Read Online Candy Kid by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy B. Hughes
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looking for you.”
In the bars. He knew what that meant. Following the elusive cousin from spot to spot, always one jump behind him. A night of it. And him hanging on to a smelly package which advertised itself to the ones who were after it. But first he had to get the package.
The Senora herself brought the chicken. “I’m keeping you late,” Jose apologized.
She shrugged. “I do not close when there are customers.” Her eyes measured those who remained. “Sometimes it is very late before they will all go home. If it is difficult, my son Marcelino is firm.”
“You won’t have to throw me out,” he promised. “Did Beach say he’d look in here again?”
She was dubious. “He say he will find you,” her mouth pursed, “—and a beautiful blonde.” She began to gurgle, tapping Jose’s shoulder. “The blonde was otherwise engaged, no?” Jose, his mouth melting with mole, permitted himself to wink at her.
He finished the dinner, finished two cups of coffee, finished the sweet, and knew comfort of body but disturbance of soul. The small girl hadn’t shown. He’d delayed as long as possible; it was past ten o’clock.
The Herrera girls had gone, there was no one left but two dallying tables, the Senora and himself. He went to the desk where she tallied the day’s accounts. He was reluctant to question, knowing the curiosity it would prod in the woman, the questioning of the girl which would later ensue. The sorbita was too young to stand up to the iron of the Senora. While he pulled out his wallet to pay, he tried to make it sound unimportant. “Where did the small one disappear to?” Senora Herrera didn’t understand and he had to describe further, “The cigarette girl. The one with the straight hair.”
“Francisca,” the Senora identified. Her lips set narrowly.
He was gallant. “I noticed her because she seemed not of your family, Senora. The Herrera beauty was not there.”
She muttered. “Francisca. I give her a job because I am so sorry for her, half-starved little rabbit. And what occurs? She is so ill! While we are most busy, she must go home right away.”
“And she went home?” His stomach, well-filled though it was, suddenly appeared to have a big hole in it. “Like that?”
The head nodded direly. “Like that, she goes. Running. So fast one would consider the devil himself is on her heels. She can be trusted no more than her abuelo. ”
His mouth hung open. Warily he repeated, “Her grandfather?” He wanted to wad cotton in his ears. He wanted to kick himself in the seat of his white linen pants.
She wasn’t waiting for his reaction. Fire waved from her nostrils. “That wicked old one. It is he who sent her here, to run my business that he may put a mortgage on the name of Herrera.” Her hands beat the air. “And I, a woman of charity, have pity for her, so hungry-looking, so sorry that he beats her, that she is afraid of worse things he will force on her. I say to her—”
He broke in, refusing to believe his belief, insisting it be said, “Senor el Greco is her abuelo ?”
“Of whom am I speaking but that foul spawn of the evil one and the lies he has put into her mouth to ruin a hard-working lady of family—”
Again Jose broke her words. With demand. “When did she begin to work for you?”
“But I have told you. It is this evening she comes to me and she tells me—”
He wasn’t listening. And he’d hesitated to inquire about the girl, fearing she would suffer from the Senora’s wrath. The dirty little liar.
Two
T HE AVENIDA DINNED HIS ears. But not as raspingly as the names he was calling himself. The bright guy. The kid with the medals. The prize package of the cloak-and-dagger boys. So he stood there and handed the package over to the old man’s granddaughter. Whoever didn’t want that package delivered didn’t need to strongarm Jose Aragon. No, sir! All he had to do was ask for it. The girl wasn’t even a babe.
He went into the Paris to
In the bars. He knew what that meant. Following the elusive cousin from spot to spot, always one jump behind him. A night of it. And him hanging on to a smelly package which advertised itself to the ones who were after it. But first he had to get the package.
The Senora herself brought the chicken. “I’m keeping you late,” Jose apologized.
She shrugged. “I do not close when there are customers.” Her eyes measured those who remained. “Sometimes it is very late before they will all go home. If it is difficult, my son Marcelino is firm.”
“You won’t have to throw me out,” he promised. “Did Beach say he’d look in here again?”
She was dubious. “He say he will find you,” her mouth pursed, “—and a beautiful blonde.” She began to gurgle, tapping Jose’s shoulder. “The blonde was otherwise engaged, no?” Jose, his mouth melting with mole, permitted himself to wink at her.
He finished the dinner, finished two cups of coffee, finished the sweet, and knew comfort of body but disturbance of soul. The small girl hadn’t shown. He’d delayed as long as possible; it was past ten o’clock.
The Herrera girls had gone, there was no one left but two dallying tables, the Senora and himself. He went to the desk where she tallied the day’s accounts. He was reluctant to question, knowing the curiosity it would prod in the woman, the questioning of the girl which would later ensue. The sorbita was too young to stand up to the iron of the Senora. While he pulled out his wallet to pay, he tried to make it sound unimportant. “Where did the small one disappear to?” Senora Herrera didn’t understand and he had to describe further, “The cigarette girl. The one with the straight hair.”
“Francisca,” the Senora identified. Her lips set narrowly.
He was gallant. “I noticed her because she seemed not of your family, Senora. The Herrera beauty was not there.”
She muttered. “Francisca. I give her a job because I am so sorry for her, half-starved little rabbit. And what occurs? She is so ill! While we are most busy, she must go home right away.”
“And she went home?” His stomach, well-filled though it was, suddenly appeared to have a big hole in it. “Like that?”
The head nodded direly. “Like that, she goes. Running. So fast one would consider the devil himself is on her heels. She can be trusted no more than her abuelo. ”
His mouth hung open. Warily he repeated, “Her grandfather?” He wanted to wad cotton in his ears. He wanted to kick himself in the seat of his white linen pants.
She wasn’t waiting for his reaction. Fire waved from her nostrils. “That wicked old one. It is he who sent her here, to run my business that he may put a mortgage on the name of Herrera.” Her hands beat the air. “And I, a woman of charity, have pity for her, so hungry-looking, so sorry that he beats her, that she is afraid of worse things he will force on her. I say to her—”
He broke in, refusing to believe his belief, insisting it be said, “Senor el Greco is her abuelo ?”
“Of whom am I speaking but that foul spawn of the evil one and the lies he has put into her mouth to ruin a hard-working lady of family—”
Again Jose broke her words. With demand. “When did she begin to work for you?”
“But I have told you. It is this evening she comes to me and she tells me—”
He wasn’t listening. And he’d hesitated to inquire about the girl, fearing she would suffer from the Senora’s wrath. The dirty little liar.
Two
T HE AVENIDA DINNED HIS ears. But not as raspingly as the names he was calling himself. The bright guy. The kid with the medals. The prize package of the cloak-and-dagger boys. So he stood there and handed the package over to the old man’s granddaughter. Whoever didn’t want that package delivered didn’t need to strongarm Jose Aragon. No, sir! All he had to do was ask for it. The girl wasn’t even a babe.
He went into the Paris to
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