Free Moist by Mark Haskell Smith Page B

at Norberto and realized that things had changed. Norberto had moved up in the world, taking direct orders from El Jefe, Esteban himself.
    â€œI thought you were
mi vato
.”
    â€œIt’s not like that, man. Esteban needs you. He’s not gonna kill you.”
    â€œThat’s what he told you.”
    â€œThat’s what I know.”
    Amado studied Norberto. He figured that the punk was probably packing a nine, or worse, that fucking .38 snubby he liked to carry because he saw it in a movie and thought it looked real cool and vintage.
    â€œDo I have a choice?”
    â€œNo.”
    Amado shrugged.
    â€œVale.”
    . . .
    Esteban was watching Chivas play Morelia on Channel 55 when Norberto and Amado walked into the safe house. Martin was talking to the delivery guy, Bob something, in the kitchen, trying to learn more about how to keep the arm preserved. The last thing Esteban wanted in his house was some
fuchi
arm stinking up the place. Esteban stood to greet Amado.
    â€œCabrón. ¿Qué onda?”
    â€œYou tell me.”
    The two men stared at each other. Esteban suddenly felt unsure of what he was supposed to do. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to. What had Amado been up to at Carlos Vila’s? Was it bad enough that Amado expected him to kill him? Esteban realized that he would have to deal with Amado one way or the other after he was clear of this mess. Sloppy murderers and freelancers were a liability. But he wasn’t going to do anything about it right now. Right now his main concern was to keep out of jail. So he just stood there looking at Amado. Finally Norberto broke the tension.
    â€œAmado? You want to see your arm?”
    Amado turned to Norberto.
    â€œYeah.”
    . . .
    Bob couldn’t believe it when the one-armed dude came into the kitchen. Bob knew it was the arm’s owner because this guy was covered in similar tattoos. Women with huge erect tits, men taking them from behind. Voluptuous and busty women with wild tangled hair going down on muscular biker-looking guys, sucking their long hard cocks. And that was just what he could see on the guy’s one arm and poking out of his shirt around his neck and chest. It was like the Kama Sutra for Hell’s Angels scattered all over the guy’s body. Bob was fascinated. He wanted to say something to the guy, but he was mean-looking, not scary like the older one, just mean, and Bob really didn’t want to be punched in the stomach again, or hit on the head, or worse, so he didn’t say anything.He watched as the mean-looking one-armed dude opened the cooler and lifted out his arm.
    It was a moment. Sad. Touching. Here was this guy staring at his arm like it was a long-lost child. Bob studied the mean guy’s face and saw his eyes well up with tears. Then the older scary guy finally said something.
    â€œ
Joder,
that must’ve hurt.”
    The mean dude looked at the scary guy, but didn’t say anything. He just reached down and touched his arm. He first felt his fingers; then, turning the arm over, he stroked the forearm. Softly, like he could still feel it.
    â€œGet me a drink.”
    The guy with the ponytail looked at the scary guy, who nodded. Then he went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of tequila. The one-armed dude sat down and knocked back a shot.
    Bob pointed to the tattoo of the beautiful woman getting eaten.
    â€œShe’s beautiful.”
    The mean dude nodded.
    â€œFelicia.”
    Bob lit up. It all came out in an excited blurt.
    â€œYou mean she’s real? This is a real woman? Do you know where she lives? Can I meet her? Do you have her number?”
    The white guy, the scary guy, the ponytail guy, and the mean dude all turned and looked at Bob like he’d lost his mind. But Bob didn’t care, this might be his only chance, so he kept talking.
    â€œI mean look at her. Just look. Have you ever seen a more beautiful woman in your life? She’s . . .