The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

Just before five o’clock, Cisco Napolitano’s Rocket 88 pulled to the pumps, the top down. She was wearing black sunglasses and a white peasant blouse that exposed her breasts almost to the nipple. What was new about that? Nothing. But I couldn’t say that about the guy sitting next to her. It was Bud Winslow, the guy who liked to shove the faces of smaller kids into his genitalia.

I went out to the car with a rag and a bottle of window cleaner. “Fill her up?”

“Get in,” Cisco said.

“I’m working,” I replied.

“Better do what she says,” Bud said.

“Didn’t Loren tell you to get lost?” I said.

“What were you doing at Bud’s house last night, Aaron?” Cisco said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“I saw your heap,” Bud said. “I saw it twice. You got out with something in your hand. Then you acted like you changed your mind about something and drove away.”

“You live in Bellaire, don’t you?” I said.

“You know where I live.”

“That’s why I don’t go into Bellaire. I heard the neighborhood has turned to shit.”

I saw my boss looking at me through the glass in the office. I unscrewed the gas cap and started fueling, my gaze fixed on the numbers clicking on the face of the pump. She got out of the car and stood behind me. “What were you doing at his house?”

“I wasn’t doing anything. I was home. What do you care, anyway?”

She either lowered her voice or spoke through clenched teeth. “Because his father is a business partner of Jaime Atlas. We want Grady’s car back. Got it?”

“No.”

“You dumb little twerp.”

The gas tank ran over. She stepped back before it could splash on her tiny shoes.

“That’s a dollar seventy-eight,” I said. “Need your oil checked?”

Her nostrils looked like she was breathing the air in a meat locker. “Give my number to your stupid friend and tell him to call me.”

“I think the Sabe left town. He said something about going out to Hollywood.”

She took off her glasses. The skin around her eyes was white and wrinkled, her pupils like drops of ink. “My ass is on the line.”

She didn’t call me “kid”; she didn’t call me by my name. I think her fear was such that she couldn’t muster more words than it took to admit how scared she was.

“What about my family?” I asked.

“They’re grown-ups. Let them take care of themselves. What’d they do for you? It’s obvious that someone did a mind-fuck on you.”

I looked into her eyes. I wondered who lived inside her. No, that’s not true. I thought I knew exactly who lived inside her, the figure from the shade we’ve all been warned about, and the thought of it frightened me.

“I’m sorry for any injury I’ve caused you, Miss Cisco. You seemed like a nice lady. I always thought you were a lot better than the people you ran around with.”

I saw her lips part and her face quiver. She reached into her purse for her billfold to pay for the gas. The top of her right hand was sprinkled with sun freckles or perhaps liver spots. It was trembling.

WHEN I CAME HOME, I found a note from my mother on the icebox door: “Your father and I went to Walgreens. I have a terrible headache. Your dinner is inside. Please do not drink today. I didn’t have time to feed Major and the cats.”

I brought Major and Bugs and Snuggs and Skippy inside and filled their food bowls and put fresh water in the big bowl they shared. My grandfather, the former Texas Ranger, had an axiom all the Hollands followed: Feed your animals before you feed yourself. Then I put on clean jeans and a starched short-sleeved shirt, and took the plate of cold cuts and deviled eggs and potato salad from the icebox, and sat down to eat. I did not want the telephone to ring. I knew of no one except Valerie who had a worthwhile reason to call. I bit into the deviled eggs and eyed the phone in the hallway as though I could force it to remain silent. I had not finished the first deviled egg before it rang.