“Come down here.”

“I’m working.” I started to turn away from the window. “Remember the fifty bucks you owe me,” she said, raising her voice so that a couple coming out of Sam’s downstairs looked up to see who she was talking to.

I went downstairs. “What’s the problem? Cops run you in again?”

She tossed her long black hair nervously back over her shoulders. “My brother’s looking for me. He’s gonna kill me.”

“What?” I moved closer to the pepper tree and away from the street lamp.

“I told my mom I was a cocktail waitress—”

“A cocktail waitress?” I laughed. “That’s a new name for it.”

“Yeah, a cocktail waitress. What do you think? I’m gonna tell my mom I get paid to screw illegal aliens? I told her I was a cocktail waitress. In a nice place in Hollywood. Like Ciro’s or Mocambo. A beautiful place where all the stars hang out. But there ain’t been places or stars like that for thirty years. No Marilyn or Lana. Or Rita.” She sighed as she adjusted the strap of her halter top. “Anyhow, my mom believed it, but my brother, well, I guess someone must have seen me on the street and told him.”

I glanced away from her and looked around the street, feeling embarrassed. So we did have something in common after all. I never voluntarily tell my folks anything. But did she believe the city was so small he could find her? Why didn’t she move to a different street corner? I thought she wanted to know if I had seen him. “What’s he look like?”

“Hector Ramos? ‘Manos’ Ramos? You never heard of him?”

I shook my head.

“Light welterweight. Two-time contender for All City?”

I shook my head again.

“Well, it don’t matter. He’s washed up. Over the hill. A few too many blows to the head, know what I mean? But he can still kick my butt.”

“Yeah?” I said, growing wary.

“I have to get off the street tonight. Take me home with you, and I’ll forget about the plata you owe me.”

“I can’t do that! Why don’t you call your boyfriend? What’s his name? Alfredo?”

“He’d find me at Alfredo’s. Come on. I’ll be gone in the morning.” Lupe put her hands together prayerlike just below her full red lips. Linda Darnell in the chapel before the last fateful bullfight.

“No....” I hesitated, wondering how much Lupe knew or suspected about what I was involved in.

Defiantly she flicked one hand out at me. “Afraid I’ve got cooties?”

“No, I have something to do.”

She stepped toward me. “What is it? I’ll help you. No charge.”

I didn’t need her help. Or want it. But I did feel guilty imagining she’d already been seen with me and now was in as much danger.