“Ah, s**t, Dolores.” Tomás waves a hand at her as if swatting insects. Balancing his pile of food in his right hand, he curls his left into a fist and beats his chest. “I’m here, right? I made it. Those older kids thought they got me, the Devil thought he got me, but no one’s got me. Me and God, we got a thing going on. The Devil? He planted the change in my pocket. He had a whole other thing going on, you know, with those guys and the pickax. To hell with the Devil, boy. I’m not going nowhere. We’re not even on the same playing field. I killed him, didn’t I?”
“If you killed him, why’s he still alive?”
Tomás looks at me. “You never seen Terminator, boy?”
I nod. I can go with that. “Well,” I say. “When did you kill him?”
“Patience, boy. I’m getting there. Anyways, why else would he act
