Don't Skip Out on Me

by Willy Vlautin

  ‘And what was your name again?’

  ‘Hector.’

  Ruiz nodded. ‘Be in gym clothes and bring your fees tomorrow, okay, Hector?’

  *

  When Horace arrived at the tire shop the next morning, Benny was asleep on the couch, snoring with a mug of coffee between his legs and a half-eaten Snickers bar in his hand. Horace sat on a wooden chair beside the couch and waited. The sun rose over the houses and Benny continued to sleep. An hour passed and Horace leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, and when he opened them Benny was standing above him, pushing on his shoulder with a hand that had only a thumb and two fingers.

  ‘Hector,’ he said, ‘wake up. The trailer’s here.’

  Horace stood in a haze and saw a twenty-eight-foot trailer parked at the storage gate. The driver opened the back, hopped up into the half-empty trailer and began rolling tires down to Horace, who on the command of Benny stacked them in different areas until the trailer was unloaded. After that, Benny sat on the couch and fell asleep again until an obese man on a small motorcycle arrived and began honking his horn.

  Benny opened his eyes and smiled. He rubbed his hands together, took $15 from his wallet and gave it to the man on the motorcycle, who handed him a plastic bag and drove off. Benny then took two twenty-four-ounce cans of beer and a styrofoam container from the bag, opened one of the beers and began eating a barbecued-rib lunch with greens, beans, coleslaw and cornbread.

  Horace took his lunch from the refrigerator and sat in the wooden chair next to the couch and began eating.

  ‘You’re not married, huh?’ Benny said as he looked at Horace’s food.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I bet you don’t live with your mother either.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’ He gave off a short laugh. ‘Your lunch is about as depressing as a lunch could be.’

  Horace nodded but kept eating. He looked around the property and said, ‘Who’s Máximo?’

  ‘Máximo?’

  ‘The name of this place.’

  ‘Ah, that Máximo. He was my uncle. I inherited this place from him. I’d retired from working for the city but all I did in retirement was watch TV. Then my uncle Máximo died so I have a job again.’

  ‘Are you from Mexico?’

  He shook his head. ‘I was born in Hudson, Michigan. You know where that is?’

  ‘I know where Michigan is.’

  ‘My parents worked at a poultry-processing plant there, but I moved in with my aunt and uncle in Tucson and went to high school here.’

  ‘Do you like Tucson?’

  ‘What’s not to like?’

  Horace shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘And you’re from Nevada?’

  Horace nodded.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Tonopah.’

  Benny shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It’s in the middle. A few hours north of Las Vegas.’

  ‘What did you do there?’

  ‘Worked on a ranch.’

  ‘Like cows and shit?’

  ‘Sheep.’

  Benny nodded. He closed the styrofoam container, set it on the ground, took a plastic toothpick from his pocket and began working on his teeth. ‘You know how to drive?’ Horace nodded.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-one.’

  ‘And you have a driver’s licence?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Let me look at it.’

  Horace took it from his wallet and nervously handed it to him, but Benny didn’t realize the name was different, that it said Horace Hopper. He just glanced at it and gave it back without saying anything. He took $60 from his wallet. ‘I want you to get me two cases of Tecate tallboys. Tallboys are the big beers. Sixteen-ounce cans. You know where Food City is?’

  Horace nodded.

  ‘My son’s car is behind the lot. You can drive it. And remember, don’t buy warm beer. Get them cold, and if they don’t have them cold go somewhere else.’ He took a key from his chain and handed it over. ‘And don’t get in a wreck or steal it or buy the twelve-ounce cans.’

  Horace again nodded. He walked behind the small cinderblock building, got into a dented blue Ford Ranger pickup and drove to the store. When he came back, he found that Benny was now sitting under the awning with two Mexican men at a portable card table. They all clapped when they saw Horace carrying the two cases. Benny took three cans and told Horace to set the rest in the refrigerator. Afterward Horace stood at the edge of the garage as the men spoke Spanish and played cards, drank beer and ate ceviche. One of the old men, wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap, grabbed a paper plate and set a large helping of ceviche on it, drenched it with hot sauce, squeezed lime on it, put a handful of saltines around it and called out, ‘Hector!’

  Horace took the plate, thanked him, sat down on the couch and looked at the food. He’d never eaten much seafood except for fish and chips at the Stage Stop in Tonopah, and he hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t even liked the trout Mrs Reese cooked when they fished Pine Creek. The plate sat in front of him heaped with shrimp, cilantro, cucumber, peppers, tomatoes, onion, avocado and hot sauce. The old men couldn’t stop shovelling it into their mouths.

  Horace looked at the food for a long time and then ate it as fast as he could, to get it over with. It was spicy and felt awful in his mouth and there were two times he thought he might throw it up. The men put more on their plates and he didn’t understand how they could. His entire mouth burned and he asked Benny if he could have one of the Cokes in the fridge.

  In three swallows he drank the soda and then he sat back down on the couch and watched the men play cards. He tried to pick up on their Spanish but they spoke so fast that almost none of the words he heard were recognizable. Finally he got back up and went to Benny and asked him what he should do next, but Benny told him he was done for the day and took $60 from his pocket and handed it to him. Horace put the money in his wallet and, not knowing what else to do, headed back to his aunt’s house.

  9

  Mr Reese parked his truck in front of A&C Auto Parts and he and Little Lana went inside. The shelves of the store were half-empty and the products that were there were covered in dust. There were no other customers. In the back, a middle-aged man in grey coveralls sat behind a chest-high counter listening to the radio.

  ‘Morning, Hank,’ Mr Reese said.

  ‘Morning, Eldon,’ he replied. He was a big man who was bald on top and had greased-back brown hair on the sides. At one time he’d been an amateur bodybuilder, but of late he had let himself go. ‘I ain’t seen you in a while,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve had a run of luck with the truck.’ Mr Reese knocked his fist on the wooden counter and handed Hank a parts list. ‘But now I’m gonna rebuild my old Massey and see if I can get a few more years out of it. That’s what these parts are for.’

  Hank looked over the handwritten list. ‘I’ll have to order some of this stuff.’

  ‘I figured you would.’

  Hank got up from the stool and disappeared into the back. He came out minutes later with the parts he had in stock, set them on the counter and began writing up an invoice. ‘You still got that kid working for you?’

  ‘You mean Horace?’

  ‘The Indian kid.’

  ‘That’s Horace. No, he’s moved on.’

  ‘I thought I should let you know that I’ve seen him walking around town in black tights with a long chain belt hanging down to his knees and a ripped-up black T-shirt. He had his hair teased out like he was a woman. He looked like a woman.’

  ‘It’s none of my business how Horace dresses on his own time,’ said Mr Reese.

  ‘I’m just telling you what I saw,’ said Hank. ‘He walked up and down this street like some kind of fag prostitute. He’s done it a half-dozen times that I’ve seen myself.’

  ‘Why are you telling me now if it’s bothered you for so long?’

  ‘I just thought of it,’ said Hank.
>
  ‘He’s a boy who’s stuck out on a ranch with a couple old people for months at a time. He likes heavy metal music. From what I can tell, they all dress like that. Anyway, like I said, what he wants to do in town is his own business. And it isn’t against any law that I know of. So either sell me the parts or don’t, but I’d appreciate you not talking about him anymore.’

  Hank nodded. ‘Fine by me. Just tell him to skip my street the next time he’s in town.’

  Mr Reese shook his head and took the list he’d written off the counter and put it back in his shirt pocket. ‘Every time I step foot in here you get meaner and the store looks worse. Horace hasn’t done anything to you but spend his money here trying to fix that old Saturn of his grandmother’s. And he only came here because I told him to because I liked your dad. But I’m tired of it and tired of you. From now on I’m just gonna head up the street.’

  Hank’s face fell and he took off his reading glasses. ‘I didn’t mean nothing, Eldon. I was just talking. You don’t have to get all upset. I always talk too much – you know that.’

  But Mr Reese and Little Lana had already headed for the door.

  *

  It was ninety degrees out as the two walked to the Clubhouse Saloon. Mr Reese thought of Horace on that same street dressed in his heavy-metal outfit, walking around, lonely and different and lost. Other people had mentioned it to him as well, and his heart grew heavy thinking about the boy. ‘Maybe Tucson will be the best place for him,’ he said softly to Little Lana, and they went inside the empty bar, where a young woman sat behind the counter looking at her phone.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Reese.’

  ‘Good morning, Janie.’

  ‘A can of Coors?’

  ‘That sounds about right,’ he said and sat on a stool near her.

  ‘Can I give Lana some water?’

  ‘I bet she’d like that quite a bit.’

  Janie opened a Coors and then filled a bowl of water and walked from behind the bar, set it down for the dog and pet her.

  ‘How’s the baby?’ Mr Reese asked.

  ‘I’m not getting much sleep,’ Janie said and stood back up. ‘I can’t remember the last time I slept all night. But other than that, she’s great.’

  ‘The first years are tough,’ Mr Reese said and took a drink of beer.

  ‘You have two daughters, right?’

  He nodded. ‘Cassie’s in Reno and Lynn’s in Denver. They’re a few years older than your mom. I think they’d just left high school when your mom started.’

  ‘I can’t imagine my mom in high school.’

  ‘She was a great basketball player.’

  ‘I can’t believe that either,’ Janie said, and laughed.

  The old man took another drink of beer. ‘I got a question for you. Have you ever been to the NAPA Auto Parts?’

  She shook her head. ‘But my boyfriend, Cody, he goes there all the time.’

  ‘Cody’s the Henderson boy, right?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘And he likes NAPA?’

  ‘I don’t know if he likes them, but he’s always going in there.’

  Mr Reese took another drink of beer. ‘You know, Cody’s grandfather was a friend of mine growing up. I guess it would be over thirty years ago that he sold his ranch and moved to Reno. I don’t think I’ve seen him since.’

  ‘He just retired from Ponderosa Meat,’ Janie said. ‘We went up for his retirement party last month. They’ve just moved to Arizona.’

  ‘Arizona?’

  ‘They got a condo on a golf course somewhere near Scottsdale.’

  ‘A golf course?’

  ‘He’s a golf fanatic,’ she said, and then two men in motorcycle leathers came into the bar. They sat in the corner, near the door, and as she walked over to help them Mr Reese finished his beer. He said goodbye to her and then he and Little Lana headed up the street to NAPA Auto Parts.

  10

  Ruiz was yelling at a Mexican boy shadow-boxing in front of a full-length mirror. The boy was a chubby seventeen-year-old who wore cut-off sweats that hung low on his hips, showing red underwear. On his feet were fluorescent-orange high-top basketball shoes.

  ‘At least tie your goddamn sneakers,’ Ruiz yelled and pointed to the boy’s untied laces. ‘What happens when you trip and a guy gets you with an uppercut that blinds you?’

  ‘Blinds me?’ the kid cried and stopped punching.

  ‘You have to be aware, both in and out of the ring. Anything can happen at any time. When you realize that, you’ll be better prepared for what’s coming. You can’t walk around like a jackass with your pants falling down and your shoes untied. There’s a reason people wear belts and there’s a reason people tie their shoes. I’ve seen you trip five times in the last hour.’

  Horace watched from the corner of the room as Ruiz ranted. He kept at the boy five minutes more and then called the session. The boy left and Ruiz sat in a folding chair near the back wall and looked at his phone. Horace approached, his face dripping with sweat. He’d run two miles in jeans and work boots in the evening heat to get there.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he mumbled. ‘We got more cars in than I was told we’d get.’

  Ruiz looked at him. ‘Who are you again?’

  ‘Hector. Hector Hidalgo. I came in yesterday and we talked.’

  Ruiz rubbed his face with his hands. His fingers were short and stubby and he’d shaved badly, with missed spots under his nose and lower lip. ‘I remember now,’ he said.

  ‘Is there still time for a session tonight?’

  ‘Do you have gym clothes?’

  Horace nodded.

  ‘You have the money?’

  Again he nodded. He handed Ruiz $300 and Ruiz counted it, then pointed to a locker room. ‘Change in there,’ he said.

  Horace came out minutes later in his gym clothes and Ruiz waved him over. ‘So where are you from again?’ he asked.

  ‘Nevada,’ said Horace.

  ‘And you say you’ve boxed before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, regardless, the first thing I’ll teach you is how to protect yourself. If you don’t learn that, you’ll end up with a face like mine. But that’s the life of a prize fighter.’

  ‘You really fought pro?’

  ‘For fifteen years,’ said Ruiz.

  ‘What was your record?’

  ‘Twenty-five and twenty. Not much of a record. But they stole at least ten from me – I could argue fifteen.’

  ‘I want to turn pro,’ said Horace.

  Ruiz smiled. ‘You’re the kid fighting in Mesa? The kid who kept calling me.’

  Horace nodded.

  ‘It’s all coming back to me now,’ Ruiz said, and laughed. ‘We’ll concentrate on that first, okay? Mesa first.’

  *

  Horace walked home from the gym that evening thinking over the session. Ruiz said he hit harder than anyone he could remember training. ‘There was a guy I fought in Houston once. A wiry, ugly son of a bitch from Cuba, who escaped to Florida on a raft made of truck inner tubes. That’s how tough he was. He used a handmade oar and gutted out the entire trip on his own. Pushing through the waves, in the ocean, with sharks and the Coast Guard trying to get him. That kind of life, going through things like that, makes you tough. He hit like a cement truck shot out of a rocket. I survived the fight on my feet, but I was finished after that. I kept going, fought eight more times, but I wasn’t the same fighter. He took something away from me that I could never get back. You hit nearly as hard as him. My hands are sore from the mitts and they never get sore from the mitts. But look, Hector: I was able to get you to freeze up a half-dozen times. Is that normal for you?’

  Horace nodded. ‘Can you fix it?’

  Ruiz shrugged. ‘We can try, but it’s hard to fix something inside of you like that. We’ll give it a go, though. We’ll make it better, at least.’

  Horace had left the gym let down and depressed. He had held it as truth that a profes
sional trainer would somehow fix him of his freezing and that it would be remedied quickly. That it would be, after a session or two, solved and out of his way, and then he could get on the road to becoming a champion. But as he walked down the street his guts began to hurt. What if it could never be fixed? What if he was just basically flawed forever?

  He arrived home and went inside. He looked at the food he had in the refrigerator but none of it was what he wanted. The truth of it was, he didn’t like Mexican food and he wasn’t used to spicy food. His grandmother’s stomach wouldn’t allow it and the Reeses didn’t like it either. He enjoyed hard-shell tacos well enough but he didn’t like making them himself. He would have to cut up a head of lettuce, slice tomatoes and grate cheese. He didn’t know how to season the meat and the store-bought shells didn’t seem as good as the ones in restaurants. It was too much work and he got tired of them after two nights anyway.

  As he stood looking into the refrigerator, he thought that maybe, at least for a while, he could eat non-Mexican food at home. That he wouldn’t have to act Mexican there, alone. He would make BLTs, cheeseburgers, egg and ham and potato-chip scrambles, and always he’d keep spaghetti around. If he was honest with himself, his favourite food besides fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy was Italian food: spaghetti, lasagne, pizza and ravioli.

  He showered, ate three bowls of cereal and then, underneath the AC unit, laid on his makeshift bed, turned on his CD player and listened to disc one of Learning Conversational Spanish. But as always the words came and went from his mind and he fell asleep and didn’t wake or move until the next morning at dawn.

  *

  For the following eight days he did the exact same thing: morning workout, changing tires at Máximo’s, night sessions with Ruiz, and then home and listening to his language CDs.

  The morning of the ninth day, the day of his Golden Gloves fight, he woke to his phone ringing.

  ‘Morning, Horace. Are you up?’

  ‘Is that you, Mr Reese?’ Horace whispered.

  ‘It is.’

  Horace sat up and rubbed his face with his free hand. ‘Is there anything wrong? Did anything bad happen?’