“Turtles.”
“I don’t got time to do turtles,” Avila said. Removing the shells was a messy chore. “You got any pigeons?”
“Sorry, meng.”
“Lambs?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“How about cats?”
“No, meng, hiss no legal.”
“Yeah, like you give a shit.” Avila checked his wristwatch; he had to hurry, do this thing then get on the road to the Keys. “OK, senor, what do you got?”
The shop owner led him to a small storage room and pointed at a wooden crate. Inside, Avila could make out a furry brown animal the size of a beagle. It had shoe-button eyes, an anteater nose, and a long slender tail circled with black rings.
Avila said, “What, some kinda raccoon?”
“Coatimundi. From South America.”
The animal chittered inquisitively and poked its velvety nostrils through the slats of the crate. It was one of the oddest creatures Avila had ever seen.
“Big medicine,” promised the shop owner.
“I need something for Chango.”
“Oh, Chango would love heem.” The shop owner had astutely pegged Avila for a rank amateur who knew next to nothing about santeria. The shop owner said, “Si, es muy bueno por Chango.”
Avila said, “Will it bite?”
“No, my freng. See?” The botanica man tickled the coati’s moist nose. “Like a puppy dog.”
“OK, how much?”
“Seventy-five.”
“Here’s sixty, chico. Help me carry it to the car.”
As he drove up to the house, Avila saw the Buick backing out of the driveway; his wife and her mother, undoubtedly off to Indian bingo. He waved. They waved.
Avila gloated. Perfect timing. For once I’ll have the place to myself. Quickly he dragged the wooden crate into the garage and lowered the electric door. The coati huffed in objection. From a cane-wicker chest Avila hastily removed the implements of sacrifice-tarnished pennies, coconut husks, the bleached ribs of a cat, polished turtle shells, and an old pewter goblet. From a galvanized lockbox Avila took his newest, and potentially most powerful, artifact-the gnawed chip of bone belonging to the evil man who had tried to crucify him. Reverently, and with high hopes, Avila placed the bone in the pewter goblet, soon to be filled with animal blood.
For sustenance Chango was known to favor dry wine and candies; the best Avila could do, on short notice, was a pitcher of sangria and a roll of stale wintergreen Life Savers. He lighted three tall candles and arranged them triangularly on the cement floor of the garage. Inside the triangle, he began to set up the altar. The coatimundi had gone silent; Avila felt its stare from between the slats. Could it know? He whisked the thought from his mind.
The final item to be removed from the wicker chest was the most important: a ten-inch hunting knife, with a handle carved from genuine elk antler. The knife was an antique, made in Wyoming. Avila had received it as a bribe when he worked as a county building inspector- a Christmas offering from an unlicensed roofer hoping that Avila might overlook a seriously defective scissor truss. Somehow Avila had found it in his heart to do just that.
Vigorously he sharpened the hunting knife on a whetstone. The coati began to pace and snort. Avila discreetly concealed the gleaming blade from the doomed animal. Then he stepped inside the triangle of candles and improvised a short prayer to Chango, who (Avila trusted) would understand that he was pressed for time.
Afterwards he took a pry bar and started peeling the wooden slats off the crate. The sacramental coati became highly agitated. Avila attempted to soothe it with soft words, but the beast wasn’t fooled. It shot from the crate and tore crazed circles throughout the garage, scattering cat bones and tipping two of the santeria candles. Avila tried to subdue the coati by stunning it with the pry bar, but it was too swift and agile. Like a monkey, it vertically scampered up a wall of metal shelves and bounded onto the ceiling track of the electric door-opener. There it perched, using its remarkable tail for balance, squealing and baring sharp yellow teeth. Meanwhile one of the santeria candles rolled beneath Avila’s lawn mower, igniting the gas tank. Cursing bitterly, Avila ran to the kitchen for the fire extinguisher. When he returned to the garage, he was confronted with fresh disaster.