The Cactus Garden by Robert Ward

Author:Robert Ward [Ward Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440533952
Publisher: Tyrus Books
Published: 1995-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Valle stopped at the light at La Brea and Santa Monica and stared at the black-haired, teenage boy who primped and winked at him from the bus stop. Wonderful. The kid was no more than sixteen and probably had every communicable disease known to man.

Valle gunned the motor when the light changed and thought of Colombia; thought of the Casa del Sol, the fabulous place he’d lived five years ago when he was stationed there; thought of the rose trellis that wound up a beautiful garden path to his house; thought of his servant, Sylvia, and of the cut flowers she left on his oak breakfast table every morning; thought of the parties he attended and the beauty of the mountains.

He could be there. He should be there. Instead, he was here, here in this pit, this human sewer, watching children peddle their ass and die, watching kids gunning down each other at graduation parties in San Marino. Just today he had heard about a drug-related murder in Los Feliz—a choirmaster had been shot down while buying a bottle of milk at a convenience store.

Oh, man, he wanted out. He wanted out, he wanted the kind of lifestyle he deserved. Now, up ahead, Valle saw the shabby red paint of the old Formosa Cafe and turned right into the parking lot.

As Valle looked toward the bar’s side entrance, he saw an old man staggering from it, probably a grip from the movie business. The guy was tanked, could barely walk. Valle looked at his ruined face, his half-closed eyes, and shuddered.

Think about that, getting old in the land of eternal youth. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to avoid that. No fucking way, baby. He waited in the parking lot for a couple of seconds, then got out and went inside.

The side hallway was dark, and Valle blinked. When his eyes adjusted, he saw on the wall in front of him a picture of Clark Gable, looking young and fit. Next to Gable was a smiling picture of Marilyn Monroe, looking as if she had just had a sexy assignation with Kennedy. And a little farther away was a picture of Elvis, in his cowboy costume, from Love Me Tender. Great, Valle thought, all the dead gods and goddesses. No one seemed to mind that they were all dead about fifty years too soon. They’d made it! They’d become legends in Tinseltown. The thought chilled him again.

He had to get back to Colombia, that was all there was to it.

He walked past the dark booths where kids with shaved heads, ripped jeans, and Dr. Martens sat with predictable scowls on their faces.

At the end of the bar, he saw Julio, but he didn’t sit down next to him. Instead, he signaled to him to come to the back part of the Formosa, the dining car where there were small red leatherette booths that accommodated only two people.

“Hey, ese, what’s going on?” Julio Blanco said, as they slid into their seats.

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