The New Mammoth Book of Pulp Fiction (100 page)

Having finished his speech with the difficulty an urchin has saying his catechism at Sunday school he began again swinging his machete pirate-fashion, obviously with the intention of making his demands more imperative.

What was I to do? If I got the better of him and clubbed him down, everybody in the village would accuse me of having killed a poor, ignorant, but honest Mexican peasant, who had done me no harm and had never meant to do me any, and who had not even insulted me, but had only come, a very humble human, to another human, asking for help which no good Christian would have denied him.

I had to do something to get me out of the hole I was in, and in which I did not feel very comfortable. As I was considered one of the greatest medicine-men, there remained nothing else for me to do but to rely on medicine. The only question was, what sort of medicine I was to use to cure myself of his desperation, and of his machete which, as he demonstrated over and over again, would cut a hair as if by magic. The medicine to be served had to be of a special kind – that is, it had to be effective enough to save both of us at the same time.

At this precious moment, when I was thinking which of the gods I might call upon for a good idea and a better medicine, there flashed through my tortured mind a mental picture of two black tubes sewn together in such a way that they might look like one.

“With your kind permission and just one minute,” I said to him and went into my bungalow.

Out I came, carrying in my hands my modest fieldglass. I carried it before me with a great solemnity, as if it were the holiest object under heaven.

I stepped close to the fence where the Mexican stood, high expectancy in his eyes.

In a mumbled voice I now spoke to the glass, moving it at the same time around over my head, now to the left, now to the right, also moving it towards the man who was watching me with an ever-growing bewilderment.

Now I pressed the glass firmly to my eyes. I bent down and searched the ground while walking round and round, slowly lifting up the glass until it was at a level with the far horizon. For many minutes I scanned the horizon, searching every part of it while moving round in a circle. And I said, loud enough so that he would understand it: “
Donde estás, mujer?
Where are you, woman? Answer, or I’ll make you by hell’s or heaven’s force!”

Another idea came to my mind at this minute. I whispered to him: “Where’s the village you come from?”

He tried to answer. His excitement did not allow him to speak, though he had his mouth wide open. He swallowed several times and then pointed, with one arm only slightly raised towards north.

So I knew that I had to find his woman towards the south to make my medicine work properly for his benefit and mine.

Now, all of a sudden, I yelled: “I see her.
Ya la veo
. I see her. There she is now, at last. Poor woman. Oh, that poor, poor woman. A man beats her terribly. He has a black moustache, that man who beats her has. I don’t know who he is. I am sure I’ve seen him once or twice in this village here. Oh, that devil of a man, how he beats that poor woman. And she cries out loud: ‘
Ay mi hombre
, my dear husband, come, come quick and help me; fetch me away from that brute who has taken me by force and without my will; I want to come home and cook frijoles for you because I know you must be hungry after so much hard work in the bush; help me, help me, come quick!’ That’s what she cries. Oh, I can’t stand it any longer; it’s too terrible.”

I was breathing heavily, as if entirely exhausted from the trance I had been in.

No sooner had I stopped and taken the glass off my eyes than the man, sweat all over his face, shouted as if going mad! “Didn’t I tell you, señor? I knew all the time that it must be that dirty dog Pánfilo who has raped her. He has got a black moustache. I knew it all the time. He was after her since we came to this part. Always after her and always around the house whenever I was working in the bush. All the neighbors knew it because they told me so. I haven’t sharpened my machete just for the fun of it. I knew that I would need a sharp edge somehow, somewhere and for someone, to cut off his stinking head. Now I’ll have to hurry to get her and get at the same time that Pánfilo
cabron
. Where is she, señor, quick, quick, pronto, pronto, say it. Ask her. Tell her that I’m on my way already.”

I looked through my glass once more and mumbled something as if asking someone a few questions. Now I said: “She is
mil
miles away from here, your woman is. The man with the black moustache has carried her far away, I think with an air-wagon, perhaps. She says that she is in Naranjitos. That’s way down in that direction.” I pointed towards the south-east. “It is only
mil
miles from here and along a trail not so very hard to go by.”

“Well, then, señor mister, excuse me, but now I have got to hurry to fetch her and leave my marks on that Pánfilo dog.”

He picked up his
moral
, a little bag, from the ground. It contained all he possessed on earth, a fact which made his life and his goings so easy, and it would have made him a truly happy man had it not been for women who would never be satisfied with such a little
bast
bag instead of some solid furniture or an electric refrigerator.

He became extremely restless now, so I thought it a good opportunity to give him another shot of the medicine. “Hustle,
amigo
, hurry up, or, dear God in heaven, you will miss her. And don’t you dare stop on your way. You know it’s more than
mil
days to walk. That rascal with the black moustache is likely to carry her farther away still. You’d better go right now, this very minute.”

“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.

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.”

I laughed, thinking of McGuire’s reputation. I said. “A bookie joint, and a shop for receiving stolen goods, and maybe a little dope mill to one side. We could get modernistic showcases for attractive displays of heroin and cocaine.”

The friendliness went out of Sampson’s snarl. He said, “McGuire don’t mess with dope.”

“That isn’t the way I heard it,” I said. “But that’s your business. Tell your boss the answer’s no.”

He got up. Standing, he was not quite so small as he had seemed slumped down in the chair. But he was thin, and shorter than I. He had a lean and pointed face. “That ain’t the answer I came for,” he said. “I brought you a business proposition, an’ before you even talk about it, you’re giving me a no.”

“McGuire and I can’t do business,” I said. “I don’t want any part of McGuire.”

“You want to remember,” the little man said, “you’re doin’ good now, doin’ fine. The way I hear it, you came up fast. Now you got a big chain of swell hash joints. But you always want to remember, you can go down the same way you came up.”

I smiled, but I wasn’t amused. I said, “I built Roney Restaurants with a little luck and one hell of a lot of hard work. When I go down, it’ll be my fault. It won’t be because I let some punk of McGuire’s tell me what to do.”