Page 65 of Ransom
We ate in silence while the cumbia music played. The telenovela cut to commercial, and the two women were still fighting when it came back.
"That one's going to lose," Ransom said, jerking his chin at the brunette.
"That one's going to win, and you know it."
"She's crying."
"Crying women win. Rule of TV. The dry-eyed one always turns out to be the husband's sister or some shit."
"What?"
"Telenovelas, man. There's always a sister. Half the plot's incest."
He huffed a short laugh. "You watch a lot of telenovelas?"
"I was raised on Channel 41 in El Paso. Ask me anything."
He finished his beer, and Eduardo brought another without being asked. God bless Eduardo.
"Chance used to do impressions," Ransom said. "Teachers. Cops. The guy at the gas station who tried to shortchange us every damn time. He'd do the voice, the walk, the face, the whole thing. I'd be on the floor in stitches."
"Yeah?"
"He did this one of our landlord. This old guy, Mr. Padilla, always yelling about the noise." Ransom set his bottle down. "Chance had it down. Even the way the old man's hands shook when he was mad."
I laughed. The sound surprised me.
"Yeah," he said fondly. "He'd have liked that you laughed."
I picked at the label on my bottle. "My dad used to take me fishing. Lake Arrowhead, up by Wichita Falls. Never caught a damn thing in our lives."
"Never?"
"Not once. Lying son of a bitch convinced me it was on purpose. Said fish were smarter than us. That was the whole damn point of the trip — losing to something smarter."
"That right?"
"Made me feel real philosophical about a stringer full of nothing."
"And you believed him."
"I was eight."
"What about when you were grown?"
"I entertained him. Never called him on it." My lips twisted into a sneer. "Then Rex happened, and he went to prison."
"You close with your old man?"
I shrugged. "He was mine. He was a piece of shit sometimes, but he was mine."
Ransom finished his second beer. Eduardo brought a third. The world got softer around the edges, the music louder, the colors warmer.
The bar filled up around us, old men at the counter and a couple in the corner, and the pool table in the back getting loud. Eduardo brought another round and then, without being asked, two shots of tequila.
Ransom looked at him.
"On the house," Eduardo said. "You look like you need it."
