6

In the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals.

Chin nuzzled into his breast.

Prison was no more than a small walled village.

What does Caborca know of Huisiachepic?

Rise now and go about the city.

Fugitive’s trail.

In the streets and in the broad ways.

Eastern suburbs of the town.

Emerged at last into a small road lined with old gloomy houses.

Through a wooden gate.

Hammers on the brown door.

Hostel noted in the boy’s file, referred to in the newspapers as his last address.

Shabby genteel place.

On the walls were faded frescoes and faded traces of a painted dado.

Corridor smelt of formalin.

Figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office.

Warden of the hostel.

Can I help you?

Dimly remember him. Wasn’t there some sort of trouble?

Newspapers took up this curious case.

Not one of ours.

Hadn’t been in there, hadn’t passed by.

Might have been on the waiting list. Always have more applicants than we have beds.

Talk to his probation officer.

Lo siento.

Drizzle of rain.

Walked toward the phone booth.

Dialled the number.

Voice spoke through the lisp of the rain.

Seeing as he’s no longer with us I suppose it’s alright to talk.

Dead dog never bit nobody.

Put him in temporary accommodation until a place freed up at the hostel.

Residing at the time in furnished lodgings.

Only he didn’t reside very long.

Split for parts unknown.

What the hell you expect?

A dozen policemen disguised as sheikhs, cowboys and Spaniards on his tail?

Take down particulars but case like that so common.

Fifty like him on my books.

Poor little slum-bred hard guys that got knocked over on their first caper.

Authorities would have their work cut out if they were going to chase after every runaway.

Address she gives him is not far away and he sets out again.

Squat little streets.

Three small boys hunching knee to knee play cards beneath a black umbrella.

In a yard a plastic deer.

The lodgings, when he reaches them, spread across two houses.

Yellow vapour lights glowed high up in the air and a neon sign between them said, Welcome to Realito.

Number one cheap cheap hotel.

Watches the lights blinking.

Hell does he think he’s doing.

Monster crouched in the shadows.

Only knew that at the bottom of each breath there was a hollow place that needed to be filled.

Something in the story itself to tell him about the way the world was.

Pass through the door.

A desk was back in the dimness and behind the desk a bald-headed man.

Raises an eyelid.

Takes a key off the hook.

Staircase into the bowels of the building.

Hall unlit like a subterranean cave.

Room wasn’t much larger than a broom closet.

Bed, a chair, a coloured print of Killarney, and a barred window looking out on a wall.

What’s your grift then?

Think I can’t smell a dick when I meet one.

Where a man’s at ain’t necessarily for you to know.

Got my wallet unstuck from the lower part of my back and spread tired-looking dollar bills along the bed.

Stared at me for a long level minute.

Thin arse little man.

Week maybe two.

Gay Paree.

How should I know?

Fuckin’ AWOL.

Do know is that he left without signing his chits.

Care so much about him maybe you’d care to settle his debts?

Leaned forward and brought his face up close to mine.

Ever get socked in the kisser?

Nose into our business and you’ll wake up in an alley with the cats looking at you.

Beat it before I change my mind.