FLIP SLEPT IN. IN COFFIELD IT WAS UP AT SIX o’clock after a lights out at ten the night before. No one was allowed to stay in their cell when it was time for chow. There was no snooze button. This morning when Flip stirred at the habitual hour he just turned over and put a pillow over his head.
The heat from the sun hitting the sheets finally stirred him. He wandered to the bathroom, took a piss and had a shower. He brushed his teeth with the same toothbrush he used at Coffield; he’d brought it with him.
It was windy outside. He could hear the gusts buffeting the walls of the house. His mother wasn’t home and he remembered she had a Saturday morning coffee klatch with some friends of hers. That hadn’t changed. Breakfast was cold cereal with milk and a glass of orange juice.
He put on a sweatshirt, found his basketball in his closet and brought it out onto the driveway. First he dribbled a bit, just warming up, but then he took to shooting. He made standing shots at first, then lay-ups. He wasn’t tall enough or strong enough to spring for a dunk. The wind made long shots difficult.
When he checked his watch it was about eleven. He thought about going inside, watching some TV, when he saw the blue car creeping up the street. The driver leaned over the steering wheel, peering at each house number. The car coasted to a stop in front of the house and the driver put it in park. The man put down the passenger side window and leaned over. “Hey,” he said, “are you Flip?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Emilio. Come on over here.”
Flip came down to the curb with his ball. If he had to, he could throw it in the guy’s face and run the other way. He measured things that way because that was how it was done inside: what can he do to me, what can I do to him?
“You’re Flip? Flip Morales?”
“Yeah, I’m Flip.”
“There’s somebody who wants to meet you. Why don’t you come on with me?”
“Who am I supposed to meet?”
“Come on, don’t be dumb. I come from José. You know José?”
“All right, give me a minute.”
Flip brought the basketball inside and then locked up the house. He thought about leaving his mother a note, but he didn’t. When he came back to the car, Emilio unlocked the door for him. “Get in,” he said.
Emilio put the window back up. For some reason, he had the heater going, so it was hot and stuffy in the car. They pulled away from the curb and cruised to the end of the block before making a left-hand turn. Emilio seemed to know his way a little better now. “So you were inside?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
Emilio looked sidelong at Flip and Flip tried to guess his age. He was younger than Flip and he had a wispy mustache that reminded Flip of a teenager. Emilio was tattooed on his arm, just below the cuff of his short-sleeved shirt, with the pattern of a beaded armband, Indian-style.
“How was it? Inside, I mean.”
“It was inside,” Flip replied. “It’s the same everywhere.”
“I only got county jail time,” Emilio said. “That’s got to be different.”
“I guess you’re right. Where are we going?”
“You hungry?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Good.”
They drove out of Flip’s neighborhood north until they were nearly out of Segundo Barrio, then made a sharp turn onto a street lined with businesses. Just past a used car lot was a taquería called El Cihualteco. Emilio pulled into the parking lot.
The taquería had a big, open patio with wooden picnic tables lined up underneath a long awning. There were a few people eating already, men in work shirts and uniforms. Another man sat apart from them, his white-collared sky-blue shirt standing out. He looked up from his basket as they arrived, lifted a hand in greeting.
Emilio pointed. “José,” he said.
“I get out here?”
“You get out here.”
“How do I get back home?”
“I’ll wait for you. Just see José.”
Flip got out and crossed the gravel parking lot. The wind whipped at the fringe of the taquería’s awning and Flip saw a man in a green uniform grab his basket of food before it blew away.
José Martinez smiled. “Flip! Come over and sit down!”
José sat alone. Flip took the other side of the picnic table. Up close he could see that José was a young-looking thirties with just the merest touches of smile lines at the corners of his eyes. His goatee was closely barbered and his shirt pressed. He had chicken tacos in his basket.
“It’s nice to meet you finally,” José said and he offered his hand. Flip shook it. “I heard good things. Do you want something to eat? Lunch is on me.”
Flip took the offered ten-dollar bill and got up from the table. When he came back he had a basket of barbacoa tacos that oozed grease onto the wax paper. The man behind the counter drowned the tacos in cheese, diced tomatoes and shredded lettuce. The wind whipped the smell of them away, but the taste remained.
José nodded his head as Flip ate. “Good? I love this place.”
“It’s good,” Flip said around a mouthful.
“Better than prison food for sure.”
The two of them ate quietly. José licked his fingers when he was done and took a drink from a cup of soda. He waited for Flip to finish. “Get more if you want,” he said at last. “I don’t mind.”
“That’s okay.”
José nodded again. “All right, then. We can talk now.”
Flip looked at José and waited. The wind gusted again and disturbed José’s hair. The man wore it a little long. Flip’s head was almost shaved.
“I got the call on you,” José said. “They say you’re down for the cause. Is that so?”
“I earned my huaraches.”
“That’s what I heard. Stabbed a white boy?”
Flip shrugged a little. “No one could say I did.”
“I like that,” José said and showed his teeth. They were white and even. “You know how to keep your mouth shut. I know some guys, they’d be all about talking it up. ‘Yeah, I stuck him.’ You know what I’m saying?”
“That’s a good way to go into the hole,” Flip said.
“It’s fucking stupid is what it is,” José returned. “But you’re not stupid. You seen your PO yet?”
“Not yet. I got a week before I have to report in.”
“They’re gonna try to bust your balls.”
“I can deal with it.”
“You got a job lined up?”
“Yeah. A guy my mother knows, he offered me work at a warehouse.”
“Place that ships groceries, I guess. I don’t know much about it.”
José considered. “Good job?”
“Part time. Pays something. That’s all my PO wants.”
“Can’t live on your own on what a part-time job pays,” José said.
“I got my mother’s place. My old room.”
“That’ll do for now, but you got to have some spending money,” José said. “You come in under me, you’ll get some. Maybe enough to move you out of there, into your own apartment. I can’t make any guarantees, but you’ll do all right.”
“What do I have to do for it?”
José spread his hands just as another gust of wind hit the patio. The wax paper in his basket was whisked away, but he caught the basket before it could slip off the table. “Mierda,” he said. “I don’t like littering. Why don’t you take this back up to the guy, okay? And throw your stuff out. We don’t need paper flying all over the place.”
Flip collected José’s basket and took both to the counter. He emptied his basket into the trash, then passed them to the man at the register. His tacos made him thirsty. He bought a Coke with the leftover money from the ten.
When he sat down again, José was staring off at traffic going by. The man came back to him slowly, as if he were caught thinking. “That’s better,” he said. “Got to keep our city clean.”
“I was asking you what I got to do for you,” Flip said.
“Huh? Whatever needs doing, mi hermano. You’re down, right?”
“I’m down.”
“Then you got nothing to worry about. I got little pots all over the place and I got to keep my fingers in them. Whatever I can’t take care of myself, I get other people to do. Like Emilio. I need you picked up, he makes sure you’re picked up. He don’t ask no questions and when it comes time to spread the wealth around he gets something for his trouble.”
Flip didn’t look at his watch, but he knew it was coming around to noon. New people were coming up to the counter to order and a small line formed. Cars started to slip into the parking lot. He glanced over and saw Emilio waiting behind the wheel, going nowhere. “I don’t got a driver’s license,” he said.
“That’s okay. I can find something you can do.”
“When do you want me to get started?”
“Not so fast, okay. Let’s take our time. I want you to get to know my crew, introduce you around. I had a party at my place last night, we’re going clubbing tonight. You want to come?”
“To a club?”
“Sure. Do some dancing, have some drinks, meet some people. How’s that sound?”
“Parole says I can’t.”
“You always do what you’re told?”
“All right.”
José smiled and offered his knuckles for a bump. “Yeah, now we’re talking. It’s your welcome back party! Everybody will know you after tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, it’s getting crowded here now. Why don’t you have Emilio take you back to your place? He’ll come back to get you around nine. You got clothes to dress up?”
“Yeah, I got some.”
“Look sharp. There’ll be ladies.”
José stood up and Flip knew the interview was over. They shook hands again and José turned away without saying good-bye. He walked to a Lexus parked at the edge of the lot. Flip went back to Emilio.
“Good?” Emilio asked when Flip got in.
“Good.”
“All right.”