Page 69 of Lone Star

Candy reached the curtain, grabbed it with both hands, and flung it wide.

Benny Boling was one of those guys you remembered as being unimpressive, but each time you saw him, you realized you’d forgotten how much so. Stick-thin, covered in tattoos that were an obvious attempt to distract from his scrawniness, dripping fake gold chains, and armed with a New York accent that stuck out everywhere in Amarillo, he’d spent the last decades blowing money on strippers, call girls, and drugs, yammering away to anyone who would listen about a score of ambitious business plans that never materialized. The underground made use of him off and on, as a go-between, as an informant, and they paid him just enough to eke out his existence of sin and braggadocio.

Currently, he was sprawled back across a velvet sofa, one arm outflung along its cushions, the other hooked loosely around the waist of the woman who straddled his lap, hand playing with the lace strap of her thong. She was bare otherwise, riding the bulge in Benny’s jeans, rubbing her breasts in his face while he moaned and tried to catch at her nipples with a half-open, slack mouth.

“Hate to interrupt,” Candy drawled, and the stripper, Kimmie, he guessed, stilled, glancing back over her shoulder. Her face, lax with false pleasure, tensed immediately, and she scrambled off Benny’s lap.

“Hey,” Benny protested, trying to hold onto her. She shook him off with a brisk, practiced movement. “What gives, sugar? I’ve got another ten minutes…” He trailed off when he spotted Candy, Fox, and Albie in the doorway. Even in the dim, unnatural light, Candy could see that his face paled; his eyes went huge.

“Ah, shit. What do you guys want?”

“Just a little chat, Benny,” Candy assured.

Kimmie bent down to snatch up the mini dress she’d wriggled out of, a crumpled scrap of glittery fabric on the floor, and fled with her head ducked, one arm banded across her breasts. Smart girl, Candy thought. She knew the drill with guys like Benny.

Candy moved to sit beside him, while Fox and Albie stayed on their feet, seeming casual.

Benny wasn’t fooled, though – despite the appearance most of the time, he proved not totally stupid at moments. He clapped a hand over his unimpressive erection and hitched himself up higher against the back of the sofa, white-rimmed gaze shifting between the three of them.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Candy,” he said, voice stuttering, licking his lips ever few words. “How’s the wife? The kid? You been busy?”

“Don’t mention my wife,” Candy said, smoothly. “You know, Benny, you’re awfully twitchy for a guy I haven’t seen in a while.”

“Yeah? No kidding. Guess you’re just scary, huh?” He let out a high, cracked laugh.

Albie leaned over to the iPod dock and switched it off; the beat died away, but Candy could still feel the music from the main room coming up through the floor, through the soles of his boots. It was quiet enough then to hear the scrape of Benny’s nervous breathing.

All three of them stared at him.

Benny wiped a hand across his brow that came away slick with fresh fear sweat. “What do you want?” he asked, meek for the first time.

That was more like it.

“The Chupacabras,” Candy said, and Benny’s brows jumped. “They back in town?”

“Uh…you guys are the ones who ran them outta town.”

“I’m aware. But something tells me they wouldn’t call to give me a heads-up if they came back. Gonna make me kick rocks and talk to ugly little weasels in the backs of shitty clubs to find out.”

Benny glanced at each of their faces in turn, again. “Oh, you don’t think – I mean, why would I – it’s not like I’d–”

Candy let his hand drop off the back of the sofa onto Benny’s shoulder; his palm engulfed the whole joint, like he was gripping a child. He squeezed, and Benny let out an abortive little sound that was doubtless unintentional.

“Let’s don’t play games,” Candy said, angling for a serious, but not-unsympathetic tone. “When things start happening in this city, you always catch word of them. There’s no way you don’t know. I want to give you a chance to come clean.”

Benny gulped, and attempted another shrill, hyena laugh. He was shaking. “Or what? You gonna kill me?”

Candy looked toward Fox, who gave an elegant facial shrug that spoke volumes. He’d taken out a pocket knife and was scraping dirt from under his nails with it, because he was a cocky showman.

“We know they’re behind these murders,” Candy said. “Some jackass who calls himself the ‘Holy Father.’”

He’d said the name hoping for a reaction, but hadn’t expected one so violent. Benny lunged sideways, twisting and flailing, and managed to get out from under Candy’s hand and get his feet under him. He stood between the sofa and the blocked exit, shivering like a wet dog. “No,” he said, slicing an unsteady hand through the air. “No, no, no, nuh-uh, don’t even mention him. We’re done here. You hear me, Candy? Done.” He tried to leave.

Fox and Albie each grabbed an arm and dragged him back; tossed him back onto the sofa. This time, Candy took a punishing grip on his shoulder, and Fox settled in on his other side; the knife was back out.

“No, no, no,” Benny said, squeezing his eyes shut tight, breathing in rough hitches. “Please, God.”

“Benny.Benny,” Candy squeezed hard, and felt the joint give beneath his hand.

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