Free Big Maria by Shaw Johnny Page B

it’s his—I don’t know—spirit, I guess. Not sure he’s up for it.”
    Frank gave his head a solid shake. “Don’t matter. He’s got to be in on this.”
    “You wouldn’t recognize him, Frank. He’s a mess. His wife left, took their kid. He’s drinking more than me. Heard the cops are threatening jail time. Must be like twenty lawsuits against him.”
    Frank clapped his hands together, giving Harry a start. “Then we help him. Gold is the kind of thing that gives hope. He was there at the beginning. He is part of the team. It’s got to be Ricky.”
    “Q uit slapping me.”
    Frank slapped Ricky even harder. His hand burned red from the force of the blow. Ricky’s stubble pierced his skin like a saguaro.
    “Stop it.”
    Frank grabbed the kid by the hair and pulled his head back. Harry handed him a cup of water, and Frank threw the water in Ricky’s face.
    Ricky’s eyes opened wide. There was a crowd standing over him. He recognized old Frank Pacheco and Shitburger. The two serious-looking Indians or Mexicans behind them were new to him. A fresh slap struck his cheek.
    “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m slapped. You don’t have to do it again.”
    “You ain’t got chairs? I’m an old man.”
    One of the big Indians or Mexicans exited the trailer and came back with a bucket. He turned it upside down and Frank sat.
    Frank looked tired, his skin more ash than rust.
    Ricky began to say something, but Frank didn’t let him.
    “I’m going to talk. You’re going to listen. Harry here has a proposal for you. No matter how stupid it sounds—and it’s going to sound stupid—you’re going to say yes. Got it?”
    Ricky looked up at him but didn’t respond. Frank slapped him again.
    “Yeah, yeah. I got it. I get it.”
    “Go ahead, Harry. Give him the rundown.”
    Harry whispered something in Frank’s ear. Frank shrugged and turned to the big Indians or Mexicans. “Ramón, Bernardo. Need you boys to wait outside.”
    They didn’t appear offended. The sound of their cigarette lighters fired up the moment they stepped out the door.
    “Remember, Ricky, you’re going to agree. You’re going to do it because I say so. You’re going to do it because if you don’t, when you’ve finally finished killing yourself, I’ll find your daughter and tell her you drank yourself to death because you stopped loving her.”
    “You wouldn’t do that.”
    “From what I can see, it’s the truth.”
    Ricky broke down crying. Frank and Harry waited. When Ricky was done, he looked up at them with red, wet eyes.
    “What do you want from me?”
    Frank turned to Harry. “He ain’t going to be able to do squat ’til he’s dry.”
    “Ain’t like an everyday drinker can give it up like that. Trust me on that one.”
    “Sure they can. Just got to have no other choice.”

TWELVE
    B ernardo and Ramón roughly pulled Ricky from the back of the pickup. They stood him against the rear panel, but Ricky hadn’t quite woken and his legs spaghettied beneath him. The Indians looked at each other and let him fall to the ground.
    Ricky had fallen asleep on the bumpy ride, one side of his face burned red from the sun. An uncomfortable, prickling heat made his cheek itch. The other cheek had gravel embedded in the skin. His body hurt and his throat scratched.
    Ricky scanned the landscape through squinted eyes. Twenty acres of dry wheat fields spread along the base of scrubby desert hills. A small house that looked like it should be condemned was visible past a graveyard of rusted farm equipment. Dogs barked somewhere. Big dogs. A couple of burros watched with more interest than burros should be capable of. There was no shade, and the two big Indians didn’t look happy, their smooth, hairless faces dripping sweat.
    They each grabbed an arm, fingers digging into Ricky’s armpits, and dragged him toward the small house. Ricky didn’t struggle. Being dragged was easier than walking, and these guys looked like they could bench a