Mr Majestyk (1974) (8 page)

"How'd you sleep?"

"Too long."

"Man, you need it."

Majestyk swung the pickup around in a tight turn. When they were heading bac k t oward the field that was being worked, on their right now, Mendoza said, "I tr y a gain this morning, same thing. Nobody wants to work for us. I talk to Julio Tamaz, some of the others. What's going on? What is this shit? Julio says man, I don't have a crew for you, that's all."

"He can get all he wants," Majestyk said.

"I know it. He turn some away, says they're no good. I hire them and find ou t h e's right."

As they approached the trailer, standing by itself on the side of the road , Mendoza saw the girl with the dark bandana and pearl earrings coming out of th e f ield again with a sack of melons. He glanced at Majestyk and saw him watchin g h er.

"That one," Mendoza said, "Nancy Chavez. She wasn't here, we wouldn't have an y g ood workers at all. She got some more friends drove over from Yuma. She pick s b etter than two men. But we got to have a full crew, soon, or we never get i t d one."

Mendoza got out by the trailer. He slammed the door and said through the window , "I hope you have better luck than me."

"Least I'll find out what's going on," Majestyk said. He could see the girl b y t he trailer, unloading her melon sack. That was something, she was still here.

She didn't know him or owe him anything, but she was still here.

Harold Ritchie was leaning over the fender of the State Highway Departmen t p ickup truck, holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He was looking acros s t he highway and across a section of melon field to where the dust column wa s f ollowing Majestyk's yellow truck all the way up the side road.

"It could be him this time," Ritchie said. "Hang on."

He was speaking to another deputy who was sitting inside a tool shed by a p olice-frequency two-way radio. It was hotter than hell inside and the door wa s o pen so he could get some air. The shed hadn't been built for people to sit in , but it was the best they could do. Besides the shed, there was a mobil e g enerator, a tar pot, some grading equipment, a pile of gravel, a portabl e t oilet that looked like a rounded phone booth without windows, wooden barricade s a nd lanterns and a sign that said ROAD CONSTRUCTION 500 FT., though nothing wa s g oing on. The only ones here were Ritchie and the deputy operating the radio , both of them in work clothes.

"Yeah, it's him," Ritchie said now, lowering the glasses and watching Majestyk'
s p ickup come out of the side road without stopping and swing onto the highway.

"Jesus Christ, I could arrest him for that," Ritchie said. "Tell them he jus t d rove out in his truck, yellow four-wheel-drive pickup, heading toward Edna. I'
m g etting on him right now."

Ritchie slid behind the wheel of the State Highway Department truck and took of f a fter him.

Majestyk parked across the highway from the blue school bus and the stake truc k a nd the old junk cars the migrants would return to later in the day. In th e s tillness he could hear the jukebox out on the street. Tammy Wynette, with a t wangy Nashville backup, telling about some boy she loved who was in love wit h s omebody else.

Majestyk followed the sound of the music to the cafe-bar and had the screen doo r o pen when the State Highway Department truck slowed down at the Junctio n i ntersection and came coasting by. He gave the truck a little wave before h e w ent inside.

A waitress was serving Julio Tamaz and another Chicano labor contractor thei r b reakfast. They were sitting at a table, the only customers in the place.

Another woman, wearing a stained white apron, was sweeping the floor, movin g c hairs around, banging them against the formica tables. The two men didn't loo k u p as Majestyk approached them. They were busy with the salt and pepper an d p ouring sugar and cream. Julio was dousing his fried eggs dark brown with Lea & Perrins.

"Julio?"

He looked up then, with a surprised expression he had prepared as Majesty k w alked over.

"Hey, Vincent. They let you out, huh? Good."

Majestyk pulled a chair out but didn't sit down. He stood with his hand on it , as though he had changed his mind.

"How come I can't hire a crew?"

"Man, you been away, in jail."

"Larry Mendoza hasn't. Last two mornings you turned him down. How come?"

"It's the time of the year. I got too much business." He poked at the eggs wit h h is fork, yellow appearing, mixing with the brown. "Other people need crews too.

They ask me first."

"All right," Majestyk said, "I'm asking you right now for thirty people tomorro w m orning. Buck forty."

Julio kept busy with his eggs and didn't look up. "I got crews signed more tha n a week. Vincent, you too late, that's all."

Majestyk watched him begin to eat his eggs before turning his attention to th e o ther man at the table. He was already finishing, wiping the yolk from his plat e w ith a piece of toast.

"How about you?" Majestyk said. "You get me a crew?"

"Me?" With the same helpless tone as Julio's. "Maybe in ten days," the labo r c ontractor said. "I can't promise you nothing right now."

"In ten days my crop will be ruined."

"Like Julio says, other people ask first. We can't help that."

"What is this, stick-up time? You want more money? What?"

"It's not money, Vincent." Julio's tone was sad as well as helpless. "How can w e g et you people if we don't have any?"

Majestyk pulled the chair out a little farther. This time he sat down and leane d o ver the edge of the table on his arms.

He said quietly, "Julio, what's going on?"

"I tole you. I got too much work."

"You'd drive to Mexico if you had to. Come on, somebody pay you, threaten you?

What?"

"Listen," Julio said, intently now, his voice lower, "I got to work for a livin g a nd I can't do it in no goddamn hospital. You understand?"

"I'm beginning to. You could help me though."

"I'm not going to say any more. Man, I've said enough."

Majestyk stared at him a moment. Finally he said, "Okay," got up and walked awa y f rom the table.

Julio called after him, "Vincent, next season, uh?"

The contractor at the table with him, eating his piece of toast, said, "If he'
s s till around."

Coming out of the place into the sunlight he was aware of the State Highway Department truck parked across the street and the deputy sitting in the cab , watching him. Tell him you're going back home, Majestyk was thinking. Put hi s m ind at ease. He started for the street, through the space between the back o f t he school bus and the stake truck, when the voice stopped him.

"You looking for a crew?"

He saw Bobby Kopas then, leaning against a car with his arms folded, a familia r p ose, a tight lavender shirt; sunglasses and bandit moustache hiding a thin , bony face. The car, an Olds 98, was at the curb in front of the school bus.

Someone else was inside, a big-shouldered man, behind the wheel.

"You want pickers, maybe I can get you some wine heads," Kopas said. H
e s traightened, unfolding his arms, as Majestyk walked over to him. "You touch me , man, you're back in jail by lunchtime."

Majestyk stared at him, standing there close enough to touch. All he had to d o w as grab the front of that pretty shirt and belt him. It would be easy and i t w ould be pure pleasure. But the deputy was across the street and Majestyk didn'
t h ave to look over to know he was watching them. He wondered if Kopas knew th e m an in the State Highway Department truck was a cop.

"You dropped the complaint," Majestyk said. "Why? You want to try and pay m e b ack yourself?"

"I do you a favor--Jesus, after you like to broke my nose, you think I'm pullin g s omething." Kopas gave him the hint of a grin. "Man, I'm being a good neighbor , that's all."

"What'd you say to Julio Tamaz and the other contractors? You pay them off o r t hreaten them? How'd you work it?"

The little grin was still there. "Man, I hope nobody's telling stories on me , giving me a bad name."

"They didn't say it was you. I'm saying it."

"Why would I do a thing like that?"

"So I'll lose my crop."

"I think you must be a little mixed up," Kopas said. "Don't know where you r h ead's at. Here you are standing in deep shit and you're worried about a littl e d inky melon crop."

"You've been talking to somebody," Majestyk said.

"Who's that?" Kopas said, giving him the grin.

"I can fix it you'd have a hard time smiling again."

Kopas tensed and the grin vanished. "Listen, I'm not kidding. You even make a f ist, man, you're back in jail."

"Are you working for him?"

"Who's that?"

"He get you to drop the complaint?"

"I think I'm tired of talking to you," Kopas said. He moved to the car door an d o pened it, then looked back at Majestyk.

"I'll tell you one thing though. Somebody's going to set your ass on fire. And I'm going to be there to see it."

The Olds started off as Kopas got in and slammed the door.

Majestyk caught a glimpse of the driver's profile--looking at Kopas, sayin g s omething--and for a moment he thought he knew the man or had seen him before.

But the car was moving away and it was too late to get another look at him an d b e sure. Big shoulders, curly hair. Maybe he was one of the guys who had bee n w ith Kopas a week ago, the day it began. Or a different one. The car wa s d ifferent.

What difference did it make? He had enough people to think about withou t b ringing in new ones. Faces to remember. Frank Renda's. Telling him he was goin g t o kill him. Now Kopas and Renda. The man had already started to make his move.

He didn't waste time. He found Kopas and hired him. That was plain enough. No w t hey were beginning to play a game with him. Let him know they were coming. Giv e h im something to keep him awake nights. He thought of telling the deputy in the State Highway Department truck. Get him after them, quick, before they turne d o ff the highway somewhere. Maybe they would lead him to Renda.

But Renda didn't have any reason to hide. He was free.

And what does the cop do, arrest them? For what?

No, whatever's going to happen is going to happen, Majestyk thought. So go hom e a nd pick your melons.

Chapter
8.

"I'M NOT SHITTIN' YOU," Kopas said. "I was thinking of dropping the complain t a nyway, so I could take care of the son of a bitch myself."

Eugene Lundy wasn't listening to him. He was staring straight ahead, over th e h ood of the Olds 98, at the vacant land of dust-green mesquite and sun glare an d b ugs rising with the airstream and exploding in yellow bursts against th e w indshield. Like somebody was spitting them there.

"Load up the pump gun and wait for him," Kopas said. "Or stick it in his windo w s ome night. See him sittin' on the toilet. Bam. Scatter the motherfucker al l o ver the room."

Lundy was counting the bug stains, more than a dozen of the yellow ones: som e k ind of bug flying along having a nice time and the next thing sucked into th e w ind, coming up fast over the hood and wiped out, the bug not knowing what i n t he name of Christ happened to him. Maybe they had been butterflies. Seeing th e b ugs suddenly, there wasn't time to tell what they were.

"I got to piss," Kopas said.

Lundy looked at the speedometer and up again. He was holding between seventy an d s eventy-five down the country road that rose and dropped through the desert , seeing no other cars, no people, not even signs.

"Man, I'm in pain," Kopas said. "All you got to do is stop the car."

"We're almost there," Lundy said. "I'm not going to stop twice."

"How long you think it's going to take me, an hour? All I want to do is take a p iss."

"Hold it," Lundy said.

Maybe they were all different kinds of bugs, but all bugs were yellow inside.

Like all people were red inside. Maybe. Lundy had never thought about it before.

His gaze held on the stained windshield as he waited for a bug to come up ove r t he hood.

He felt so good his eyes were watering, and kept going like he was never goin g t o stop. Jesus, what a relief. Son of a bitch Lundy made him hold it twent y m inutes, refusing to stop the car. He'd finally pleaded with him. Christ, jus t s low down, he'd piss out the window, but the son of a bitch wouldn't even d o t hat. A very cold son of a bitch who didn't say much, sitting on two piece s u nder his seat, a Colt .45 automatic and a big fucking Colt .44 mag. He ha d a sked the guy if he had been in on the bus job and the guy had looked at him an d s aid, "The bus job. Is that what you call it?" And that was all he'd said.

Bobby Kopas zipped up his fly and walked around to the front of the Olds where Lundy was standing, squinting up at the sky.

"Hurry up and wait," Kopas said. "I never seen a plane come in on time in m y l ife. Not even the airlines, not once I ever went out to the airport. Everybod y s itting around waiting. Go in the cocktail lounge you're smashed by the time th e f ucking plane arrives. You ever seen a plane come in on time?"