Free Heat of Night by Harry Whittington

bad, huh?”
    “To me they look very kind.”
    “Why, that’s very nice of you,” Hollister said. He paused, searching for a name. “Son, which one of Juan’s boys are you?”
    The little sun-darkened face got a crafty look and he grinned in a secret way. “I’m the one that can swim to that island out there. The biggest island.”
    “But I like you. What do I call you?”
    The imp’s face pulled into a pleased grin, and Hollister saw he’d been led into a trap by a cunning mind very proud of itself.
    “Call me anything, mister. I don’t care what you call me just so you call me in time for dinner.”
    The child laughed immoderately at this, watching Hollister’s face to see the effect of his
bon mot
on him.
    Hollister laughed, too. This pleased the child and he laughed even louder. Hollister stared at the small hard body racking with Spanish-accented laughter over this joke.
    Hollister said, “I’ll bet this is a joke you learned from Big Juan?”
    The boy stopped laughing. “Him? Where would a man of his years get a new joke like this?”
    “Oh? This is a new joke?”
    “Sure. I just heard it.”
    Hollister nodded, moved to go around the child. The boy touched at his leg. “Mister.”
    “Yeah?”
    “I just told you a fine new joke. Don’t you know a new joke you could tell me?”
    Hollister considered. “I don’t know. You didn’t tell me your name. But — it’s all right…. Tell me, how did you get that cut on your leg?”
    “A sting ray. But you should see what I do to this sting ray.”
    “You let a sting ray stick you like that? Boy, if you had brains you’d be dangerous.”
    The child hesitated, then recognized the joke, saw he’d been neatly trapped as he in turn had trapped the man. His mouth opened, showing gleaming teeth, and he laughed loudly, the sound racketing against the house.
    “Mister, this is a fine joke.” He hesitated. “Is it new?”
    “Did you ever hear it before?”
    The child shook his head.
    “Then it’s new.” Hollister walked toward the house. The child ran toward the other children to test his new joke. Then he stopped, returned to Hollister, caught his sleeve, looking up with friendly black eyes.
    “Mister. My name is Luis.”
    • • •
    When Mal Hollister stopped in the yard to chat with Luis, thirteen-year-old Linda ran around the house and up the steps, going past Ric Suarez who was sprawled in a straw-bottomed rocker. Ric glanced at her, thinking she was growing up pretty fast.
    He called to her, inviting her to sit in his lap, but she had more urgent matters on her mind. She tossed him a smile that carried voltage she didn’t even suspect.
    The screen door slammed as she went through.
    Ric sighed, staring at the storm clouds, feeling the charged silence that pushed in ahead of the storm across the bay. He remembered when Doll had looked much like Linda, but blonde.
    He felt like crying and could not say why.
    • • •
    Linda said, “He’s here. He’s coming across the yard. This time he does not sit in the car. He’s coming into the house.”
    Dolores pressed both hands against her glowing face. “It’s Mal. I’ve been home all afternoon and haven’t had a chance to get dressed.” She ran to her bedroom and slammed the door. It opened again at once. “Tell him I won’t be a minute.”
    She closed the door again.
    Big Juan’s hands were opening and closing.
    “Why does he come in tonight?” he said. “What does he want?”
    “Let him come in,” Al said. His voice had a taut quality. “Give me a chance to talk to him.”
    “No,” Bea said. “Not now, Al. You’re all wrought-up. You’ve got to think it over. You’ve got to calm down.”
    “Stay out of this, Bea.”
    “I won’t stay out of it. Now, come on. You and I — we’ll go for a walk down by the bay.”
    “You hate the bay.”
    “I hate scenes worse. I hate it worse for you to say things when you won’t even know what you’re saying. Come on, AI.” Her voice