H Is for Homicide

don't even know this girl," he said.
    Bibianna's eyes flashed. "Goddamn it! This is just like you, Raymond. You say you love me. You say you'll do anything. First thing I ask for, all I get is an argument. Well, I'm sick of it!"
    "Okay, okay. She can go if she wants. Anything you say."
    Bibianna turned to me with a look filled with mute pleading. "Please. Just for a few days."
    I felt myself shrug. "I got nothing else to do," I said.
    Bibianna got in first, sliding across the backseat. Raymond slid in beside her. I hesitated briefly, wondering at the wisdom of it.
    Luis turned the gun so that it was pointing at my chest. It clarified my thinking most emphatically.
    I got into the backseat. The dashboard was covered in white terrycloth with "Raymond and Bibianna" machine-stitched in glossy green script across the face of it. A rosary hung from the rearview mirror along with a Sacred Heart of Jesus, bleeding. The interior of the car, including front and back seats, was upholstered in white acrylic teddy bear fur. There was a Radio Shack car phone on the front seat. All the car lacked was a collection of bobbleheads on the rear… or a four-inch Virgin Mary with little magnetized feet. The minute I got in, I knew I'd made a mistake.
    Luis started the engine without a word. The mufflers sounded like distant jackhammers as he pulled out onto the road. He kept both hands on the steering wheel with his arms fully extended, his trunk and head inclined back. He made a U-turn and sped toward the freeway. Raymond's ticcing recurred at perhaps three-minute intervals, sometimes less. I found myself unnerved at first, especially in the absence of any explanation. The others seemed to take it for granted. At first, I would jump every time he did it, but I found myself adjusting, marveling that anybody had to live like that. Was there no help for him?
    Bibianna now seemed to be in the mood for an argument, maybe to forestall any amorous intentions. "How'd you find out about last night?"
    "Dawna called and told me some of it before the cops picked her up. Who's the guy?"
    "What guy?"
    "The guy last night shot Chago."
    "How do I know who he was? Just somebody in the restaurant with a gun."
    "Dawna said you were with him."
    "I was there by myself."
    "Not what she says."
    "She said that? It's bullshit. What'd he look like? She tell you that?"
    "She didn't have a chance. Squad car pulled up and she hung up. Said some chick was there, too."
    "She's blowin' smoke up your skirt. What a bitch! I was there by myself when Chago showed up with a gun. Maybe the guy was an off-duty cop or just your average citizen with a gun."
    Raymond's face darkened. "That would really piss me off. What's the matter with people? Too many fuckin' handguns around." He turned and looked at me. "Every day in the paper, somebody gets blown away. L.A. Times. You read Metro? Scares the shit out of me." He held a hand up, blocking words in. "You know that slogan says, 'Guns don't kill people. People kill people.'? What a crock that is."
    "Luis has a gun," I remarked helpfully.
    "That's different. He's a lieutenant. He's like a bodyguard to me. I can't believe some joker in a restaurant shoots my brother for no fuckin' reason."
    All the little birdies had flown out of this man's tree. I sat with my eyes straight ahead and my mouth shut, remembering what Bibianna had told me about his temper.
    Raymond turned to Bibianna and started kissing her, his hands moving across her breasts with an intimacy I found embarrassing. She was compliant, but she rolled an eye at me frantically across his shoulder. I looked out the window.
    I leaned forward and tapped Luis on the shoulder, trying the only Spanish phrase I'm familiar with. "Uh, habla usted ingles?"
    "Shit, lady. What do I look like, a retard?" he said. His English wasn't even spoken with an accent, and I had to wonder if the gangbanger outfit was an affectation.
    "Oh. Well, could you pull over at this next corner and let me the fuck out? I gotta make a quick phone call."
    This did not produce the desired results.
    I kept my tone conversational as I turned to Raymond, placing my mouth up close to his ear. "Excuse me, Raymond. Could you have the guy let me out up here?"
    Raymond had run his hand up under Bibianna's skirt, pushing the fabric back, running a finger under the rim of her underpants. There was nothing remotely sexual about it. He was claiming his rights. I could hear her murmuring, "Fantastic… oh, baby, that's