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The fading sun played off the high cloud ceiling, painting the sky crimson above the patio of Don Terrero’s Mexican Kitchen. Del studied the menu, his left foot propped on a wire chair to elevate his wrapped thigh. Next to the table a pair of crutches leaned against the synthetic adobe exterior of the restaurant. The waiter poked his head out the door. Del lifted a nearly empty longneck Corona from the plastic tabletop.
“Sí,” the waiter said with a nod. A moment later he returned with a fresh bottle.
“Thanks.”
“Sí, señor. Are you still waiting for your friend?”
Del nodded, then perked up. “No, here he is.”
Ryan Edsell, cell phone to his ear, waved from the parking lot. He disappeared from view as he entered the restaurant, emerging on the patio shortly, still engaged in his conversation.
“Fuck, dude.” Edsell’s language elicited a nasty glare from a mother dining with her young children two tables down from Del’s. “Call me the minute you hear anything ... Okay? ... Yeah ... Later.” He set his phone down on the table and swiped Del’s new beer.
“Hey!”
“Relax, bitch. He’ll bring you another one.”
“What’s going on?”
“What’s goin’ on? Shit’s hittin’ the fan’s goin’ on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus got busted.”
Del’s face whitened.
“They took him down last night. Fuckin’ funeral home’s roped off in yellow tape. They carted out fourteen boxes of shit.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Mendenhall. If you believe him, he was just driving past when the Federales showed up.”
“For real?”
“Fucked if I know. But that’s a motherfucker of a coincidence. I bet Mendenhall’s the one who blew him in.”
“Why would he do that?”
Edsell threw a hasty finger across his lips as their waiter approached.
“Señors,” he started, before pausing a moment, a confused expression creasing his face. “Oh, I see you have shared your cerveza, amigo. You will like another?”
“Please,” Del replied.
“Me too, amigo,” Edsell said. The beer he had appropriated was already half drained.
“And are we ready for dinner?” the waiter asked.
“Yeah,” Del said. “I’ll take a Number Seven.”
“Same here.”
“Two Nomber Sevens. Sí.”
When he had withdrawn, Edsell glanced around suspiciously then leaned toward Del. “Mendenhall claims Jesus shorted him on his last couple of purchases. Fucker was pissed. I reckon he might’a dropped the dime.”
“So what are you gonna do now?”
“Same as you, dude. Shit my pants for a while and hope this all blows over.”
“What have you got to worry about? You already served your time.”
“Exactly. I don’t need my name coming back up. Kinda undermines my ‘Sorry, thought it was Mexican vitamins’ excuse.”
“What was in the boxes they took?”
Edsell shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Product, supplies, probably records. Some fuckin’ urns, maybe. You know Jesus kept a hell of a log. I saw it once. He tracked everyone with some kind of secret code. But that kid’s a fuckin’ dope. He probably kept the answer key right next to it.”
Del dropped his forehead into his right hand and closed his eyes. How far back did those records go?
“Of course, knowing Jesus, maybe he started eating the evidence when he saw the cops,” Edsell laughed. “I can just picture that fucker stuffin’ paper into his mouth. A little Tabasco, he wouldn’t even know it wasn’t lunch.”
“God damn Mendenhall.”
“I don’t really know it was him.” Edsell slugged his beer. “He’s guiltier than any of us. Mendy was on the frequent flyer program. I don’t know where the hell he got the coin for all that. Would have figured maybe after it killed his best friend he might stop, but he seems like he ramped it up if anything.”
“Waste of money. Never did him any good. He can’t lay off the junk.”
“He’s the reigning king of junk.”
“He was fun to have on a bus ride, though.”
“Yeah,” Edsell laughed. “That kid would do anything stupid for money. Remember him hanging his balls out the window when we passed that chick in the convertible?”
“How could I forget it?”
“Then she,” Edsell gasped. “She ... when she whipped out that cell phone camera ... holy fuck, I thought he was gonna rip his nut sack off trying to get it back in the bus.”
A laugh rumbled through Del’s midsection, rising slowly until his shoulders shook and tears stained the rims of his eyes. He hadn’t laughed in so long. He felt a throbbing in the back of his leg and bent his knee to reduce the strain on his hamstring.
“That thing still hurt?” Edsell asked.
“Yeah.”
“I thought it was getting better.”
“I pushed it too hard.” He couldn’t take the sitting. Instead he had wrapped it tight and snuck out one morning just after dawn and tried to run along the beach. By noon his hamstring had swollen like a party balloon. Doc Stone swore at him and asked whether he needed a hearing test. Gilchrist screamed until his face turned red, splashing spittle across the desk in his office. Under threat of fine, Del was prohibited from doing anything other than getting it massaged for the rest of the week. Then, after being cleared by the doctor, he’d start with stretching exercises and build his way back up to the stationary bike before even attempting to jog again.
“They need some offense in the meanwhile, tell Gilchrist to give me a call.”
“Hey, if Lopes is getting a shot, I don’t see why you don’t.”
“No shit, bro. I can handle first. Played it a few times last year. I’m Mr. Versatility.”
“You must have pissed someone off somewhere. They invited Lopes, Kennedy, Estevez ...”
“Fucking Bolen.”
“Yeah, Bolen. I mean, none of them are gonna make it, but at least they got invited. What’d you do?”
“Still paying for getting caught, probably.”
“Maybe Bear got in their ear after you and Ginny broke up.”
“Nah, he’s still cool with me.”
“You ever talk to her anymore?”
“Not since Christmas.”
“That kinda sucks.”
Edsell closed one eye and stared down the neck of his bottle, watching the bubbles shift as he tilted the beer up and back. “There’s a fuckin’ bug in there.”
“You gonna finish it?”
“Well, yeah.” He lifted the bottle to his mouth, filtering the remains by clenching his teeth. After emptying it, he touched his forefinger to his front tooth and wiped a black gnat on the table top. “Got it.”
“Very impressive.”
“I’ve learned a few things over the years, bud.”
“So you’ll be all set when a swarm of gnats attacks up in Rochester this summer.”
“Yep. Woo-hoo. Third season in Rochester. I’m thinking of running for mayor.”
“Rochester ain’t so bad.”
“Yeah, right. That fuckin’ park kills me. You know how many balls I left on that warning track last year?”
“You gotta put it right down the line to get it out there.”
“No shit. I start thinking like that and I get pull happy, messes me up. Kinda doing that now, actually. I’m one-for-twelve so far.”
“You guys have only played, what, four games?”
Edsell nodded.
“That’s nothing. I’m stuck on two-for-eleven. Probably for the rest of camp.”
“You really think so?”
“I don’t know,” Del replied. “It’s sure starting to feel that way. Reminds me of when I tore my oblique.”
“You had to get some help then.”
“Yeah. Funny thing was I didn’t think it would make any difference. Wicker was right on that one.”
“Get him on the horn, babe.”
“Right. He’d probably be all for it, too. That’s the last thing I need about now. I’m never touching any of that shit again.”
“You and me both, bro.”