He still had time to salvage this.
Was Lister alone? With the late morning sun glinting off the SUV’s windshield,
Luca couldn’t tell how many were in the car.
When he pulled up next to it he was
startled to see that it was empty. He hurried through his front door and found
Darryl Lister sitting on the couch, sipping a beer. Maria stood behind him,
rubbing her hands together, her dark eyes wide with anxiety.
Luca stared at Lister. This plump
country squire type was miles away from the hardbodied CO who’d parachuted with
him onto the Shahi Kot mountains . He was a pogue now,
in his late forties, and the brown corduroys and bulky white Irish wool sweater
he wore couldn’t hide the inches he’d been adding to his waist. And judging
from the new gelled-up style of his light brown hair, it looked like he’d
started going to a fag barber. The man was becoming a stranger.
“Luca.” He
rose and smiled as he extended his hand. “I was going to wait in the car, but
then this sweet young thing surprised the hell out of me by opening the front
door. I invited myself in.” As they shook hands, his smile faded. “Who is she,
Portero? I know you don’t have any kids. A niece?”
“No one you have to worry about.”
“You know the rules.”
Luca held up the car keys .“Maria, esperame en el auto.”
She scurried around the couch. Her
jeans and bulky flannel shirt couldn’t hide her ripe young figure as she
grabbed the keys and ran out the door. Luca noticed Lister’s eyes following her
all the way.
“Nice,” he said. “What is she?
Sixteen?”
Luca felt invaded. He wanted to tell
Lister it was none of his fucking business, but bit it back. To a very real
extent, it was Lister’s business.
“She’s old enough,” Luca said.
Maria had told him she was eighteen,
but she might be even younger. He’d seen her begging on an East Village sidewalk last summer. Maybe
it was her flat peasant face, or the desperation in her black eyes…something
about her spurred an impulse from a nameless place to shove a couple of singles
into her hand. He heard her soft, “Gracias, señor,” saw the sudden faraway look
in her eyes as she clutched the bills between her breasts like a family
heirloom, and he had to speak to her. Good thing he knew Spanish because she
didn’t know anything else.
He bought her lunch, took her to a
Spanish film at the Angelika, bought her dinner, then brought her home. She’d been living here ever since. She cleaned his house,
cooked his food, kept his bed warm at night, and thought she’d found heaven.
“She’s an illegal who’s young enough
to be your daughter, right?”
True on both
counts, but so what? “Don’t worry. She doesn’t know anything. Can’t speak a word of English.”
“But I am worried. It’s against the
rules. You’re supposed to be a model citizen. A clean nose,
no legal hassles. That’s the deal when you come in. You agreed, now look
at you: shacking up with a barely legal illegal.”
“No one’s going to know. Not way out
here.”
“But our people will know. Sooner or
later you know they’ll find out. And they won’t like it. And since I sponsored you, that will reflect on me.”
“Look—”
“They’ve already got questions about
you. Like why you don’t seem to own anything. You rent this place and…” He
looked around with distaste. “And it looks like you furnish it from secondhand
stores.”
“It came with the territory. It’s a
furnished
Was Lister alone? With the late morning sun glinting off the SUV’s windshield,
Luca couldn’t tell how many were in the car.
When he pulled up next to it he was
startled to see that it was empty. He hurried through his front door and found
Darryl Lister sitting on the couch, sipping a beer. Maria stood behind him,
rubbing her hands together, her dark eyes wide with anxiety.
Luca stared at Lister. This plump
country squire type was miles away from the hardbodied CO who’d parachuted with
him onto the Shahi Kot mountains . He was a pogue now,
in his late forties, and the brown corduroys and bulky white Irish wool sweater
he wore couldn’t hide the inches he’d been adding to his waist. And judging
from the new gelled-up style of his light brown hair, it looked like he’d
started going to a fag barber. The man was becoming a stranger.
“Luca.” He
rose and smiled as he extended his hand. “I was going to wait in the car, but
then this sweet young thing surprised the hell out of me by opening the front
door. I invited myself in.” As they shook hands, his smile faded. “Who is she,
Portero? I know you don’t have any kids. A niece?”
“No one you have to worry about.”
“You know the rules.”
Luca held up the car keys .“Maria, esperame en el auto.”
She scurried around the couch. Her
jeans and bulky flannel shirt couldn’t hide her ripe young figure as she
grabbed the keys and ran out the door. Luca noticed Lister’s eyes following her
all the way.
“Nice,” he said. “What is she?
Sixteen?”
Luca felt invaded. He wanted to tell
Lister it was none of his fucking business, but bit it back. To a very real
extent, it was Lister’s business.
“She’s old enough,” Luca said.
Maria had told him she was eighteen,
but she might be even younger. He’d seen her begging on an East Village sidewalk last summer. Maybe
it was her flat peasant face, or the desperation in her black eyes…something
about her spurred an impulse from a nameless place to shove a couple of singles
into her hand. He heard her soft, “Gracias, señor,” saw the sudden faraway look
in her eyes as she clutched the bills between her breasts like a family
heirloom, and he had to speak to her. Good thing he knew Spanish because she
didn’t know anything else.
He bought her lunch, took her to a
Spanish film at the Angelika, bought her dinner, then brought her home. She’d been living here ever since. She cleaned his house,
cooked his food, kept his bed warm at night, and thought she’d found heaven.
“She’s an illegal who’s young enough
to be your daughter, right?”
True on both
counts, but so what? “Don’t worry. She doesn’t know anything. Can’t speak a word of English.”
“But I am worried. It’s against the
rules. You’re supposed to be a model citizen. A clean nose,
no legal hassles. That’s the deal when you come in. You agreed, now look
at you: shacking up with a barely legal illegal.”
“No one’s going to know. Not way out
here.”
“But our people will know. Sooner or
later you know they’ll find out. And they won’t like it. And since I sponsored you, that will reflect on me.”
“Look—”
“They’ve already got questions about
you. Like why you don’t seem to own anything. You rent this place and…” He
looked around with distaste. “And it looks like you furnish it from secondhand
stores.”
“It came with the territory. It’s a
furnished
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