Free Quintana Roo by Gary Brandner

time. He felt different, less guarded, with her than with the regulars at El Poche or his neighbors at the Royale, whom he rarely saw. There was something about the way she listened with her eyes fastened on his, as though what he was saying was of great importance, that made him want to talk to her.
    In turn, Alita talked freely to him, and to his surprise, Hooker found himself listening and caring. She told him about the small joys and the little hurts that made up her life. She talked about her father with a kind of protective love, as though she were both daughter and mother to the man. Of her mother, she remembered little; only that she had been a dark, beautiful lady who spent much of her time in bed coughing.
    Their friendship grew over the weeks, yet they were never alone together. Hooker still felt that any fooling around would violate his rule against mixing business with pleasure. Nevertheless, when Alita would touch his leg to emphasize something she was saying, he found the light pressure more sensual than the passionate embraces of some of the women he knew.
    Then, some two months after he had gotten to know Alita, Hooker brought an Italian named Zucci to the big house to gamble. From the start, Hooker did not like Zucci’s looks or the way he talked, bragging of his friendship with II Duce, or his scorn of the Mexicans as an inferior race. However, Hooker was in no position to make moral judgments, and his bankroll did not permit him to turn away a paying client just because he didn’t like the man.
    Zucci was a reckless card player who gloated when he won and grew sullen at every hand that went against him. The night he played at Tulio Ruiz’s table, he could not lose. Even removed as he was at the bar, Hooker grew sick of the man’s loudmouthed arrogance and took himself to a nearby cantina where he could drink his tequila in comparative quiet. He would not admit to himself how much it bothered him to see Zucci’s hard little eyes crawling over Alita’s body.
    When he returned later to pick up the Italian and return him to the hotel, Hooker was surprised to see Alita standing meekly by his side. She had always left before the game was over.
    Zucci was in high good spirits. “Ah, Hooker, you earn yourself a bonus tonight. You pick a lucky place for me. Look what I win.” He wrapped an arm around Alita’s waist. She made no move to get away.
    Hooker looked at her. She would not meet his gaze.
    “What gives?”
    “Her old man is one bad poker player. Not only does he lose, he lose more money than he got. In Italy, I would cut out a man’s eye if he did that to me. When I tell this to Ruiz, he all of a sudden is ready to make a deal. ‘You like my daughter?’ he say. ‘You take her for the night. That make us all even, no?’”
    Hooker stared at Alita. She kept her eyes downcast.
    Zucci went on, enjoying himself. “So I tell the old man that one bimbo for one night ain’t that much to Antonio Zucci. What the hell, I can have all the gash I can handle. But I feel sorry for the old fart, and besides, the daughter ain’t so bad. So I tell him okay. What do you think, Hooker? Did I get a bargain?”
    “How much?” Hooker said.
    “Eh?”
    “How much did Tulio lose to you?”
    “Four hundred pesos,” Zucci said. “Chicken feed. But the old man could only come up with three. I couldn’t let him do that to Antonio Zucci. I was ready to cut the other hundred out of his face when he offer me the girl.” He looked Alita slowly up and down. “I even let your old man keep his three hundred. You better be worth it, kid. You’re pretty dark, but I hear the browner they are, the hotter they are. That true?”
    Hooker pulled out his wallet and emptied it. He counted out bills and shoved them under Zucci’s nose.
    “Here’s your four hundred pesos. Let’s go.”
    Zucci stared down at the money. Hooker stuffed it into his breast pocket. “Let’s go,” he said again. “I’ll take you back to the