“Heroes will soon be a drug on the market.” Hilario returned. He wasn’t so much a lizard, Joe thought, as an incorrigibly evil elf. Even the white outfit had the bright aura of a bad fairy. “You won’t be able to swing a cane for heroes. All with their scars and ribbons and stories. See, I’m already gearing for the veterans’ vote. I’m going to be the vets’ friend, but first I’m going to be your friend.”

Felix laughed and went back to the branding fire, where the boys were wrestling with another calf.

“How are you going to do that?” Joe asked.

“Teach you how to measure your grip on reality. Profit is the only fair measure of reality. Market value, Chief. The value of a has-been is not high, but I’m going to help you cash it in. I’m speaking of two thousand dollars in your hand right now.”

The ground around the branding fire was pulverized and dry. Boys and calf struggled in explosions of dust.

Two thousand dollars? That wouldn’t buy Bar Top and tablecloths for the Casa Mañana.

“Why?”

“There’s not a loyal native New Mexican who wouldn’t put his last dollar on you in the ring. Formerly eighth-ranked heavyweight in the world. A big night at the gym in Santa Fe, crowds of friends and well-wishers, lots of priests—they always tone up a fight. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the imminent end of the war than Chief Joe Peña’s farewell appearance.”

“I’m retired.”

“This is the Texas boy I’m talking about.”

“I look forward to improved relations between Texas and New Mexico.”

“Then let me ask you a question.” Hilario raised his voice so that everyone in the corral could hear. “Out of sheer curiosity. Could you beat him if you did fight him? Out of curiosity.”

Joe shrugged. Along the rail the men leaned forward, salt shakers and cigarettes in hand. Holding a knife, Felix looked up. Even the calf seemed to lie still.

“Because I think he’d kill you,” Hilario said. “Southpaw, ten years younger, ten years faster. You look soft and tired. You should be scared of the boy. It’s no fun getting beat up in public.”

“How does all this make you my friend?”

“I wouldn’t want you to get hurt without being properly paid.”

“You mean without you getting properly paid.”

“That, too.”

Joe shook out a cigarette and lit it. How washed up did he look? he wondered. He wished he’d paid more attention when the kid beat Ray. He remembered the figure swaggering away from the truck at D Building, rolling the wide shoulders, his fist high. He wished he’d seen the kid’s face. The face always said a lot more.

“Give me a straight answer,” Hilario said. “See, that’s what I mean by testing reality. Could you win?”