Meet Hector Rosales.

 

Rocky was getting nervous.  He wanted to get off the street, so he knocked again. A pretty face appeared in the round window of half-inch glass.  Smiling, she let him in.  The blaring music hit him in the face.  He looked for Captain Roberto Cruz, the entrepreneurial Federale who ran the local drug cartel.

“Thanks, Araceli. The Captain around?”

“No, but there’s Hector.”  She nodded to a table where three men sat.  Groups of rough-looking men sat around other tables.  The place was busy, filled with the aroma of stale beer and tobacco smoke, but quiet — no arguments or fights.

“Thanks, I see him.”  redude

Hector got up to meet Rocky.  He was not short, but stocky with an ample stomach that made him look low to the ground.  He wore spotted khaki pants and a gray Tuna Club T-shirt with a picture of a lady tuna wearing red lipstick.  She had large breasts and stood on her tail; motion lines around her body indicated she jiggled. Hector usually wore a ponytail, but today his unbraided hair hung down his back like fringe.  He maneuvered around shards of broken glass on squeaky huaraches.  Looking down at the floor, he jerked his head toward an old man who danced with a broom.

“Hey Abraham, get your ass over here.  Sweep this mess up, you worthless shit.”

Abraham hustled to the wreckage and swept with a tule-grass broom.

“Hey, que pasa, Rocky.”

“Bueno, Hector, how ’bout you.”

Hector Rosales was owner of the Tuna Club.  He pointed to a bloody spot, ringed in broken glass.  “Abraham, can’t you see that?”

“It went good,” said Rocky, just above a whisper.  “Calles had a printing accident.”

“Cruz’ll be happy to hear that.”

Speaking in a low tone, Hector looked back at a pair of men sitting at the table he’d just left. The younger man Rocky knew as Gabriel, but he didn’t know the fat man in a tan safari suit who was sitting with him.

Hector said, “C’mon. You know Gabriel. I’ll introduce you to his asshole friend.”

Rocky followed and found an empty chair next to Hector.  Rocky had always been wary of Gabriel, a wiseass kid with a temper and a big mouth.

Hector sat back with a sigh.  “And here’s Gabriel,” said Hector with a hint of sarcasm, pointing to a young Mexican in a black Elvis jump suit, hair pulled back in a braid.  “Our intrepid moon-lighting hunting guide.” Hector acted annoyed with Gabriel.

Habitually, Rocky always looked behind him to check his back.  As he did so now, his gaze locked on a young blond. He guessed she stood over six feet – large breasts, late teens and trim.  Must be Hector’s new find.  Rocky had never seen her before.

With a nonchalant twist of her head, she shook her hair, which cascaded in a halo of blond ringlets.  A leather headband lay below her hairline and disappeared back into curls. Light seemed to follow her, inviting attention.  She appeared larger than life.  Rocky guessed she had a spirit that subdued men and made her impossible to forget.  Unaware of being watched, she stared beyond the walls and drank tequila from the bottle.

Rocky nudged Hector and looked at the girl.

To get the rest, look up The In-Ko-Pah Spirit on Amazon Kindle.

The In-Ko-Pah Spirit Cover

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HEAVENLY PAIN
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I'm the author so this is not a review, but a description of my work.

Border Pulp, that’s what I call the stuff I write. Think of it as noir
in Spanglish, and in color. My protagonists and villains inhabit California/Baja border towns...




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