Portland Noir - Kevin Sampsell [40]
I don’t say anything. All I can think about is the phone in Mike’s pocket.
“Please! Just tell him it was the paramedic!” Her voice breaks into a squeal.
“Cálmate, mujer.” Esteban smiles, still twirling the pencil. “I think our amigo here just needs a little motivation.”
Mike’s phone makes a whooshing noise to indicate that whoever called left a voice mail, but Esteban ignores it and steps on my abdomen again.
“You don’t want to help the poor güera over here?” he asks.
“Fuck you.”
“You know I’m going to kill you, no?” He presses down harder.
I try to speak, but can’t.
“Just tell me who opened the brick.” He takes his foot off, and gives a squeeze of the IV bag to bring me back around. “If you do that, I’ll let you load a few grams into that syringe you’re hiding behind your back, and you go off to junkie heaven …” He reaches over with the pencil and tickles my ear. “Or, if you want, we can always play a little more of Hide the Pencil.”
“Esteban …” Connie tries to intervene.
“Shhhh.” Esteban waves her off and speaks to me. “What do you think? Do you want to die the easy way or like the fucking mayate?”
Connie’s given up and is just staring at me.
Shortie and the other Mex guy are staring at me too.
Esteban is smiling.
Fuck it.
“It was her.” I tilt my head at the blond bitch, figuring it might buy me some time.
“No! Esteban, he’s—”
“Está bien,” Esteban reassures her. “Connie, do you really think I’m going to take a pinche junkie’s word over yours?”
“No, but I—”
“Está bien, okay?”
She nods, uncertain.
“Why don’t you help Jaime and Mario move the bricks out to the truck. This house isn’t safe anymore.”
Connie just looks at him.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
She reluctantly heads back into the hall, followed by the taller Mex, but Shortie lags behind and looks to Esteban for instructions.
Esteban hands him the Ruger and nods.
Shortie giggles as he slips the gun into his coat and trails the other two out into the hall.
“I guess we’re going to need a new güera.” Esteban walks back over. “And you know what? I think I changed my mind. We are going to play Hide the Lapíz after all.” He tickles my ear with the pencil again. “But first, I’m going to get that Nar-can.” He gives some sort of command in Spanish to the pit bull, and then leaves.
I listen to his footsteps going down the hall, my eyes fixed on the faint outline of a phone in Mike’s front pocket. Knowing I’m only going to have one shot at this, I wait until I actually hear the backdoor open before making my move. I can barely lift my arms and my hands are so clumsy that they feel like oven mitts, but after a minute or so of struggle, I manage to pull out the phone.
There’s a muffled gunshot down in the basement, followed by Shortie’s giggle. The pit bull lets out a tentative growl.
“Good doggy.”
I use my teeth to help flip the phone open, and then use my knuckle to dial.
Nine …
One …
Shit. I hear the creak of the backdoor and footsteps coming quickly down the hall again.
I fumble with the phone and manage to jam it in the pocket of my hoodie just before Esteban walks in.
He spots it anyway.
“I knew I forgot something.” He pulls the phone out of my hoodie and checks the numbers on the screen. “Ninety-one! Oh … you were so close, amigo.” He laughs.
“Fuck you.” I try to spit, but it just dribbles down my chin.
Despite the fact that it was barely audible, for some reason this final Fuck you seems to get to him. He bends forward as if he’s gonna hit me, but stops short at the last second. The smile returns, and instead of smacking me, he laughs.
“You know, I’m going to tell you a little secret.” He bends forward to whisper in my ear. “I believe you, amigo. You’re not working for the Tijuanans. You’re just some piece-of-shit junkie who broke into the wrong house, no?”
Esteban stands back up and waits for my response, but I don’t give him one.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” He laughs again, then pulls out the pencil again and gives it a slow twirl. “So now we get to play our little game just for pleasure,