David Shapiro's Editor's Pick
Tijuana Dog
by Tom Mahony
This story was written in a simple style, but was filled with emotional complexity. I liked the way the writer used contrasts to bring out the key points.
I studied the building from the Tijuana sidewalk. The windows were barred, several letters shorted out on the listing marquee. A mangy dog licked my feet. I shooed it away. It slunk down an alley. I felt guilty.
Pete fidgeted beside me. "Should we go in?"
"Yeah." I had to do this.
"You bring the rubbers?"
I nodded.
"Thick ones?"
"Industry standard."
"What should we do?"
I headed for the door. "I'm going in. Stay here if you want."
Pete followed.
Inside, the place was dark and dank, as nasty as I'd imagined. We slid into a cracked vinyl booth and ordered beers. Three whores in clownish makeup sauntered up and squeezed between us. They purred, hustled drinks, fondled crotches. Pete reveled in it. I shooed them away like the dog. Only one girl interested me.
I sipped my beer and scanned the place. A whore danced on a small stage in the corner. She looked like an errant grandmother. The dozen patrons huddling in booths seemed angry or just vacant, dead inside. The music was too loud for the speakers.
I finally saw her, by the bar. She was sixteen, but looked thirty.
I walked over and sat beside her. "Hola."
She smiled. Jaded. Cynical. "Hola."
"You speak English?" I'd exhausted my Spanish.
"Si."
"Can we go someplace private?"
"You got money?"
"Yes."
"We go upstairs."
I followed her up a staircase and down a hallway flanked by rooms. We entered a room. She sat on the bed and started removing her dress.
"No," I said.
She looked confused.
"I just want to talk."
She shrugged. "Cost the same either way."
I handed her a photograph.
She looked at it, then me. "What's this?"
"You know."
She shook her head, but obviously recognized him.
"It's your father." I hesitated. "Mine too."
Her eyes widened. She studied the picture.
"He left my mother when I was ten," I said. "He came down here and met yours. Seen him lately?"
"Not since I was a little girl."
"Know where he is?"
"No."
I felt disappointed and relieved. If I knew his location, I'd pay a visit. And I might just kill him.
I handed her an envelope. She looked inside. Her jaw dropped.
"Ten thousand dollars," I said.
She fingered the money in disbelief.
"Use it to leave this place."
She gestured vaguely around the room. "This is my home."
"This is no home."
"It's mine."
"Not anymore."
She began to cry.
I shifted awkwardly on the concrete floor. In the next room, some dude grunted his way to a quick climax. The air hung pungent with bodily fluids. I wanted to vomit.
"Where would I go?" she said.
"I have a place across the border. You can stay as long as necessary. Forever, if you want. I'll help with whatever you need."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
She shrugged.
"Meet me outside in ten minutes," I said. "You'll be safe. I promise."
She just sat there.
I touched her arm. "Okay?"
She flinched. I removed my hand. She rubbed her arm like I'd hurt her. After a few moments, she sighed and nodded.
I left the cesspool and loitered on the street.
Pete emerged from the building, grinning. "How was yours?"
I shrugged.
He rambled every detail of his experience. I tuned it out. Pete was an idiot. But he was my best friend. Somehow, I needed him here.
"Let's go," he said.
"I'm waiting for someone."
"Taking one home? Can I have a poke?"
"Shut up."
She never showed. I searched the building, forcing my way into rooms, bribing whores for information. She was gone, along with her few possessions. Nobody knew, or revealed, her destination. The bouncer finally threw me out.
Sunlight showered my face, evaporating the whorehouse funk. The search was over. Depression overtook me. I wanted to know my sister. I'd learned of her existence long ago and always wondered. Took years to track her down. But, if she left this place, I could sleep at night.
Pete waited on the sidewalk. "Round two already? You're an animal."
I headed for my truck. And then north of the border, home. For good. "Shut up, Pete."
Tom Mahony is a biological consultant in central California with an M.S. degree from Humboldt State University. His fiction has appeared in VerbSap, Void Magazine, Long Story Short, and Surfer Magazine. He is currently circulating a novel for publication.