Moondogs - Alexander Yates [131]
“I would have cut his balls off,” Alice said. Her frankness startled him.
“If you’d been me?”
“If I’d been your mother. Did she know about this dive-girl?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“It wouldn’t be, if you’d told her,” Alice said.
“Hey, I told her he was a cheat, but I didn’t do specifics. If she wanted specifics, she could have found them out herself.” He stood and noticed that the cherry syrup from the napkin had bled through the lining of his pants pocket. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Alice stayed seated. “You know, just because something bad happened … I mean, what he did—what he was doing—it’s still lousy. You can be mad at him and worried for him at the same time. It doesn’t mean you love him less. Don’t think that you have to choose.” She slowly got up from her chair. “Have you met this other one? His new girl?” she asked.
“No,” Benicio said. “I haven’t. And I don’t want to.” He made for the exit, eager to put the scene with Hon behind him. Alice caught up and took his hand. They made it halfway across the boulevard before a waiter from the restaurant caught up with them. The cherries, the ice water, had to be paid for.
THE NEXT DAY WAS SATURDAY, but with nowhere else to go they returned to the embassy. Alice continued to plow through back-issue papers, expanding her search to include articles about the recent election, and Charlie Fuentes, and Howard’s glittering circle of friends. Meanwhile Benicio dozed in front of the computer, still tired from a night spent chasing away that goddamn silly dream about Howard in the snow. By afternoon the annex was deserted, and they explored a little. They examined framed photos of long-dead soldiers at the VA. They stood behind bulletproof glass at the visa lines. They fucked in a restroom and called each other filthy names. One of the names he called her was “Solita.” He couldn’t get his father’s woman, or June, or all that cash out of his head. He was still thinking about her when Edilberto came to pick them up in the evening.
They’d just gotten back to the Shangri-La when Benicio announced that he’d forgotten his wallet and cell phone with the Marine at Post One.
“No biggie,” Alice said. “We’ll go back.”
“It’s silly for us both to go,” Benicio said. “Why don’t Berto and I drop you off? It shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”
Alice was sleepy—still not over her jet lag—and she didn’t put up a fight. She kissed him and got out of the car. Then, once they were safely out of sight, Benicio took his wallet out of his back pocket and set it in his lap. He unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned forward and told Edilberto that they weren’t really going back to the embassy.
“Sir?”
“I want you to take me somewhere else.”
“Where, sir?”
“I don’t know where yet, but I think you know.” He paused. “My father sometimes takes girls home with him, doesn’t he?”
Edilberto sat motionless in the front, his eyes avoiding the rearview mirror. The jeepney ahead lurched forward, and when he didn’t follow a motorized tricycle zipped into the void. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t really …” he paused and glanced back. His expression hardened. “It’s not your business.”
Benicio shifted in his seat. He didn’t expect Edilberto to be forthcoming about his father’s nightlife, but the direct rebuff was startling. “You’re right,” he said as he opened the wallet in his lap, pulled out four thousand-peso notes and dropped them into the front passenger seat. Two of the notes got caught in a gust from the air-conditioning vent and fluttered inelegantly into the crack between the seat and door. Benicio tried not to let it faze him.