Candy Kid (2 page)

“But, Carita—”

“The name is Lou.”

“Carita, Losita, what’s in a name? Look at me. Smell me.” He pulled at the sticky shirt. “Steers. And El Paso sunshine. Do you want your darling Jose to stink like a Tejano?”

“Mind your tongue. I’m a Tejano myself.”

“But not in the heart. Nor in the church records. Darling Lou, I am on my knees.”

“You’re not on your knees and you know it. You wouldn’t get on your knees for La Guadalupe in person, you might spoil the starch of your pants.”

“Look at them,” he wailed.

She loved him and she loved Beach. The Aragon kids, they were still grimy little kids to Lou. And she loved the game they played. In a minute she’d offer him her guest room because he was too well-bred to ask for it. Spanish well-bred, when you did not ask a favor of one too ill-bred to offer it. She said, “You’d put me out of my own room for your own pleasure.”

“But my lovely one, you know better!” He exaggerated indignation. “I would sleep in the gutter, bathe in the Rio Grande, yes, under the International Bridge—” Both of their noses wrinkled simultaneously. “—before I would cause you the least trouble.”

“You’ve always caused me trouble. You and Beach, both of you. The only peace I’ve ever had was when you two were overseas.” She tinkled the desk bell. A young dark face, impenetrable, ambled to answer. “Pablo, take Mr. Aragon up to my apartment.” She handed the key to the boy. “And get him two cold beers. I don’t suppose you have any bags.” She pushed the register to Jose. He signed for himself and for Beach.

“You’re wrong. We have bags and bags. We’re on our way home from the ranch—”

“The long way,” Lou commented dryly.

“Business,” he bowed gravely. “Darling Lou, you will call Beach and tell him we’re here and to bring the bags over at once?”

“Why don’t you call him?”

“Because I’m lazy,” he grinned. “And because I’m not speaking to him. Or his beer-guzzling companion. When did Adam get in?”

She shook her head. “Don’t know. I haven’t seen him. He hasn’t a reservation either.” But he’d get one. She’d throw out the Governor of Texas or the Aragon boys for her precious Adam. And the big lug didn’t know it. Another thing, what was Adam doing in El Paso? He wasn’t supposed to come back from Mexico for another month.

Jose turned to follow Pablo, not that he needed the kid to show him upstairs. But that was Lou, a hotel woman with routine in her mind even when her heart was going soft. Then he swung quickly back again. “Lou!”

“What now?” She pretended exasperation.

“Who’s the blonde staying here?”

“Do you think I can tell you the name of all the guests? The blonde! Dozens of blondes.”

He used gesture to describe her. “The tall, beautiful brown-blonde?” His face took on a mimicry of the girl’s, that Anglo sure-of-itself expression.

Lou’s eyebrows beetled at him. “You spot them, don’t you, Don Juan?”

“Can I help it if I have the eye of an artist?”

“The eye of an old goat.” Only she didn’t say old goat. What she said was
cabron.

“I will ignore the insult to the Aragon family. The name, please.”

“She calls herself Dulcinda Farrar.”

“Where’s she from? Is she with her husband or her papa or, may I be forgiven the thought, a boy friend?”

“Jose,” said Lou firmly, “I give you shelter. I even give you beer. But you’ll darn well have to do your romancing without my help. Now get out of here before I change my mind and send you packing.”

He departed. One thing he knew. Dulcinda wasn’t a recent arrival, Lou hadn’t had to refer to the register for her name. And she wasn’t with a husband or Papa or boy friend or Lou would have said so. What was a girl of her class doing hanging around El Paso in the heat of August? The town wasn’t a summer resort. It would be full of passing-through transients this month, and the tours that stopped for a day, and men having to come down on business. But why a Dulcinda Farrar who could be at some fashionable and cool resort?

The kid, Pablo, was hanging around the elevator, waiting with the mestizo patience which negated time. Jose came up to him and flipped the key from his hand. “You rustle the beer, chico, and I’ll go up. I know the way. I’m thirsty.” He stepped in the elevator, informed Pablo’s twin, “Six,” and began the quick ascent. The Chenoweth was modern and efficient; it had to be with Lou at the helm.

He could have told Lou about his derring-do with Dulcinda Farrar. They’d have had a big laugh over it. But deliberately, he’d kept quiet. Perhaps instinctively; that warning red light of instinct derived from experience. For the way the girl had kept peering around, the way she’d talked, fast and quiet, wasn’t the way of an American girl on the noon-day street of an American town. It was the sort of thing he’d run into in Germany, first behind the lines, and later in occupation. And in certain other border states. He hadn’t said anything to Lou because this might be more than a simple case of hiring a Mexican loafer to smuggle something over the border. He didn’t believe for a moment that Dulcinda had paid duty on whatever the package held, not unless duty was the least important part of this.

“Six,” the elevator boy said in his accent.

How long the cage had been stopped at the floor, Jose didn’t know. He snapped out of his wondering. “Thanks, chum,” he smiled. He went along the corridor to the front, used the key to enter Lou’s place. She had a nice-sized sitting room; some good, brilliantly splashed Mexican paintings and rugs; some good American furniture covered in dusty white upholstery. She also had two bedrooms, her own and one for her guests, a bath for each. He pocketed the key, left the door ajar for Pablo, and headed for the familiar guest room. He stripped fast, letting his clothes drop to the floor. He couldn’t insult the sun-yellow chairs or bedspreads with their stink. He hoped Beach would rush the bags over. And Adam with them. He hadn’t seen Adam for months. It was a futile hope, that those beery companions would show speed, but he could hope that they would have had enough before he finished his shower. There were certain restrictions as to what a man could accomplish garbed in a bath towel.

He started the shower blending. He didn’t want the girl to turn out to be anything but a sweet kid trying to bring across more perfume than she could use. He’d had enough international experience ever to want to return to such complications. Automatically he picked up his levis and emptied the pockets. And not so automatically, he dropped his wallet and loose change and keys into the top bureau drawer, closed it. He left a quarter on the scarf for the boy.

He walked into the shower, leaving the bathroom door open so he could listen for Pablo. You couldn’t actually hear with water pouring over your head, drizzling into your ears. You had to count on recognizing an intrusion without hearing it. And he did. Because he’d had to develop that super-sensory quality or he wouldn’t be here today waiting for his
cerveza.

He stuck his head out from the shower curtain and yelled, “Put it on the bureau.” He couldn’t see the boy but he heard the murmured response, “Awright.”

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Pablo’s voice, and it wasn’t the word the boy would have spoken. He grabbed a towel to wrap around him as he dripped fast to the door. No, it wasn’t Pablo. It was an ordinary man in a wrinkled seersucker suit, a man who might have just finished dropping Jose’s dirty levis back to the floor. The man wasn’t frightened when he saw Jose, but he began backing toward the door. “Guess I’m in the wrong pew,” he offered.

“Yeah.” Jose looked him over thoroughly. “This is Miss Chenoweth’s apartment.” He punched it. “It’s her hotel, too.” You couldn’t mistake Lou’s apartment for any other room in the hotel. You’d stop in the sitting room and know your error.

The man didn’t bat an eye. “Mistakes will happen.” He’d backed into the doorway by now. And behind him, Jose saw the blue smock of Pablo. When he saw that Jose was gazing beyond his shoulder, a quiver of apprehension went over the man’s face. He swung around and it could have been the narrow doorway that swung his hand toward his armpit. At any rate the hand dropped immediately.

“Here’s a boy for you,” the man said. “Sorry I interrupted.” He noticed the two beers; he’d notice details. Maybe he thought Jose had a friend in the shower.

Jose waited until he heard the man go out and close the door. Then he said to Pablo, “Bring the tray in here. On the bureau.” Pablo moved with slow deliberation. “The quarter’s for you. I’ll sign for the beers.”

“Miss Chenoweth, she sign for this.”

“On the house? Dream girl.” The water was still roaring down in the shower. No one outside could hear what he asked. “Who was that guy?”

“I do not know what you say.”

“That guy who was in here. Who is he?”

“He is your friend.”

“I never laid eyes on him before.” This wasn’t exactly accurate. But the idea was. “Said he got into the wrong room.”

“Your door, she was open. It is a mistake.”

“Are there any rooms in the hotel that look like Miss Chenoweth’s?”

Pablo understood. “They are not.”

“That’s right.”

But Pablo didn’t know who the man was, no use keeping him here any longer.

“Be sure you pull the door tight when you leave.”

“I will do that.”

Jose tilted a bottle to his lips. But he didn’t return to the shower until the door slammed after the boy. Mistakes will happen, the seersucker suit had said. But the mistake was that Jose had caught him in the room. Mr. Seersucker hadn’t made a mistake, he’d come for a purpose. There was only one reason for him to come. Because Jose had been talking to the girl and the man knew it. Between the girl and the man there was something. And that something wasn’t accidental.

Well, the guy had made one big mistake. Because Jose was picking up that envelope labeled Jose Aragon at six sharp. And not out of idle curiosity. He resented a stranger pawing through his things. In El Paso you didn’t expect Balkan tricks.

He finally had enough of the shower. Maybe because he was thirsty for a second beer. He turned off the faucets, rubbed himself damp dry, and took a clean towel for a wraparound. The beer was still plenty cold. He jerked open the bureau drawer; no, the prowler hadn’t got there before he was interrupted. Jose’s stuff was just the way he’d tossed it in.

If the guy had been reaching for his armpit and if he’d wanted to start something, Jose had been in a pretty pickle. Standing there clutching a wet bath towel around his middle. He was sick of the guy sloshing around his head. He went into the living room where it was cooler, picked up the phone. He was dry enough to stretch out in the easy chair. The desk answered.

“Miss Chenoweth still there?”

She came on after a moment.

“Lou, what about Beach?”

“He’s coming.”

“When? I’m trapped here stark naked. Except for one of your best towels.”

Lou gurgled. “You can’t be chasing blondes, can you? If it’s essential, you can help yourself to a bathrobe from my closet.”

“Won’t I look pretty!”

“Don’t be so vain, chico. How’s the beer holding out?”

“It’s almost gone. When’s Beach going to get here?”

“He said he’d be over pretty soon. He was surprised you’d decided to stay all night. Said you wanted to get back to Santa Fe. I didn’t tell him about the blonde, thought you’d like to surprise him.”

Jose said patiently, “Look, my little dove, give me the number and I’ll call Beach myself. And Lou, how about sending up a salad, shrimp, a lot of them, and some more beer? And also, Lou,
gracias,
but this tab I’ll sign. You’re not giving a party.”

“It’ll be on your bill.” Her voice trickled off and then on again with the requested number.

He said, “Thanks,” grinned into the phone, “If the blonde asks for me, send her up.”

Lou made a noise and rang off. He waited a moment and re-lifted the phone, repeated the number Lou had given. It took a bit of ringing before a voice shouted, “Hello.”

“Is Beach Aragon still there?”

“Hold it, I’ll see.” He could hear the man yell, “Beach Aragon here?” and then the voice returned, “Just left.”

Jose didn’t believe a word of it. “Let me talk to Adam.”

“Wait a minute.” The voice changed to Adam’s warm bass, “Hello, Lou.”

“This isn’t Lou. It’s Jo.”

“Why don’t you get over here?” Adam rumbled. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Look, I can’t get over. Incidentally, welcome home and all the trimmings. Let me talk to Beach. I know he’s there.”

“Bright boy,” Adam jeered gently.

He held on until Beach drawled, “What gives?”

“Listen, Beach, Lou is letting us stay with her tonight.”

“She told me.”

“Okay. She also told you to bring the bags over, didn’t she? I’m sitting here in a bath towel waiting. I can’t join you and Adam because I haven’t anything to wear but those stinking things I took off and I’m damn sure not going to put them back on. Come on, be a pal. Besides Lou might like to see the old Adam, no?”

“Will do,” Beach agreed. A touch of romance could usually bring him around. The blonde would have brought him faster but the blonde was a business proposition, Jose’s business.

Jose urged, “Don’t stall any longer. I’m getting claustrophobia shut up here by myself.” He replaced the phone. They might come and they might not. Adam might meet twelve other guys he wanted to gab with before they made it.

Jose paddled into Lou’s room and surveyed the robe situation. There was a terry cloth which wasn’t fancy. It was short in the skirt and the sleeves, tight in the shoulders, but in a pinch it would cover him. He carried it back to the living room where it would be handy. Because he didn’t want to think he turned on the radio and found afternoon music. The knock on the door made him start. It wasn’t his cousin and Adam, they’d approach with noise.

He called out, “Who is it?”

“The lunch.”

The accent was right. He put on the robe, feeling all arms and legs, and opened the door an inch. It was the lunch all right, another twin of Pablo’s in another sloppy blue smock. “On the table.” The boy struggled the tray to the low carved table. Jose remembered that he wasn’t wearing pockets with pants. He went into the bedroom, found a quarter, and brought it back to the boy. No use making him wait for it, once the beerdrinkers arrived lunch would stretch on to dinnertime.