Monkeys
By paborama
- 914 reads
And they’re there. Loose. Panning for gold by the traffic lights, arms outstretched like they were fifteen years before in front of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Kneeling for forgiveness from the priest, ordained through various hierarchies to say that God had granted them a pardon for their childish crimes against Him.
Bob asked Rico when he had last been to church, to confession, even when he had kneeled last thing at night by his bedside to thank the Lord for his blessings and pray for the relief from suffering for friend and foe alike in the candlelight. A spit had been his answer. But you don’t spit at Bob. Rico had only just learnt to whistle through his teeth again and six months had passed.
Rico whistled low and smooth through his tight-lipped smile, she had returned. His hand not out this time, he swung his hips in a low long gait towards the saloon car. ‘Buenas tardes,’ he murmured in the ochre light of a sun yawning towards a bed in the Everglades. An eyebrow arched within, the half-sunk window guarding her partially but allowing her smoke to drift upwards towards him.
‘Good evening,’ she smiled, removing the tinted glasses as the orange bulb winked behind the trees. ‘You’re begging?’ Rico smiled, his had been a tough life but his swagger melted before her. Though she was younger, she had always had control over the kids in the barrio when she spoke. Something fluid in the way her questions seemed to wrap around your thoughts. Rico nodded, shyly, pride was not his just now. A pack of cigarillos appeared, he took one. ‘Take three.’ As he tucked two in his breast pocket she lit the one in his mouth with a shiny brass Zippo. ‘Tomorrow at seven, be at Marcos and Slint to meet the morning bus.’
‘I get on?’
‘You’ll see.’ She drove off as the lights turned green. The warm breeze blew-in off the coast and the crickets grew louder. Rico turned back to panning but the rush-hour was over and she had slipped him a coupla bucks. He packed-in his half-hearted patter and clocked-out for the day. Ron, cigarillos and a chuleta con tostones would help him win sleep tonight.
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Comments
Well-earned cherries,
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I'm always wary of typo
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