Carlito's Way by Edwin Torres

Author:Edwin Torres
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 1975-11-06T05:00:00+00:00

6

VIVA ESPAÑA! MADRID, A CLASS TOWN. RIGHT AWAY I liked it. Clean, big boulevards. Everybody’s a square, no angling. Almost everybody; Don Jorge Betancourt, Rocco’s man, came by my hotel the first night I was in town. An older guy, European-type cat—like a head-waiter, very dignified, with a heavy theta sound I had to get used to. I never heard that kind of Spanish in the Barrio. But we got to rapping pretty good. I told him this had to be wham-bam-thank you Ma’m because I had to get back to New York. We put on a terrific feed that night, then we went bouncing around the tablaos. Fantasticlooking heads—Gypsies. This might be fun. Second joint we hit we run into Sixto. The joint was shaped like a cave, with a lot of Gypsies singing and dancing. Don Jorge spotted him first—“He is here, on the left near the stage; his man is with him.” Sure enough, there was Sixto Davila yelling “Olé tu madre” with the best of them like a regular Gallego—jive Puerto Rican. We were cool, didn’t look his way. Sure enough, a bucket of champagne arrived, compliments of el señor in the corner. He come over. I threw my arms around him. “Sixto, my man! You look terrific, put on some good weight. The hell you doing in Spain, I thought you was in the Joint?”

“I been moving around a lot, Carlito. I got bored of New York and P.R. Figure I’d check the scene over here.”

Jorge said, “So you know Carlito well, Sixto? Well, Carlito, you are now better recommended. I have much affection for Sixto, a man of condiciones and respect— perhaps we can be friends.”

I picked it up. “Don Jorge, Sixto will tell you that I am a man of honor and when I give my word that is my life— no es así, Sixto?”

“The man don’t lie, Don Jorge; you can count on Carlito Brigante, anytime—I back him up hundred per cent.”

You stool-pigeon motherfucker.

Don Jorge went to rap with some people there so I leaned over to Sixto—“Mi hermano, I won’t forget this— you don’t know what this means to me. I need this connection bad; a guy in the Joint put me on to Don Jorge—he got to give me a break, this may be my last chance to make it after all those years I suffered in the can.”

I put on like my crying face, like uptight. Sixto bit good—“Don’t worry, Carlito, the old dude is in my pocket; he will deal with you—what the hell are friends for? After all the shit we been through together! How long since you been out on the street?”

“Just a few days, ain’t had a chance to see nobody. Wanted to hook up with this man right away. I want nothing to do with them motherfuckers from before; they all let me down when I was in the Joint—fuck ’em.”

“That’s what I say, Carlito—fuck ’em where they breathe.”

Well all right. So me and Sixto got tight—had to be, he was lonely for New York.

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