“This certainly I will do, señor, since you say so. This very second I shall go. In fact, I’m running already.” His feet were dancing about as if the ground consisted of embers. I knew that something still held him back, or he would have been a quarter of a mile off already.
It was his courtesy, the courtesy of the primitive man, that kept him still here. After a few wrong starts which seemed not to satisfy him, he at last found the right words. “Many, many thanks, señor, mil, mil gracias for your magnificent medicine.” The word magnífica appeared to be one of the new words he had heard last night from the villagers, for he stumbled on it, although he would not lose the opportunity to use it for me. “The people in the village,” he continued, “are right about you. Truly and verily you are a great medicine-man. You know all the hidden secrets of the world. You found her so quickly, much sooner than I could ever have expected. Of course, the two pesos and forty-six centavitos I promised you for your medicine, señor, I cannot pay now. I am very sorry for that. But you are a great doctor, surely you are, therefore you will understand that I cannot pay for the medicine now. You’ll have to be satisfied with my thanks, which are honest by all means. You see, señor mister, the money I need for my trip. That’s why I cannot part with my money and pay you off. You surely will understand this easily since you’re such a very wise man. Adiós, señor, adiós, and again mil, mil gracias.”
And he was off like a hunted deer, without looking back. One minute later the bush had swallowed him up.
Never have I cheated a Mexican. I did not cheat that man either. The medicine I gave him is the best he could ever get. No other doctor would have prescribed him such a good medicine.
The village I named is about five hundred miles from here. He is without funds, save these two pesos and forty-six centavos. So he will have to walk the whole way. No hitch-hiking for him, because there is no highway. As there is no highway there cannot be motor-cars. Even if there were motor-cars none would pick him up. Latin-Americans are not dumb enough to pick up strangers parked along the highways.
It is an excellent medicine for him and for me. It saves me from the surprise of finding myself with my head chopped off. He is a strong and healthy fellow, and he is used to hard work. He won’t go fifty miles, and he will find some work or a job. Or he will steal a stray cow and sell it to a butcher in one of the villages through which he passes. In the meantime, and more than a half-dozen times, he will have had his belly filled with tortillas, frijoles, and green chile. His belly satisfactorily full, he will forget his grief. Once he has found some work, he will stay on in a village in the end. Once there, it won’t be one week before a woman will believe herself fairly lucky if allowed to cook frijoles and toast tortillas for him, and also hang her basket, or a sugar sack with her Sunday dress in it, at a peg inside the jacalito he will eventually, and quite predictably, occupy.
NICELY FRAMED, READY TO HANG!
Dan Gordon
1. Little Man with a Gun
You get up there, on top of the world, where I was, by working while other guys play. If you beat your brains out, and worry, and work, you wind up in my spot – standing in your own restaurant, watching the evening trade. There were eighteen restaurants in the chain, and I owned every one, free and clear.
Big-headed? I don’t think so. I was riding high, and I knew it. Also, it gave me a kick. That’s the point in making your pile while you’re young enough. You’re up there where nothing can touch you, and tomorrow’s the night to put a four-carat diamond on a girl. Girl by the name of Lola Grashin – a nice girl, with plenty of class.
She was the only thing I needed, the only thing I didn’t have.
I watched Pug Lester come in, and I was glad to see him. Pug Lester was a detective, and sometimes when he walked in I could see fear appear in the eyes of some men. To me Pug was just a customer whose weakness was fine food.
I said, “Good evening, Lieutenant. Much murder in town?”
“A little,” said Lester, “here and there. Most of it’s old and stale though, so I figured I might as well eat.” He nodded to the head waiter and eased himself into a booth.
“I read you picked up the fellow who killed the liquor-store owner.”
Pug Lester buttered a piece of melba and shoved it into his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “We got him. And like all of ’em, he started to scream he was framed.”
I said, “Do you think he was?”
Pug Lester snorted. “They almost never are.” He moved his arm to make room for the seafood cocktail, picked up a tiny fork and lunged at a shrimp. Then nodding his approval of the speared morsel, he gestured toward the seat. “Why don’t you sit down, Roney?”
I grinned. “Thanks, I’d like to. But I’ve got to crawl back in my office. Taxpayer like myself has to work like hell on his account books to keep you in two-inch steaks.”
“I eat a lot,” Pug Lester said comfortably, “but I figure I earn my keep.”
I nodded. “I’ll drop by the kitchen on my way and tell the chef to slaughter another cow. Anything you want tonight, Lieutenant. Did I tell you I bought a warehouse run of pineapple last week? And have you heard that today the dock workers went out on strike? I’ll make a killing.”
Pug Lester shook his head. “Boy, sometimes I think you’re too lucky. For your sake, I hope it holds.”
“It’ll hold,” I said. “Relax.”
He grunted, and I drifted to the rear of the place and went through the door marked “Private”.
The little man didn’t get up when I entered the office. He didn’t move at all, but sat there, blending in with the shadows to one side of my desk. When he spoke, his voice came out in a friendly snarl, as if he were trying to be diplomatic and didn’t quite know how.
“I looked around,” the small man said, “but I couldn’t find any booze.”
A rush. That was my first thought, I said, “Maybe you’d do better if you tried out in the bar.”
“That ain’t very friendly of you. Mr Roney – an’ friendly’s the way you should be.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in the leather chair. His thin mouth split in a grin. His eyes were in the shadows, and I wondered if the desk lamp was responsible for the illusion of pointed teeth.
“We’ll go on with friendship,” I told him, “after you tell me who you are.” The fact that this was my office, and that the man was sitting in my favorite chair – these things were annoying but bearable.
He said, “My name’s Sampson, fella. I work for a guy named McGuire.”
“I’ve heard of him,” I said carefully. “What do you want?”
“That’s easy,” said Sampson. “McGuire wants to rent a little space for you.”
I said, “He doesn’t have to rent it. He can walk in and take a table at any restaurant in the chain. That’s the way the restaurant business is. It’s open to all the public. You can’t keep anybody out.”
“That’s why the setup looks so good,” Sampson said. “People walk in and out all day. Nothing suspicious there. And you got a fair-sized chain: you’re makin’ plenty of money. The way McGuire’s got it figured, we get the nod from you, an’ then in the back of each and every eatery, we plant a bookie joint.”