The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [213]
“Suppose you just tell me why you help us, before you pick those things up,” Miss Howard ordered.
El Nino’s appealing smile returned and then his round features began to display what you might call theatrical disgust. “Oh, is not for me, to work for the señor—no more! He beat me—beat his wife—beat everybody, with fists like—like—” Looking around quickly, the aborigine grabbed a big stone from the side of the road, then held it up to Miss Howard.
“Like rocks,” she said.
“Yes, is true, like rocks!” El Niño answered. “Give me one suit of clothes—” He held his arms up, displaying the rolled-up cuffs of his jacket, and then pointed down at his trousers, what were cut off roughly at the ankles. “Too big! Is not for me. First, one time, I work for father—old señor—”
“For Señor Linares’s father?” Miss Howard asked.
“Yes, lady. He different man. Good man. This son—not the same. Beat everybody with fists, think he great man—because his mama love him too much!”
I burst out laughing at that, and got myself a sharp elbow from Miss Howard for it; but she, too, was having trouble containing her amusement at the little fellow. “And so what do you want from us?” she asked, lowering the Colt.
El Niño shrugged. “I to work for you, I think. Yes, I think so. I watch you—see you try to find baby Ana. Is good. The señor, he not want you to find her. But she a baby! I think you find her, because you good people. I work for you, I think—sure.”
Miss Howard and I exchanged shocked looks. What were we supposed to say? The idea seemed so strange as to be out of the question, but neither of us particularly wanted to tell him that. Not with that arsenal lying in the road, and knowing that he’d been keeping track of every move we’d made for weeks now. There was also the fact that we’d both identified something likable in the little fellow—likable and decent. So maybe it wasn’t so peculiar a notion after all.
“But,” Miss Howard said, “what do you mean, ‘work’ for us? What would you do?”
The aborigine was about to answer, but first he eyed his possessions on the road. “I can pick up?” he said to Miss Howard carefully.
She nodded, looking at him like he was a naughty kid. “Slowly,” she said.
He followed the instruction, and tucked all the pieces of his arsenal into big pockets what’d been sewn special inside his jacket. Then he started to approach us, swaggering like a man twice his size. “Many things I do!” he declared. “Protect you from enemies—kill them, or make them sleep! Cook, too!” He pointed at the landscape around us. “Snake, dog—sometimes rat, if you very hungry!” Both Miss Howard and I let moans of disgust out through the smiles that had settled in on our faces. “See things—find things out! If you have El Niño to work for you, you have eyes everywhere!” He passed an arm out across the horizon again.
“And what,” Miss Howard asked, “would be your salary for all this?”
“My sa—?” the aborigine noised, puzzled.
“What would we have to pay you?”
“Oh, pay, yes!” he answered, filling his chest with air proudly. “El Niño Manilaman—Manilamen work only for pay! The señor pay me with nothing—with shit!” I let out another loud laugh, and Miss Howard didn’t even try to stop me; in fact, she joined in, and so did El Niño, who was pleased with our reaction. “With shit he pay me!” he went on. “Bad clothes—food after others have eaten it—and the señora make me to sleep outside, even in wintertime! You can give me good food—bed to sleep in, yes? House has many beds. And you—” He pointed at me and then he did the little dance around his neck with one hand again, causing my grin to shrink suddenly.
“Whoa, now, don’t start that!” I said. “I don’t want any trouble with you—”
“No, no!” he answered. “Not trouble! Clothes! Your clothes—three nights past from here—you do not like your clothes, yes?”
Counting the nights on my fingers and trying to get some idea of what he was talking about, I remembered the trip to Saratoga;