13

They know Gus by name here. All the waitresses in their puffed out uniforms, gliding by with mountains of food balanced on their shoulders, all of them bend in and smile, which feels like a kiss, feels like an embrace, feels like love, their faces mothering and accommodating. “Hello!” one cries, bumping the table. “Nice to see you again, Gus. How are you, my friend?”

“Just fine.”

Another approaches. “Oh, hijo, you’re back! You good, baby?” “Very good. Thanks.”

The air carries the crispy fried grease right to his nose. Delicious. But he knows better. But still, delicious. He recognizes all of them, the waitresses, they’ve been here forever, which might explain why this place feels like someone’s house, not a restaurant, and why from the roadside it looks like a dive in a dive neighborhood, but inside it’s your Aunt Rosita’s kitchen. He admires the woodwork of the tables and chairs. Thick, pale carvings, built for a hearty meal.

“Gusto! My baby! You alone?” It’s Irena, a sixty-something-year-old original with a wide face and huge oval eyes. Almost wrinkle free, her golden skin sheens from a busy night. Like most of the other servers, she wears her hair pulled back. She speaks in what Gus calls a Mexicali accent. A little Mexico, a little Southern California. A border town voice. Not uncommon in the Southwest.

“No, I’m expecting two others.”

She strokes his shoulder. “Your detective friend, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Good. You want your margarita.”

“Sure,” he says, and just then he sees Alex and Kelly passing by the front window. In a moment, they’re in the lobby and Gus waves them over. He gets up and gives Alex a brotherly hug. Kelly kisses him hard on the cheek.

“We’ve missed you,” she says.

“Likewise,” he tells her. They all sit and Gus looks at his detective friend and sees that Alex is looking good. Happy, healthy, busy, devoted. There’s something about this couple, Gus thinks. Their admiration for each other is obvious; they talk about it all the time. They’re demonstrative. But there’s something that doesn’t say a word, that doesn’t have a gesture, which simply resides between them. It’s nothing new. It’s a vibe Gus gets when he’s with them. Maybe it’s an aura-for-two he sees. But he senses a powerful, completely magnetic devotion between them.

Irena returns with his drink. Alex and Kelly order the same for themselves.

“I’m enlisting you on the Viveca Canning case,” Alex tells him. “Unofficially.”

“As opposed to . . .”

“You just need to stay under the radar,” Mills explains. “You’ve impressed my sergeant. He thinks you’re kind of amazing and kind of crazy, which is pretty much what everyone thinks, especially when you get it right. Are you available, say, Monday morning?”

Gus nods. “As you know, I prefer to fly under the radar, so, yeah, I’m happy to help, so long as you don’t mention me in your interviews with the press.”

“I hope to hell not to be doing interviews,” Alex tells him. “You know I avoid the media like the plague.”

“Then I don’t suppose you’ll be too thrilled with the news I bring tonight.”

The rest of the margaritas arrive, and they all hoist for a toast and clink. “Here’s to old friends, new cases, and a sergeant who pretty much lets me do what I want,” says Alex.

They order their dinner. As soon as Irena retreats into the kitchen,

Gus leans forward, plants urgency in his eyes. “I told you I have someone who wants to meet you,” he says. “Someone who might have information on the case. She’s a news reporter.”

Alex shakes his head and scowls. “You’re right. I’m not thrilled.”

“She’s a TV reporter.”

“Even worse.”

“No,” Gus says more sternly than he had intended, “it’s not like that. She’s for real. None of that beauty queen nonsense. I got a very good vibe from her.”

“What kind of vibe?” Alex asks him.

“Solid. Truth. And, I don’t know, some kind of mystery.”

“You have me intrigued,” Kelly says.

The dinner arrives with a bit of fanfare thanks to the sizzle of Alex’s fajitas. They dig in, not a fried meal between them. Spanish music plays faintly. Noisy families indulge all around them, most of them immersed in boisterous Spanish conversation. A few of the children shriek, but they’re gorgeous to Gus, those eyes, those smiles. He wouldn’t admit it here, maybe only to Billie, but the children break his heart.

“I don’t know why you never adopted,” Kelly says.

“Is it that obvious?” Gus asks, feeling his cheeks blush.

“Yeah,” Kelly replies. “Anytime I see you around children.”

“Even now—” Alex says.

“Even now,” Kelly interrupts. “Years after we learned about your sperm count.”

Gus turns to Alex and, at the very moment the music stops playing, says, “She knows about my sperm count?”

Then, looking up and surveying the room, Gus sees the entire restaurant staring back at him.

Kelly squeezes his knee.

Alex instantly erupts in a heap of laughter. He’s clutching his stomach. There are tears in his eyes. He won’t stop laughing.

“I think I should go,” Gus whispers.

Kelly pulls him close, her arm nudging his shoulder. “Oh, I am so sorry, Gus. I’m so sorry. I mean, we tell each other everything, Alex and I, always have. I had no idea it was still a fresh wound for you. I would never—”

“I wouldn’t call it a fresh wound.”

The music resumes.

“Great timing,” Gus says.

“Finish your dinner,” Kelly tells him. “You’re not going anywhere. You think these people never heard of, you know, your issue before. It’s a fact of life.”

“OK,” Gus says. “OK. Maybe we should change the subject.”

Kelly releases him with a tap on the shoulder. “That’s my boy. Go on tell us about this reporter who has you so ensnared . . .”

“Oh come on. Please don’t,” Alex begs.

“I don’t know why you’re always so hostile toward the media,” Gus tells him. “Your job is not much more popular than theirs. You’ve said so yourself.”

“I know. But a lot of them like to pretend they’re detectives. It just gets under my skin.”

“But she’s not looking for information from you,” Gus says. “I think she’s looking to give you information.”

“What kind of information?” Alex asks.

“I guess she has sources who are telling her stuff about your victim. They might know something about who murdered her or why she was murdered.”

“She said that? Your reporter friend?”

“In so many words she said that. And she’s not my friend. She’s a client.”

“Right,” Alex says. “A client. I’ll accept any and all leads,” he says with a smile.

“So I can give her your number?”

Alex is attacking his plate now, gobbling up the food like it’s the last carcass on earth. In midchew he says, “Yuh, sure,” without looking up, without slowing down.

While Alex plunders the table, Gus turns to Kelly and says, “You look cold.”

“In this weather? With my hormones? I’m sweating.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I sensed a chill in you. Or a chilly draft inside you.” Gus’s signals are getting crossed. He can tell. Vibes everywhere. The room expands. He hears a siren. Then an ambulance comes wailing down the street, its whirling lights reflecting in the restaurant window. Rings of blue and red spin around the room. “No, I’m good,” Kelly says. “How are things with Billie?”

“Fine,” he says, swallowing another bite of dinner. “Just saw her on the way back to Phoenix. She’s working on a new album. Or what she thinks will become an album. The music industry has changed so much.”

“I bet.”

“But she’s a prolific writer, you know. I don’t think retirement is even a possibility for her.”

“And the long-distance thing?” Kelly asks. “That’s working okay?” He shrugs. “I guess. It’s not ideal. But it works for us right now.” And then he shakes his head because the truth is he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t know when he’s going to know. And as long as he can stay distracted, then, maybe this thing will figure itself out. To that end, he’s thinking about taking up knitting, or BASE jumping. He scoops up another forkful of the enchilada verde and right then, right as he takes a bite, he feels the G-force of a jumbo jet going down. The bottom is falling out. The plane tilts, it’s almost vertical, descending now at hysterical speed. He’s spinning. Nobody can see him. And he can see no one as he fully disappears into the darkness of a heavy sea.