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I'd watched her set it up so many times by now, I was almost ready to try it myself. This one wasn't the usual red queen on a black king strategy but ran in suits so that if you won, you ended up with only four piles, one for each suit, cards in numerical order from aces up to kings. She went through all the cards in her hand by threes without coming up with a play. She tossed the hand in and pulled the cards together in a pile.
"You want to do my chart?" I asked.
She shook her head. "The stuff's at my mother's and Raymond won't let me talk to her. I tried to call her last night, but he caught me with the phone and nearly beat the shit out of me. What an ass…" She glanced over at Raymond, who had stopped what he was doing so he could stare at her. Bibia
"Palm down?"
"Yeah. Just put 'em down on the tabletop."
I eased my feet out from under me and leaned forward so I could rest my palms flat on the table as instructed. Raymond must have realized she was into her palmistry and he went back to work. Bibia
She ran an index finger across my right palm, took up my left palm, and looked at it again. "You like action. You know how I know that? When you put your hands down on the table, you left a lot of space between. Insecure people put 'em close together. Short nails indicate you're aggressive. No ridges or spots, which is good. Means you're healthy. Skin type is medium, doesn't say much, but look at this… how wide the space is between your thumb and the fingers on this hand. You think for yourself…"
Her voice was hypnotic and I found myself listening to her with great seriousness. I'd expected a lot of talk about life lines and love lines, but she didn't have a chance to get to that. The trouble broke out so suddenly, I never knew what started it. I heard a shout, the banging as a chair fell over backward. By the time I looked up, Raymond had Tomas down on the floor. He was clutching the guy by the throat, the switchblade against his cheek. Raymond's face was contorted by rage, his hands shaking as he squeezed his fingers into Tomas's windpipe. Tomas was burbling, his eyes wide as he struggled to free himself. Sweat had beaded his forehead. I saw the blade of the knife slip into his cheek, sinking into the flesh, blood welling up. Raymond seemed almost hypnotized by the process. No one else made a move. It seemed to be one of those moments where retaliatory violence would only jeopardize Tomas's chance of survival.
Bibia
He lifted the knife. Bibia
Bibia
He stepped away. The ritual cough and bark began and I could see him jerk his head, rolling his shoulder in its socket. Luis had grabbed a kitchen towel and was pressing it against the cut in Tomas's cheek, issuing orders in Spanish. Blood soaked through instantly. Two of the guys came to Tomas's assistance, helping him out the door. The apartment cleared rapidly. My heart was pounding. Bibia
Raymond paced the room, snapping his fingers restlessly as he turned to Bibia
I got my jacket. Hell, I wasn't going to argue with the man.
This time Raymond and I took the Ford, while Luis followed us in the Cadillac, Bibia
"We fight," he said.
I studied him with interest. He seemed relaxed, his ma
He caught my look. "What are you lookin' at?" His words were belligerent, but the tone was mild.
"I was just trying to figure out why you're so obsessed with Bibia
"She can't mess with me. No way. People who screw with my head have to learn they can't. She hasn't got the word yet."
"About what? You have her back. What else do you want?"
"I have to make sure she stays."
"How can you do that?"
"I did already," he said. "She just doesn't know it yet."
19
THAT AFTERNOON AT the Southern California College of Auto Fraud, I took a "crash" course in "Swoop and Squat," which Lieutenants Dolan and Santos had summarized so neatly in our little jailhouse chat. We drove up into West L.A., on the border of Bel Air, ru