“Looks like Eugene got his check for the month and is comin’ to piss it all away,” Gus, the morning security guard, grumbled as he stared at the bank of security monitors before them. “I really that guy would stop leeching off the government and get a job.”
The graying, and ever growing, old man was a card-carrying member of the folks out to make the country great again. He had to be told more than a few times to stop wearing his red hat in the casino given the amount of Latinos who frequented it.
Abel hated Eugene, and Gus, as well.
“Maybe he won’t cause any trouble today,” Abel said. He leaned back in his chair and fidgeted with the walkie talkie that rested in his lap. The only positive of working the swing shift was that the floor was always quiet at that time of day. People were busy making their money so they would have something to lose when they got off. Unfortunately, people like Eugene didn’t work.
“He always causes trouble. Just wait until he loses his first hand. Old Chuck is going to be ringin’ you to get rid of him.”
Abel held out the walkie. “You sure you don’t want to be the one to get rid of him this time? It’s be a little while since you’ve said hello to him, hasn’t it?”
“I’ll leave that to you young guys. That’s why they have you here. If I’m going to be crackin’ skulls, it’ll be on the wall.”
“I think there will be an age limit for that.”
“You don’t know shit!” Gus sat up a bit, but immediately calmed down and settled back into watching the monitors. He jabbed a stubby finger at the screen that Eugene was on. A skinny man with clothes dirty enough that you could see the filth through the gray screens. “Look at him trollin’ around tryin’ to find the ‘lucky’ table. He’s just goin’ to sit at Chuck’s. It’s the only one open.”
Abel didn’t answer his continued ranting. He was already tired and ready to call it a day, but he still had hours left on his shift before the sweet taste of freedom would beckon. He’d recently begun thinking about making another move, possibly further west to New Mexico or Arizona. Very little was keeping him in Nueva Providencia and nothing was pulling him back east.
“Choooooooweee. There he goes, boy! Lost all his money in two hands!” Gus shouted.
Abel looked up at the monitor to see Eugene throwing cards and chips at poor old Chuck who was trying to hide behind his chair.
The walkie talkie crackled to life and an exasperated voice spoke, “Gus, Abel. Eugene’s down here causin’ a ruckus again. Someone please come escort him out.”
“All you, pretty boy.” Gus laughed.
“Wouldn’t want you to tear something standing up, fat man,” Abel shot back as he stood up and headed for the door.
It was a short walk to the table where Eugene was, and Abel could hear him shouting and cursing that he had been cheated out of his money before he saw him. Then, he could smell him. Then, he saw him – Def Leppard shirt that was two sizes two big and three shades too dirty falling off him with three yellowed teeth showing in a set that was missing the others as he yelled.
“Eugene! What’s the fucking problem now?!” Abel shouted over him.
Eugene turned slowly and his eyes widened when he saw Abel looking back at him. He grabbed a chair and chucked it in his direction before taking off. Abel dodged the chair and shook his head. Now, he’d have to detain him until the deputies showed up – which meant chasing him down.
The old man tripped over the door jamb as he tried to make his break out of the casino and Abel shoved him back to the ground as he tried to stand up.
But old Eugene was jonesing for a fight as he got up swinging.
Abel easily pushed away the wild punches that were aimed at his head. “Stop fucking trying to fight me and just sit down until the deputies get here.”
“I ain’t goin’ back to jail!”
Eugene swung with all his might, but Abel ducked under the punch and gave him a shot to the liver for his troubles. Eugene howled in pain as he crumpled to the ground, clutching at his side.
“You ain’t suppose to hit me back!” he shouted between gasps for air. “I think I’m dyin’!”
“You ain’t shit, and you ain’t supposed to be a meth-head throwing chairs at people, but here we are. Now, you’re going to county. I hope you’ve had your burritos for the day to turn some of the bigger guys off.”
Abel pulled zip ties from his belt as he rolled Eugene over with his foot. He keyed the walkie talkie and called for someone to send a deputy to take Eugene in.
---
An hour later, Abel was cursing under his breath as the sheriff himself pulled into the casino’s parking lot. A deputy stepped out of the cruiser before him and walked over to where Abel was standing over Eugene who had stopped crying about the pain.
“Why’s his face all wet?” the deputy asked.
“The fucker stabbed me or somethin’! Check my back!” Eugene shouted.
“Shut the fuck up. No one stabbed you.” Abel shook his head. “Must be the comedown from the high if I had to guess. Been baking him out here in the sun.”
The deputy shrugged and waved for Eugene to stand up, pulling him to his feet when he didn’t move fast enough.
As he was loaded into the back of the cruiser, the sheriff walked up to Abel. Carlos Jimenez thought he was the Latino Wyatt Earp and the 10-gallon hat on his brow and the pinch in his cheek were meant to add to that mystique. Sheriff Jimenez had his hand on his gun, as he always did when he walked around the streets, as he came to a stop so close to Abel that the brim of the hat nearly touched his face.
“How ya’ doin’, son?” He hacked up a glob of dip, mucus and saliva and spit it on the pavement.
“I’m quite alright, sheriff. Hopefully, Eugene doesn’t give y’all too much trouble when y’all bring him in today.”
“Can’t say I’m too bothered by any addicts at the moment. I’m more concerned with the rattlesnake in my hen house.”
“The who in the what?”
“The cayot that done found its way in with my heifers.”
“You’re losing me here.”
“Damn it, boy!” The sheriff’s bronze-skinned face turned as red as it could as he fished out a photo from his pocket and held it up. It was an ultrasound. “Your no-good, piece of shit roommate has gone and knocked up my daughter!”
Abel took a deep breath. “Congratulations?”
“Con—Con—Congratulations? I oughta shoot you for lettin’ it happen! Where’s he at now? I’ve been looking for him all day.”
“Couldn’t tell you. I’ve been here. Are you looking for him to pay for an abortion, because I don’t think he keeps—“
Sheriff Jimenez grabbed at the chew in his mouth and flicked it out on the ground. “Ya’ done made me waste a perfectly good pinch so I can make sure ya’ hear me right. My mother was a proud Catholic and so am I. We ain’t no baby killers, son. That idiota Miguel is going to take care of my daughter and she has some bills that need paying.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll let him know when I see him.” Abel didn’t know what else to say.
The sheriff reached into his pocket and pulled out a can of wintergreen. He took a mammoth pinch and placed it in his cheek. “You do that.” He started to turn around, but stopped short and reached into his other pocket. He pulled out a letter, holding it out to Abel. “Also, you might want to tell him that your landlord deeded over that crackhouse to you two and all the property taxes that come with it. Y’all have two weeks to pay it or I’ll have to evict ya’.”
Abel took the piece of paper from him. “Thanks.”
---
“Miguel! Miguel! Where the fuck are you?” Abel tore into the house as soon as he got to the door. He could smell the weed coming from the back rooms.
Miguel stumbled from his room and leaned against the wall to prop himself up. “Aaay, carnal. Why are you yelling?”
“Congratulations, man. You’re going to be a father.”
“Carnal, I’m not pregnant. I think you didn’t pay enough attention in biology class, bro. How am I going to be a father if I can’t carry a kid?” Miguel laughed.
“Because you kept sticking your little Mexican dick in the sheriff’s daughter and he’s been looking for you all day.”
The fog cleared instantly from Miguel’s eyes and his high was well and truly blown at mention of the sheriff. “Oh fuck, man. I gotta go.” He ran into his room and started throwing clothes into a duffle bag, not wasting time to figure out if they were clean or dirty.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Abel shouted from the door.
“I’m fucking going hide in Mexico, carnal. I’m not trying to end up shot in the desert by Sheriff Pendejo. I’m a citizen, homes.”
“He just wants you to pay for her hospital bills.”
Miguel laughed. “You know I don’t have that kind of money. Are you selling some gas on the side that I don’t know about? No? I didn’t think so. You might want to come with me. They might say the mayates have taken over and are moving weight for the carteles.”
“He’s also got us on the hook for property taxes. If we don’t pay that, we’ll have to stay on the run in Mexico. I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Carnal, es facil. Time to learn.”
Abel stopped him. “I got an idea. We do need to go to Mexico.”
“What are you going to do? Ask Los Zetas to off him?”
“No, I need you to call Beatriz and ask Celia for her brother’s number.”
Keep them coming.