Feast Day of Fools - James Lee Burke [145]
Negrito squatted next to him, his greasy leather hat flattening the hair on his forehead. “Don’t pay no attention to what’s in that newspaper,” he said.
“They’re gonna put it on us, hombre. It means trouble.”
“That means trouble? What do you call killing a DEA agent?”
“He wasn’t an agent. He was an informant and a corrupt Mexican cop. Nobody cares what we did to him. Reverend Cody was a minister.”
“We didn’t do it to him, man.”
“But our prints are there, estúpido.”
“That ain’t what’s bothering you, Krill. It’s something else, ain’t it?”
“He baptized my children. Nobody else would do that. Not even La Magdalena. To treat him with disrespect now is to treat my children with disrespect.”
“That don’t make sense.”
“Where’s your brain? He had the power to set my children free from limbo. Should I tell them I care nothing for the man who did this for them? Can’t you think? What is wrong with you?”
“You are making me confused. It makes my head hurt.”
“Because you are stupid and self-centered. Go get the others and meet me at the car.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get the men who did this to the minister.”
“No, no, this is a bad idea. Listen to me, Krill. I’m your friend, the only one you got.”
“Then follow me or go into the desert. Or to your whores in Durango.”
“You’re going after Noie Barnum. Some of the others might think you’re gonna sell him and maybe forget to share the money.”
Krill stood up to his full height and pulled Negrito’s hat off his head. Then he slapped him with it, hard, the leather chin cord biting into the scalp. He waited a few seconds and hit him again. “We’re going after the Russian. He should have been killed a long time ago. Don’t ever accuse me of treachery again.”
“How you know he did it?” Negrito asked, his eyes watering, his nostrils widening as he ate his pain and humiliation at being whipped by Krill.
“Because he hates God, stupid one.”
“I hear this from the killer of a Jesuit priest?”
“They told us he and the others were Communists. There were five of them. I shot one, and the others shot the rest. It was in a garden outside the house where they lived. We killed the housekeeper, too. I dream of them often.”
“Everybody dies. Why feel guilt over what has to happen to all of us?”
“You say these things because you are incapable of thought. So I don’t hold your words or deeds against you.”
“You hit me, jefe. You would not do that to an animal, but you would do it to me? You hurt me deep inside.”
“I’m sorry. You are a handicapped man, and I must treat you as such.”
“I do not like what is happening here. All this makes my head throb, like I have a great sickness inside it. Why do you make me feel like this, jefe?”
“It is not me. You are one of the benighted, Negrito. Your problems are in your confused blood and your tangled thoughts. For that reason I must be kind to you.”
“I will forget you said that to me, ’cause you are a mestizo, just like me. I say we return to Durango. I say we get drunk and bathe in puta and be the friends we used to be.”
“Then you must go and pursue your lower nature.”
“No, I’ll never leave you, man,” Negrito said. “What does ‘benighted’ mean?”
Krill gestured toward the hills in the west, where the sun had become a red melt below the horizon and the darkness was spreading up into the sky. “It means the dying of the light,” he said. “The benighted place is out there where the coyotes and carrion birds and Gila monsters live and the spirits wander without hope of ever seeing the light.”
AT TEN THE next morning Pam Tibbs tapped on the doorjamb of Hackberry’s office. She had a yellow legal pad in her hand. “This is what we’ve found out about Noie Barnum so far,” she said. “There’re a couple of holes in it. You want to hear it now or wait till Maydeen gets off the phone?”
“Who’s she talking to?”
“The state attorney’s office in Alabama.”
“Sit down,” Hackberry said.
“Barnum grew up in a small town on the Tennessee line and was an