Thirteen Senses (72 page)

“Damnit, Fred,” Kenny said to his good drinking friend Palmer, “you and Archie are my friends! Don't try and trick me!”

“We ain't. Honest. Eisner's alive!” yelled Archie.

“Bullshit!” said Kenny, and he raised up his 30/30, firing two more quick shots into the eucalyptus tree beyond the orchard way above Fred Palmer's and Archie's heads. “I'm drinking this bottle down! Then I'm going to my garage, getting in my car, and driving off to Mexico and find myself a couple of
señoritas!
So nobody try to stop me, for chrissakes! I don't want to kill no friends!”

“Kenny, put that rifle down so we can talk!” yelled Fred. “We can't let you go, you know that! We're the law!”

“And you really didn't kill him!” yelled Archie. “The bastard is still breathing!”

“Bullshit! I killed him, sure as Hell! In old Mexico, I'd get a medal!” shouted Kenny. “Shit, a song, a
corrido,
would be sung about me, because there ain't no loss of honor in shooting a rattlesnake!”

“That's true!” bellowed Archie. “And I'd sing it, true as Hell, because, personally, I'm glad you shot the son-of-a-bitch, the way he treats folks! But he's still alive, so you got to give yourself up, Kenny, so you can shoot him again next year, and finish the job!”

On this one, Kenny BURST OUT LAUGHING. “Archie, you slick-talking Pala Indian son-of-a-bitch, I just don't know how the white men ever out-tricked you-breeds out of nothing! But, goddamn, I know I killed that son-of-a-bitch Eisner, and so I'm not going to jail for killing a rattlesnake!” He fired two more quick shots.

At that moment, a car came screeching up behind Archie and Fred Palmer. Two young cops from Oceanside leaped out of the car, opening fire. Kenny never moved. No, he just stood out there in the middle of the driveway, firing over their heads, as the two young cops—one named Davis—continued shooting at him.

A couple of the rounds came flying past Kenny and hit the windows where Salvador had been watching. Salvador dove for the floor again.

Lupe SCREAMED!

Salvador turned and saw a mass of blood covering his daughter's face and her little, white church-going dress. Crawling over to her, he saw that Hortensia was holding the puppy in her arms. Its head was missing.

The shooting continued, and more bullets came flying just barely over their heads. Salvador tore the bloody puppy from his daughter's grasp, throwing it as far as he could.

Then the shooting stopped as quickly as it had started. And now you could hear Archie's huge, bellowing voice, “You stupid son-of-a-bitches! He wasn't shooting to kill nobody! You had no reason to open fire on him, you stupid, ignorant, trigger-happy young BASTARDS!”

Then Archie rushed over to Lupe and Salvador's front door. “They killed him,” he said, “Jesus Christ, those stupid, young Oceanside trigger-happy bastards killed him! Those stupid son-of-a-bitches! I kept yelling for them not to shoot!” Then seeing the blood, he finally asked, “Hey, is everyone okay here?”

But no one answered Archie.

No, Salvador was sitting on the floor, holding his wife and daughter in his arms. And they looked absolutely petrified.

“Jesus H. Christ,” said Archie, seeing Hortensia all covered with blood. And across the room lay the splattered, bloody remains of the little black and white female puppy. And on the lime-colored wall, about three feet above the puppy's body, was a big, bloody mess where the puppy's body had hit the wall when Salvador had thrown it with all of his might.

The drums were beating!

The Drums were Beat, BEAT, BEATING! POUNDING! SINGING with the FORCES of CREATION!

SALVADOR WAS WAITING
for his brother, Domingo, at the Carlsbad train station when the train came down the tracks from Los Angeles. Salvador had just driven down from Tustin where he and Lupe were now living in the ranch house where he made his liquor. He had a lot of things to explain to Domingo.

The whole country was going to Hell!

Everywhere businesses were closing their doors. Kenny White wasn't the only good, decent man who was taking the law into his own hands to settle money matters.

Watching the people get off the train, Salvador was excited with the prospect of seeing his brother. He wanted to tell his brother how hard he'd worked to get him out of prison a year and a half early, and that Chief-Deputy Palmer had explained to him that Domingo would have to be very careful, or this whole early parole business could backfire on them.

But, then, Salvador no more than saw Domingo get down from the train and he knew that he was in for big
problemas.
His brother looked wild. He didn't have any of that calm healthy look that Salvador had seen when he'd visited him in prison.

“Salvador!” yelled Domingo, rushing up to him with a big, rawboned grin. “Damn, it's good to see you,
mano!”

They hugged in a big
abrazo,
chest-to-chest, then, they'd no more than stepped back from each other to get a better look, when Domingo said, “You got a drink?! I need one quick! All the way down on the train I was wondering what I'd want first—a woman or a drink! But then I got to thinking that a woman takes at least an hour, so I figure that I'd have a few drinks first! Eh, so you got some whiskey with you,
mano?”

“Keep your voice down,” said Salvador as he glanced around. There were people all around them. “Remember,” he added, “it's Prohibition.”

“Prohibition?” shouted Domingo, laughing to beat Hell. “Who the hell gives a shit about Prohibition! I wanna drink!”

Salvador rolled his eyes to the Heavens.

“Where's your car?” continued Domingo, licking his lips like a starving wolf. “You always got a pint under the seat!”

“Look, don't you have a bag or something?” asked Salvador.

“Hell, no!” said Domingo. “I threw everything away! And as soon as I can, I want to throw away these clothes that I'm wearing, too!” He put an arm around Salvador, turning him about. “Come on,” he said, “I need for you to get me all new clothes, and a car, and a roll of money, and—”

Salvador stopped listening. My God, this man was
crazy-loco.
Nothing had changed. This was exactly how Domingo had been behaving just before they'd been caught and he'd gone to prison. What in the world had happened to all that peace of mind that Domingo had found in prison when he'd seen those ten thousand angels?

“All right,” said Salvador. “Let's go.”

“Ovale!”
said Domingo, grinning ear-to-ear.

Getting to the Moon, Salvador decided not to take Domingo to Palmer's place, where he'd be working. The man was just too dangerous. He'd first take him out of town, around the lagoon between Carlsbad and Oceanside and try and talk some sense to him in that eucalyptus forest east of town.

At the back side of the lagoon, Salvador parked the Moon and led Domingo up a trail and across a little swampy area on a couple of logs. They could hear the frogs in the water behind them.

“You got some barrels buried out here?” asked Domingo, licking his lips as they continued up a small embankment.

“Yeah,” said Salvador. “A couple.”

“Oh, good!” said Domingo. “That's a start! Let's drink a whole damn barrel, then go chase us some women with nice, big,
nalguitas!”

“Okay,” said Salvador, uncovering the first barrel. He had no intent of going anywhere with Domingo. He had a plan. He was going to let Domingo get stinking drunk, then he was going to call in Archie to come and run a bluff on Domingo, telling him in no uncertain terms that he had to watch his step or his parole officer—old man Palmer—was going to put him right back into prison. He couldn't afford to have his brother out here in the world without reins. Why, the wild fool could destroy everything that he and Lupe were working so hard to put together.

But it didn't work out as Salvador planned.

After a few drinks, Domingo didn't want to hear anything. He wanted to fight!

“Whadda the hell you mean, I got to go to work for Palmer and you got no money for me?!” bellowed Domingo. “I've been locked up, you hear me?! Locked up
como un perro!
I don't wanna work! I want to live!”

“Domingo, we got you out of prison early on the condition that you'd be an avocado doctor, don't you see?”

“No, I don't see shit! I only know that I've been locked up and you've been free all this time! You owe me!”

“I owe you?” yelled Salvador. “Hey, you just hold on to your horses, Domingo! I don't owe you NOTHING! It was your own doings that got you caught in the first place!”

“Bullshit! If that was true, then why have you worked so hard to get me out!”

“Jesus Christ!” said Salvador, shaking his head in disbelief. “I try to help you and now I owe you once again.”

“Help me!?!” yelled Domingo. “Hell, it was me who helped you get your liquor making operation going! I, Domingo, who learned all about
la bootlegada
in Cheee-cago!”

Salvador rolled his eyes to the Heavens again. There was just no talking to his brother. Domingo hadn't taught him anything about liquor making. He'd learned how to make liquor from Al, the
Italiano.
His brother had snake eyes, meaning eyes that saw everything in reverse, so he could then blame everyone for everything.

“Look, Domingo, you better understand this right now,” said Salvador. “You've cost me a fortune. First to pay my attorney to defend you when you got us caught, then I paid more to get you out early, not to say anything of the money and liquor I lost because you got us caught when you took that damn agent over to our distillery for a drink.”

Salvador stopped. His brother was staring at him with this strange, faraway look, like he was maybe really seeing things for the first time from another human being's point of view.

“Well, if this is all true,” said Domingo, “then why'd you wanna get me out early if I'm such a terrible expense to you every time you turn around? Eh, you tell me?”

Salvador bit his lower lip and tears suddenly came to his eyes. He shrugged. “I don't know,” he said, “I guess, it's because, well, we're brothers, Domingo.”

Seeing his brother's tears, Domingo burst out laughing. “Well, then, you fool, you should've left me in prison,
pendejo,
if you really got no money for me!” yelled his brother. “I had everything I wanted there in San Quentin! Food, bed,
amigos,
the best
amigos
I've ever had, and respect! Real respect! And plenty of
mota a lo cabrón!”
His face was all red and his eyes were bloodshot. He licked his lips.

“Oh, no,” he added, not laughing anymore, “you got me out of jail,
hermanito,
and now you got to come through for me. You're not going to cheat me, you cheap son-of-a-bitch, and just leave me hanging as you did our father!”

And shouting this, Domingo leaped forward like a wild-looking wolf, trying to grab Salvador by the throat and choke him to death, but he was too drunk and Salvador was able to shove him away. Domingo went falling backward over a log into the grass and mud.

“Don't start all this,” said Salvador. “I've told you a dozen times, we didn't leave our father, Domingo. He left us!”

“Bullshit! How can a man leave
his familia,
eh, you tell me that?”

“How could you leave children all the way from Texas to Chicago?”

Hearing this, Domingo eyed his brother with his red, bloodshot eyes. His eyes truly did look like a snake's eyes. “Oh, you're really looking for a beating, aren't you,” said Domingo, putting his left hand on the log and pushing himself up to his feet—never once taking his eyes off his brother.

And here they stood face to face, two brothers ready to grab hold of each other and go down fighting.

AND IN CORONA,
California, some sixty miles to the northeast, Doña Margarita was just lying down to take a little rest when in her Heart, she felt a pain, but she didn't quite know what it was at first. She Breathed in of God, then she Knew. The story of Cain and Abel was at work once again.

SUDDENLY,
with this wild-eyed scream, Domingo lunged at Salvador again, ripping his left sleeve halfway off his coat as he tried to wrestle him to the ground. But the mud and grass were slick and mushy, so Salvador was able to break loose from his brother's grip and shove him away once again.

“You owe me!” yelled Domingo, grabbing a tree limb so he wouldn't fall this time. He looked desperate. “You hear me, I want half of everything that you and Lupe made while I was locked up! That's only fair, you son-of-a-bitch!”

He shook his head in grief. “Back home in Mexico we had everything when I left to go find our father. Everything! Cattle, horses, a home, and when I got back—after being trapped in Cheee-acago like a slave—everything was gone. There was nothing left, but burned out ruins!”

“Domingo, Domingo,” said Salvador, “we've been over this a hundred times. It was wartime. Everything got destroyed. We thought you were dead. You just disappeared one day without saying anything.”

“I wanted to surprise our father who'd gone to work, you know, on that highway from San Diego to Del Mar, California, but those tricky son-of-a-bitch Texas Rangers arrested me at the border for nothing, and sent me to Chicago to work off a crime I never committed in the steel mills. I was fourteen years old! I KNEW NOTHING!”

“Look, Domingo, we can't just keep going over this or we'll go crazy,” said Salvador. “We got to stop this and figure out what to do here, today, right now. What happened to that peace you had when I saw you in prison? You were making so much sense then, Domingo.”

“Well, yeah, sure,” said Domingo in a drunken slur. He was still holding on to the thin tree branch for support. “Everyone finds peace and makes sense when they're locked up, Salvador. But turn that dog or horse loose, and he goes crazy again, wanting everything! It's only natural. That's what's wrong with the
pinchee
world! We're all starving with greed!