White Butterfly
there, all of them turned on. A woman and a boychild sat on a sofa before wall-length maroon drapes. She was Mexican with a lot of cleavage and makeup, backed by a mane of luxurious black hair. He was black and scrawny but had the largest brown eyes I’d ever seen—his mother’s eyes.
    “Wait here,” Estelle said, batting at her wig.
    She exited out a door on the opposite side of the room.
    “Hey, mister?”
    She was looking at me, smiling. The boy had something that came close to hatred in his beautiful eyes.
    “Yeah?”
    “Is it ‘Peter and me went’ or ‘Peter and I went’?” She curled her lip and flared her nostril on the last sentence. I noticed that the boy had a straight-backed pad of paper on his lap.
    “ ‘Peter and I,’ like, ‘Peter and I went to the store.’ You see, you know because if you cut it down and said ‘I went to the store’ it would be better than ‘Me went to the store.’”
    The mother looked leery. The boy wanted to tear my heart out.
    “You live here?” I asked.
    “Yes.” Her smile dazzled. She wasn’t beautiful but she projected warmth.
    “Hey, Pedro!”
    The boy stopped scowling at me long enough to peer at the old white man coming through the door.
    “Come here, boy!”
    I was surprised that such an old and feeble-looking man could produce such volume.
    He was tall and stooped over like Westley, but even more. He could almost look little Pedro in the eye. Max Howard fished a coin out of his pocket and flipped it at the boy. Pedro caught it and checked to see what it was—he didn’t look disappointed.
    Max had a full head of long white hair. During that time only old men could get away with that kind of hairstyle. He kept his head up, reminding me of a vulture scanning the horizon for the spectacle of death. He wore an old-fashioned three-button black suit with a starched white shirt and a silken blue-and-black tie. His shoes were older than I was but they were in perfect repair.
    “Mr. Howard,” I said.
    “Rawlins, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, sir. Easy Rawlins.” I didn’t hold out my hand and he kept his claws in his pockets.
    Max pressed his lips out and swiveled his head toward the mother and child. He might have nodded, maybe he silently mouthed something, but Pedro’s mother gathered the boy up and hurried out of the room.
    “Have a seat, Easy,” Max Howard said.
    I sat and he stood before me. His skin was like bleached onion parchment, crinkled and ghastly white.
    He blinked. I crossed my legs. Somewhere far away a motor cruised down the street.
    “What do you want here, Easy?” The question was straightforward.
    “A woman,” I said in kind.
    His smiling lips quivered like a pair of light blue earthworms. “I don’t think so,” he said.
    He blinked again. I uncrossed my legs.
    After what seemed like a long time he said, “Twenty dollars.”
    I took out the bill and handed it over. He brought it right up to his face and squinted. Then he nodded and went back the way he’d come.
    A few minutes later a short woman wearing a checkered muumuu that barely came down to her legs walked in. She had big red lips and round thighs. Her hair was permed into big floppy curls. Her eyes were big and round and ready to look into mine.
    “Com’on,” she said. Then she turned and walked away.
    I followed her up the stairs. Her dress didn’t hide a thing.
    We went down a hallway that looked like it belonged in a hotel. There were doors on each side with numbers on them. She opened door seven and ushered me in.
    “How you wan’it?” she asked my back.
    When I turned around she’d taken off the dress.
    “Just a little talk.” I don’t think I stuttered, but the girl smiled as if I had.
    “What you wanna talk about?” One of her upper front teeth was solid gold. There was a nipple-sized mole just above her left nipple.
    “You Marla?”
    “Com’on.” She pointed at the bed. “Sit’own.”
    We sat side by side with her thigh against my pant leg.
    “You

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