Page 11 of Paco
“Oh, honey, there’s no way I’d mistake you. You kept licking shooters off my tits. Does that jog your memory?”
Scrubbing his face, he jerked his head back. “Oh, yeah. Fuck, I’m sorry. You look different. When we hooked up, your hair wasn’t as long as it is now.”
She leaned in close, the scent of nutmeg swirling around him. The softness of her tits pressed against him made his dick jerk. Placing her index finger on her lips, she said, “Shh… don’t tell anyone, but I’m wearing a wig.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“You game for some shooters?” She ran her hand over his.
“Not tonight. I have some stuff to do. Maybe another time.”
“Really? I was hoping we could hook up again. I should be mad at you for never calling me.”
He chuckled. “I don’t usually call chicks. As I recall, you gave me your number and told me to call you. That never works for me. If I wanna call a chick, I ask for her number.”
“I just thought we had something, you know?”
“It was fun.”
“You sure you don’t want this?” She ran her hands over her curves and squeezed her breasts.
“My brother Sangre would love what you’re giving away.” With his elbow, he nudged Sangre.
“Yo. What’s up?” Sangre said, swiveling around.
“Charlotte’s feeling real frisky and wants some fun,” Paco replied.
Sangre ran his eyes over her body and Paco sniggered. “Is that so, baby?”
“Well, I really wanted to have some fun with Paco, but he doesn’t want to.” Her gaze went to Sangre’s tight muscular arms. “You look like you wouldn’t pass up some fun with me.”
“My brother here is a fuckin’ idiot. I’d love to party with you, baby.” Sangre wrapped his arm around her and winked at Paco. “Thanks, dude. I owe you.” He led Charlotte away and they disappeared into the crowd.
After putting the empty glass on the bar, Paco headed up to his room, kicked off his boots, and went over to a chest of drawers. Opening the first drawer, he took out two Jack shooters and several joints. He went over to the CD player and switched it on, turning the volume down. Sinking down in the recliner by the picture window, he looked out. In the distance, headlights from random vehicles glowed eerily through the thin mist. Specks of light filled the inky sky, but in the darkened haze, the San Juan Mountains weren’t visible. It was like a pitch-black curtain had been draped over them.
He put the joint between his lips and lit it, enjoying the first long drag. The lyrics from Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It” sang out and he picked up his phone.
“What’s wrong?” he asked Kendra, dread weaving through him.
“Nothing. I’ve been meaning to call you since you left a few days ago. I just wanted to make sure you made it back okay.”
“I’m good. How’s the baby?”
“Great. Matt and Diego are loving their new brother. It’s so adorable. Vicky said she can stay a couple more weeks. I’m happy. I can use the help.”
“I told you I’d give you the money to hire someone to help you out.”
“I know. I appreciate the offer, and I may take you up on it after Vicky leaves. You do so much for us as it is. I hate to take anything more from you.”
“I offered, so it’s no problem. Anyway, I remember how the pay sucked when I was in the Army. Jesse’s not sending enough home for you and the boys.”
A small pause. “Thank you. You’re a wonderful brother. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been there for me ever since Mom died,” she said softly.
He didn’t want to think about their mother, about the red-smeared walls and furniture, about finding her sprawled on the floor swimming in her own blood. He didn’t want to revisit the scene he conjured up most days and nights.
It’d been sixteen years since he came home from school and walked into a nightmare, his mother’s body bruised and stabbed on the dining room floor. He’d been fourteen and had come home early because of an injury he’d sustained when he and some of his buddies were roughhousing during lunch. When he’d first seen his mother, the reality of what had happened hadn’t sunk in. He’d called his father right away and then the police. His father had made it to their house before the police, and when he came in and saw his slain wife, he’d fallen to his knees and wept uncontrollably. Paco’s father’s cries still echoed through his brain all these years later. He’d never be able to expunge them.
“Hello? Are you still with me?”
