Trust Me by Richard Z. Santos

Author:Richard Z. Santos
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arte Público Press
Published: 2019-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

MALLON LIVED IN A DUPLEX half the size of Cody Branch’s roof deck. The place was simple, sparse and perfect for him. Still, he had been gone for days. When the job got busy, it was easier to crash on a guardhouse bunk. The hard canvas cot felt better on his back, and Mallon knew the importance of demonstrating his dedication and respect to the newer guys. Branch kept hiring more security—more than he needed. Most of them were sitting around, eyeing Mrs. Branch on the security monitors or strolling around the property like they were being paid to count mosquitoes.

The duplex was on Santa Fe’s south side. The drive from Branch’s compound took him from wealth, around the plaza, through the middle-class neighborhoods of coffee shops and yoga studios, and then into the Mexican neighborhoods of car repair joints and burrito places. These were his neighbors, but he never talked to anyone other than Claudia.

She lived in the other half of the duplex. Her old Ford was in the carport and her kitchen light was on. The first thing he did, before even turning on the light, was unlock the back door. She would hear him through the walls and slide in. That was how they first met. A year ago, she opened her back door, stepped over the two-foot high bush that separated their halves of the yard and walked right in. She asked why she could never hear his TV or any music through the thin walls, almost complaining about the quiet. After that, she came over once a week, and then several times a week, and now she visited pretty much every night he was in.

The living room smelled musty, so he cracked a window. He switched on all the lights, and when he turned on the swamp cooler, he could smell the moist air flood his home. Mallon had never bothered to replace the old machine with an AC.

Mallon lined up his shoes near the front door and hung his keys on a plain hook he had twisted into the wall. He walked around the house, making sure everything was as he left it. Even coming home had its own dedicated routine. After looking in on every room, even the empty spare bedroom, he dumped his clothes into the washing machine. The routine and the cleanliness soothed him. Clutter, loose ends, made him jumpy.

As he was loading the dryer, Claudia crept in the back door and dropped onto the couch. He heard her, of course, even though she made almost no noise. Claudia moved with the kind of practiced quiet he assumed she had needed to learn the hard way. She was holding a six-pack of tall beers and wore a long-sleeve T-shirt underneath a pair of overalls. She cracked a can and rested her sneakers on the arm of the couch.

“You look like an Amish kid,” Mallon said.

Claudia took a sip and shook her head. “You have no idea what the Amish look like. Do they even wear denim?”

“Aren’t you hot?”

“You keep this place cold.

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