“Cada uno es como Dios lo hizo, y aún peor muchas veces.”
“Everyone is as God made him and often worse.” — Miguel de Cervantes
Ay, what a powerful motivating force guilt is! Germán was at Al’s garage, and like a surgeon’s assistant, he was poised by the engine, handing over tools as Al asked for them.
“Quihubole, ’mano! Alberto!” I greeted them. “What’s the diagnosis?”
“Your friend was right,” said Al. “The solenoid was shot, so I’m replacing it and the starter motor.”
“That tipo is no friend of mine!” To their startled expressions, I looked past them and toned down my voice. “Just one of my graduate students who happened to pass by in the parking lot at the right moment.”
“Your car will be ready in a half hour if you wanna wait around,” said Al. With a grease-coated hand, he waved toward a corner. “There’s soda and chairs over there.”
The refreshment machine stood against an Army-green-painted wall behind a couple of aluminum folding chairs and a magazine-littered coffee table. I picked my way past scattered auto parts and tires to the waiting area that reeked of gasoline, motor oil, and stale cigarettes. I bought a soda and settled in amid the chaos of the auto mechanic’s garage. After leafing through a couple of Popular Mechanics and Muscle and Fitness magazines, my eyes grew heavy in the blinking and buzzing overhead fluorescent lights.
I awoke with a start when Germán plunked down in the other chair.
“Is The Purple Grape ready yet?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
“Almost.”
I regarded my brother. His white shirt, that Juana always washes and presses so neatly, was rumpled, and perspiration showed through. How does Germán manage to make ends meet selling used cars?
“So, Germán, how come you’re not at work today?”
His gaze swiveled to the girlie calendar on the wall, to the clock, then over to the posted list of employees’ rights, and back to me. “You know good old Vargas. When I told him there was a family crisis involving you, he let me take the afternoon off.”
Muy bien! Now I’m a family crisis! But I clamped my mouth shut.
Germán, who I know hates silences, kept talking. “Oye ’mana, I’m really sorry about your VW. If anything else goes wrong with it, tell me, and I’ll fix it right away. You bought it from me when I really needed the lana, some dough, so I wanna make it cool with you.”
“Gracias, ‘mano, I appreciate that.” I sipped my half-drunk, flat soda. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something you said the other night at dinner. You told me that Michael Kent—Miguel de la Madrid—would head your suspect list for Eddy Calderon’s murder. Why?”
He gave me one of his easy, open smiles, the smile that came over him when he was relaxed and enjoying himself, the smile that must have attracted Juana because it was so appealing. “Ay, ese Miguel. Everyone knows that naco is bad news.”
To my questioning look, he clarified, “You know, perico, porro, besuco. Drugs.”
“Is he dealing?”
Germán gave a short, low laugh. “No way, Ray. That’s all controlled by Big Carlos and The Low Riders.”
Carlos Machado was always big for his age, even back in kindergarten when we were in the same class. And mean. One day, when we were all choosing blocks to play with from a big bin, Carlos started to harass little Lenny Pérez, a skinny boy with a constant cough and permanent dark circles under his eyes. When Carlos pushed Lenny aside, I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and as my older brother had taught me to protect myself, I punched the bully in the stomach,. First, with my left fist, and then with the right. Of course, I was sent home from school, but Carlos always treated me with respect after that. And I could see that Papi, although he warned me I should never do anything like that again, expanded his chest a bit, possibly with pride.
I straightened on my chair. “You mean that old gang from high school is still operating?”
“Ay, ’mana. They’re not just operating; they’re thriving. Big Carlos has got himself quite a spread up around Nederland. He deals in Boulder, Lafayette, Longmont, Denver, Fort Collins, and even as far south as The Springs and Pueblo.” He shook his head, looking serious. “The Latino Mafia, mon, they’re never goin’ away.”
The smile reappeared as he returned to the topic of Miguel de la Madrid. “Sí, ese Miguel, he’s one of Carlos’ best customers. Keeps the big guy in Havanas.”
That explained why Eddy and I had seen Michael driving near Nederland. From personal experience, I already knew Michael was into drugs, but hadn’t realized how far. However, what my brother told me didn’t explain why he knew so much about the inner workings of the Low Riders. I figured I’d better concentrate on one mystery at a time, at least for now.
“I suppose that being from an affluent family, Miguel’s got plenty of money to throw away on drugs,” I commented.
Germán shook his head. “I think you’re wrong there, ’mana. The swanky clothes and fancy car, sure, they come from his Papi. But I don’t think he can hit them up for the money he’s blowing up his nose, at least not without making them suspicious. That’s why he lives in a dump outside the city limits. He has to economize.” He drew out the vowels of the last word.
I finished my soda and tossed the empty can into the nearby recycling bin. “Cielos! Who would’ve guessed? I wonder how he gets the money to pay for his habit.”
“Ay, that’s where things get funky. Being Miguel’s so connected, he has ways of finding things out about people Chismes, gossip, that sort of thing.” Germán shifted his skinny body closer to me in his chair. “Word on the street is that when he comes up with a juicy tidbit on someone, he threatens to go public unless the mark pays him to keep his mouth shut.”
Michael Kent, a blackmailer! It made sense, though. He was just getting started on Georgina. I said, “Do you think he could’ve been blackmailing Eddy, and when Eddy refused to pony up, he killed him? What could he have been blackmailing Eddy about?”
My brother, the Man of the World, shrugged. “Maybe about Calderón’s relationships with women. According to chismes, that theater prof was a real ladies’ man. Joe Selos’ woman was over the moon about him. That Dolores Lopes chica, too, and who knows who else?”
Who else, indeed! Georgina, Bibi, probably Olivia, me—well, almost me. That pretty much covered every female in the department except Mrs. Webber.
“If the prof was fooling around with a married woman and with a student,” Germán said, “I don’t think he’d like his jefe finding out about it. Maybe Miguel had proof and was blackmailing the teacher. Or, could be the professor found out about Miguel’s habit and threatened to expose him to his parents unless Miguel anted up.”
“You mean a blackmailer blackmailing the blackmailer?” I shook my head, bewildered. “Somehow, I don’t think Eddy was the sort to extort money from anybody.”
Again, my brother, the Answer Man, shrugged. “Since Miguel’s parents give lotsa dough to your college, maybe your prof wanted Miguel to influence them to support him for some prestige thing like a medal or something.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Something like tenure?”
“Mira, I don’t know what is this tenure thing. What I do know is there are lotsa tíos raros at that college. I hear about one scandal after another up there, so it makes me wonder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take that, Dolores. She sleeps with Miguel, and him, thinking he’s God’s gift to women, spreads it around that he’s given her a mercy fuck.”
“No!”
My brother saw my face turn lobster red. “Sorry to sound crude, but those were his words, not mine. As they say, ‘A woman’s honor consists of the good opinion the world has of her.’ That’s probably why Javier Malecón got so bent out of shape and punched out Miguel.”
“Then are Javier and Dolores dating?” I remembered the affection with which they treated each other at rehearsal.
“Who knows?” Germán said with a lift of a hand. “That Malecón is another tío raro.”
I raised my eyebrows and shifted in the folding chair. “What’s so strange about Javier? He’s a bit quiet in class, but he’s smart, polite, and turns in his work on time.”
Germán shook his head. “Are other teachers up at the college as innocent as you?”
If I hadn’t been hanging on every word, I would have taken exception to the remark, but I didn’t want to interrupt the flow.
He said, “You know Malecón used to be a boxer and was even a Golden Gloves champ?”
I nodded, recalling my conversation with Eddy about Javier on the day of the punch-out.
“And do you also remember Sonny Vasconcelos from high school?”
“The boxer who married my childhood friend Marirosa? He won the State Junior Boxing Championship my senior year.”
“Sonny and a bunch of other ex-boxers still train at a gym in Longmont. Malecón goes there, too, but doesn’t have anything to do with them. Won’t even go for a pisto after a workout. Fíjate! Everybody thinks something’s up with him, but no one can figure him out.”
Al came over to us. “She’s all fixed and ready to go!” he said with a broad grin.
“Excelente!” I stood, picked up my purse, and began fishing in it for my phone with my credit card app. “How much do I owe you?”
Germán stood, exchanged glances with Al, and put his hand on my arm. “It’s cool, ’mana. I’ll take care of it.”
“Well, thanks guys. And Germán, thank you for the information.”
On the road home, my brain spun with thoughts about what my brother had told me. Could Eddy have been a blackmailer blackmailing a blackmailer so he could get tenure? Or maybe he found out about Michael’s machinations. In an effort to reform him, Eddy could have threatened to tell the parents unless Michael cleaned up his act. Then Michael killed him to shut him up. I sighed. I consider myself a good judge of character, and Eddy didn’t seem like a tattletale.
What a menace Michael was! Not only did he go around kissing and telling and practically assaulting women, but he was also a blackmailer and a drug addict. If he was blackmailing Eddy, what did he know about others in the department? Who else had something to hide? I recalled the faces of Baldomero Vigil, Juventino Guerrero, Clive Strange, and the dagger-eyed Bibi Pomodoro. Then there was the so-called tío raro, the “weirdo Javier.” I’d have to find out how he fit into the puzzle. I couldn’t wait to mull over the information with Olivia and Elsbeth.
I raced home, and as soon as I got inside, my cell rang. It was Olivia.
“I’m glad you called,” I said as I set my purse on the kitchen table and went around opening windows to let in fresh air. “Wait until you hear what my brother told me.”
“I’ve got news for you, too.” Olivia’s voice held repressed excitement.
“Since you called me, your news first.”
“I found Eddy’s journal, and as our students might say, it’s huge.”