Rick Riordan - Big Red Tequila

Big Red Tiquila

Rick Riordan
1997

Dedication
ToHaley Riordan, bienvenido anda good beginning

"Who?" said the man occupying my newapartment.

"Tres Navarre," I said.

I pressed the lease agreement against the screen dooragain so he could see. It was about a hundred degrees on the frontporch of the small in-law apartment. The air-conditioning from insidewas bleeding through the screen door and evaporating on my face.Somehow that just made it seem hotter.

The man inside my apartment glanced at the paper,then squinted at me like I was some bizarre piece of modern art.Through the metal screen he looked even uglier than he probablywasheavyset, about forty, crew cut, features all pinched towardthe center of his face. He was bare-chested and wore the kind ofthick polyester gym shorts only P.E. coaches wear. Use small words, Ithought.

"I rented this apartment for July fifteenth. Youwere supposed to move out by then. Its July twenty-fourth."

No signs of remorse from the coach. He looked backover his shoulder, distracted by a double play on the TV. He lookedat me again, now slightly annoyed.

Look, asshole," he said. "I told Gary Ineeded a few extra weeks. My transfer hasnt come through yet,okay? Maybe August you can have it."

We stared at each other. In the pecan tree next tothe steps a few thousand cicadas decided to start their metallicchirping. I looked back at the cabby who was still waiting at thecurb, happily reading his TV Guide while the meter ran. Then I turnedback to the coach and smiled-friendly, diplomatic.

"Well," I said, "I tell you what. Ivegot the moving van coming here tomorrow from California. That meansyouve got to be out of here today. Since youve had a free weekon my tab already, I figure I can give you an extra hour or so. Imgoing to get my bags out of the cab, then when I come back you canlet me in and start packing."

If it was possible for his eyes to squint any closertogether, they did. "What the fuck"

I turned my back on him and went out to the cab. Ihadnt brought much with me on the plane-one bag for clothes andone for books, plus Robert Johnson in his carrying cage. I collectedmy things, asked the cabby to wait, then walked back up the sidewalk.Pecans crunched under my feet. Robert Johnson was silent, still
disoriented from his traumatic flight.

The house didnt look much better on a second take.Like most of the other sleeping giants on Queen Anne Street, Number90 had two stories, an ancient green-shingled roof, bare wood sidingwhere the white paint had peeled away, a huge screened-in-front porchsagging under tons of red bougainvillea. The right side of thebuilding, where the in-laws smaller porch stuck out, had shiftedon its foundations and now drooped down and backward, as if that halfof the house ad suffered a stroke.

The coach had opened the door for me. In fact he wasstanding in it now, smiling, holding a baseball bat.

"I said August, asshole," he told me.

I set my bags and Robert Johnsons cage down on thebottom step. The coach smiled like you might at a dirty joke. One ofhis front teeth was two different colors.

"You ever try dental picks?" I said.

He developed a few new creases on his forehead.

What?"

Never mind, " I said. "You got movingboxes or you just want to put your stuff in Hefty bags? You strike meas a Hefty-bag man."

Fuck you."

I smiled and walked up the steps.

The porch was way too narrow to swing a bat, but hedid his best to butt me in the chest with it. I moved sideways andstepped in next to him, grabbing his wrist. If you apply pressurecorrectly, you can use the nei guan point, just above the wrist joint, in place of CPR to stimulate theheart. One of the reasons Chinese grandmothers wear those long pinsin their hair, in fact, is to prick the neiguan in case someone in the family has aheart attack. Apply pressure a little harder, and it sends a chargethrough the nervous system that is pretty unpleasant.

The coachs face turned red; his pinched featuresloosened up in shock. The bat clattered down the steps. As he doubledover, clutching his arm, I pushed I through the door.

The TV was still going in the main rooma washed-upSaturday Night Live comedian was guzzling a light beer, surrounded byfive or six cheerleaders. Nothing else in the room except a mattressand a pile of clothes in the corner and a tattered easy chair. On thekitchen counter there was a mound of old dishes and fast-foodcartons. The smell was somewhere between fried meat and sour wetlaundry.

"Youve done wonders with the place," Isaid. I can see why-"

When I turned around the coach was standing behind meand his fist was a few inches from my face, coming in for a landing.

I twisted out of its way and pushed down on his wristwith one hand. With the other hand I slammed up on the elbow, bendingthe joint the wrong way. Im sure I didnt break it, but Impretty sure it hurt like hell anyway. The coach fell down on thekitchen floor and I went to check out the bathroom. A toothbrush, onetowel, the new Penthouse on the toilet tank. All the comforts ofhome.

It took about fifteen minutes to find a roll ofgarbage bags and stuff the coachs things into them.

"You broke my arm," he told me. He wasstill sitting on the kitchen floor, with his eyes tightly closed. Iunplugged the TV and put it outside.

" Some people like ice for a joint problem likethat," I told him, moving out the chair. I think itsbetter if I you use a hot-water bottle. Keep it warm for a while. Twodays from now you wont feel anything."

He told me hed sue, I think. He told me a lot ofthings, but I wasnt listening much anymore. I was tired, it washot, and I was starting to remember why Id stayed away from SanAntonio for so many years. The coach was in enough pain not to fightmuch as I tucked him into the cab with most of his stuff and paid thecabby to take him to a motel. Leaving the TV and easy chair in thefront yard, I brought my things inside and shut the door behind me.

Robert Johnson slunk out of his cage cautiously whenI opened it. His black fur was slicked the wrong way on one side andhis yellow eyes were wide. He wobbled slightly getting back his landlegs. I knew how he felt. He sniffed the carpet, then looked at mewith total disdain.

"Row," he said.

"Welcome home," I said.

"Was fixing to evict him one of these days,"Gary Hales mumbled.

My new landlord didnt seem too concerned about mydisagreement with the former tenant. Gary Hales didnt seem tooconcerned about anything. Gary was an anemic watercolor of a man. Hiseyes, voice, and mouth were all soft and liquid, his skin awashed-out blue that matched his guayabera shirt. I got the feelinghe might just dilute down to nothing if he I got caught in a goodrain.

He stared at our finalized lease as if he were tryingto remember what it was. Then he read it one more time, his lipsmoving, his shaky hand following each line with the tip of a blackpen. He got stuck on the signature line. He frowned. Jackson?"

"Legally," I told him. "Tres, as inthe Third. Usually I go by that, unless youre my mother and youremad at me, in which case its Jackson."

Gary stared at me.

Or occasionally Asshole, " I offered.

Garys pale eyes had started to glaze over. Ithought Id probably lost him after "legally," but hesurprised me.

" Jackson Navarre," he said slowly. "Likethat sheriff that got kilt?"

I took the lease out of Garys hand and folded itup. "Yeah," I said. Like that."

Then the wall started ringing. Garys eyes floatedover listlessly to where the sound had come from. I waited for anexplanation.

"She axed me for the number here," he said,like he was reminding himself about it. "Told her Id changethe name over to you tmorrow."

He shuffled across the room and pulled a built-inironing board out from the livingroom wall. In the alcove behindit was an old black rotary phone.