Five O’Clock Shadow (21 page)

Pauly wandered behind the line of parked living quarters and next to a ten-foot fence with round loops of razor wire lacing the top. The area looked deserted and Pauly was about to turn back when she heard a trailer door open and close. The woman who had had the puppies for sale was setting up exercise pens behind her trailer and came back down the steps with an armload of newspapers.

“Hi. Need any help?”

The woman looked startled then relaxed.

“You're the one looking for a puppy. Lulu's granddaughter?”

Pauly nodded.

“I was real sorry that we'd sold them all. They're so cute. Sorta sell themselves. People watch the act and expect them to somersault off the divan at eight weeks and play dead. Actually they can't do that until ten weeks.” She grinned and Pauly realized she was kidding. “You know if you'd like to help, you could set up another pen and put some papers down. Davy, that's my son, promised to help but he's disappeared somewhere.”

“That'd be fine. I'm Pauly.”

“Brenda.” The woman lit a cigarette, offering the pack to Pauly.

“No thanks.”

“Willpower? Or did you just never have the habit?”

“Maybe a little of each. I tried it in high school but didn't like it.”

“That's amazing. You know now people can sue the tobacco companies for withholding evidence? Keeping people in the dark about how addictive this shit is. Guess they even upped the nicotine levels to keep people hooked. I've tried to quit. About a hundred million times.” She smiled ruefully. “I've been hypnotized, stuck with needles, gone cold turkey. Nothing works. You think people are going to get any money if they sue?”

“I guess I'd doubt it. Too many of them.”

“Davy.” The woman suddenly yelled and motioned for a pudgy youngster to join them. Pauly watched as the young boy sauntered across the lot towards them. He was a pretty hip-looking pre-teen with initials carved into his hair on one side, baggy shirt spilling over baggy jeans that flared over the tops of unlaced sneakers.

“This is my son.” Her pride was as obvious as Davy's embarrassment. He stared at the ground as his mother made introductions. “Now you help Pauly here and be quick about it. I need to let those little buggers out of their crates.”

Pauly grabbed one side of a folded wire enclosure that leaned against the side of the trailer, Davy hefted the other. It was quickly apparent that he had done this before, so Pauly followed his instructions; they were more or less monosyllabic but helpful. Between them they flipped the four-sided pens open before placing them on the ground. Davy grunted his approval when she did it right. Teenagers were a trip. Had she been this insolent at the same age? Probably.

“Clip that corner.” Davy pointed then clipped the corner nearest him.

Pauly found a metal snap-looking thing hanging on the side and snapped it into place, securing one end. Brenda had disappeared inside. This could be her chance. Wouldn't Davy know all the kids who helped with the dogs? Probably. He might be the one who could help her.

“I'm looking for a young boy named Jorge. I think he's from Honduras.” Pauly watched Davy, who was spreading newspapers.

“There's no Jorge here.”

Pauly fought back sickening disappointment.

“Did he stay in Albuquerque?”

Davy paused to look at her. “I don't know no Jorge.”

“Wait. I have a picture.” Pauly walked to where she had tossed her bag by the trailer's steps and, fumbling for her billfold, produced the snapshot of Jorge and Randy standing side by side. She handed it to Davy.

“That's the child I'm looking for. I've seen him work with the dogs before.”

“That's Paco. Yeah, he works with the dogs.”

Paco? Not Jorge? Of course, Paco was a nickname. Pauly put the picture back in her billfold.

“I'd like to talk with Paco. Is he here?” She held her breath, slowly releasing it at Davy's nod.

“He don't speak very good English.”

“I'd need an interpreter.” She had Davy's attention now. It hadn't dawned on her, but the job of interpreter probably needed to be worth something.

“How much you gonna pay?” Davy was obviously thinking the same thing. But why not? This was perfect.

“The job pays ten for bringing him to me and another ten for helping us talk.”

“Twenty?”

Pauly nodded.

“Twenty-five.”

Pauly got the distinct feeling that bargaining came naturally to Davy.

“Okay.” She wasn't going to quibble about five dollars. “Is your Spanish good enough to be the interpreter?”

“Yeah. I learned from my dad. And, I help out sometimes with the kids around here. So, when do we do this?”

“Will everyone knock off for lunch soon?”

“About one-thirty.”

“How about meeting me over by that bandstand in the park after the lunch break but before you have to be back.”

“Okay.”

Brenda pushed open the door to the trailer, carrying a Jack Russell under each arm.

“These guys are about to burst. I don't like to make them wait to go potty longer than six hours and it's been almost nine.” She put the two dogs down in the nearest pen and went back inside.

“I've got to go now. You won't forget?” Pauly asked.

“Not for twenty-five.” A kid's grin, pleased with himself, already counting the money, maybe planning on another haircut; those couldn't be cheap.

Pauly leaned over to pet the terrier leaping at the side of the pen.

“See you in a couple hours.”

***

Pauly crossed the street early, fully intending to try and stake out her territory. She wasn't sure what she'd do if someone was already sitting on the steps of the grandstand. But the steps were empty. She'd been too excited to eat but now spread a couple of Kleenex out and placed the two wrapped sandwiches on top. Maybe he'd be hungry, or maybe Davy. Kids were bottomless pits. She was glad she'd brought food.

She was having difficulty referring to Jorge as Paco. But she'd soon find out that the name was an alias. What other questions would she ask? She'd rehearsed her part. She thought she was ready.

The boys didn't keep her waiting. Next to Davy, Randy's adopted son looked diminutive. But so beautiful. Again she was taken by his frailty, unblemished skin almost translucent making the dark curls surrounding his face stand out in stark contrast.

Both boys seemed bashful at first and eyed the sandwiches.

“These are for you.” Pauly handed one to each and motioned for them to join her on the steps. Paco sat next to her on the same step. Now that he was here beside her, trusting, at ease, munching on a sandwich, it seemed difficult for her to begin.

Pauly took a deep breath.

“Ask him about his parents.”

Or parent, singular, she thought to herself. Was the question too direct? She needed to know about Randy, up front, at once…no putting it off with small talk first. They probably didn't have too long. She felt a need to make the most of their time.

Davy repeated her request and Paco stopped eating and looked away. Then slowly he answered, taking his time. The answer was a long one and Pauly fought an urge to fidget. Finally Davy explained.

“He says that his parents are very poor and that he came to the United States to work in the carnival. His uncle brought him here. His uncle got him papers so he could stay and make money to send back to his parents.”

“What's his uncle's name?”

Pauly almost held her breath. Did he call Randy by name? Was “uncle” some euphemism for adoptive father? Or was there some special name between father and son? Or maybe a secret name, one used with the other while…. She couldn't let herself think of that, those moments when Randy might have touched the child, fondled him…or more.

“Preacher-man,” Davy said.

“What?”

“The name of his uncle.”

“But who's that?” Pauly was dumbfounded.

“You know, that old guy that gets up and talks about Jesus all the time.”

“Hofer?”

“I guess so.”

This was crazy. Was the child mistaken? How could Hofer be this uncle? Unless as an owner he took care of the paper work in order for Jorge to work with the carnival. But what kind of papers let a nine-year-old work? You didn't get a green card at this age. Pauly leaned forward.

“Ask him if his name is Jorge Roberto Suarez Zuniga McIntyre.”

But the child looked up and shook his head. He seemed to understand some things.

He pointed to his chest and said, “Me llamo Paco.”

“That's probably a nickname. What's his full name?”

Again before Davy could translate, the child said clearly, “Me llamo Carlos Zapata Chuc.”

Pauly sat back. Chuc? Not Zuniga or McIntyre? What was going on? She stared at Paco, who had calmly taken another bite of sandwich. Was he lying? But why would he lie about his name?

“Was he born in Honduras?”

A quick conference between the two.

“Merida.”

“Where's Merida?”

Davy shrugged. “Somewhere in Old Mexico.”

“He's Mexican?” Pauly wasn't sure why she repeated that. But who was the child listed on the adoption papers? The age was right. But the country of origin, of birth, was Honduras. There was really only one way to clear all this up. She pulled the picture of Randy and Paco out of her billfold.

“How does he know this man?” She handed the picture to Davy, who showed it to Paco.

Paco shrugged but looked at the picture closely, turning it over then upright again before babbling excitedly in Spanish.

“He wants to know how you did that,” Davy said.

“Did what?”

“Put him in the picture when he wasn't there.”

Her heart began beating faster.
Wasn't there?

“What does he mean?”

Davy questioned Paco, who emphatically shook his head, then pointed to Randy leaning against the brick wall in the picture and shrugged.

“He thinks you might be a
bruja.
He says that he only saw this man one time. He never stood by him like this and got his picture taken.”

Paco had scooted away from her on the step, eyes round with apprehension but never leaving her face. He probably thought she'd give him the evil-eye. She had to go slow, smile, reach out and touch him. That would break any spell. He flinched but didn't try to get away.

“But is that a picture of him? It looks like he's wearing school clothes. Ask him when the picture of him was taken.”

Davy conferred with Paco and pointed to the picture. Paco shrugged again and seemed agitated, a sneakered foot jiggled against the wooden step.

“He doesn't remember. He says maybe at school or maybe here. Sometimes his uncle takes pictures.”

“Davy, this is important. Ask him when he saw this man.”

Pauly pointed to Randy and watched Paco's expression turn to fear. She interrupted, “Tell him not to be afraid. I won't hurt him. I won't let anyone else hurt him.”

Davy apparently repeated what she had said because Paco slowly began to explain but didn't seem to be any calmer. And he didn't look at her. The explanation was another long one and the jiggling was almost manic now. When he was finished, Davy didn't jump right in with the translation but seemed to be weighing his words.

“Davy, what is it?”

“Uh…he's not sure I should tell you.”

“I promise. No one will get into trouble.” She was almost holding her breath now. Why was he terrified of Randy? She was afraid to guess. Davy said something to Paco. Paco nodded.

“One time he was trying to run away from the carnival and he got lost down by the river and this—this sounds kinda crazy—this big clock on a balloon comes down out of the sky and offers him a ride.” Davy stopped, broke into Spanish obviously double-checking his information but Paco only nodded again. “Like I said this balloon picks him up, but he's too heavy and just when the balloon gets back up high in the sky, it falls down to the ground and he almost gets drowned. But this man,” Davy pointed to the picture of Randy, “was in the balloon and he was nice and Paco wants to know if you're going to report him for making the balloon fall out of the sky.”

Pauly would have burst out laughing if Paco hadn't been so serious. He was looking at her now, eyes on the edge of tears. The child honestly blamed himself, probably thought others were looking for him because the balloon crashed. She turned on the steps and placed her hands on Paco's shoulders.

“You didn't hurt anyone. You weren't too heavy. Something very bad happened to the balloon, but it wasn't your fault.” She talked slowly and Davy repeated each sentence. Paco seemed to relax but squirmed out of her grasp just the same. She sat back and smiled again. She couldn't move too fast.

Paco said something to Davy, pulled him over to whisper in his ear.

“He says that you're nice 'cause you found his bear and brought it back. He says thanks.”

Pauly smiled at the boy, who shyly looked at her with lowered eyes. She said, “De nada.”

“Ummm, we have to go now. My mom wants us to exercise the dogs.” Davy looked at her expectantly.

“Yes, of course, here's your fee. And something for Paco.”

Pauly held out a rolled-up twenty and five for Davy and a twenty for Paco.

“Great.” Davy made a big show of putting the money in his jeans pocket. “Will you be needing to talk any more?”

“Yes. I might. No, I definitely will.” Pauly knew she needed to ask Paco about the nude pictures. Surely those weren't in error. But should she show them to the interpreter? She needed Davy, but the second set of pictures could mean real trouble. At the very least a lot of teasing, embarrassment, maybe Paco wouldn't talk about it. But he knew who was taking those photos or at least where they were taken. Could she interview him by herself? And communicate at all?