well, not usually. You’ve got to respect the dead. I make them dead and that’s why I respect them. As far as I’m concerned, the night’s already a lost cause. And things were going so well. Maybe all Chinese gals are like this one, spending the whole night talking. But then there wouldn’t be so many Chinese. And then there’s her idea about laughter being so good. That’s one thing I don’t understand. I’ve never thought very highly of laughter.
“Are you going to tell the police, Filiberto?”
“Don’t you need to get home, Marta? It’s almost two in the morning.”
“I live alone. What are we going to do, Filiberto?”
García stood up and looked out the window. The black Pontiac was still parked out in front. It was the only car on the block. As long as that car was there, there was no way he could take Marta home. But Marta didn’t ask what the dead man was looking for in my apartment. That’s strange. Women are curious.
There’s that rat again.
“Filiberto, I’ve been thinking. . I don’t think he was just a robber. He was following you, from Mr. Liu’s shop. .”
“He was in the restaurant, too.”
“Why was he following you? And who’s that man in the car outside?”
“I make a lot of enemies in my line of work, Marta.”
“But you said you don’t know him.”
“No, I don’t. Sometimes you have enemies you don’t even know about. Go into the other room, Marta. There’re some things I have to do.”
“Are you going to call the police? I don’t mind if they find me here and I can tell them. .”
“Go into the other room and turn on the light. After a few minutes, turn it off, but don’t close the curtains, so they can see that it’s off from the street. And don’t look out the window.”
Marta hesitated. García took her gently by the arm and led her into the bedroom. He turned on the light and saw that the curtains were half open.
“I’m going to go out for a few minutes. If anybody knocks on the door, don’t open it and don’t make a sound.”
“Your clothes, they’re stained.”
“I’ll be back soon. Turn off the light in five minutes.”
He left the room, switched off the light in the living room, and by the dim glow coming through the window, he wrapped the body in the sheet and threw it over his shoulder. Good thing this dead guy wasn’t a big eater. Fucking stiffs! You don’t only have to make them, you’ve also got to carry them, as if they were children.
He went silently down the stairs and left the body next to the front door of the building. Nobody’s going to be coming or going at this time of night. All my tenants live quiet lives, and even if somebody does come down, they’ll just think it’s a bag of laundry.
He went down a hallway near the staircase to the back of the building, through an inner courtyard. There, he opened another door and came out onto Revillagigedo Street. He walked slowly around the block and returned along Luis Moya. The car was still there. He’s probably getting nervous, wondering what happened to his friend. It’s strange, his friend being gone for so long, but he doesn’t check on him, or take off. Maybe he thinks I haven’t gotten home yet? But he must have seen the lights go on and off. Very strange.
He took off his hat, pulled out his.45, and put it in the hat. He looked like a peaceful citizen returning home late. The man in the car was smoking with his window open. García came up alongside him and stopped.
“Excuse me, can you tell me. .”
The man looked up and the.45 came down hard on his head. The man disappeared inside the car. García opened the door and pushed him to the other side of the seat. Then he opened the door to the apartment building, picked up the corpse, and threw it in the back seat. He put on his hat and put away his gun. The lights in his apartment were off. He got in the car, started it, and parked it three blocks away. Then he walked back slowly.
Together in life as in death, the way it should be. It would have been better to take the sheet, but it’s got no markings, and there’s no way for anyone to trace it to me. And even if they do think I killed them, that’s why they hire me — to kill people. Fucking people! I figure these particular dead won’t have many mourners and they’re not going to stir up much of a scandal. But if they manage to knock off the president of the gringos. . Holy shit! What a difference between one dead body and another, between a proper corpse and a stiff. They keep me around to make stiffs when they need them. That’s what I am — a stiff factory. And Rosendo del Valle’s so honorable, so gullible. And the colonel’s an ass-licker. He must think del Valle will be top honcho one day. At your service, Mr. President. Here’s your stiff factory. And then there’s this business with Marta. She must realize what a chump I am. And here I am with her false passport, and that’s all I need to get her where I want her. They didn’t even think to change the fingerprints. With that alone, Immigration could nail her. Fucking Marta!
He stopped under a streetlamp to look at the passport. Marta Fong García, born in 1946 in Sinaloa. For all I know she’s a relative. But I don’t have relatives in Sinaloa and anyway García just kind of stuck to me along the way. Passport issued in 1954, by the Mexican Embassy in Japan. This passport replaces number 52360, issued by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on April 11, 1949. Everything neat and tidy, everything in order, except for the dead girl’s fingerprints.
He opened the door to his apartment. The living room was dark. Marta opened the door to the bedroom.
“Filiberto?”
“It’s me, Marta.”
He turned on the light.
“Do you want another coffee or a drink?”
“A drink, please, Marta. Nobody stopped by?”
“No, nobody.”
Marta came into the living room and poured him a drink. There was a dark stain on the carpet.
“Thank you, Marta. You aren’t having one?”
“I looked out the window, very carefully. .”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“You aren’t afraid of anything.”
There was admiration in Marta’s eyes. García finished his drink in one gulp and poured himself another.
“I don’t have anywhere to go, so I read a lot, especially detective novels. I thought it was all lies.”
García looked out the window. The street was deserted.
“I’m going to burn your passport, Marta.”
“Burn it?”
“Yes. It could get you into trouble. We’re going to ask for your birth certificate from Sinaloa. Marta Fong García’s birth certificate. And that’s who you’ll be now forever.”
He went back to the window. Marta was standing in the middle of the room, and she walked slowly over to him.
“You see, I wasn’t wrong. You are very good, and very brave, Filiberto.”
“Like the heroes in your detective novels?”
“You’re just going to say that I’m a silly fool.”
“I’m going to take you home, Marta. It’s almost three in the morning.”
“I can’t. I’d have to wake up Mr. Liu to open the door for me and. . and I can’t. If he knows I’ve been talking to you, he’ll be furious.”