by Blake Banner
“Got that right. If they ain’t dicin’ up the land, they’re spyin’ on it from satellites. So what’s the book about?”
I smiled, and as I did it, I realized it was the first time in a long while, so it came out lopsided. “I was in Iraq and Afghanistan. I was out of the country for ten years, maybe more than that. The country’s changed. Maybe I’ll find my story out here in the desert.”
He laughed. “That ain’t a bad plan, friend. You need some inspiration, you let me know.”
He laughed again and went to serve another customer. Inspiration. He meant marijuana, but a small voice in my mind nagged me that he was talking about Castaneda. The song changed. The Eagles. I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight…
Luke came back. “Got a few vets ’round here, all ages. Some remember Vietnam, but they’re gettin’ old now. Others it’s Iraq, Afghanistan. Seems we ain’t never not bin at war.”
I drained my beer and set down the empty glass. “Have one? You can pour me another.”
“Mighty kind. Don’t mind if I do.”
While he was pulling them, I asked, “You know a guy called Castaneda?”
He frowned at the beer under the tap. “Carlos Castaneda?”
Something lurched inside. “Yeah, Carlos Castaneda.”
“Sure, Teachings of Don Juan. My dad was crazy about him. Used to go out in the desert, sometimes down to Mexico, with his pals, take peyote, but they never had no brujo to guide them. You want to work in some kind of shaman angle?” He didn’t let me answer. He pointed up at a shelf where three books were sitting beside some tequila bottles. “I’ve read them a few times. If it’s quiet, I get them down, open up anywhere. Every time you read them, you get somethin’ new.”
“The Teachings of Don Juan…” Books. Had I read them? I said aloud, “A Separate Reality…”
“And Journey to Ixtlan,” his voice cut in. “There were a lot of other books, but those three were the important ones.” He pointed at me with a big finger. “You got something there. You know what? A lot of vets come back, like they did in the ’60s and ’70s, bin to hell and they want some way to make sense of what they bin through. Some of ’em turn to peyote and Indian teachings. Others start off that way, but wind up doin’ other stuff, know what I’m sayin’?” He gave his head a small jerk toward the boys in the corner.
“I know what you’re saying. It’s not enough you give your life once, on the front line; you have to give it again when you get home.”
“I hear you, bro.”
We were quiet for a moment. I took a pull and smacked my lips. “Smells pretty good. You got somebody making food?”
“Old lady’s in the kitchen making tortillas and flame-grilled one hundred percent prime beef burgers.”
“Sounds about right. Let me have a burger… Luke?”
“That’s me.”
I held out my hand and as we shook, I gave a small laugh. “I don’t recall my name.”
He frowned. He went to pull his hand away, but I didn’t release it.
“I’m not kidding, Luke. I have amnesia.” Now I let his hand go. “That’s part of the reason I’m here. I don’t know who I am. I figure, if I can tell the story of a vet who comes back to New Mexico, maybe I’ll wind up telling my own story.”
I was bullshitting, making it up as I went along, but as I was telling it, I was wondering if it was true.
“Holy shit! That happen out in Afghanistan…?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing to do with the war, as far as I know. I woke up one day, at the wheel of my Jeep, here in New Mexico, with no ID and no idea of who I was. Some cash in my pocket, gas in the tank… Not much else.”
“Man, that’s heavy.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He came as close to a grin as a man with a walrus mustache can. “Least you was in an American Jeep, not a Honda hybrid.” We laughed and he slapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll go get your burger.”
He went away and I sat making rings on the bar with my glass and wondering why I had told him that story. After a while, he came back with two beers and a couple of whiskey chasers.
“Thanks.”
“Seen a shrink?”
“I don’t trust doctors.”
“Yeah. There’s a guy, not far from here. He used to be a shrink, medical doctor, surgeon, you name it. The guy was ace, the best. Mansion in Los Angeles, Mercedes, Aston Martin, Ferrari, I’m talkin’ serious loaded. The big shots, politicians, billionaires—if they needed a shrink, a therapist, anythin’ like that, it had to be this guy. Nobody else was good enough. Then, one day, bam. He gives it all up. He hands the whole damn lot over to his wife, he laughs, says I’m goin’, and he leaves the whole thing behind.”
“Moved out here?”
“Bought himself the shack down the track, two and a half mile, I figure. He told me one night, drinkin’ tequila right here, where we are now, he told me, ‘Luke, I have played with the most dangerous minds in the world.’ How d’you like that?”
“That’s intense.”
“Maybe he can help you, dude.”
“He doesn’t practice anymore.”
“I didn’t say that.” He wagged his finger side to side. “He helps who he want to help. He don’t charge, but maybe he’s gonna want you to take some peyote, or some weed.”
I nodded for a long while, looking at my beer. He went away and came back with my burger and fries. I took the shot of whiskey and cooled my mouth with the beer, then pointed at the glasses. “Let’s do that again. And speaking of peyote and weed, where can a guy get a smoke and a snort around here?”
He winced. “I can get you some weed, dude. Homegrown from my own orchard, good clean stuff, good for the soul. But you don’t wanna go snorting, dude.”
I gave a him a lopsided smile. “OK, Mom. But sometimes the demons come and you need something a little stronger than weed to make them go away.”
He nodded. “I know. Stay cool, eat your burger and enjoy your beer. I’ll have a word with the boys.”
“I appreciate that, Luke. Money is not a problem, apparently.”
He nodded at me a few times, trying to read me. “OK, dude.”
He went away again. I bit into the burger and watched the thick, red ketchup spill onto the white plate. Red blood on white marble.
I finished the burger, drained my beer and went to the john. When I came out, I had the table of Chupacabras on my left, and the guy with the tattoos on his face signaled me to go over. I stopped and looked at him for a moment. Then I turned to Luke and pointed to the end of the bar, where I’d been sitting. “Give me another beer, will you? And a couple of chasers, one for yourself.”
Then I turned and walked slowly over to the table. They were all watching me now, and I could make out the tattoos on Big Bad’s face. They were skulls. As it is above, so it is below.
“You lookin’ for some blow?”
“Yeah. Some weed, blow, maybe something stronger.”
“How much?”
I shrugged. “Enough for a party with a couple of chicks. I’m new to the game. Couple of ounces?”
He sighed like I was boring him. “We don’t deal in ounces, man. There are twenty joints in town where you can buy an ounce. You know?” He looked around. “Where are your chicks?”
I shrugged. “I need to find some.”
He looked at his pals and laughed. “This gonna be some wild party!”
I sighed. “So how much do I need to buy to get your attention? Half a pound? A pound? How about you throw in half a pound of H. And maybe you can advise me where to find some friendly chicks.”
“You’re pretty brash, dude. You got that kind of money? You ain’t safe goin’ around a place like this talking like that. You know that?”
I shrugged. “What can I tell you? I ain’t got a lot to lose. But I figure you for an intelligent gentleman who knows that if I have ten grand on me here in this bar, I have five hundred grand in my hotel and hundreds of
times that much in my bank. So, I am willing to do a deal for the party of my life. I’m thinking maybe it will be the last party of my life. But I want to go out with a bang. Can you help me do that?”
He grinned and his dark eyes were hooded. “Yeah,” he said, “we can help you go out with a bang.”
Four
We spilled out onto the porch. The sky above was white hot, the sand was scorching and the noise of the cicadas was a background scream that made the heat of the afternoon even hotter. I stepped down ahead of the six Cabras and turned to look up at them. The guy with the tattoos watched me and he had murder in his eyes.
“My name is Puñal. You know what it means?”
I shook my head.
He said, “It means knife. You know why they call me that?”
I felt a twist of anger in my gut. “Because your mommy gave you a pink plastic knife for your last birthday? You want to scare somebody, go to the sandpit. You want to sell dope, talk to me.”
“You got a big mouth, gringo.”
“Yeah, I got big cojones, too. Right now, you’re wasting my time. You going to stand there and tell me how big your dick is, or are you going to sell me what I want?”
He came down the steps and walked up to me real slow. He came up close enough so I could see the pores in his skin. And because he was five inches shorter than me, he had to look up into my face. There was real hatred in his big, brown eyes. I didn’t want to kill him yet, so I waited.
“Let’s see your money, gringo.” He turned to his pals. “Luego le ponemos la corbata para la fiesta.”
They all laughed. He’d said that later they’d give me a necktie for the party. I knew what the necktie was, but I didn’t let them see that.
“How much?”
He spat at my feet. “You some stupid fuckin’ piece a shit, man. Coke goes by the kilo, man. Half a kilo of coke is gonna cost you one hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars! You got that kind of money lyin’ around, pendejo!”
“Get real, Puñal! I’m not buying by the goddamn gram. Half a kilo is bulk and you know it. And I’m taking the H too, and the girls. Give me a fucking break!”
He tilted his head on one side. “Break? I should break your fuckin’ legs, comin’ in here like a big fockin’ white gringo tough guy. You think I ain’t got clients to sell to? You think I ain’t got money enough to bury your fockin’ ass?”
I held up both hands and sighed. “OK, I apologize if I have been disrespectful. That was not my intention. I want to do business, and I have the money to pay up front in full. If it will help, I’ll buy a kilo of each…”
“What you fockin’ playin’ at? First you want an ounce, now you want a kilo? Where you gonna sell this shit? I don’t want you stepping on my boys’ toes, gringo. I don’t like you. I wanna gut you like a fish.”
“Relax, will you? I got friends in New York who can sell this in Manhattan. The heroin is for the Bronx. Me? Like I said, I just want a party.”
He turned and looked at his pals. There was a silent exchange of smiles. He turned back to me, still smiling, then laughed suddenly and slapped me on the shoulder.
“You got cojones, gringo. I gotta admit, you got one big pair of cojones. Lucky for you I don’t got friends distributing my shit in Manhattan and the Bronx, or we’d be lookin’ at your cojones nailed to the wall of Luke’s bar. Here’s what we gonna do. I’m gonna sell you a kilo of coke for forty grand. That’s above market price, but it’s good shit and also you pissed me off. You godda pay for that, right? The heroin, I’m gonna let you have it for fifty K. That’s ninety grand so far. You still with me, gringo?”
“Sure, no problem.”
He grinned, and his big brown eyes were hungry for blood. “And I’m gonna give you four beautiful girls who will do anything you want them to do. You wanna buy them, they gonna cost you twelve grand each. They sweet as brown sugar and worth the price. You want them for the night, that’s gonna cost you two and a half grand for each girl, but they are non-divisible, like cans of beer at the cash and carry. You got me? So you bring me one hundred and thirty-eight grand tonight, and you walk away a very rich man.”
“Where?”
He pointed across the lot to the intersection, where Luke had said the road started which led to the shrink’s shack.
“That’s the Devil’s Crossroads. I’ll be waitin’ for you at 1:00 AM tonight. You bring one hundred grand and collect your merchandise.” He gave an unpleasant laugh. “But if you ain’t got the cash, you’d better get in your beat-up old Jeep and get the hell out of town, boy, or I’m gonna cut out your heart and eat it. You don’t ever disrespect the Chupacabras!”
I nodded. “I understand.”
He jerked his head at me. “Regístrenle!”
Two of them came down the steps. One of them was tall and fat. He had tattoos on his shoulders and his arms, and a pencil mustache. The other was older, maybe in his late thirties. He had the hook nose of a Native American. His hair was long and tied in a ponytail, and his eyes said he’d survived this long by being the meanest son of a bitch in the valley.
They frisked me, looking for weapons, but especially for a wire. They found nothing and stepped back, away from me. Puñal pointed at the Jeep. “Now get the fuck out of here. Play nice and bring the money, or we go lookin’ for you. And we’ll find you, gringo. You better believe it.”
I nodded again. “I do. I’ll see you tonight.”
I climbed in my truck and watched them frown as it slid silently out of the lot and accelerated away, back along the road.
When I hit the highway, I turned north, back toward Alamogordo and Tularosa. It was a forty-mile drive and I took it easy, thinking as I went, and after half an hour, I saw that I was approaching Casa Castaneda again. The lot outside the diner was almost empty. The patrons had had their lunch and gone back to work. On an impulse, I slowed and turned into Calle de La Rosa, and then in through the big gate to the Casa Castaneda diner. I parked in the shade at the back of the building, then climbed onto the wooden porch and went inside.
It was cool and quiet. The dining room was empty and she was up against the register, in an apron, making notes in a large, red book. I crossed the floor and the sound of my boots on the wood made her look up.
“You again?”
“What’s your name?”
“You don’t need to know my name.”
“What’s my name?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know your name.”
“Who am I?”
“I don’t know!” She glanced over my shoulder at the big windows, then repeated more quietly, “I don’t know who you are.”
“That’s not true. You know it’s not.” But then, before she could answer, “Who was the guy in the silk suit?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business.”
I took a step closer. “Talk to me, please.”
“Now...?” Her eyes flashed with anger. “Now you need something, you want to talk to me? But when I needed…” She hesitated.
I cut in, “What? When you needed something, what did I do?”
“Not do.”
“What did you need? What did I not do?”
She searched my eyes with hers. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late now.”
“Somebody once told me it is only ever too late when you’re dead, and even then there’s still a chance.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”
I almost smiled. “I can’t remember. Maybe it was you.”
She sighed and shook her head, closing her eyes.
I went on. “I woke up. I was in a car, in the desert near Tularosa. My mind was empty. Empty! Slowly, a few things started creeping back. I knew how to drive the car. I know the metric system. I can speak English and some Spanish…”
She snorted. “Not much!”
“So you do know me.”
“I don’t know you!”
“But we’ve met before! You know more than
I do! Help me, please!”
She looked up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes. “Dios!”
“Please, meet with me. After work. Just tell me what you know and I promise that if you want me to, I will leave you alone and never bother you again…”
“That’s a promise I can believe.”
I frowned, but some instinct told me not to try to find logic in what she’d said. Instead, I said, “If there is anything I can do to make up for what I failed to do before…”
She shook her head and raised her left hand, palm out, to stop me. “No, stop. Don’t make any more promises. When you wanna meet? Tonight?”
“Not tonight. I have something I have to do.”
“Yeah? Don’t tell me what it is. I don’t wanna know. When, then?”
“Tomorrow. What time do you finish here?”
“You can pick me up at eight.”
I hesitated. “What about your boyfriend? He looks the jealous type.”
“He’s not my boyfriend and he’s none of your business. Now get the hell out of my restaurant before I change my mind.”
A strange ache in my brain, a throbbing, like my neurons were trying to make connections that had been blocked. “You own this place?”
Her face softened and she stared at me for a long moment. “Yes,” she said. “I bought it, with your help. Now, please, go.”
“You bought this with my…”
“Go, please!”
“You have to explain!”
“Go!”
I hesitated.
“Go, or I’ll call the sheriff!”
I nodded. “OK, day after tomorrow, eight in the evening.”
“Go.”
I turned and left the diner. Outside, I stood a while with my car door open, staring at the building, wondering why I’d helped her to buy it, and why she was so mad at me. I had left and not come back, but from where? And to what?
I wondered about her name. Maria? Mari? It was too easy. Too many Latina women were called Maria. I searched the shadows of my mind, but there was nothing there. I drove back into Tularosa, bought a couple of gun club magazines on the way and returned to my room at the motel. There I lay on the bed, looking through the classified ads. I found I had an unreasonable dislike for Glocks. I knew they were good, reliable weapons, but I had a prejudice against them. Taurus were the poor man’s alternative to the Glock. Colt, an icon, but not reliable—and a tugging at my mind: the M4 rifle, limited to three-round bursts, no match for the Heckler & Koch 416.