Page 19

CHAPTER 19

Lalo

The cantina was large and strangely clean. So unlike the underground pit he had slinked into the night he learned of Maricela’s whereabouts. The Den was what she had named her tiny cantina. But it was missing the rest of the title. The Den of Leeches was what it should have been called. Or The Den of Sin. No, The Den of Death. Really, any of those would suffice. People—human or made—frequented the place because there were rumors of dark and dangerous activities happening behind the closed doors, and they wanted in on the depravity.

But this cantina in Del Oro was more of a restaurant than anything. The wood-paneled walls were lined with pretty paintings of the landscape surrounding el pueblo. One depicted Basilio’s Point and had the sun rising from behind the peak of Devil’s Spine. The winding river that wove in from the forest and through the valley. There was even a likeness of the Fuentes hacienda.

“Drinks on me,” said the man Lalo had just met to the person tending bar. Then, to him, “I’ll just go on and fetch the nearest guard and alert them about the dead sediento outside.”

A woman in a low-cut gown played a haunting melody on the piano. She sang a rather fitting song about death knocking at the door.

Lalo had never drunk more than a snifter of brandy. He didn’t like the taste of alcohol. But mostly he found the idea of total inebriation uncomfortable. His parents were both wonderful people, but when wine took hold of them, it often wouldn’t let go for days. He supposed that was the strange thing about parents—you could want to be like them in so many ways but also not.

He sat at the bar and grabbed the glass placed before him. The liquid was amber in color and didn’t smell terribly pungent. Without a second thought, Lalo knocked it back like he’d seen people do time and time again. His throat burned, and he couldn’t swallow. Panic coursed through him. He turned his head and spit out the liquid.

A beast of a man stood before him. He growled as he wiped alcohol from his face.

“Oh gods,” Lalo said. “I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“You’re dead.” The man grabbed Lalo by the collar and dragged him off his seat. He held Lalo above the ground with one hand as if he were a rag doll. “Any last words?” he growled, and cocked back his fist.

What had Carolina’s younger brother Adrián said in the mudroom? You must show them who is boss. Lalo had, and the dogs obeyed. Perhaps it might work for brutes as well.

He cleared the fear from his throat. “You do not want to do this, se?or. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but I have fought far greater foes this morning alone.”

The man barked an incredulous laugh. “Do you not know who I am? I’m Roberto the Bull!”

Lalo thumped his hand over his chest. “And I’m el patrón.”

Roberto balked. “?Qué?”

“I controlled five vicious beasts purely by the command of my voice. I slayed un sediento with nothing but my hands and bit of wood. I am not a man to be messed with. I have been shot and stabbed and hit with a pan, and yet, here I am. But if you want to try me, put me down and fight me like a real man.”

Roberto’s jaw twitched. He huffed. Smiled and huffed again. He started to chuckle. Then the Bull tilted his head back and howled with laughter. The room, which had gone deathly silent, joined Roberto in the hilarity. Gingerly, he placed Lalo onto his feet. He smacked Lalo across the back as tears fell from his eyes.

“He’s el patrón!” the Bull wheezed. “He says he killed un sediento with his bare hands!” He grabbed his belly and bent over, crying about whatever he thought was so funny.

After far too long, Roberto the Bull wiped the tears from his face and stood tall. “You’ve got huevos, kid. I’ll give you that.” He snapped his fingers. “Concha, get this boy another shot!”

“Actually, I think I’ve had enough.”

This comment only seemed to make Roberto laugh again.

“My gods, no wonder Carolina likes you. You’re hilarious.”

“You know Carolina?”

“Of course. Luis and I are cousins.” That made perfect sense. Roberto was about the same size as Se?or Fuentes. He was as intimidating too.

“And yet you threatened to murder me?” Lalo asked.

“Part of the Fuentes charm. You’ll get to know our tempers soon enough.” Roberto grinned. “Can I get you anything else? My sister and I own this cantina. Whatever you wish for, it is yours,” he proclaimed.

He was about to pummel Lalo in his own establishment. That wasn’t very professional, but if he was granting wishes…

“Actually, I’ve been told the cantina keeps old records? I’m a scholar, you see, and I’m doing research on small towns. Might I look at your papers?”

Roberto shook his head. “You’re a strange one.”

Lalo’s heart sank. This was usually when he’d be rejected. He prepared himself to gather all the hope that would be dashed onto the floor.

“There’s a small trapdoor cut out in the center of the office down the hall. It’s dank and dusty, but there are plenty of old records that might be of use to you.”

“Really?” Lalo’s heart felt suddenly light.

“Of course. Anything for el patrón.”