Rough Trade by Katrina Carrasco

Author:Katrina Carrasco
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

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Alma sits at the Monte Carlo’s long counter, sipping gin and snacking on peanuts. She did an all right job of not thinking about Bess all day, but she’s glad to be at the bar with her crew. Lyle and Beatrice chatted with her for a while over a bottle of whiskey, then wandered off to Beatrice’s room in the back. Zeke and Dos Santos are at the billiards table directly behind her, and Adriel and Velásquez should be arriving soon. She wants to meet the new man. Dos Santos said he did a fair job on the boats today, green as they come but strong enough and quick to follow directions. Maybe he’ll fit into Lyle’s spot on the crew easy. Or maybe he’ll present a more dangerous, more interesting diversion.

“They’re here,” Dos Santos says, suddenly at her shoulder. He waves at the barkeep, calls for a whiskey.

Alma sniffs, doesn’t turn around. In the watery tin paneling behind the bar there’s a twin blur moving toward her.

“Boss,” Adriel says, a moment later.

She swivels partway around on the barstool. Adriel wears a contained grin, not quite showing teeth. Beside him is Velásquez. He’s taller than Adriel, with gold hair and a neat, darker-brown beard. Up close, he looks to be in his midtwenties. He has extraordinary copper-colored eyes, thick brows. The very picture of a handsome rough. He and Adriel are almost too beautiful together. They stand a careful, small distance apart.

“Graham.” Alma nods at him, then slides her gaze to Velásquez. “And who have we here?”

“Velásquez.” The man steps forward and extends his hand. “Thanks for giving me a chance on your crew, sir.”

He has a firm handshake, his knuckles reddened and cut by the day’s labor. Something in his voice catches Alma’s attention. She can’t quite place what it is.

“How was the day?” she says.

“Long.”

Adriel makes a small noise; a muffled laugh, maybe.

“Long,” Alma echoes, nodding. “You should ask the boys about how long days were before we got the union.”

She flags down the barkeep and orders a round for the three of them, adding on a gin for Zeke at the billiards table.

“Go join your brother,” she says, handing Adriel two drinks. “He wanted you for a doubles game.”

Adriel makes his way through the thickening crowd to where Zeke and Dos Santos are once again cleaning up the felt. Velásquez follows him with his eyes. The brothers shake hands, lean close to speak.

“How long were the days?” Velásquez asks, bringing his attention back to Alma.

“Thirteen, sometimes fifteen hours,” Alma says. “The shipping bosses didn’t care if men dropped dead, those sons of bitches.”

She watches him for a reaction. It’s possible that he’s a labor spy, one of the kind hired from time to time by the shipping owners to harass the union men. There was talk of such a spy in August, after the strike, when everyone was worked up into a froth over the Knights of Labor supposedly descending on Tacoma. But Velásquez seems

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