The Dead Women of Juarez by Sam Hawken

gave you all those fights when you came to Juárez?
Me
. I watched out for you, kept you in the ring.”
    “I know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
    “About a real fight.”
    “That’s what I said.”
    Ortíz finished his beer and signaled the bartender for another. “You’re reliable, Kelly. I don’t care about what happened in the past. This is now.”
    Kelly took a deep breath. He felt light headed, but it couldn’t have been just the beer. “I’d like to see about getting into some sanctioned matches. I don’t have to fight under my name. We can work something out, get me in under the radar. Little fights, you know? Four-rounders to start. I don’t care who you put me up against.”
    Ortíz’s beer came. He turned from Kelly and rolled the coldbottle between his hands. His expression was pensive. He glanced sidelong at Kelly. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me, Kelly.”
    “We’re talking about a real fight.”
    “And I’m telling you I don’t got nothing like that for you. I got something better.”
    “I’m not fighting nobody bare-knuckles,” Kelly said. “A
real fight
, okay?”
    “What do you think I’m saying, Kelly? I’m talking about real fighting without all those gloves and all that
huevadas
. You don’t need to get some paper from some
burócrata
behind a desk.”
    Kelly thought about taking another drink, but the taste for it was gone. “No, I’m telling you that’s not my thing. I’m not that kind of fighter. I want to
box
. It’s not like I don’t appreciate what all you’ve done. I mean… that’s why I’m talkin’ to you now. I know you can get me in the ring legit.”
    The bar area was almost empty now. The bartender took Kelly’s bottle away. Ortíz was quiet for a long time. Another cockfight started and the spectators cheered.
    “I want to get back up there,” Kelly said finally.
    Ortíz shook his head slowly. He half-smiled, took a swig and then laughed out loud. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Kelly. You look all right; did you get hit in the head? Maybe that’s it.”
    “I’m just saying—”
    Ortíz waved Kelly silent. “I hear what you’re saying.”
    “So—”
    “Don’t you get it? Nobody wants to see some washed-up
bolillo
in the ring with decent fighters. You get paid to
bleed
. You ain’t any kind of contender. This is
it
, okay? Nobody in Juárez would touch a fucking junkie gringo but me.”
    “I’m not a junkie.”
    “Whatever you say, Kelly. You think I don’t know those marks on you? Huh?”
    Kelly crossed his arms unconsciously. He was short of breath. Kelly forced himself to inhale and exhale.
    Ortíz went on: “I always gave you what you could get. This is what you get.”
    “I can do better than that,” Kelly returned.
    “Who says? Is it that fucking Urvano feeding you this shit? That
puto
doesn’t know nothing I don’t know, Kelly. Where was he when you wanted to fight back when? Huh?
Huh?
You tell me!”
    Kelly wanted to be angry. Ortíz advanced on him with his hands waving. He spilled his beer. The few men left near the bar moved away fast. Kelly backed off. “I’m clean and I’m not playing,” Kelly said. “I know you done right by me before. We have respect.”
    “‘Respect’? When you got respect for
me
then you do me a favor after all the favors I’ve done for you,
naco
. Where do you think I get the money to pay you? You think I’m some kind of asshole you can take for a ride, like those fucking
turistas
you and that
zurramato
Estéban peddle dope to?”
    “That’s got nothin’ to do with nothin’,” Kelly protested.
    Ortíz ignored Kelly as if he hadn’t said a word. “You stupid
fuck
. Talk about respect to
me
? This is
my
country,
pendejo
, this is
my
city. You want to talk your white bullshit to me? Is that it?”
    “I get it,” Kelly said. “All right? Fuck it. I don’t need anything from you.”
    He left the bar. Ortíz kept close behind. “Don’t you