Read Online The Last King of Texas - Rick Riordan by Rick Riordan - Free Book Online

gold rings set with onyx stones
glittered on his punching hand. "Sounded like you had a rough
day, vato. Came by to see if you made it through."
    I pointed to my stitched-up cheek. "Most of me."
    Ralph stepped onto the porch, took a joint from his
shirt pocket, then held it up toward me with a question — maybe did
I want some? or did I mind? He proceeded to light up without waiting
for the answer. I didn't want some, and I did mind, but neither of
those facts would've fazed Ralph.
    He held in the first toke, looked up at the
corrugated tin of the porch roof, and let smoke escape through his
nostrils. "Just wanted to tell you — when you're ready to mess
with these people who blew you up today, come find me."
    "You don't buy that the police have it under
control?"
    Ralph laughed. "Yeah. Mi amigo Zeta Sanchez."
    "You know Sanchez?"
    Ralph stared at me. Stupid question. Ralph knew San
Antonians the way Audubon knew birds. The kill-and-study ratio was
probably the same. "Zeta is sangron," Ralph admitted. "He
makes a threat, it's going to happen. But pipe bombs at professors?
No, man."
    "Why so sure?"
    "Zeta wanted to kill you, he'd walk up and shoot
you."
    "Sounds like that's what he did, in the end."
    Ralph shook his head dolefully. "You meet
Sanchez's brother-in-law, Hector Mara?"
    "Bald guy, lives in a trailer home, likes to
scream at policemen."
    "That's him. Hector and Sanchez — they used to
be rivals back at the Courts. Patched things up when Sanchez married
Hector's sister Sandra."
    "So they were brothers-in-law. So?"
    Ralph took a second toke, stared into the backyard.
"So nothing. Just that Hector Mara's been doing okay for himself
the last six years since Zeta left town. Bought himself a scrap-metal
yard on the West Side. Found enough money to pay off the mortgage on
his grandmother's old house — that place he inherited out on Green
Road."
    "All that money from a salvage yard?"
    Ralph shrugged. "He does a little fencing, takes
away some business from my pawnshops. But the way I heard it, that's
not where most of Hector's money comes from. Once Zeta Sanchez left
town, Hector was freed up to do business with some of Zeta's old
rivals — one guy in particular, Chich Gutierrez. Chich and Zeta,
man — they couldn't stand each other."
    "What kind of business?"
    "Chiva, man."
    "Heroin."
    "Another thing — I hear Hector's more than a
little bit in debt to Chich right now. Like maybe in debt enough to
owe some large favors."
 
    "Mmm. Hector thought Sanchez was gone for good,
might be kind of inconvenient if his old compadre showed up again,
started asking about his new business connections. Especially if
Sanchez had ideas about getting back into the chiva. Sanchez, man —
he's a war hero. People admire his style. He could take over Chich
Gutierrez's business without half trying."
    "I'll look into that."
    "Just do it careful. Tell George Berton when you
see him tonight — tell him I said to be careful."
    "How'd you know I was going to see George?"
    Ralph grinned.
    "Uh-oh," I said. "Kelly?"
    "No, man, I didn't hear it from her."
    He was enjoying some excellent, private joke.
    "What?" I demanded.
    He took a long last pull on the marijuana, then
flicked the joint to the ground, crushed it under his heel. He
offered me a hand and pulled me effortlessly out of the butterfly
chair. "Just remember to deal me in, vato, once you're ready."
    "You said Hector Mara's salvage yard was taking
away some of your fencing business."
    "That's right."
    "So are you siccing me on Hector because you
think it might help me? Or because you want to get rid of the
competition?"
    Ralph grinned. "Your perception of the world is
overly grim, vato. Enjoy your date."
    I could hear him laughing quietly all the way through
my house.
 
 
    EIGHT
    Aaron and Ines Brandon's house was a
driftwood-colored craftsman on Castano, a few blocks east of Alamo
Heights High School.
    The street was one of those San Antonio gullies that
floods in the smallest