Out of the Easy by Ruta Sepetys Page B

on the counter.”
    “I’m still surprised he didn’t get that expensive piano somehow.”
    “He probably tried. Maybe that’s when Charlie came home and . . .” I dropped my arms. “Who could do that to a man like Charlie?”
    Cincinnati had beaten Charlie so badly he was in the hospital for over a month. When Patrick came home and found Charlie in a puddle of blood, he was sure his father was dead.
    “Made it easier for me to shoot Cincinnati when he beat your mother,” said Willie. “And come on, you know burning him with that hot coffee was more for Charlie than for your mother.”
    “Patrick thinks the robbery and beating is what set Charlie crooked,” I said, firing another can off the fence.
    “Nope. He was already touched in the head when Cinci robbed the house. Your mother knew that. She had seen Charlie at the bookstore and said he was talking ten sides of crazy. She gave Cincinnati the tip he’d be an easy target. She went with him, you know. I still wonder if Charlie saw her.”
    I stared at Willie. Charlie had been as good to Mother as he had to me. He was always patient with her and tried to steer her straight. Sure, my mother would stuff something in her brassiere in a department store dressing room. I knew she’d hustle drinks from tourists and steal tips from tables. But to stand by and watch Cincinnati do that to Charlie?
    “No, she couldn’t have actually been there,” I told Willie.
    “Oh, yeah, your mother’s real helpful that way,” said Willie.
    Pain surged at my temples. I held my pistol out to Willie. “Give me the shotgun.” As soon as it was in my arms, I began firing, pumping shell after shell. When the cans were gone, I started blowing holes in the fence.
    “Stop! That’s my fence, you idiot!” yelled Willie.
    I lowered the gun and looked at Willie, trying to catch my breath.
    “Nice round,” said Willie. “What do you think those East Coast petits fours would say about that?”
    I nodded. “Pretty salty.”
    We drove to the nearest town for milk and eggs. I stared at the sunlight gleaming off Mariah’s hood and thought of Mother telling Cincinnati all about Charlie and Patrick’s house. Who could deliberately take advantage of a poor man like Charlie? And Charlie had done so much for us before falling ill.
    Willie paid the store owner to let us make a phone call. She rang the house to check in. I heard the warble of Dora’s voice through the receiver but couldn’t make out the words.
    “Tell ’em to come by tonight at ten. I can be back and ready by then,” said Willie. “Call Lucinda and have her bring a couple girls with her. No, of course not the redhead. I don’t need another catfight. Okay. All right. We’ll leave as soon as we can.”
    Willie hung up the phone.
    “Six johns from Cuba. They came by last year and dropped nearly five grand in four hours at the house. Dora said she put them off as long as she could, but they’re going back to Havana tomorrow. We have to go.”
    I nodded and followed Willie out of the store and back to the car.
    “Oh,” said Willie, stopping next to Mariah, “Dora said that Patrick’s called a bunch of times for you. He says it’s important.”

NINETEEN
    “Take my bags to my room and then get out of here,” ordered Willie, handing me her things.
    Girls in evening dresses paraded in front of Willie for approval. She checked their fingernails, looked at their jewelry, and asked if their brassieres and panties matched. They all wore a smear of glossy lipstick. Prostitutes had patent-leather lips, all except Sweety, who always blotted her lips.
    “Welcome back,” said Dora, dressed in apple green satin with a huge bow that looked like a melted rainbow.
    “What the hell is that?” said Willie.
    “Something special for the rich Mexicans that are coming,” said Dora. She twirled around for Willie.
    “They’re Cubans, not Mexicans! Go change into your velvet gown. You’re a prostitute, not a piñata, for