Kept by Jim Arnold

Author:Jim Arnold [Arnold, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eureka Street Press
Published: 2016-03-19T23:00:00+00:00

7

George Gomes wondered if it was normal that twins smelled different.

Because he could swear these two did. Jimbo and Timbo McLaughlin, on the surface so much the same, about as tall as Connor, but so much lighter, blondie boys, the both of them, though by now almost the end of summer and they were tan.

All the gringos who worked for the Grecos—including Connor, who was more of a boss, and except that silly Daniel, who was more of a secretary—had muscles; at least, muscles bigger than George’s. But these Marines were in a group all by themselves.

In the cab of a Greco truck, George was the passenger and Jimbo drove. Out of the corner of his eye George could see the bulge of Jimbo’s arm as he gripped the steering wheel, a bulge that would be hot and tough and smell like chlorine and suntan oil and desert sand if he touched his nose to it.

George wondered what his girl must be like, how she would be the one privileged to do the touching and the smelling and the sighing. They always talked about their girls, these two brothers, sometimes in whispers, often at peak volume with a fair amount of laughter and show. This was a specific male world he’d always felt shut out of, and the fact that these were men of a different country made that division even more overwhelming.

George didn’t need to worry about these things at all, because he had his own man, his own Connor, even if it was a secret and even if it was not exclusive. He’d figured out Connor had to do “things” for Sy Greco, sometimes. Because Sy was the boss. That was the only reason. He couldn’t, wouldn’t love that older man, that horrible older man.

George didn’t like it when his thinking went down this way, because inevitably it would lead to imagining the two of them in bed together. This made him feel sick, like he’d puke, the same feeling he got on those little pueblo carnival rides back in Mexico when he was a kid.

Jimbo reached over to turn down the radio, which had turned to talky-talky news anyway, boring, and they always spoke so fast, making it hard for George to get the English. They were headed to one of the Greco projects, this one a house down in the Canyon Country Club area, next to a golf course where they’d turned off the water and all the plants and palm trees were now brittle, brown and dead.

This was a shuttle; Jimbo would explain the task after they got there and hooked up with the other guys already working inside the house, Santiago and Dante. It was nearly five—George hoped this would not be too complicated; it had been a long day and he was tired; he was thinking of the pool; he was thinking of Connor. And he was thinking of Harry Rosen.

Every day, this was always with him, and he was sure something bad was going to happen, but so far nothing had—which made him worry all the more.

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