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looking at it, he handed it to Martínez.
    â€œMartínez, take this.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Martínez looked at the piece of folded pink paper with print on it, with names and numbers. His eyes widened.
    â€œA ticket on the bus to El Paso three weeks from now!”
    Gómez nodded. He couldn’t look at Martínez. He stared out into the summer night.
    â€œTurn it in. Get the money,” he said. “Buy us a nice white panama hat and a pale blue tie to go with the white ice cream suit, Martínez. Do that.”
    â€œGómez—”
    â€œShut up. Boy, is it hot in here! I need air.”
    â€œGómez. I am touched. Gómez—”
    But the door stood open. Gómez was gone.
    Â 
    Mickey Murrillo’s Red Rooster Café and Cocktail Lounge was squashed between two big brick buildings and, being narrow, had to be deep. Outside, serpents of red and sulphur-green neon fizzed and snapped. Inside, dim shapes loomed and swam away to lose themselves in a swarming night sea.
    Martínez, on tiptoe, peeked through a flaked place on the red-painted front window.
    He felt a presence on his left, heard breathing on his right. He glanced in both directions.
    â€œManulo! Villanazul!”
    â€œI decided I wasn’t thirsty,” said Manulo. “So I took a walk.”
    â€œI was just on my way to the plaza,” said Villanazul, “and decided to go the long way around.”
    As if by agreement, the three men shut up now and turned together to peer on tiptoe through various flaked spots on the window.
    A moment later, all three felt a new very warm presence behind them and heard still faster breathing.
    â€œIs our white suit in there?” asked Gómez’s voice.
    â€œGómez!” said everybody, surprised. “Hi!”
    â€œYes!” cried Domínguez, having just arrived to find his ownpeephole. “There’s the suit! And, praise God, Vamenos is still in it!”
    â€œI can’t see!” Gómez squinted, shielding his eyes. “What’s he doing? ”
    Martínez peered. Yes! There, way back in the shadows, was a big chunk of snow and the idiot smile of Vamenos winking above it, wreathed in smoke.
    â€œHe’s smoking!” said Martínez.
    â€œHe’s drinking!” said Domínguez.
    â€œHe’s eating a taco!” reported Villanazul.
    â€œA juicy taco,” added Manulo.
    â€œNo,” said Gómez. “No, no, no …”
    â€œRuby Escuadrillo’s with him!”
    â€œLet me see that!” Gómez pushed Martínez aside.
    Yes, there was Ruby! Two hundred pounds of glittering sequins and tight black satin on the hoof, her scarlet fingernails clutching Vamenos’s shoulder. Her cowlike face, floured with powder, greasy with lipstick, hung over him!
    â€œThat hippo!” said Domínguez. “She’s crushing the shoulder pads. Look, she’s going to sit on his lap!”
    â€œNo, no, not with all that powder and lipstick!” said Gómez. “Manulo, inside! Grab that drink! Villanazul, the cigar, the taco! Domínguez, date Ruby Escuadrillo, get her away. Ándale , men!”
    The three vanished, leaving Gómez and Martínez to stare, gasping, through the peephole.
    â€œManulo, he’s got the drink, he’s drinking it!”
    â€œ Ay! There’s Villanazul, he’s got the cigar, he’s eating the taco!”
    â€œHey, Domínguez, he’s got Ruby! What a brave one!”
    A shadow bulked through Murrillo’s front door, traveling fast.
    â€œGómez!” Martínez clutched Gómez’s arm. “That was Ruby Escuadrillo’s boy friend, Toro Ruíz. If he finds her with Vamenos, the ice cream suit will be covered with blood, covered with blood—”
    â€œDon’t make me nervous,” said Gómez. “Quickly!”
    Both ran. Inside they reached Vamenos just as Toro Ruíz grabbed about two feet