Mr. Good(5)

"This has implications," Purcell said.

"We should probably call an ambulance," I said.

"We might do that," he said. "But we’ve got to move him off this property first."

I didn’t say anything, but Purcell jerked his head around like I had.

"Just because this pussel-gut decides to tap some Mexican cheerleader, I should have to pay double and triple on my liability insurance? And as for the police," he said, "what’d you think: Columbo’s gonna show up here at dawn?" He pulled a wallet-on-a-chain out of his back pocket and started speaking Spanish again. When he finished all three Mexicans nodded. The old one wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Then Purcell took out two fifty-dollar bills and handed one to each of the two squatting men. They both spoke to the injured man, patted him on the shoulder, then stood up and left. Purcell bent over the injured man and slipped two bills into his pants pocket. He spoke to him and the man answered. Purcell replied, his voice angry. The man shook his head back and forth on the ground. Purcell started cursing in English. He turned to me, "Sack of shit says he can’t get up."

"Huh," I said.

Purcell gave the man a little kick in the hip and said something in Spanish. Then he grabbed the man’s arm and tried to haul him up. He didn’t budge. He was dead weight. Purcell dropped his arm. "All right," he said, "you get his shoulders and I’ll get his legs," and he stepped around the man to his feet. I didn’t move.

He waved. "Come on, let’s go."

"That’s my coat there," I pointed.

"Yeah? So?" he said.

"It’s ruined," I said.

His expression deadened as he figured it out, which took about two seconds. He shook his head and cursed again. He took out his wallet and handed over a fifty.

"I need a hundred more," I said.

If either of us had been smoking the whole block would’ve exploded. "Listen," he said, "I wouldn’t be paying anybody anything if I could speak enough Spanish to make these tacos understand if they don’t do what I say I’ll tell the police whatever I want. But even though you’re a goddamn briar you understand me, don’t you?"

"The police might hassle me on your sayso," I said, "but that’s about all they could do. And think about it. If I do end up talking to them, I’m such a briar I might let it slip how you run a straight cash business."

He turned his back to me and started muttering. He stayed that way at least a half-minute. Then he turned back around holding out five twenties. His mouth was very tight.

Lifting the man was like picking up one end of a rowboat full of water, if you’ve ever done that. We carried him ten yards, rested, then went the last ten yards to the street. Purcell dropped the man’s feet and stayed bent over with his hands on his knees, huffing and puffing. He glanced up at me, then unhooked his key ring from his belt and tossed it and it hit the sidewalk right in front of me and I had to do a skip to keep it from hitting my feet. "Move my car up to the trailer," he said.