Free Quintana Roo by Gary Brandner Page A

hotel.”
    The Italian stared at Hooker, his eyes squinted into slits. “What’s the idea? I made a deal with the old man.”
    “The deal’s off. You’ve been paid.” To Alita, he said, “Get inside.”
    “Just a minute.” Zucci took hold of Alita by the arm and held her. “I don’t need your lousy four hundred pesos. I want the girl.”
    Hooker grabbed Zucci by the lapels of his Italian silk suit and lifted him until he was standing on tiptoes. He frog-marched the gambler back until his shoulders hit the doorjamb. With his face so close their noses were almost touching, Hooker said in a low, dangerous voice, “I think you better take the money, Mr. Zucci.”
    The color drained from Zucci’s face as Hooker held him just off the ground. He put on an unconvincing smile. “Hey, okay, Hooker, okay. I forget about the girl. I didn’t know how it was with you and her.”
    “You still don’t,” Hooker said. He held the other man a moment longer, then eased him back to the ground and released his lapels.
    Alita gave him a long, enigmatic look, then disappeared into the house.
    • • •
    Two nights later, Alita showed up at Hooker’s rooms in the Royale.
    “Hello, Johnny,” she said. “I came last night, but you weren’t here.”
    “I was out.”
    “I know. And if you are out tonight, I come back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.”
    “What for?”
    “You paid for me. Here I am.”
    “Forget it. Go home.”
    “You don’t want me?”
    Hooker took a closer look and caught the glint of mischief in the girl’s eye. “I didn’t say that,” he told her.
    “Then how about if I come in?”
    “Aren’t you working tonight?”
    “I don’t do that work anymore.”
    “Because of the Zucci business?”
    “Yes. My father he swear he never do anything like that to me again, but I tell him one time is already too much. Did you say I can come in?”
    “Well … sure, come ahead.” Hooker stood aside. Alita picked up a small traveling bag from the floor at one side of the door and carried it into the room with her.
    “Hey, I said you could come in, not move in.”
    Alita looked up at him through thick black lashes. “I just brought a couple of things with me. I want to look pretty for you.”
    “You look pretty enough.”
    She smiled. “You do like me, don’t you, Johnny?”
    “Sure I like you, but — ”
    He never finished the sentence, for Alita threw her arms around him, pulled his head down, and kissed him. Surprised at first, Hooker found himself enjoying it. Then enjoying it a lot. When at last they broke apart, they were both a little breathless.
    “You can’t stay here,” Hooker said.
    “Why not?”
    “Because this is where I live, and I live alone.”
    “It is not natural for a man to live alone.”
    “I like it.”
    Alita turned in a slow circle, taking in the scattered newspapers, the crumpled clothing, the unwashed dishes mounded in the sink, the unmade bed. “You could use somebody to tidy things up for you.”
    “You can’t stay here.”
    “Maybe just once in a while?” She moved forward until their bodies touched.
    “Oh, what the hell,” he said.
    • • •
    During the two years since that night, Hooker found, to his surprise, that it was a growing pleasure to have the girl around. She kept just enough of her things at his place to stay a few days at a time and never hung around long enough to get tiresome or to disrupt his life.
    After the unpleasantness with Zucci, Alita’s father wisely sold his poker concession at the old house and invested in a shop that sold authentic Mexican handicrafts he obtained cheaply from Japan. When Alita was not with Hooker, she helped Tulio in the shop and lived in the small apartment behind it.
    • • •
    Thinking about the warm brown girl who lay next to him now, Hooker had a pang of regret about accepting the job in Quintana Roo. He shook it off.
    “I’ve got to go.”
    Alita made a small sound of protest and