“The wind was warm, even in the shade of the trees on the courthouse lawn, and we sat in the back of the grocery, under the fans by the old soda fountain, and ordered tacos and iced tea. She read from the notebook opened by her elbow while she ate. 'Virgil Morales is everything he says he is,' she said. 'Hangs with some biker pukes called the Purple Hearts, in and out of juvie since he was thirteen, a couple of times down in county for dope and barroom bullshit. He's also had three paternity sui...ts filed against him. In other words, your average Mexican gangbanger who operates on two brain cells and believes his Hollywood career is right around the corner.' The overhead fan blew a strand of hair in her face. 'How do you think he'd do on a lie detector?' I asked. 'A kid who'd probably roll a joint during the Apocalypse? You tell me.' 'How about the girl he says was with him?' 'She lives in Austin, all right, but she's no college student. Not unless you count being a barmaid in a rathskeller next to the campus.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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