Candy Kid Read Online Free

under six foot himself; beside Adam he stood like a schoolboy. So did Beach’s full six feet.
    Jaime was like a toy. He trailed after them, carrying the three bags. His polished black eyes ignored Jose’s loincloth. Beach and Adam were loaded, both arms, with enormous paper sacks. More beer. Beach tipped Jaime and pushed the door to a loud shut. Adam was already at the shrimp bowl.
    “Get out of there,” Jose warned. “Order your own.”
    Adam swallowed the shrimp he’d filched and licked his fingers. He was a sight for sore eyes, pleasantly beery, dirty and sweaty and wonderfully normal.
    “You didn’t lose any weight on your tour,” Jose remarked pointedly.
    “What are you talking about? I lost fifteen pounds. So help me, I tip the scales at only two hundred and thirty this minute—full of beer though I be. Want proof?”
    “I’ll take your word,” Jose said hastily. “You don’t want to break Lou’s scale. Sit yourself down—away from my lunch—and I’ll see what I can do for your emaciation.” He lifted the phone. “Send up two more big shrimp salads. This is Jose Aragon.” He cradled it, tucked the towel more safely about him as he returned to the couch, and resumed eating.
    Beach said, “You could have knocked me over with a blunderbuss when I saw Adam going into ‘The Blue Label.’”
    “A man can’t have his morning beer without being caught at it,” Adam decided.
    “When did you get in?” Jose garbled with full mouth.
    “S’morning.”
    “How was the trip?”
    “Pretty good. Mexico City’s always good. But the beans and pan got pretty monotonous in those hinterland dumps. That’s how I lost all those pounds.”
    Adam had come to the Rio Grande valley in the thirties. But he wasn’t like most of the refugees from the East, well-heeled, looking for a place to sit out the coming holocaust. A guy that big couldn’t be satisfied twiddling his thumbs at parties. He’d started trading in less than a year. The war had skipped him, a lot of too big fellows had something wrong. Adam Adamsson, trader, was about the smartest importer in the state, maybe the Southwest, by now. Jose loved him like a brother. Everybody loved him.
    Adam rubbed his big hand over his stubbled chin. “Got a razor, Jo? If I’m going to eat in Lou’s apartment, I got to be fancier than this.”
    “Help yourself.”
    Beach stretched. “You shave, Adam, I’ll shower. Put the beer on ice, Jo. What made you change your mind?”
    “What do you mean change my mind?”
    “You were hell-bent to get back to Santa Fe tonight.”
    “I wasn’t hell-bent. I was indeterminate. It was hot.”
    “Still hot,” Beach argued.
    “I’m cooled off. We can get an early start in the morning when it’s fresh.”
    Adam lifted the bags as if they were filled with cotton puffs. “I got to start back tonight.” He returned for a parcel, stripped off the paper, and revealed a clean shirt, socks, and shorts. He traveled light.
    “What for?”
    “Business.”
    “Another day won’t hurt,” Jose urged. “Call your office. Tell them you’re with the Aragons.” He’d finished the last shrimp; he was pleasantly stuffed.
    “I’ve got better sense,” Adam grinned slowly. He went back into the bedroom. Jose helped himself to a cigarette from Lou’s box and followed. He’d forgotten to buy that pack. The shower was pouring. Adam had all the bags open and was rummaging.
    “In that one,” Jose pointed. “What’s another day?”
    “I’ve got to be in Santa Fe in the morning. Shipment coming in.”
    Jose stretched out on the bed which had the least junk on it. “Stay for dinner anyhow. We’ll go across the bridge. To Herrera’s.” It wasn’t that he wanted Adam’s bulk behind him on his junket. It was the fun the big guy put into any gathering.
    “Sure I’ll stay for dinner. What about lunch first?”
    “It’ll be along.” Jose put on clean shorts, the buzz of the razor joined the shower downpour, conversation