“How do you know it’s all toast?”
“Man, it’s logical. They’re going to get rid of the Hawks.”
“You can’t know that,” Elvis said quickly, slamming his cigarette against the ashtray, putting it out with one fierce motion.
Justo seemed amused. He grabbed his cup of coffee and took another sip. Both men stared at each other.
They couldn’t shut down the Hawks; they’d never! El Mago would have given them advance warning. But what if it was true? What would he do then? Elvis had been saving his money. He had a bank account under a fake name. Fake names and fake IDs were as easy to come by as one, two, three. But he didn’t have a fortune in cash; it wasn’t like he could retire. If he wasn’t a Hawk, then what could he do? He really didn’t want to be an agent of some dipshit place like Justo was suggesting, but he also had no interest in bouncing back to his mom’s house. Plus, there was no guarantee the DGIPS would want him, good face or not. Elvis hadn’t even finished high school.
Pawn, he thought, remembering El Mago’s words.
The noise of dominoes, of people talking and laughing, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the radio by the counter loudly playing Victor Jara all mixed together, threatening to give Elvis a headache. He rubbed a hand against his cheek and felt the stubble there. Shit. El Mago hated it when they weren’t clean-shaven and well-dressed. No untucked shirts with him. But Elvis had been up since early. He’d hardly had time for proper grooming.
“I’m not trying to bust your balls. I say it how I see it,” Justo smiled, all friendly-like. Elvis suspected he wasn’t as chirpy and fun as he appeared, that it was all a cover and he was fishing for info or wanted to trick Elvis in some way. But if that’s the game he played, let it be.
Maybe he was a clown. Maybe not. You couldn’t trust these guys. But it didn’t matter if he was Bozo if he had the info he needed.
“Sure,” Elvis muttered. “You know a girl from Asterisk called Leonora? She’s pretty, an art student.”
That has why he was there, after all. To find that woman. Not to worry about El Mago or the Hawks.
Justo nodded. “A Bohemian. She has money, but likes to pretend she’s slumming it. Her uncle pays her bills. Jackie used her as her little piggy bank for a bit there,” Justo said. It was his turn to reach for a cigarette. He took out a little book of matches and lit his cigarette, dumping the match in the ashtray.
“How so?”
“Jackie lives in a shitty vecindad with her family. She hasn’t two pesos to rub together. So she depends on other folks to get anything done. You know, if they need to get food for a meeting or drinks. Leonora pitched in for a bunch of things. Even paid Jackie’s rent one time, I think. I heard people talking about that.”
“Then they’re good friends.”
“I guess so. Jackie’s kind of bossy and Leonora can get on people’s nerves easily. She’s very anxious, very wishy-washy. Jackie’s no-nonsense, you know? Leonora would skip meetings because she had a cold or because she hadn’t slept well, or she had homework to do. Jackie doesn’t believe in colds or lack of sleep. She’s a fucking robot. Anything for the cause, you know?”
“The cause being a guerilla group.”
“If she gets her way, sure. One day. But everyone wants that and no one can get really organized. They’re amateurs. Guevarism ain’t ever going to work in this country. Kinda sad, you know?”
“Does Leonora have any other friends?”
“She’s friendly enough, I guess. There’s a guy…Rubén. They used to date and she dumped him, so I’m not sure if they’re friendly anymore at this point or if they try to keep it civilized. Let me think. There’s a girl. Concha. Wears Coke-bottle glasses, short, has lots of freckles.”
“I’ve got to get into Asterisk. You have an address for them?”
“I told you, Jackie’s gone paranoid.”
“Jackie could shoot bullets out of her ass, I still want to see what her band of friends is up to. You telling me or not?”
“Stubborn fucker. What do I care? If you want to see Jacqueline you should wait until tomorrow. They have meetings on Saturdays, around five.”
Justo reached into his knapsack, which was hanging from the back of his chair. He rummaged inside it, taking out a black-and-white flyer and handing it to Elvis. “The address is there, and if you have one of those, they’ll let you in. Tell them Carlito handed it to you. He talks a lot and is always half baked. He won’t remember if he talked to you or not.”
Elvis folded the flyer and tucked it inside his jacket. “Thanks. I have one more thing to ask.”
“What, you want me to sneak you into Palacio Nacional now?”
“Man, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m trying to figure stuff here. And I mean…you’re friends with El Gazpacho, no? I’m friends with him too. He is…was my unit leader.”
“Yeah, I’m friends with him. Why else do you think I’d talk to you?”
“Good. Because I was hoping you can find him. He’s left the unit and I don’t know where he’s gone. It’s not like El Mago’s gonna tell me, and I want to make sure he’s all right. Plus, all his stuff is back at the apartment.”
“You want to mail him his nail clipper and shoes? And you think I know where he lives or something?”
“Well, I sure don’t know. But you being DGIPS and all, and being El Gazpacho’s friend and everything…”
Elvis took out a few bills and stuffed them inside Justo’s notebook. “I’d be more interested in knowing what your boss wants with Asterisk than your cash,” Justo said.
“I ain’t telling.”
“And after I’m being nice to you, you little shit.”
Elvis took out two more bills and stuffed them in the notebook. “Nice my ass. You’re trying to jack up the price. Take the money or I’ll look for another crooked asshole who’ll find out.”
Justo seemed amused. “Kid, you have an attitude. But you’re lucky: I’m in need of petty cash. Come back in a couple of days,” Justo said as a goodbye.
Elvis nodded and stepped out, feeling cheery. It didn’t last.
He ate at a random tortería and stared at the calendar taped behind the counter featuring a corny Hawaiian dancer, paper flowers strewn around. The dancer’s eyes reminded him of Cristina. Elvis didn’t believe in losing his head over a girl, but that was now. A few years back, he’d gone and joined a fucking cult for one, hadn’t he?