Free The Starshine Connection by Buck Sanders Page B

weeks of life left, at the most. It was all he needed for the job.
    Slayton had not permitted his Spanish to rust away while in Washington, and this proved his greatest asset. It certainly was
     a plus in dealing with the tenants of the duplexes Lucius had passed over so briefly.
    By spinning a yarn about the U.S. Census, and dropping enough hints relating to immigration laws to make the twelve-member
     family crammed into the four-room apartment jumpy and gun-shy, Slayton set them up. His punchline was a change-of-heart understanding
     that their cover would not be blown, which the elderly mother—the spokesperson for the clan in this case—seemed to accept
     graciously enough. Their conversation through the screen door* had absolutely nothing to do with the Starshine ring.
    Slayton, however, had discovered quickly that the people were new tenants, and had been ushered in by the former residents,
     one or two of whom had become neighborhood characters during their stay in the apartment. He applied this knowledge during
     his visits to the follow-up addresses.
    One seemed to be a
borrachal,
a drunk, while the others were described as
batos suaves,
people generally accepted in the neighborhood. The ones who drank too much apparently made grand fun of sadistically bullying
     a man who was known in the neighborhood as “Kiko.” When Slayton visited a randomly chosen house down the block from the duplexes
     and asked where Kiko could be found, he was immediately suspected of being the police. But these tenants showed a sort of
     resigned acceptance, not fear. Kiko was a
tarugo,
and it was generally agreed that he was always getting into trouble with the law not through malice, but because he was
un calabaza
—a dumbbell.
    Slayton had left the nondescript van parked some ten blocks away when he decided to quit for the night. The people to whom
     he spoke wanted to help, yes, but more urgently, they wanted him off their doorstep. They seemed afraid, and not of Slayton.
     He thought that it might be to his advantage to seek out Kiko.
    As it turned out, Kiko found him.
    There was little action in the barrio that night. Most of the after-dusk crowd hung out around the borders of shabby buildings
     advertising LICORES in peeling paint—get-togethers where everyone knew everyone else. There was little outward evidence of
     the Chicano gangs or the
cholos
in the low-riding Chevies and Pontiacs. They had split their
territorio
to cruise Hollywood; here their reign was secure.
    Slayton wondered if the latest government welfare and social service cuts might be the impetus they needed to migrate, violence
     and all, to wealthier turf.
    He moved along the streets with wariness and caution. And when he pulled open the driver’s door to his van, he was instantly
     aware that it was occupied. He tensed automatically, but he did not see an assailant. The man inside the van was not even
     conscious.
    Slayton relaxed. The back door of the van was incapable of being locked. He had taken a little bit of cash and a small stash
     of dope with him—things that might have proven to have informational or bribery value. There was nothing else inside worth
     locking up.
    The man was dressed in tatters and cast-offs, and was snoring loudly. Despite his outward wear and tear, he did not appear
     to be very old. He snorted and scratched himself. The odor pulsing off his clothing was breath-stoppingly fetid and stale.
     It almost made Slayton’s eyes water. He hesitated, not wanting to make enough noise opening the squeaking, grinding rear door
     to awaken the man.
    Then he remembered that he had gone from Washington to a cross-country flight to the barrio without stopping, and fatigue
     was beginning to make inroads on his concentration and stamina. He marched around and jerked the rear door open.
    “Come on,
cabrón,
let’s go. Rise and shine!”
    No reaction. The sleeping man curled up in the rear of the van continued to snore.
    “My friend,