I pretended I was going to bat him with the tray and he pretended to cower. Then he answered me.
“Chavez cal ed. He’s caught up in something that sounds like jen-you-ine police work. He asked me to pick you up.
Said he’d see you tomorrow.”
I felt an immediate sense of disappointment. Then I felt the need to pretend I didn’t feel disappointed. I smiled brightly at Tex.
“It’l be awhile,” I told him.
“Not like there’s nothin’ to do,” he said and wandered toward the bar, his eyes on the stage.
I worked the end of the shift and helped set up for the next day. I didn’t realize how relieved I was that nothing happened until I handed my cashed out apron to Smithie.
“I must be goin’ fuckin’ crazy. I’m actual y disappointed that my joint didn’t descend into pandemonium because of your shit,” Smithie said to me.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I replied.
Smithie gave me a barely there smile, “Get outta here.” Tex was waiting at the door and he escorted me to his bronze El Camino. When we were in and buckled up, Tex took off like a rocket and I felt the g-forces pul ing me back against the seat. George Thorogood was blaring from the eight track.
“What happened to your car?” he yel ed over the music, somehow calmly, as if he wasn’t propel ing us at a mil ion miles an hour to our doom with “Bad to the Bone” as our soundtrack.
I pried my body from the seat.
“It’s at the mechanics,” I yel ed back.
Tex was silent a beat, then he shouted, “I got some money stashed away. If you need it…”
I interrupted him, “No, Tex, I’m fine.”
“Not from where I’m sittin’, woman.”
“Real y,” I said, a little more quietly but loud enough to be heard, “I’l be okay.”
He made a noise that sounded like a snort.
“If you need it, it’s there. That’s al I’m sayin’.” I felt the warm feeling in my bel y again.
He parked in a disabled spot at my apartment building and got out to escort me.
I was at the doors to the building, keying in the security code, feeling Tex standing behind me when I heard a noise and a scuffle. I turned to see Tex go down, hitting the ground with a thud akin to a giant redwood tree fal ing.
I looked up to see Louie and Vince, stil wearing their Reservoir Dogs outfits and staring at me. Louie’s face was blank. Vince looked like he wanted to break me in half.
Louie came forward, grabbed my arm and said, “Let’s go. Marcus wants to talk to you.”
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn and double damn.
I should have remembered to keep worrying, because, for me, if it could get worse, it would.
* * * * *
They took me south, to the fancy section of Englewood with the big estates and multi-mil ion dol ar homes.
We turned right, drove down a secluded lane and pul ed to a stop at a house that looked less of a house and more of a castle. They guided me up the walk, Louie on my left, Vince on my right, and we went over a bridge that went over what looked like moat.
Normal y, I would find it funny, a castle with a moat in Denver.