Hunter and Hunted

Freed from the tangled mess, but his adversary having fled, Esteban ground his teeth in frustration. He had not thought of going for the knife, not once. Maybe he should have flashed it, just to see the fear in the man’s eyes. Whites always feared the blade. Esteban grunted. Maybe it was just as well. The only things hurt so far were the other man’s stomach, the boy’s nose, and Esteban’s pride. All of which would heal of their own accord, in time.

Esteban rounded up the ball cap, tossing it into the sink. He picked up the youth, turning him over and sitting his back against the wall. Esteban examined the mashed nose. It looked bad, bloody, split, and misshapen, but it wasn’t much off-center. The alcohol deciding for him, Esteban gripped the bridge of the youth’s nose. Squeezing, and using his other hand to secure the head, he jerked it back towards its proper alignment, bone shifting in between his thumb and forefinger. Blood gushed anew as the boy regained consciousness from the blaze of pain.

“Ahhh! What the Virgin’s name are you doing?” The boy shouted at him in Spanish, holding his face.

“The white broke it. I was trying to set it straight. You don’t want a nose like mine.” Esteban fingered his own nose, bent at the bridge and slightly left of center.

“Oh. Mano, that hurt.” The youth gritted his teeth, his face reflecting that he had just remembered why he now had a broken nose. “Where’d that gringo go?”

“He’s gone,” Esteban said, pulling at the boy’s pant leg. “Wash your face, then we need to get your friend out of here.” The boy looked into the flooding sink and saw his cap. He jerked it out, wringing it free of as much water as possible. “I put it in there. It had fallen on the floor.”

“I’ll wash, then we can get Miguel up and out. I guess I can just carry him over my shoulder now, it won’t ruin my shirt.” The youth was regaining his humor, that was good, Esteban thought. Hopefully, the white has left, after having his fun humiliating us.

“I’ll hold him, then we’ll lean him over your shoulder,” Esteban said. Crouching down, Punio placed his shoulder against his friend’s midsection. Esteban pulled him out, away from the wall. Miguel folded neatly over Punio’s shoulder, and the boy stood, lifting his larger friend easily in a fireman’s carry.

“Go home. Just walk out, the manager won’t bother you,” Esteban said. The boy nodded. “Watch out for that white, he said that he would be outside.”

“Thanks, mano. I appreciate the help with him,” the boy said. Then he turned and headed with burdened, halting steps towards the exit door.

Looking about inside the club, Esteban did not see the white. He had not expected to. Punio spoke briefly with the big biker doorman. Esteban could see the brightly emblazoned back of the leather vest the man wore. He stood at the open door to the club, as far as he would go to watch the parking lot. The parking lot was not his responsibility. Whatever happened outside, was outside. Esteban returned to a seat around the stage, signaling to the waitress. He didn’t feel drunk any longer. He held out his hand to look at it. Flat, no shake. Fine. He would go ahead and drive home to have his fight with Prenia. The club was going to give last call soon, anyway. He didn’t want to be leaving in the sudden flood of trucks from the lot, squealing their tires, summoning police interest.

Esteban stood, not needing to steady himself on the chair this time. Bunny, grinding her rear against a man’s lap across the club, saw him stand. She waved goodbye to him with her only hand. Unconcerned with the man behind her, grasping her by the hips, she smiled.

Esteban pushed open the outer doors to the bar. Leaving, he noted with wry amusement the sign proclaiming that the most beautiful women in Texas performed here nightly. Moving into the parking lot, he looked about, trying to remember where he had parked. He wandered about, looking about him for the pale truck. He thought about the white, peering around, but there was no one. Walking to the back of the club, he saw where he had parked, some four hours, and twelve or so bourbons, earlier. Digging in his front pocket for his keys, he walked steadily across the lot.

“So. We meet again.” Esteban looked around at the sound of the voice. The man was lit from behind by the powerful light for the rear lot. Esteban could not see his face, but he recognized the rough, purring voice. It was the white.

“What do you want?” Esteban tried to put the key in the door of his truck, watching the white, but it was difficult to unlock it without looking. Esteban glanced down, intending to simply get in his truck and leave. Instantly, the white man rushed him, pushing strongly against him, forcing him back and away from the safety of his vehicle.

“Can’t let you do that.” The white had stepped up to Esteban and shoved him towards the front of the truck into an empty space, and was advancing again. Esteban found his anger again.

“Get away from me, or I’ll hurt you.”

“Don’t you know you can’t drive drunk, spic?” The white was smoothly advancing, sliding forward in something like a boxer’s stance. “You had better pull that pig sticker if you want to leave here alive.” At Esteban’s startled look, the man laughed. An unpleasant sound. “I saw you reach for the blade when the manager pissed you two off. That was pretty funny, you know. Three spics all rollin’ around in the piss and shit and vomit.” Esteban could see the man’s face now. The man’s mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. “Well? What are you waitin’ for?” He slid in toward Esteban with a glidingly deceptive step, slapping him across the face. The blow was sharp and painful, leaving a raised, red welt. The true affront was to his dignity.

Esteban slid back into his own fighting stance, hand flicking to his back. As he skipped back, he raised the knife to flash in the light, warning the man away. He was surprised when the white laughed.

“That’s another reason to kill you. Carryin’ an illegal blade,” the man chortled with a malevolent sort of mirth. The adrenalin rushed into his system, and Esteban suddenly found that his mouth was dry, his tongue fee