Manulo went out and shut the door.
A moment later, Villanazul stretched with great exaggeration and strolled about the room.
‘I think I’ll walk down to the plaza, friends.’
He was not gone a minute when Dominguez, waving his black book at the others, winked, and turned the doorknob.
‘Dominguez,’ said Gomez.
‘Yes?’
‘If you see Vamenos, by accident,’ said Gomez, ‘warn him away from Mickey Murillo’s Red Rooster Café. They got fights not only on TV but out front of the TV, too.’
‘He wouldn’t go into Murillo’s,’ said Dominguez. ‘That suit means too much to Vamenos. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt it.’
‘He’d shoot his mother first,’ said Martinez.
‘Sure he would.’
Martinez and Gomez, alone, listened to Dominguez’s footsteps hurry away down the stairs. They circled the undressed window dummy.
For a long while, biting his lips, Gomez stood at the window, looking out. He touched his shirt pocket twice, pulled his hand away, and then at last pulled something from the pocket. Without looking at it, he handed it to Martinez.
‘Martinez, take this.’
‘What is it?’
Martinez looked at the piece of folded pink paper with print on it, with names and numbers. His eyes widened.
‘A ticket on the bus to El Paso, three weeks from now!’
Gomez nodded. He couldn’t look at Martinez. He stared out into the summer night.
‘Turn it in. Get the money,’ he said. ‘Buy us a nice white panama hat and a pale blue tie to go with the white ice-cream suit, Martinez. Do that.’
‘Gomez –’
‘Shut up. Boy, is it hot in here! I need air.’
‘Gomez. I am touched. Gomez –’
But the door stood open. Gomez was gone.
Mickey Murillo’s Red Rooster Café and Cocktail Lounge was squashed between two big brick buildings and, being narrow, had to be deep. Outside, serpents of red and sulphur-green neon fizzed and snapped. Inside, dim shapes loomed and swam away to lose themselves in a swarming night sea.
Martinez, on tiptoe, peeked through a flaked place on the red-painted front window.
He felt a presence on his left, heard breathing on his right. He glanced in both directions.
‘Manulo! Villanazul!’
‘I decided I wasn’t thirsty,’ said Manulo. ‘So I took a walk.’
‘I was just on my way to the plaza,’ said Villanazul, ‘and decided to go the long way round.’
As if by agreement the three men shut up now and turned together to peer on tiptoe through various flaked spots on the window.
A moment later, all three felt a new very warm presence behind them and heard still faster breathing.
‘Is our white suit in there?’ asked Gomez’s voice.
‘Gomez!’ said everybody, surprised. ‘Hi!’
‘Yes!’ cried Dominguez, having just arrived to find his own peephole. ‘There’s the suit! And, praise God, Vamenos is still in it!’
‘I can’t see!’ Gomez squinted, shielding his eyes. ‘What’s he doing?’
Martinez peered. Yes! There, way back in the shadows, was a big chunk of snow, and the idiot smile of Vamenos winking above it, wreathed in smoke.
‘He’s smoking!’ said Martinez.
‘He’s drinking!’ said Dominguez.
‘He’s eating a taco!’ reported Villanazul.
‘A juicy taco,’ added Manulo.
‘No,’ said Gomez. ‘No, no, no …’
‘Ruby Escadrillo’s with him!’
‘Let me see that!’ Gomez pushed Martinez aside.
Yes, there was Ruby! Two hundred pounds of glittering sequins and tight black satin on the hoof, her scarlet fingernails clutching Vamenos’s shoulder. Her cow-like face, floured with powder, greasy with lipstick, hung over him!
‘That hippo!’ said Dominguez. ‘She’s crushing the shoulder pads. Look, she’s going to sit on his lap!’
‘No, no, not with all that powder and lipstick!’ said Gomez. ‘Manulo, inside! Grab that drink! Villanazul, the cigar, the taco! Dominguez, date Ruby Escadrillo, get her away. Ándale, men!’
The three vanished, leaving Gomez and Martinez to stare, gasping, through the peephole.
‘Manulo, he’s got the drink, he’s drinking it!’
‘Olé! There’s Villanazul, he’s got the cigar, he’s eating the taco!’
‘Hey, Dominguez, he’s got Ruby! What a brave one!’
A shadow bulked through Murillo’s front door, travelling fast.
‘Gomez!’ Martinez clutched Gomez’s arm. ‘That was Ruby Escadrillo’s boy friend, Bull La Jolla. If he finds her with Vamenos, the ice-cream suit will be covered with blood, covered with blood –’
‘Don’t make me nervous,’ said Gomez. ‘Quickly!’
Both ran. Inside, they reached Vamenos just as Bull La Jolla grabbed about two feet of the lapels of that wonderful ice-cream suit.
‘Let go of Vamenos!’ said Martinez.
‘Let go that suit !’ corrected Gomez.
Bull La Jolla, tap-dancing Vamenos, leered at these intruders.
Villanazul stepped up, shyly.
Villanazul smiled. ‘Don’t hit him. Hit me.’
Bull La Jolla hit Villanazul smack on the nose.
Villanazul, holding his nose, tears stinging his eyes, wandered off.
Gomez grabbed one of Bull La Jolla’s arms, Martinez the other.
‘Drop him, let go, peón, coyote, vaca!!’
Bull La Jolla twisted the ice-cream suit material until all six men screamed in mortal agony. Grunting, sweating, Bull La Jolla dislodged as many as climbed on. He was winding up to hit Vamenos when Villanazul wandered back, eyes streaming.
‘Don’t hit him. Hit me!’
As Bull La Jolla hit Villanazul on the nose, a chair crashed on Bull’s head.
‘Olé!’ said Gomez.
Bull La Jolla swayed, blinking, debating whether to fall. He began to drag Vamenos with him.
‘Let go!’ cried Gomez. ‘Let go!’
One by one, with great care, Bull La Jolla’s banana-like fingers let loose of the suit. A moment later he was ruins at their feet.
‘Compadres, this way!’
They ran Vamenos outside and set him down where he freed himself of their hands with injured dignity.
‘Okay, okay. My time ain’t up. I still got two minutes and, let’s see – ten seconds.’
‘What!’ said everybody.
‘Vamenos,’