Heat of Night by Harry Whittington

young girl like Dolores? What you think a little girl like this knows, huh? The things a man like you wants, what would she know about them?” She made a tent with the fingers of her right hand, staring at them with contemptuous eyes. “What a child like this know for a man like you?”
    He gave up, defeated. He said, “She’s a lovely girl. That’s all I know.”
    Big Juan said, “This we know, too. It’s this lovely girl we want to keep like this. Let her marry some nice boy her own age. Eh? A man like us — like you and me, our age — what we want with such a child, huh? What a man like you and me think of a child like Dolores, eh? Not much. A little fun tonight — and then
phoo.
Is — this what you think?”
    Despite his best efforts, Big Juan’s voice was trembling on the brink of outrage and violence.
    Mal stood up suddenly, his movement so abrupt both Rosa and Juan stepped back, startled.
    “I don’t think anything like that,” Mal said.
    The screen door slammed and Ric stepped into the room. He glanced at them, slumped into a chair in the corner. He fiddled with the lace arm coverings. None of them looked his way.
    “Shu,” Rosa said to Mal, completely unconvinced.
    He was tired of them. He spoke sharply. “Dolores can take care of herself.”
    He heard Rosa’s sharp intake of breath. He’d made another bad mistake. There was no sense trying to batter his way into their closed minds. He just wanted to keep them quiet until he could collect Dolores and get out.
    Rosa said, “Maybe you think this that Dolores can take care of herself, sir, Meester Hollister, sir. But kindly listen to me. It is for us to take care of her. A man like you got no good in his mind when he thinks about a girl like Dolores. Why not you find a woman like you wife — you own age, huh? You find she’s a lot better for you. A woman knows what a man wants. A girl — what does she know?”
    Mal did not answer. He felt his own rage growing against them, and against himself.
    “Tell you what,” Juan said suddenly as if he’d just thought of something fine. “Why you not let Rosa tell Dolores this date is all off, huh? You and me. We got time to go down to Jake’s Bar. Have some drinks. Big laughs. We men who know our way around, huh? We not got time for keeds, huh? This is a laugh when you stop to think over it, huh? Say, you know this girl down there at Jake’s Bar. She’s a-wait tables, huh? Oh, she’s a good one for fine jokes. She’s got fine wide hips, too. She knows how to make a man laugh, how to laugh with a man. What you say?”
    “I’m sorry.”
    Big Juan exhaled. This man was pushing him to the very edge of violence. Just the same, he’d tried hard to be friendly. He stared at Hollister, at Rosa, at his fists, at the night darkening his windows.
    He made a decision. He said, “Rosa, now we fix dinner, huh? We late for dinner now, huh?”
    He pushed her ahead of him into the kitchen. While Rosa worked, he watched Dolores’ bedroom door. When she came out of her room, he would solve the matter. He would tell her simply she could not go out with this man. He would say it in front of him and this would end it.
    He winced, knowing better. Unless he killed this man there was no way to end it. They had been through it all with Dolores. Over and over. You fought with Dolores, she became stubborn. She would meet this man anyhow — sneaking out to meet him. Desire is a terribly strong compulsion to drive a person to do strange things, strange even to his own nature. He knew this from his own experience. No, he could not force Dolores to do anything. Her will was too strong, she was too much like Rosa, too much like him.
    He covered his face with his hands. There had to be some other way — some way like taking Hollister far out in the Gulf and holding his head under the water for five or ten minutes.

10
    M AL STARED AT Ric Suarez slumped in a corner chair. He could feel the hatred being generated in this room.