ARTURO

I reach the plaza. The bootblacks point at my shoes, but I shake my head. They resettle into their lethargic positions. I stand in front of the municipal building. The cathedral looms behind me. Matamoros retains its charm because it has never abandoned its downtown. Brownsville stands like an empty museum with its shuttered buildings dating back to the 19th century. The Cafe Madrid was once the residence of a wealthy landowner before the Revolution. The two-story home, with a balcony overlooking Matamoros' principal street, was converted into a restaurant by a young couple wishing to express their artistic side. The balcony turned me into a regular. Though the electrical wires hanging overhead are a cause for concern, I must confess that leaning over the parapet and peering down on the promenading señoritas is a special treat. I take a seat at the back of the restaurant. A John Coltrane number is playing. "Un agua mineral with a touch of lime, señor?" "Good job, Arturo. How did you guess?" "The news is all over town that they have discovered the young girl's body. I'm sure you haven't written your article since the news is breaking. A beer would undermine your efforts." "You are right, Arturo." He departs for the bar and I burrow deeper into my chair. I'm counting on an hour of tranquility although I know better than to take anything for granted since the Apostles are stalking me. Sometimes my head wants to shatter from the incessant chatter. Other times I fear I have a clogged artery that isn't allowing the blood to flow smoothly to my brain. I met Arturo at the Hotel Colonial in the mid-seventies after I had returned from UT and started at the Herald. In those days the Herald was an afternoon paper.When the noon deadline passed, I would frequently go to Boystown, but more often than not I would drop into a bar or a restaurant and drink. I walked into the Colonial out of curiosity and discovered a formal dining room with heavy velvet curtains that cast the entire restaurant into darkness. I found the cheap elegance tasteful. With the air-conditioning purring full-throttle and the deeply cushioned chairs soft as a bed, I had no intentions of moving as long as summer ruled the day. Arturo approached and recommended a piña colada. Though he isn't formally educated, he holds a wide-ranging knowledge on a number of subjects and isn't shy about expressing his opinion. He prides himself on his Spanish and never thinks twice about correcting my Tex-Mex. Thirty years and little has changed beyond our physical appearances. I have fared better. Arturo's body has collapsed around his waist while I have waged a valiant battle against the inevitable. And his latest tux--I assume it isn't the one he was wearing at our first meeting--is noticeably frayed. Nevertheless, his puffy, red face is cleanly shaved, his dyed black hair is neatly combed and his shoes shine. And the faint fragrance of a cheap cologne emanates from him. But there is nothing tawdry about his comportment. A drill sergeant's vision, he stands at attention with the mineral water. "Have you written the story in your head?" he asks. "You're sitting there like a blank screen." Matamoros, in spite of its population, has a small-town mentality. The death of Marisol, like a shootout between rival gangs, spreads through the city in an instant. Marisol's disappearance has had the entire town sitting on the edge of their seats as if they were watching the final minutes of a World Cup game. "I'm getting myself in the zone so the article will write itself. But I'm waiting for Fidel to return with the facts." "Fidel dictates and you translate. You've changed, my friend. You're not the guy who used to sit at ringside and get showered with blood." "As you know well, mi amigo, I've witnessed more than my share of crime scenes and I have no desire to see firsthand the maggots and the maim. Show me the box score and I'll give you a lurid inning-by-inning account. What are the specials today?" "We have chile rellenos, beef steak ranchero, grilled chicken, fajita tacos and pozole." "Are the chile rellenos beef or cheese?" "Beef. We're serving rice and beans on the side." "I'll have that. I need something that will stick with me for the rest of the day." Arturo is leaving as the cell rings. "Tommy! Doc." "What's up?" "I have the medicine. Come by the office and I'll administer the shot." "I was drunk the other night. Are you sure that I'm not risking my health?" It's the same dosage we give sex offenders. It reduces your testosterone. It wears off in a month." "I'll come by your office at the end of the week and we can discuss the pros and cons, but I need relief." "I heard they found the little girl." "Already?" "It was on television. You'll have all the details tomorrow?" "Should I include that if the boyfriend had been on your anti-fucking medicine, this tragedy wouldn't have happened?" "You're the artist." "We'll talk later." "Don't forget. I have the magic potion that will free you from you."