“No more,” the colonel warned the Father. “I don’t know if you had anything to do with it, Padre, but you’re the guy who speaks for Santa Olivia in this town, so I’m holding you accountable for her. Either you put an end to it, or I’ll have a man stationed here to keep watch over you and your flock every hour of the day. If anything else happens, I’m holding you to answer for it. I’ll shut down the church if I have to. I don’t believe in miracles. And I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but no more petitions.”
Father Ramon inclined his head. “Of course.”
He sent for Loup, alone.
She waited, sitting opposite his desk in his study. Father Ramon smoked meditatively, regarding her, stubbing out cigarettes in a cut-glass ashtray. He finished two and was working on a third before he spoke.
“Why?”
Loup passed him the petition they had withheld.
Father Ramon read it in silence. “I see.” He put out his third cigarette and lit a fourth. “Foul habit,” he said, gesturing. A trail of smoke followed his hand. “Do you know it was almost eradicated in the United States when I was a boy?”
Loup shook her head.
“Of course not.” Father Ramon inhaled, exhaled a long plume.
“How could you know? When the flu came and took so many, many of the survivors decided foolish vices were one of the few things worth living for. So.” He gestured again. “We indulge.” His wide mouth twisted. “Now we do so at the sufferance of the U.S. Army, who are willing to supply us with that which we require in return for our cooperation in the process of our own disenfranchisement.”
“Like everything,” Loup said.
“Yes.” He stubbed out his fourth cigarette with a vicious twist, then held up the half-smoked butt. “But when all is said and done, this does not sustain me. What sustains me is the knowledge that despite everything, I am doing good work in the world. Do you understand?”
“No.”
“It can be taken away, Loup.” The Father leaned forward. “All of it. Every vice supplied and virtue sustained. The good colonel threatened me today. If Santa Olivia makes another appearance”—he waved one hand, setting eddies of smoke to roiling—“I will be held accountable for it and the church will be closed.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because Colonel Stillwell does not believe in miracles,” he said wryly. “And he needs to punish someone.” Father Ramon smoothed the remnants of his fourth cigarette and relit it, squinting at her through the rising coils of smoke. “I know you didn’t act alone. You’re not a follower, but you’re not a leader, either. All I know with certainty is that you did act, Santa Olivia, and I cannot say that of the others. That’s why you’re here and they’re not.”
Loup didn’t reply.
Father Ramon sighed. “Ah, Loup! I had my suspicions about the snake incident, but I was willing to give it a pass, hoping it would be the last. Did I not make myself clear when we spoke before? After Santa Olivia’s first appearance?”
She nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m sorry, Father. We just thought—”
He pushed the scrap of paper with one nicotine-stained finger. “An old man and his dog. Jesus have mercy, I understand, I do. But it’s not worth the risk. Clearly, I didn’t express myself forcefully enough.” He set down his smoldering butt and steepled his fingers. “Tell me, Loup. Are you jealous of your brother? Do you envy him?”
“Tommy?” She thought about it. “I guess I do.”
“Because people see him as a hero in waiting,” Father Ramon said gently. “The hope of Outpost—”
“It’s not that!” Loup interrupted in a surprised tone. “Tommy’s a good fighter, Father. He’s really good. And he’s worked really hard for a long time. People ought to think what they do about Tommy.”
“So?” he prompted her.
She frowned. “He gets to do what he’s good at and I don’t. I’m happy for him, but I wish I could. Wish I could run as fast as I wanted, jump as far, hit as hard. Wish I didn’t have to be careful all the time. It’s what I’m good at. Tommy can and I can’t. That’s envy, right?”
“So you don’t begrudge him?” Father Ramon asked.
“Why would I begrudge him?” Loup echoed in perplexity. “It’s not his fault.”
He eyed her. “Sometimes, Loup Garron, I don’t think we speak the same language. I find myself at a loss. What becomes of this emotion we call envy when it is uncoupled from fear and malice? Does it remain a sin? Or is it simply an honest assessment of the human condition?”
“Sir?”
Father Ramon waved away his comments. “Never mind. I’ve grown old enough to return to the theological musings of my youth. Let me speak plainly.” His face hardened, graven lines bracketing his mouth. “If Santa Olivia makes another appearance, I’ll banish you from her church. All of you.”
Loup’s eyes widened.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Go tell the others.”
The news made them despondent. Santa Olivia had been such a tremendous success, it seemed a shame to abandon her. But Father Ramon had laid down the law, and the Santitos agreed it wasn’t worth the cost.
“I’d be okay,” Mack said in his steady way. “Some of us would. Not all. Where’s Dondi gonna go?”
“I’d manage!” Dondi protested.
“What, begging? Or you gonna be a runner for the Garzas?” Mack shook his head. “What about the girls?”
Katya scowled. “What about us?”
“You’d be turning tricks inside three months,” he said in an implacable tone. “Pilar, too.”
Pilar lifted her head. “Hey!”
“Well, you would. Unless your uncle got to you first,” Mack said, unperturbed. “We gotta let it go.”
They did.
Outpost didn’t. The rumors about Santa Olivia persisted. When the petitions were banned at the church, they began appearing in the village. They were scrawled on walls in charcoal and pencil and chalk—anything that could write, anything that had survived. The army hired local men to go about with buckets of whitewash, covering over the petitions with broad, sloppy strokes. Still, ghostly images of old pleas bled through the whitewash and new ones continued to appear atop it.
Tommy knew it had been her; after the miracle of the boulder, he had to know. Loup didn’t admit to it when he questioned her, only told him that Father Ramon had promised that Santa Olivia wouldn’t be making any more appearances. Tommy nodded grimly, satisfied.
Graffiti petitions continued to appear on the walls.
Loup read them wistfully, remembering.
What it had felt like…
Alive.
But time passed and things changed. Diego turned eighteen and got a job working at the reservoir. He moved out on his own, and four months later, Maria joined him. They began planning a small wedding. Mack and Katya started dating, somewhat to their own surprise, and settled into a new role as the senior couple among the Santitos. Jaime and Jane broke up and reunited on a weekly basis. Pilar began dating a kid named Joe Torres who tended bar at a club owned by Rosa Salamanca’s youngest son. She had plans to upgrade to Rory Salamanca when the opportunity presented itself. C.C. spent a good deal of time getting into trouble on his own. Loup and T.Y. had a handful of awkward trysts that left them both unhappy.
“I really like you!” T.Y. said in frustration. “It’s just—”
Loup sighed. “I know.”
And elsewhere in Outpost, Celino Rossi, the army’s junior heavyweight champion, was rotated out of service. For a few months, there wasn’t anyone in that weight class to fight a prize match.
Then there was a new one.
“McArdle’s up,” Tommy informed Loup. “He gets the first shot.”
She cocked her head. “Who’s next?”
“Me or Mig.” He grinned. “If McArdle loses, it’s Coach’s call.”
She went to the match with Tommy.
Kevin McArdle lost the decision by a narrow margin. McArdle had grown into a solid, mature fighter, and the new champion wasn’t as good as the last. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t great. He was tall and lean, barely making weight at a hundred and seventy-seven pounds. His name was Ron Johnson and he was twenty-four years old. Mixed heritage, with milk-chocolate skin, green eyes, and rufous hair. He shifted his feet too much, wasting energy. When his arm was lifted in victory, he beamed, sweating.
“You’ll take him,” Loup murmured to her brother.
“You’re sure?” Tommy asked.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Two weeks later, Floyd Roberts made his decision. The announcement was posted all over town. In three months’ time, Ron Johnson and Tom Garron would face each other in a prize match.
Outpost went wild.
Over half the town had seen Johnson’s match against McArdle. Boxing was the only game in town. They knew their fighters, and they knew Tom Garron was their hero in waiting. They saw what Loup saw. This one, Tommy could take.
It put Miguel Garza in a fury.
He rounded up a group of his brother’s henchmen. They descended on the gym, armed with lead pipes and lengths of chain, aiming to change the coach’s mind. Floyd Roberts faced them down with his shotgun. After a five-minute standoff, an armored car filled with soldiers rolled to a stop in front of the former Unique Fitness building. Miguel and his boys ran. The next day, Danny Garza and Floyd Roberts had a private meeting in which the elder Garza sought to change the coach’s mind by power of persuasion.
“No deal,” Tommy reported to Loup. “Coach says Mig might have worked longer for this, but I’ve worked harder. He won’t budge.”
Loup thought. “You think Miguel might come after you?”
“Nah.” Tommy shook his head. “Coach told Danny if anything happens to me, Mig will never get another shot at a prize match. Danny promised to keep him in line.” His irrepressible grin bloomed. “This is it, Loup! The ticket, our ticket!”
