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    Big Red Tiquila - Rick Riordan

    Page 33
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      "Yes."

      "You’re telling me now you’re going to shut out the possibility? You’re so sure it wouldn’t work?"

      "Yes," I lied. "I’m sure."

      She stared at me, looking for chinks in the armor. I didn’t let her find any. Slowly, the tightness in her shoulder muscles relaxed.

      “All of that," she said softly, "just for you to leave me again."

      She waited for a response. It was hard, it was very hard, but I let her have the final word.

      Then she turned and walked out of the gazebo, down to her mother’s empty black Cadillac. It was much too big, much too formal a car for her, I thought. But as she drove off, she looked as if she were learning to be at home behind the wheel.

      I took my suit coat off, then walked down to the corner of Austin Highway and Eisenhower, letting the sun turn me into a walking water fountain while I waited for the bus. There was a vendor on the corner selling fresh fruit next to black velvet paintings of Aztec Warriors and Bleeding Jesuses. I guess I looked like I needed something. He smiled crookedly and handed me a free slice of watermelon. I thanked him for not giving me one of the paintings instead.

      "Hey, vato," someone said behind me.

      I turned and saw Ralph leaning out the window of his maroon Lincoln and grinning like a fiend.

      "You lose your wheels, man?"

      I shrugged. “More like I lost Jess’s. They’re denying me visiting rights to the VW."

      Ralph laughed and showed me a bottle of Herradura Anejo and a six-pack of Big Red.

      “You still need friends like these?" he asked.

      "Only more than anything," I told him, and I got in the car.

     

     

     



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