Trust Me

by Richard Z. Santos

  After a few beers, the terror receded, but the day’s real conclusion became unavoidable: he was screwed. It would take weeks to get a replacement disability check, and no way would the construction company pay him twice. Any philosophical or religious debate about why they had survived, or where the money had vanished to, or even the disease nibbling at his bones, was burned away and replaced by the very real, very solid figure of one thousand dollars. Helen needed money, and Gabe needed to see his son.

  Around midnight, after hours of pacing and smoking and running his fingers through his beard, Gabe headed to The Pig. Either he would see some friends who could help him out, or he would get drunk enough to stop worrying. Both sounded great.

  The Pig was a double-wide trailer out on Jarales Road, where the town thinned out and gave way to ranches. Angie, the owner, had knocked down the interior walls and built brick columns to hold up the roof. Faint outlines of wall joints were still visible on the plastic floor. There used to be plenty of bars around town where Gabe felt comfortable. They were places with simple rules: don’t touch the waitress, don’t hit anyone, don’t piss in the parking lot. But half the old places were shut down now, and Albuquerque yuppies had taken over all the downtown spots and turned them into cocktail “lounges.” The Pig and Lucero’s place near the highway were all that was left. Everywhere else had a valet or was an Applebee’s.

  This late, The Pig was quiet and dappled with the colored light of neon beer signs. Most of the floor lamps were off. A boom box behind the bar played Angie’s favorite whispering, female radio DJ, spinning love and break-up songs. Guys Gabe knew from high school drank Bud Light in the corner, as usual. At the bar, Angie poured wine for Rose. Sitting with the guys would have pulled him into chatter about the old days—all they ever talked about. Rose was more fun. She was consistent. She may not have been in The Pig every night, but Gabe saw her every time he was there. They had dated in high school, even went to the prom together. They never stopped flirting, but nothing had happened between them in decades.

  Rose flashed Gabe a quick, distracted smile. Angie handed him a beer before turning back to Rose. “Girl, come on, this isn’t so complicated. Your son is your son and should do what you say. Simple.”

  “I know,” Rose whined. “But, what, I’m supposed to say yes to him joining the Army in six months, but he can’t stay out past midnight this weekend?”

  Angie shook her head and leaned back against the wall. She turned to Gabe. “Did your mom flip out when you signed up?”

  Gabe looked over to Rose, who blinked away. His mom had vanished years before Gabe enlisted.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Angie put her hand on her forehead. “I forgot. I just forgot.”

  “No sweat.” Gabe turned to Rose. “And don’t let your boy join the damn Army. God knows why I did. He wants some pendejo to yell at him, tell him to come cut my grass.”

  Rose screwed her face up. “He’d go AWOL right now if he thought he’d end up like you. Bum at work, bum at home.”

  Gabe bristled. “Hey, I’m a good dad.”

  Angie laughed, “That so, Private Luna?”

  “I saw Micah today. He’s into camping, and he always wants to ride. Can’t keep him off my damn bike.”

  “Mentiroso, you told me he hated that thing.”

  “Nah, when he was a kid. He’s stronger now. Older. We’re going to ride to California, and I wasn’t a damn private . . . not for long.”

  Gabe smoothed his mustache. The Micah stories felt good in his mouth. They even felt like they could be true. One day, Micah would wake up and want to hop on the bike. It could happen. Angie handed Gabe another beer.

  Rose raised her wine glass in a mock toast. “Well then, you’re Father of the Year, Admiral. My boy hates school. Fine, the high school’s crap. It’s the same rundown buildings and the same mean teachers we had, but he’s pretty good at math. Not great, but pretty good. So, he says, ‘Ma, the Army can teach me math better than any college, and I’ll get paid.’”

  “The Army doesn’t have admirals.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to Angie. “So I ask him: ‘You think you’ll get paid more if some fucking psycho blows your head off? You think the Army ain’t sick of paying off the families of dead Mexicans?’ He shuffles his feet and mumbles, like always, right? Kid thinks he’s bulletproof.”

  “My Army was boring,” Gabe said. “I was lucky. Slipped in and out between the wars like a snake.”

  “I’ve heard you tell people you were in Desert Storm,” Rose said.

  Gabe shook his head. Had he spun a whole tale about fighting in the desert?

  “Take your son to see Mrs. Baca,” Angie said.

  “Baca who?” Gabe asked.

  Angie and Rose looked at him like he had pulled out his dick.

  “What do you do all day in that big house?” Angie walked away to tend to the other customers.

  “The local kid,” Rose said. “He died, you know, somewhere over there. It’s been on the news.” She sipped her wine. “So, Lieutenant, Mr. Best Parent in the Universe, do I tell him no or do I let them ship my baby to the desert?”

  Gabe finished his beer. “We got deserts here.”

  “The wars in our deserts are over.”

  Gabe shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know, Rose. Wars can’t last forever.”

  They dropped the subject and drank side by side. Gabe wanted to come straight out and ask. Being honest with Rose had worked in the past. If he got a few hundred from her, a few hundred from some other friends, then Gabe might be on his way. But now he couldn’t do it, not after bullshitting her about how great everything was with Micah. Angie brought drinks, then more drinks. Gabe told dirty jokes that made Rose laugh and made Angie shake her head. The knot of anxiety in his chest slowly loosened.

  An hour later, Rey showed up dressed in full motorcycle leathers: chaps, a long-sleeve leather jacket, even a leather bandana around his big head.

  “Now that was a goddamned day to remember.” Rey’s voice was loud enough for half the bar to glance up. “Did you see those guys shaking in their loafers?”

  “Rey, it’s late, don’t get all worked up.” Angie handed him a beer.

  “Hon, we brought down an airport today. Who should we go after tomorrow?”

  “Hey, carnal,” Gabe said, “can we talk?”

  “I saw you out on the site.” Rey settled onto his stool, his bulk threatening to splinter the wood. “These Apaches are no joke, huh? You were on the news for a second, did you see it?”

  Gabe nodded towards the corner. “Real fast.”

  Rey sighed. All his leather creaked when he stood back up. If Rey wanted to be an activist, then here was one dude in particular he could help. They went to a white plastic folding table in the far corner under a Smokey the Bear sign on the wall.

  “You know it was Latinos who found that cub in the forest, right?” Rey said. “And they didn’t name him no Smokey. They named him Humo. But, no, we can’t have Humo el Oso telling white people what to do, so they changed his name.”

  “I lost my money,” Gabe said. “Lost it. Didn’t spend a dime, not a dime.”

  Rey put his hand on his chest. “You mean, you don’t want to hear about my crusade for justice and the rights of indigenous people? I am shocked.”

  “Micah and I were in an accident.”

  “Look, get your story straight. Pick one: you were in an accident or you lost the money.”

  “I got to see my kid. Give me a job for a couple weeks.”

  “You a lawyer now? Congrats. I’ll put your name on the door.” Rey pointed a finger at Gabe’s chest. “If it’s so serious, then sell your house.”

  Gabe wanted to slap Rey’s hand away. “That’s my everything, man. And it’ll take too long, I don’t have time.”

  “The bike, then. You could sell that tonight, in an hour, if you wanted to.”

  “Be serious, how would I get around?”

  “Do you want help or
not?” Rey laughed. “Christ, you know what to do. You’ve got pounds of weed sitting on your coffee table, man. Serious stuff. It makes what the rest of us smoke seem like piñón. Sell that, and you’ve got your money.”

  “Of course, but,” Gabe looked around and lowered his voice. “I can’t sell Fredrick’s weed out from under him. You want to get me killed? Hire me, I can help.”

  “I’ll let you know if my clients need anyone to smoke them out. Until then, you’re fucked. You have one thing, and one thing only, that you can sell very quickly for a lot of money. Hell, even I’d buy some from you. What else you going to do?”

  Rey’s solution made Gabe too damn nervous. There was the law. Not the actual law, not Officer Smith with a nightclub, but the law of being friends with a drug dealer. Don’t cut into his territory, not even for a nickel.

  “I’ve got to go,” Rey said. “I’m still working, if you can believe it. I thought stopping in here would be relaxing. Those Apaches are running me ragged, but man we can use this to recruit more Chicanos to the cause.”

  Gabe finished his beer. “A bunch of whiny wetbacks and Indians ain’t a cause.”

  Anger crossed Rey’s face, but then he smiled. “Oh, Gabe, I’m trying to make this world better, even for pendejos like you.”

  Gabe stayed by himself in the corner, finishing his beer and signaling for another. Angie turned off the open sign but wouldn’t kick anyone out. She wouldn’t even lock the door. She would keep serving as long as people were there. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Rose drank by herself at the corner of the bar. Gabe steadied himself and made his way to her side.

  He folded his arms on the bar. “You know, I’m not going to be around forever.”

  Rose kept playing a game on her phone, lining up jewels into a pattern.

  “Oh please, you’ll be drunk and dancing at all our funerals. You’re one of those guys. Unstoppable.”

  “No, no, no it’s about time to stop,” Gabe said. “All of it. Smokes, drinks, everything. That’s what my old man did. Said that he used to drink too much, after the war, but then one day he stopped. No more beer, no more cigarettes. Fortitude. That was the word he used. Said all it took was some fortitude. Not that it mattered when the cancer came along. So why should I quit, right? I’m getting another beer, want one?”

  “I can’t get past this level.” Rose made a face at her game. “Gabe, you’re not making much sense. I don’t think either of us needs another drink.”

  “For. Ti. Tude. Damn old man was full of words like that. Pronounced them slow and perfect, like casting a spell.” Gabe laughed and lifted his empty bottle in the air. “Cast a spell he did. Thanks, Dad.”

  “Did you really see your son today?”

  Angie was ignoring him, so he put his bottle back down. “I did. I did. Damn near killed him. I don’t know the boy, but, you know what’s worse than that? He thinks he knows me.”

  “Spend more time with him.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Gabe’s voice was louder than he’d meant. Rose flinched and looked up.

  “I’m trying to see him this weekend.” He scratched the side of his face. “It’s important.”

  “Good, just don’t take him to a stock show or out on the Harley. That’s not him, that’s you.”

  Gabe snapped at her. “You don’t know shit about us.”

  She blinked a few times. “What’s that?”

  “I’m trying to carve something with my own hands. You people are drowning me.”

  Rose slid off her stool, unsteady. “You know what, Gabe? This is why your son hates you. Good luck fucking up his life, too. You’re bound to do it one day.”

  She flipped him off and went outside.

  Angie came over. “Hey, you yell at her or anyone else like that again, Gabe, and I’ll kick you out for good. ¿Entiendes?”

  “Ange, you know, if I die, I’ll leave you some cash. You know that, right?”

  She turned to wash glasses in the sink behind the bar.

  “I was thinking I should work here,” Gabe continued. “With you. I could clean up and do whatever you need.”

  Angie shook her head. “No, no, no. You’re fun, Gabe. Most of the time. But I’m not giving you access to alcohol or cash.”

  “Damn, that’s harsh.”

  “You think you’re the first drunk to try to charm a job out of me? If I say, you’re hired, then you ask for an advance on your first paycheck. Right? A small one?”

  “When I’m gone, y’all are going to feel damn shamed of yourselves.”

  “Take a deep breath.”

  “Just trying to help you out.”

  She pointed to the empty bottles. “You do plenty.”

  Gabe turned and rested his elbows on the bar. The place was emptying. A group of men in the corner played drunken dominoes, and two of the tables held solitary drinkers peering around at everyone else. One of the men looked ancient, skin stretched apart by time and sun. The other solo drinker was younger than Gabe, with a field worker’s crisped brown skin. Gabe told himself he was different from these guys, alone and drinking away their lives.

  Right then, two white boys, college kids or maybe high school seniors, very young, came into the trailer. They tried to keep a straight face. Gabe knew what they were doing. Going on a safari, slumming it, seeing how the Mexicans did things. This was how the bleaching started. First, it was a couple white boys thinking they were conquistadors. Then, they would tell their friends about funny old drunks and a place that never closes. Gabe would have to find another bar. Everyone in The Pig felt their presence. The closed-circuit had been disrupted. Gabe realized what separated him from his friends and the other drunks at The Pig. He was willing to act.

  The kids sat down at a table. Their eyes were stoned slits and they could barely contain their high, condescending smiles. Gabe enjoyed watching them tense as he grabbed a chair.

  “¿Burqueños?” he asked. The kids nodded obliquely.

  “From Albuquerque?” he repeated.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said the boy wearing a yellow knit cap.

  Gabe pointed over his shoulder. “You order at the bar.”

  The boy in the red hoodie stood up. “I’ll go.”

  Then the other kid stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

  “There’s only two types of beer here,” Gabe said. “Need to vote on it? Hold hands?”

  The hoodie sat back down. Ah, Gabe knew this was the tough one.

  “Yeah, go get me whatever, man. I don’t care.”

  “You two been in here before?” Gabe asked.

  The kid tried to fake being relaxed. “First time. Heard it was a cool place. Name’s Tyler. People call me Smokey.”

  “No, they don’t. No one calls you Smokey. Don’t even try that shit here.”

  Knit Cap came back to the table but remained standing. “We got to go, dude. She carded me.”

  “What?” Tyler-Smokey asked. “What’d you say to her?”

  “I asked for a beer, and she carded me.”

  Gabe looked over his shoulder. Angie was glaring at him, her hands on her hips. “Yeah,” Gabe said. “Time for us all to go.”

  The stoners tried to hold it together, but Gabe could smell their nervous sweat. He followed them out of the bar. Rose was smoking outside, and Gabe tried to lead the kids away from her.

  “Shitty place, anyway,” Knit Cap said.

  “What kind of weed are y’all smoking?” Gabe whispered.

  The kids looked at each other, scared.

  “We’re just chilling,” Tyler said.

  “Yeah, sure, chilling. But you can’t be smoking nothing too strong, or you wouldn’t need beer.”

  “What you know about that smoke, Cowboy?”

  “Man, let’s go,” said Knit Cap.

  “I got weed that’ll put you on your ass,” Gabe said.

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred an ounce. No, I’m serious. This is all you need.
Here.” Gabe gave the kid a joint out of his vest. “Come back here tomorrow at two PM for more. One thing . . .” Gabe pointed at the bar. “After you buy from me, you don’t come back here.”

  “We wouldn’t drink in there if that bitch paid us.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  Tyler nodded. The kids got into their car and drove away. Gabe closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.

  The early spring nights were still cool. A breeze from the north carried thin mountain air down into the valley. The wind smelled like a mix of sweet manzanilla and cloves mixed with the dirt coming off the soybean and wheat fields. Southern breezes held the desert in them and almost no scent at all, but the mountain breezes filled Gabe with the even certainty that this was his spot. Then he swayed on his feet and needed to open his eyes before he fell over.

  When he turned around, Rose was smoking a cigarette and watching him. “Were those kids friends of yours?” she asked.

  Gabe shook his head. “Giving them directions back to the highway. They were lost.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, they looked it.”

  He strolled to his bike, making sure she could see how the chrome gleamed. In the sunlight, you could see scratched paint, cracking handlebars and balding tires, but in the moonlight Gabe imagined the Harley looked coiled, powerful. Sometimes, women he met drinking wanted to have sex on the bike, which Gabe avoided because it required a combination of balance, arm strength and a lack of concern for the side-stand. He’d only successfully managed it twice, but those experiments had convinced Gabe that running his fingers lightly over the seat was enough to pull most women towards him.

  Rose snorted, dropped her cigarette and went back inside.

  Gabe knew it was late, but there was no light on the eastern horizon, so that was a good sign. On the ride home, he noticed the Baca kid’s name everywhere. Gas stations, car windows, even fast-food restaurant signs that usually said “$1 Cheeseburger” now said, “Thank you, Eliseo Baca.”