Chollo stared at the club. He was slender and relaxed, with black hair to his shoulders, and a diamond earring. His thin dark face was more Indian than Spanish. He wore a black silk-finish raincoat, belted at the waist, the collar up.
"You fucking Yankees know how to do ugly," Chollo said. "I'll give you that."
"Hey," I said. "This is an Hispanic joint."
"It's Yankee Hispanic," Chollo said. "You could have more fun at the podiatrist."
"We're not here for fun," I said.
"That's good," Chollo said.
We went in. The room was brightly lighted, painted pink, and full of small tables and rickety chairs. The juke box was loud. There was a bar across the far end. Behind the bar was a huge bartender with thick forearms, a big belly, and a bald head. As he moved down the bar toward us, I could see the sawed-off baseball bat stuck in his belt slanting across the small of his back. He didn't took at me. He spoke to Chollo in Spanish.
"Tequila," Chollo said.
There were entwined snakes tattooed on the bartender's forearms. When he took the bottle of tequila off the shelf behind him and poured us two shots, the muscle movement in his forearms made the snakes move. He put the bottle back and bent over, rinsing some glasses in the sink beneath the bar. I took a sip. It was the worst stuff I ever drank. Especially in the forenoon. Chollo took a sip of the tequila. His face remained expressionless. He said something to the bartender. The bartender didn't bother to look up when he answered. Chollo translated.
"He says we do not have to drink it."
"What did you tell him?" I said.
"I told him his horse had kidney trouble,"
"Who are you?" and answered in Spanish.
Santiago nodded.
"It will save us time," he said, "if we all speak English. You are Mexican, I can tell by the accent."
"Si," Chollo said. "East LA."
"Had you been from around here," Santiago said, "I would have known you."
He looked at me without moving his head. "And you?"
"Name is Spenser," I said. "I'm looking for a woman named Lisa St. Claire. She's missing. I heard she might be in Proctor with a guy named Luis Deleon."
"And you wish my help?"
"Yeah."
Besides Santiago and the guy with the gray hair, there were three other Hispanic men leaning on various walls of the room looking deadly and scornful, like a bunch of extras in a George Raft movie. In fact, the whole place had a kind of theatrical quality, as if it had been designed specifically as a dangerous gangster office. Freddie Santiago didn't take himself lightly.
"Why do you think she is with Deleon?"
"He is apparently her former boyfriend. There is a message on her answering machine the day she disappeared from a man who might have an Hispanic accent. He says he'll stop by."
"That's all?"
"They say the romance was a hot one."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"You think that's enough reason to come poking your Anglo nose into my city?"
"It's more reason than I've got to poke it anywhere else."
Santiago smiled briefly.
"What will you do if you find her?" he said.
"That'll depend on her circumstances. First I'll find her."
"And her husband? Where is he?"
"Somebody shot him."
"Dead?"
"Almost."
"And this young man?" Santiago nodded at Chollo.
"My translator."
"And valet, perhaps? Does he lick your Anglo boots clean as well?"
Neither Chollo's voice, nor his face, showed any expression.
"You should be careful, Senor, of your mouth," he said gently.
Santiago said, "Julio, throw the Chicano out."
One of the background thugs heaved himself languidly off the wall and walked toward Chollo. He was maybe four inches taller and thirty pounds heavier. He had the bored look that thugs work so hard on. He put a hand on Chollo's arm. Chollo's hands moved so fast I couldn't quite tell what he did, but Julio was on the floor gasping for air and clutching at his throat, and there was a 9mm automatic in Chollo's hand.
"Mistake, Jefe, to let me keep my gun. You think because there are five of you and two of us"
"Baptiste," Santiago said. "You and Tomas take Julio out until he stops choking."
The other two loungers came forward, watching Chollo out of the corner of their eyes, and got Julio on his feet and helped him from the room. Chollo didn't put the gun away, but he let the gun hand drop to his side, the barrel pointing at the floor.
"You are quick to take offense," Santiago said.
"We will get along better if you remember that," Chollo said.
Santiago smiled.
"I try to get along as well as I can," he said. He looked back at me. "And, you, Spenser, are you also quick to take offense?"
"Not me," I said. "I am a pussy cat."
"That may be," Santiago said, "though you do not look like a pussy cat."
I smiled like I had a mouthful of canary and let it pass.
"I will think about your situation," Santiago said. "And, truthfully, will consider if there is anything there for me. If there is, I will be in touch."
I took my card from my shirt pocket and put it on Santiago's green leather table top.
"Call me," I said.