Victorino swung his open hand at the girl’s face but missed. “Damn brat!” he hissed, then swung again and connected hard. Tula went sprawling, her nose bloody.
An instant later, the V-man’s attention returned to Squires, who was suddenly towering over him, his right fist drawn back. Victorino noticed just in time to roll his face away from the sledgehammer impact, a glancing blow that would have crushed his face. Instead, Victorino backpedaled several steps, still holding the shotgun, then went down hard on his butt.
Squires kept coming, the grin on his face grotesque because of the blood. But then the giant wasn’t grinning anymore because the V-man’s soldiers, Chapo and Zopilote, tackled him from behind.
Chapo had a small crowbar in his hand-he’d probably been looking for a secret stash inside the RV. And he began hammering at Squires’s back and butt with the bar to immobilize the man.
Victorino was dazed but still coherent enough to yell to Chapo, “Cripple him, but don’t kill him! Leave him for me!”
Then, standing, testing his balance, Victorino had to yell again, warning Chapo, “Watch out for the little cougar!” because the girl had a rock in her hand and was sprinting to help Squires.
Frankie intercepted the girl, though. She did it on the run, even with a drink in her hand, sweeping the skinny child up with her muscles, then swinging her around as if playing a game.
The redhead was still in a playful mood, the V-man could see it, which provided him an optimistic boost. So far, tonight hadn’t been nearly as much fun as he’d hoped. On the drive to the hunting camp, he’d pictured how it would go in his mind, first impressing the redhead by killing Squires with a flourish, then the two of them getting it on in front of the camera, being real sexy-dirty with the cute little chula.
But this chula was a street cat, not a whimpering child like most. And jelly boy had proven he had balls after all, almost humiliating him in front of Frankie.
Shit -Victorino was looking at his wrist where the girl had bitten him to the bone-the puta would have to pay for this. He’d make an example of her. Not kill her-a girl her age was too valuable-but maybe tie her up and use a razor like the Muslims did. Cut her body so she’d never be able to enjoy a man even when she was old and not getting paid for it.
Yeah, get it on camera. Victorino was wiping blood on his jeans as he pictured how it would go. Give the redhead a private warning by letting her watch him use the box cutter on the girl, then show the video to new chulas when they arrived in Florida desperate enough to do anything for money.
Tell the new girls: See what happens when you disobey the V-man?
But that would come later. After he and the redhead had enjoyed themselves a little, just as planned.
It would happen.
Victorino felt his confidence returning as he watched Frankie touch her fingernails to the little virgin’s throat and whisper something into the girl’s ear.
The chula had been screaming but instantly stopped, her face paling as if she was about to be sick.
It caused Frankie to beam at the V-man and brag, “You’re an idiot when it comes to girls, know that? To make a spoiled brat behave, you have to understand it’s all an act. Screaming, not putting out, whatever. It’s because they want something. Figure out what it is, then threaten to take it away. That’s how you handle a puta. Just about any girl, if she’s cute at all. They’re all the same.”
Frankie laughed into the chula ’s face, adding, “Aren’t you, darling? Aren’t you?” Then looked at Victorino, smiling. “I think the two of us are gonna get along just fine. You ready to have some fun?”
Spooky, the V-man decided, the way the redhead said that. They’re all the same. But kind of sexy, too, like Frankie was different from other women.
And maybe she was. But the bitch was already insulting him in front of his soldiers, calling him an idiot in her superior way. Which had to stop.
Victorino watched Frankie brush the girl’s hair back very gently as if playing with a doll, then he turned his head and told Chapo and Zopilote in Spanish, “Tie up jelly boy, we’ll deal with him later. Then search his truck. The tall gringa and me want some privacy for maybe an hour, with the girl. Find the money wherever jelly boy hid it. Then get the gas cans out, soak everything so the whole fucking place goes up when we’re ready. Afterward, I’ll give you the redhead as a present.”
In reply to their surprised expressions, he added, “ Seriously. Have yourselves some fun with those big chichis of hers tonight because tomorrow, maybe next day at the latest, I’m cutting them off.”
What Frankie whispered into Tula’s ear was, “Listen, you spoiled little bitch. If Harris dies tonight, it’s your fault. So shut your mouth… or God’s gonna blame you for killing your new sweetheart.”
It shocked Tula that a woman with eyes as black with fog as Frankie’s could speak of God in such a knowing, confident way. And also that the woman was able to look into Tula’s heart and recognize the sudden affection she felt for Squires.
Never in her life had a man done so much to protect her. Not since her father had died. The giant had not only tried to save Tula, he had continued to fight for her safety even after having been shot, then beaten. It squeezed the girl’s heart now, seeing him lying on the ground, bleeding and humiliated, after risking so much to help her. She wondered how many bullets were in his body and if he was dying.
He is our warrior, the Maiden said into Tula’s mind when she stopped struggling against the tall woman’s muscles. He is our knight. You must do whatever you can to help him.
As if reading Tula’s thoughts, the redhead surprised the girl again by saying, “Harris is kind of cute, isn’t he? Like a big stupid animal who’s eager to please. Trust me”-the woman laughed into the girl’s face, her breath foul with smoke and alcohol-“I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
Into Tula’s mind flashed the image of the sad bear in the zoo as Frankie swung her toward the RV, bragging, “Know how I do it? I understand how women think. All their sneaky, catty ways. Plus, we’re a lot alike, me and tomboys like you. The first time I saw you, I could tell. A boy, my ass.
“Difference between us, you’re still hiding behind God. Me, I got smart quick and joined the other side. That’s where the fun is and the power. It’s all about power, nina. Power and money-money-money.”
Then the woman stumbled, slurring, “ Shit -you spilled my drink! Look at what you did. And your goddamn blood’s all over my new tank top!”
They were at the door to the RV now, and Tula was looking over the woman’s shoulder, seeing two men use tape on the giant’s wrists as the Mexican with gold teeth watched, holding the shotgun over his shoulder like a soldier who was tired of marching. In the lights of the pickup truck, Victorino’s face appeared swollen, misshapen, which reminded Tula of her own throbbing nose.
She pushed herself away from the woman and said, “I can’t breathe, please put me down. I need to blow my nose because the man hit me.”
The woman dropped Tula without warning-like a practical joke. When the girl’s head banged the steel steps to the trailer, it evoked a snort of laughter from Frankie.
“Good,” she said. “Knock some sense into you.”
The woman had found a tissue in her jeans and was rubbing at the blood on her shirt, her balance unsteady, getting madder as she smeared the blood. Then she gave up and hurled the tissue at Tula. “Stop fighting me! If you don’t, I’ll tell that Mexican to kill your boyfriend. How’d you like that?”
Tula was on her feet, sniffling, trying to stop her nose from bleeding, but her eyes were focused on Squires, who was still on his back, hands folded across his belly like a corpse because of the tape. The two men had the doors to the giant’s truck open. They were leaning inside, throwing things out onto the ground, while the Mexican with the gold teeth walked toward the RV, a bandy-legged man trying to appear taller than he was.
Frankie looked away from Tula long enough to grin at the V-man, who
was close enough for her to call, “Does my Mexican stallion need a drinkie?”
Then the woman stabbed her fingernails under the girl’s chin, lifting Tula’s face, and whispered, “How’s a little saint like you gonna feel? Murdering your sweetie when God knows you could’ve stopped it.”
Tula could barely hear the woman’s words because, suddenly, the Maiden was in her head, voice firm, telling her what to do, what to say. The girl’s heart was pounding, but she wasn’t afraid-not for herself, anyway-but she ached for Squires, who lay on the ground, breathing fast, shallow breaths. She watched him turn his head to the side and cough, something bubbling out of his mouth and nose.
Blood, Tula realized.
Inside the girl’s head, the Maiden’s voice warned, “He has a bullet in his lungs. To save him, God will forgive you for anything you must do. I lied to my Inquisitors. Remember? ”
Tula remembered. Jehanne had even warned the vigilante priests that she would mislead them, if necessary, to spare her warrior knights. It was in the book Tula had left back at the trailer park.
I would rather have you cut my throat than betray my knights by telling you the truth, the saint had vowed.
Lying to an enemy wasn’t a lie-it was a weapon. And it made Tula furious to see the giant lying on the ground, vulnerable and in pain. It caused her to remember that she had weapons of her own.
You were born to do this, the Maiden whispered over the noise of Frankie’s voice. You were born to fight evil, to smite the devil down.
Evil. This woman, Frankie, was evil. Tula had known it from their first meeting. In Harris Squires, the girl had recognized the scars of the redheaded woman’s sins. A wickedness so pervading that it had clouded the man’s goodness. It clung to him like an odor.
That odor filled the air now, stronger than Frankie’s drunken breath, as Tula looked into the woman’s face and said, “I’m sorry… I don’t want you to be mad at me. I’m sorry about your blouse-you’re so beautiful, it’s a shame. Because of the way you look, a woman so tall and pretty, it scares someone like me. That’s why I tried to get away.”
The woman appeared startled. It took her a drunken moment to process what the girl had said. “You’re goddamn right you should be sorry. But maybe the stains’ll come out if I don’t let it dry. I’ve heard if you use warm water-”
Abruptly, Frankie stopped, as if she’d just realized something. She had been looking at her tank top, pulling it away from her breasts, but then grabbed Tula by the hair and tilted her face upward. “Hey! Where’d you learn to speak such good English? Don’t get the idea you can fool me, you’re not smart enough.”
The girl stared at Frankie, wanting the redheaded woman’s eyes to concentrate on her, only her. At the convent, Sister Lionza had taught her that focus was required if she hoped to influence a person’s thoughts.
Tula winced because the woman was hurting her but maintained eye contact, saying, “I don’t blame you for being suspicious, but there’s something you don’t understand.” The girl lowered her voice as if to whisper a secret. “I’ve never had anyone say the things you just said to me. It’s like you were inside my mind. You understand my thoughts. Do you really? It would be nice to know that someone really understood. I feel guilty sometimes-and alone.”
Slowly, the woman released Tula’s hair, looking at her, her expression puzzled. She watched the girl’s posture change, noting the girlish cant of hips, the innocent dark eyes, before asking, “What I said about not killing Harris, you mean? Or about the tomboy thing?”
By then, Victorino was close enough for Tula to glance at the man, then say to Frankie, “Maybe later we can talk-just us together? It’s. .. it’s not easy for me to trust anyone, but you seem… different than other women.”
Victorino arrived, throwing his arm around Frankie’s waist, asking, “What’s the problem with the little bitch now?”
The woman disentangled herself from the man and gave him a shove, demanding, “Where’s the money? Did you find it?”
The V-man couldn’t believe what he was hearing, the woman mad at him again for no reason. “You been watching the whole time,” he said. “What the hell you think? My boys are doing that job right now, stop worrying. I give them an order, you can bet they gonna do it.”
“Priceless,” the woman muttered, “a regular genius,” as she placed her hand on Tula’s shoulder. When the girl felt Frankie’s fingernails on her skin-their questioning pressure-Tula walked her hand across the small of the woman’s back and leaned her weight against Frankie’s thigh despite the welling disgust inside her.
Tula was concentrating on Squires, sending the giant strong thoughts, telling him, Stay alive… stay alive… stay alive, as Frankie said to V-man, “Tell me something-why’d you have to slap this girl? You’re so goddamn dumb, I’d slap you myself if your face wasn’t already such a mess.”
The man thrust his wrist out, saying, “The bitch bit me, what you expect?”
Frankie didn’t even bother to look. She leaned her nose toward Victorino, standing on her toes, Tula noticed, to tower over the man. “Big tough Mexican stud,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Harris almost kicked your ass, that’s what really happened. So you went and did this.” The woman nodded toward Tula.
“A girl with a face as cute as hers, now I’m going to have to take her inside and get some ice. Why’d you do it? It make you feel like your dick’s bigger to bloody up some defenseless girl? Well, it hasn’t done much for you so far, amigo.”
Victorino was glaring at the woman, pretending not to notice that one of his soldiers had stopped to listen, while the shorter one-Chapo-held a VHF radio to his mouth, talking to someone.
As Frankie took the girl’s hand, turning her toward the open door, Chapo called to V-man in Spanish, saying, “Hey! Calavero says some white dude stopped, he’s asking for jelly boy. A redneck in a truck.”
Tula’s attention vectored, thinking, Tomlinson?
The girl shook her hand free from the woman, senses probing the darkness beyond the silhouettes of trees. Her mind was alert for the aura of godliness that accompanied the strange man with long hair. Instead, she discerned an unexpected force-something cold out there beneath the stars. It was a focused energy, dispassionate, moving her way. And human… Or was it?
Tula tilted her head, hoping the Maiden would provide confirmation, but received only a vague premonition of violence.
The V-man had his back to Tula and Frankie, relieved to be conversing with Chapo. A gringo stranger was easier to deal with than the redhead’s nasty attitude. Victorino called in reply, “The Gomer asked for jelly boy by name? What’s a redneck dude want, coming out here this time of night?”
Frankie, Victorino realized, had stopped at the top of the steps for a reason. Probably waiting until Chapo was done talking so she’d have everyone’s attention before insulting him again. Victorino was so pissed off by the shit the woman had said, he considered walking over and kicking Squires in the ribs-blow off some steam-then demand to know if jelly boy had told anyone that he’d be at the camp tonight.
Chapo spoke into the radio again, then called, “Dedos flipped the Gomer the finger, I guess. Pissed him off. So maybe the white dude’s a local and that’s why he turned around.”
Victorino said, “Turned around?” but then realized what Chapo meant. He said, “Don’t waste your time worrying about rednecks. Tell Calavero don’t bother us unless he’s got a real problem. Search jelly boy’s truck, then get to work doing the other shit I told you to do.”
Chapo nodded, forgetting that the woman didn’t speak Spanish. He’d already been told the V-man didn’t want her to know about the cans of gas they’d brought and the bag of rags so they could torch the hunting camp.
Frankie, still watching, waited as Victorino changed his mind, saying, “No. First you two help me drag jelly boy in there…” With his chin, he indicated the wooden steroid shack. Then changed his mind again, saying, “Shit, you ha
ven’t found the money yet? You two drag his fat ass by yourselves. I’ll search the truck.”
The woman turned to confirm that Tula was inside the RV, doing something in the kitchen-looking for a towel because of her nose, she guessed. Frankie swung the door closed, stepped down onto the sand and wiggled her index finger, motioning Victorino closer.
“The hell you want?” The man took a couple of careful steps toward the RV, expecting the redhead to take a swing at him or launch into another tirade.
Instead, Frankie produced a joint, lit it, then offered it to the V-man, her chichis sticking out because she was holding her breath after taking a big hit.
Man, that banano grass smelled good. A couple tokes of cokesoaked weed, that’s exactly what he needed. Victorino leaned so Frankie could put the cigarette between his lips.
“The girl has a thing for me,” the woman finally said, exhaling and keeping her voice low. “She wants me to be her teacher-sort of sweet, really. You wouldn’t understand. But all the signs are there.”
Victorino said, “Probably because you talk to her so sweet,” being sarcastic.
The woman shook her head. “Don’t take it personally. I said all that nasty shit to convince her I’m on her side. But I knew you were smart enough to figure it out. I’d have made a hell of an actress, huh?”
The expression of confusion on the Mexican’s face. Priceless.
Frankie grinned, holding her hand out impatiently for the joint as Victorino replied, “Then we still gonna do it, huh? In front of the camera?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your share.”
Victorino took a second hit of the banano as he watched the bodybuilder’s head disappear into the shack, the two pandilleros dragging the man by his feet. He said, “What about jelly boy? Do him later or after you have your fun?”
“Get his clothes off him-at least his pants.” Frankie said, taking the joint from Victorino’s hand. “You meant what you said, didn’t you?”
Cut the man’s nuts off.
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