Mariachi Meddler

by D. R. Ransdell

He smacked me again, this time from the other direction. My head hurt so much I thought I would pass out. Instead I held on.

  “Was she working alone, or did someone put her up to it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dexter made a fist. “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s a lie.” Rockford kicked my chair hard enough to make it rock. “She had to talk to someone. You’re lovers, right? Naturally she would tell you.”

  I didn’t have the energy to protest.

  “Another lover!” smirked Rockford. “She gobbles men like pieces of popcorn, and then she spits them out like kernels.”

  Dexter dragged a chair across the floor and planted himself opposite me. “You should be smart enough to see there’s no reason for you to save your precious little Yiolanda—believe me, she’ll save herself. Tell us about Gutiérrez.”

  Gutiérrez owed money too? Through the pounding in my head, I forced myself to think. “He died. In Squid Bay. I saw him the other night.”

  “You saw Yiolanda kill him?”

  “I saw him lying dead in the street right there by the bakery. He’d been shot, and he was lying face down.”

  “All right, Mr. Reporter,” said Rockford. “What else?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  “You can do better than that,” said Dexter. He sat back, prepared to spend the rest of the night shouting questions at me. That gave us about a half hour. Dawn was seeping into the room.

  “I’ve seen him around Squid Bay with Yiolanda.”

  “You’re a regular informant. Tell us something important.”

  “He’s a musician.”

  “Right. That gives you another three points.” Dexter leaned forward until I could smell the beer on his breath. “Why did the bitch kill him?”

  “But—she wouldn’t have done that!”

  Dexter reeled back away from me.

  Rockford threw his arms in the air and walked away. “This is hopeless.”

  “It’s all we’ve got,” Dexter said. Again he leaned forward until his face was close to mine. “We know she killed him. We don’t know why. Now, and this is pretty damned easy, what all do you happen to know about the relationship between the two of them?”

  “I’ve seen them leaving Hotel Osborn together.”

  Dexter looked at his watch. “I’ve got a full schedule today. Let’s see if we can make this work. Why did the bitch kill him?”

  “That—that doesn’t even make sense,” I stammered.

  “You need to start making sense of it real soon.”

  “All I know is she owed money. I don’t know to whom or what for.”

  “Money?” asked Rockford.

  “She didn’t want Rolando to know. She even staged a robbery at the restaurant.”

  “What in the fuck is he talking about?” Rockford asked his partner.

  “Two guys came to the restaurant to get it from her. When she couldn’t pay the whole thing, they came after us with a gun.”

  “Us?”

  “I was with her at the restaurant after everyone left.”

  “Mrs. G. didn’t say anything about money,” said Rockford.

  “There is nothing about money.” Dexter shook his head. “The bitch would have known she’d only get it out of him alive.”

  “Mrs. G. is sure they went out together that night.”

  “So what? Gutiérrez probably went out with a bunch of women, and anybody that loaded makes enemies without knowing it.”

  “Even if the bitch didn’t kill Gutiérrez, she might have set him up.”

  “Mrs. G. wanted us to be sure.” Rockford pointed. “What about him?”

  Dexter stood and gave me a final whack on the head, the way some people affectionately kick their pets. “Forget about him. He’s as stupid as Gutiérrez was.”

  Rockford unhandcuffed me and shoved me out the door. I didn’t look back.

  My motor scooter started on the first try. I went up and down the streets of Purple Hills, but I never saw Yiolanda.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “She called and you went?” As I lay in Joey’s bed, he painstakingly applied rubbing alcohol to my cheek. Christina was preparing an ice pack.

  “I didn’t think.”

  “I can see that much.” Joey and his wife had taken one look at me and installed me into the master bedroom, probably so I wouldn’t alarm the children. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “I didn’t think about that either.” At least I hadn’t thought about it after Yiolanda told me not to.

  A chair was squashed between my brother’s massive chest of drawers and the closet. He scooted the chair closer to the bed, sending a stack of laundered socks flying to the floor. “But you’re sure she got away?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand why Yiolanda wouldn’t call her own husband.”

  “She said—”

  “You told me what she said. I’m trying to decide whether to believe it. She also told you about a debt that may or may not exist.”

  “Leonard’s widow mentioned it too.”

  “Yes, I remember. What else do you know about Gutiérrez?”

  “Nothing you wouldn’t know except that both Sergio and I had seen them together around Squid Bay.”

  “You saw them leaving that two-bit hotel across the street from you?”

  “At least once. I wasn’t sure the second time. I could see her clearly enough, but I can’t be sure about him.”

  Joey stood and adjusted the yellow curtains to shield me from direct morning light. “It must be nice to have as much extra time on your hands as Yiolanda does. It would sure beat working every day.”

  “What do you think I should do now?”

  He leaned against the windowsill. “Stop answering your phone in the middle of the night. And move out of St. Michael’s Square. It’s bad luck.”

  “What if Rolando is in danger? Yiolanda said they’re watching the house.”

  “Lay off with the ‘Yiolanda said’ routine. Those two aren’t interested in Rolando. He wasn’t even in town when Gutiérrez was killed.”

  Christina brought the ice pack and placed it gingerly against my bruised cheek.

  “I’m sorry to bother you like this,” I told her.

  She kissed the top of my head. “You’re a reminder of how complicated other people’s lives are.” She retreated to the hall.

  “I still don’t understand why Gutiérrez’ wife would suspect Yiolanda of killing her husband,” I said.

  Joey took his key chain from his pocket. The metal initial “J” was set against tan leather. When the metal caught the sun, it sent flecks of light around the room. “I suppose the wife knows some angles we don’t.”

  “Maybe I should go talk to her.”

  “Great idea. Then go talk to the rest of the guys from Las Cometas. Follow some leads there.”

  “Sure. I know several of the guys in that group anyway. They’d probably be glad to tell me anything they know.”

  “Andy! Two hit men spared your life, for God’s sake. Leave it alone.” He stooped to adjust my pillow.

  “What if Yiolanda did murder Gutiérrez?”

  “So?”

  “What if Rolando is her next victim?”

  Joey twirled his key chain. “What if you are?”

  I had no reply.

  “Take it easy for a few days,” he said. “Let me play for you at the restaurant tonight.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Your cheek is swollen like a balloon.”

  “I’ll be all right by this evening. I’ve got all day to sleep.”

  “You’ll probably have to.” He consulted his watch. “Let Christina help you if you need anything. I’ve got to hop on down to the office.”

  The next thing I knew it was mid-afternoon. Christina and I had a lovely chat about a new radio station specializing in ranchera music. She was careful not to broach any subject mo
re personal than that.

  ***

  By the time I got back to my apartment, I had three phone messages. The first message was a hang up. So was the second. The third was from Joey, who repeated his kind offer to substitute for me. Nothing from Yiolanda. I dialed her cell phone, but when she didn't answer, I hung up.

  I braved a look in the mirror and realized that my brother hadn’t exaggerated when he said I was a mess. Then I stumbled in circles for a few minutes before flopping on the couch. My arms and back had become stiff from Rockford’s dragging me around. I had a massive headache, but my elephantine cheek only hurt when I accidentally touched it. I dialed Yiolanda again, but there was no reply.

  The conversation repeated in my mind: “Why did the bitch kill Gutiérrez?,” and “Mrs. G. wanted us to be sure.” How could anyone be sure with Yiolanda? And how had she explained the whole episode to her husband? By now Rolando would be kicking himself. His reward for giving himself a vacation he didn’t want was to return to total chaos. He should have closed the restaurant for the week and forced an unpaid vacation. Everybody would have been better off.

  I detected a soft knock at the door. I remained silent, wondering whether I would fit under the bed.

  Another knock.

  “Andy?” said a woman’s voice.

  I hadn’t decided how much I should tell Yiolanda about her abductors’ conversation. I wasn’t sure it would do her any good to know.

  “God Almighty!” Stefani recoiled from the door. My discomfort was tripled by the fact that the neighbors would want to know what she was exclaiming about.

  “Stefani.”

  “You look awful!” She nudged me aside so that she could enter the apartment. She reached her index finger to my cheek and lightly pressed on it.

  “Ow!”

  I could see tears welling in her eyes. So far she’d led a sheltered life, gracefully alternating between her parents’ home, university, and a stable job in an upscale part of town. No wonder she liked me. I was adventure.

  She planted herself on my couch like an accent cushion. “Tell me!”

  I sat next to her. “I got into a fight.”

  She tried to straighten my hair. Evidently I’d slept in various positions, so it looked wrong from every direction.

  “What happened?”

  “I lost.”

  “And?”

  “Stefani, please. I don’t want to talk about it. And if you felt like I did, you wouldn’t want to either.”

  “But you’re hurt!”

  “I’m sore. It’s not a big deal. I said the wrong things to the wrong people.”

  “That’s not like you at all.”

  “It was nothing. I made a comment that got taken the wrong way.”

  “While you were on stage?”

  “Yes. When I left the restaurant, the guy was waiting for me outside. He was completely drunk. He thought I’d been making fun of his girlfriend, but it was the tequila, believe me. He jumped me from behind.” I pointed to my cheek. “When I hit the pavement, this is what happened.”

  “I’ll make a compress for you.”

  She started to stand, but despite the pain, I was quick enough to put out my hand and stop her. “I just need to rest.”

  “Do you want to take a nap?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Here, I can help you!”

  “That’s all right.” I hobbled to the bedroom and lay down carefully, trying not to shake anything that was loose.

  “What happened to your sheet?”

  My sheet was still inside the seat of my motor scooter. “I meant to do laundry. Never mind about it.”

  I stretched onto the naked bed.

  “You’re probably hungry. Have you eaten anything?”

  “A little.”

  “I could go pick up some groceries.”

  “I have stuff in the fridge.”

  She immediately went to see for herself.

  “All I see are two apples,” she shouted from the kitchen. “You need some protein.”

  “Let me give you some money at least.”

  “Never mind.”

  I blinked. All afternoon I’d been hoping Yiolanda would show up; now I concentrated on hoping she wouldn’t.

  When I awoke, Stefani was cradling my head. I felt like a cat cringing from excess coddling, but I didn’t have the stamina to dart away. I tried to get up, but she held me back.

  “You rest. I’ll take care of you.”

  I didn’t want to be taken care of, but I was mildly interested in what she’d brought to eat.

  “Leave everything to me.”

  I lay back down. I didn’t mind the way she nestled her arm around my neck, but it was a vicarious pleasure best experienced from afar rather than first hand.

  Then I fell back to sleep.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  At six-thirty I rose and dressed. Stefani had migrated to the living room to watch TV. She hadn’t explained why she’d come over, and I didn’t want to dwell on our last unhappy meeting.

  “You can’t be planning on going to work.”

  “Of course I am.” I disappeared into the bathroom.

  “You should stay in bed and rest. And besides, your cheek is—”

  “Swollen,” I shouted through the door. “I’ll use lots of cologne. At least I’ll smell good.”

  “Why don’t you get a sub?”

  “Too hard at the last minute.”

  She accosted me at the bathroom door and hand-brushed my hair.

  “I could loan you some make-up.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Rolando might be mad at you for arguing with a customer.”

  “Rolando never gets mad.”

  Stefani took hold of my shirt tails and straightened them. “He might this time.”

  “Should I say I fell off my scooter instead?”

  “Yes, I think that’s better.”

  I reached my front door. “Wait! I’m coming with you.”

  The first Saturday after I met Stefani, she’d insisted on accompanying me to Noche Azul. She thoroughly enjoyed the first two sets. She listened to every song, following the melody lines with her eyes. By the third set, she memorized all the customers. By the fourth, she didn’t look up from the text message function of her cell phone. I didn’t blame her, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.

  “You’ll get bored sitting at the restaurant by yourself.”

  “Don’t you want me to come?” She tottered precariously on the verge of being hurt.

  I was neutral as to whether Stefani came along or not. Her presence might prevent me from talking to Yiolanda privately, but it would also ensure that I couldn’t lose my cool when I spoke to her. In case Rolando was suspicious about any connection between me and Yiolanda, Stefani would throw him off the trail. “Would you rather come later, after your TV show is over?”

  She flicked off the TV. “It was a rerun.” She linked her arm through mine. “Promise me something.”

  “I’m not in the mood to make any—”

  “Promise me that if you start to feel faint, you’ll leave the stage.”

  “All right,” I said, as I led her to the stairwell. “I promise.”

  Squid Bay’s uneven sidewalks jostled my body, but they were busy enough that Stefani didn’t notice my grimaces. I watched for angry young men in white Hondas, but all I saw were taxis and tourists.

  Despite the high evening temperature, when we passed the intersection where I thought I’d run across Yiolanda the night Gutiérrez was murdered, I felt a chill. I paused, trying to get a better glimpse of the woman I’d seen, but the memory wouldn’t come. I wished I could be sure.

  I strode into Noche Azul feigning confidence. There was no sign of Yiolanda, but her husband stood behind the cashier’s desk. “Hi, Rolando,” I said. “You remember Stefani?”

  “Yes, of course.” He shook Stefani’s hand, then looked at me quizzically.

  “He fell off h
is motor scooter,” Stefani said. “Isn’t he a wreck? Maybe you’d rather he didn’t play tonight?”

  Rolando studied me, measuring the swelling in my face and the pale hue that accompanied it.

  “Would you rather go home? Pablo can play most of your parts.”

  “I’m all right.” I tried to chuckle. “It’s stupid. I went for a ride last night and totally missed the curb. Landed on my face.”

  “You should be more careful.”

  I wiggled all my fingers. “At least my hands are all right.”

  Rolando surveyed the empty tables before addressing my companion. “Would you like to sit near the stage?”

  Stefani’s face lit up. Rolando’s attention made her feel special even if mine didn’t. “Yes, please.”

  “Dennis!”

  Dennis escorted Stefani to the front, seating her so close to the stage she could touch it.

  I stayed behind with my boss. “Yiolanda?”

  “She’s back. Early this morning. Okay, but shaken. Tell you more tonight.” Rolando tried to speak nonchalantly, but his choppy phrases gave him away.

  I joined Pablo and Sergio on stage. They were already warming up.

  “What the hell happened to you?” boomed Sergio. “Did Stefani beat you up again!”

  Stefani stifled a laugh; Pablo didn’t bother to hide his.

  “You must stay away from women,” I told Sergio. “They can be very dangerous. More so than you think.”

  I slid the shoulder rest onto my violin and positioned myself between my friends. They were staring at me, waiting for a better explanation. “Would you believe I fell off my motor scooter?”

  “Yes, of course,” Pablo said. “If you say so.” He smiled, clearly disbelieving me, letting me off the hook because he assumed I was hiding something from Stefani.

  It should have been a regular evening despite how lousy I felt, but each time I caught a woman’s figure out of the corner of my eye, I checked to see if she were Yiolanda. In the meantime, I tried to ignore my uninvited companion, but she mouthed sweet encouragements until I had to avoid eye contact.

  While Stefani was preoccupied ordering dinner, I turned to Pablo. “Any news on Yiolanda?”

  “Can you believe it? Those guys were from the CIA.”

  “What?”

  “Rolando told us earlier. Evidently they thought Yiolanda knew something about Gutiérrez’ death, and Gutiérrez had connections abroad.”