“Weirdest thing,” he echoes.
“A lot of weird stuff happens to you,” I say. “Who was that guy? Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating?”
Tomás emits a guttural laugh. “Boy, that was as real as you and me, that son of a b***h. That was the Devil.”
“The Devil?”
“Yeah. Or, uh, a devil I think. The Devil’s got all these guys under him and s**t like that. Like bees or ants or, uh…” He trails off. “Yeah.”
“Ah,” I say.
He leans close to me, huffing cigarette breath into my face.
“Oh yeah? I know his name. I-I can tell you what it is.”
“Sure, Uncle Tomás.”
“I can tell you,” he promises, spittle flying from his lips. “He called himself … What was it? … Santiago. That mother was the realest f*****g space knight I ever saw.”
We haul the bags of weeds and garden detritus to the garage, and Mom
