|
Chapter 15 Alex got out of the cab in front of La Casa de Los Angeles and paid the driver a dollar for the six-block ride. It was a time-honored Tijuana price for a ride to any casa de putas in the city. Outside it looked dark. Boards blocked the windows and only an occasional chink let light creep out into the darkness. He walked up to the door, and, only when he was inches away and it swung open apparently of its own volition, did he realize that there was a man's dark shadow behind the screen and that he was looking into a room of almost total darkness. Along one wall were couches. Backless beds, really, covered with nondescript flowered material that he couldn't see clearly. On the other wall were a couple of chairs. "Pase, senor," the doorman said. He slammed the screen behind Alex. |
|
|
He followed the room to its end where he pushed-aside a blanket that served as a door. The heat in the room rushed out at him and poured over his body. There was something about the heat, it came from the packed, sweaty bodies. It carried with it the hot musky odor of women and the sour, rancid smell of meets sweat and semen. A red light bulb hung naked from the ceiling, casting a dimly weird glow over the entire room. It was early yet and a weekday night, besides. Mostly the room held women. Alex counted eight lounging around talking and laughing.
There were two sailors, nervously negotiating with a couple of old pros who had recognized their youth and inexperience when they walked in the door. Alex knew that as soon as the prostitutes had the bell- bottoms behind closed doors they'd somehow wheedle more than the agreed price out of them.