H is for Homicide

I could feel my heart do a flip-flop, fearing Raymond's reaction. I glanced back at Bibia

"Let's just mosey over to the pool table," Tate said under his breath. "Has Raymond figured out yet it was me killed Chago?"

"If he did, you'd be a dead man. Dawna got picked up before she could tell him everything. Why don't you get out while you can," I murmured.

Tate took my arm, moving me toward the pool table. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

I closed my eyes briefly. "Jesus, Tate. Get away from me. What are you doing here?"

He took my hand. I was forced to follow as we crossed to the rack of pool cues, where I watched Tate select one. "I had to see Bibia

"Of course. You could have told me yourself if you'd trusted me."

"Who had time? I've busy shooting bad guys." He raised the cue to shoulder height and sighted down the length of it like a rifle. "Boom."

"How'd you know where we'd be?"

"Pick a cue stick," he said.

I chose one at random, too distracted to be particular, not that I have a clue about the qualities of a good cue.

"Not that one." He handed me another cue stick and then continued casually. "This is Raymond's hangout. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out where he'll be. By the way, if Raymond comes over and wants to know what's going on, tell him the truth – we went to grade school together."

"How'd you get out of the slammer? I thought you were broke. What's bail on a murder charge, two hundred thousand bucks?"

"Two fifty. I got a friend in Montebello who put up his house. My attorney got bail knocked down to a hundred grand. I'm out on OR plus bail…"

"And they let you leave the county?"

"Quit worryin. It's legitimate. I talked my probation officer into an eight-hour turnaround. My wife's sick, I said. I'm due back in Santa Teresa by six A.M. or they'll throw me in the can again." Tate arranged the balls in the rack and broke. Balls scattered everywhere with a satisfying crack.

"What are we doing? I haven't played pool for years."

"Eight-ball. It's your shot."

"You're very cute," I said without much conviction. "Just tell me what to hit and let's get on with it."

"You think I can have time alone with her?"

"No."

"Would you give her a message? Would you tell her I'm doing everything I can to get her out of here?"

"Sure."

We played pool. Jimmy Tate pretended to tutor me and I took instruction, all in the interest of conducting a tense conversation overlaid with bright smiles. From a distance, I hoped we'd look like potential bedmates to someone who would kill us if he figured out what was actually happening. Tate loved it, of course. This was just the sort of situation he thrived on – out there on the front line, taking flak, taking risks in the name of I don't even know what. I was feeling that same sick sensation that prefaces a tetanus shot. Something bad was going to happen and I couldn't figure out how to escape it.

Tate said, "You taking good care of her for me?"

"I'm a real champ," I said. "This is the last time I'm ever doing shit like this for anyone."

He smiled. "That's because you'd rather kick butt."

"You got that right."

Tate cleaned up the table and we joined the other three, who were bunched into the booth. Luis got up and I slid in beside Tate, who remained carefully attentive to me in the process. Luis found an empty chair and pulled it over to the table. I think it was the first time I ever served as a "beard" in a dangerous liaison. Liar that I am under ordinary circumstances, I found it a tricky business to fake a flirtation. I felt awkward and false, reactions not lost on Raymond, whose radar was telling him enemy aircraft were somewhere in the area. I felt his eyes scan my face with a half-formed question. Maybe he'd write me off as a hopeless social oaf. Certainly the woode

Tate proceeded to tease me outrageously under Bibia

Bibia

He was clearly feeling territorial. Whether he was sensitive to what was actually going on or not, Tate was still a male, not only on Raymond's turf, but in close proximity to his woman. Raymond seemed to swell, trying to engage Tate in a shoving match of boasts and braggadocio, a verbal pissing match. I don't know what, among women, would constitute an equivalent. I tuned out the talk because it was all chest-thumping bullshit, fueled by alcohol and testosterone. I couldn't even begin to compute what Tale's response might be when he found out Bibia

Luis was watchful. The usual blank mask fell away and I saw, for the first time, a wily intelligence at work. Behind his dead eyes, a lively animal lurked, all the more dangerous for its cu

I thought the night would never end. The Spanish music was jarring, either loud and frenetic or emotionally oppressive. The air was cloudy with smoke and the smell of beer. The only thing I cared about was staying very close to Tate, whose sun-weathered face was the only refuge I could see. I made him dance with me, in part to keep him away from Raymond, who was no fool. In the stress of the moment, we all drank way too much. I'd be sick in the morning, but I didn't care at this point. Maybe I could carve out a quiet life for myself on the bathroom floor, head hanging over the toilet bowl.

We closed the place down at 2:00 A.M. Outside the bar, we parted company with Tate. I was just relieved to get out of the situation in one piece, with no fisticuffs, no confrontations, no tears. Luis left the three of us out in front of the apartment, peeling off in the Cadillac. I preceded Raymond and Bibia

I went into my room and slipped into my nightie, then headed for the bathroom. The door to the master bedroom was closed. I knew from the way Raymond had been looking at Bibia