Demon Dancer. Alexander Valdez
The boys loved the Jerry Lewis movies and the scary movies I had introduced them to. After a while, it became a nuisance having to translate every ten seconds, but who’s complaining? We were in hog heaven running about the town.
The arcade guy would see us coming, and he practically rolled out a red carpet; he even turned a blind eye when we went to the peep show booths. We just poured money into all his machines, and we drank every soda in the joint. He truly loved us. I remember walking home from school and stopping in with my crew, and he would light up.
“Where are your Mexican buddies?” he would ask.
I said, “Next summer they’ll be back.” I did tell him that I was going to Mexico and their house in a week for about four days, and I would say hello.
He would say, “Mi casa su casa.” Oh, and he would let me have a free Coke just for the hell of it.
My buddies would ask me what was up, and I’d tell them that I had made the guy’s monthly rent and that he was showing some gratitude and love.
There were two miniature golf courses in town back then, and they were on opposite sides of the city. That was how the taxicab drivers came to know us. We played rounds of golf, and then it was the pinball machines. Popcorn, candy, hot dogs and Cokes—how we didn’t have major stomach issues was beyond me. I guess if there were any other activities in the ’50s, we probably covered them. I couldn’t burn through that much money if I tried.
We even took in the same Jerry Lewis movie twice in one day. That was because it was hot, and the theater had this awesome air-conditioning system. Even the hobos on the streets of downtown knew us by name. A dime was a good score for a bum back then, so imagine a dollar bill. Oh yeah, I took care of them too.
I was being proactive for the future when I would be walking the streets of downtown with my crew of misfits. I felt like Don Fanucci from the Godfather II movie, when he walked the streets of Little Italy in 1920s New York City. If I would’ve worn a ring back then, and I would have had it kissed by every poor soul on the street.
My friends were leaving to go back home, and I felt a heavy heart as they drove off back to Mexico. The money that was left amounted to about $22, and Uncle Jorge told me to put it in my bank. That fell on deaf ears as I paraded my new wealth in front of my friends. We had Twinkies, soda pop, and did I mention we were now juvenile smokers?
Lucky Strikes for everybody—ah, the good life. It got to where my parents were wondering where we got our hands on cigarettes. They even went down to the store and gave the poor old Chinaman a tongue-lashing about selling us the evil weeds. So old Jeff told us to blame it on the other Chinaman Lim Bong, who had a grocery store four blocks away.
He wasn’t gonna let a couple of dimes slip through his hands. Smokes were $0.19 a pack back then. Kinda made the prospect of cancer tolerable.
The next few days were going by too slow, and I was consumed with an angst about my upcoming trip to see my friends south of the border. That day couldn’t come soon enough.
My father brought up a subject that I had almost forgotten, given the heaven I had been exposed to the previous few days. He said, “You know, that is where I went to the dance hall and saw the mysterious man those many years ago.”
I felt a quick chill as he instructed me not to explore any curiosity I might have about the old mansion on the hill. Dad made me promise not to inquire about or ask to go to the location. Perplexed by his request, I assured him that I would not broach the subject at all once I was down in Hermosillo.
Chapter 9
Inside the Dance Hall
The day before I had to leave was spent with my buddies riding our bikes down at the brick pits. We didn’t have a care in the world that day until we ended up on the riverbank, looking across at the dance hall.
I can’t say what came over us, but we now found ourselves riding over to the street and across the bridge. We were now in front of the main padlocked entry doors to the hall. The cars were whizzing by as each of us had a try on tugging on the chain. Just then, two well-dressed men approached our group and asked us what we were doing there. They told us not to be fooling around the property and also asked if we had broken any of the windows around the side. I spoke up and said we only knew of one broken window last time we saw.
The man informed us that all the windows were broken and that he was going to have the law come over and take our names as likely suspects. We were surprised by this information because that building had been part of our lives for years, and we knew for a fact that the windows were intact.
If they were broken now, it had to have been in the last few days. I was adamant with telling the man that we had absolutely nothing to do with the broken windows. I even insisted that we all walk around to see this damage he was referring to.
As we made our way around to the side of the building, my buddies all acted horrified to see that all the windows were broken out. We knew it wasn’t us but couldn’t relate that we had been in the dance hall a few days prior and that there was only one broken window that day. I think the men started to believe us because their tone softened toward us. We asked them who they were and if they owned the building.
The informed us that they were attorneys who represented a Las Vegas group that considered purchasing the property for a future hotel site.
I struck up a conversation with them and made it clear that we were local boys who always had a curiosity about the inside of the place. It was then that the man who was now known to us as Mr. Kinsey and his partner Mr. Jamison said that they were going inside to give it the once-over visually.
“You boys wanna come in and see?” he asked.
I spoke up quickly with a “Yes, we would, sir.” I knew I’d better respond quickly before one of my mates showed any sign of resignation due to fear. We had to act curious and not close to peeing our pants. Besides, there were grown-ups with us, so nothing to fear, right?
Mr. Kinsey pulled out a ring of keys and fumbled through a couple of tries before he got the right key. The chain was off now as the door slowly creaked open, revealing all the trash and dust we had seen a few days before. My fellas and I didn’t want to take the liberty of snooping around with these men in the building; we had to act amazed as if it were all new to us. They didn’t take too long of a look and started making their way to the front doors. I asked them why they had no interest in the rest of the place.
“It will all be torn down to make way for a new hotel, son,” Kinsey said. “No need to waste more time than necessary here.”
Out we all went, and the chain and lock were placed on the door. On my way out, though, my eyes were staring intently on the corner of the room where I felt that the slamming noise might have come from. Somehow, I felt a sinister presence, but I couldn’t explain why. My neck hair had a slight sensation, and I felt that old someone or something was watching me feeling.
The men walked off to their car while the fellas and I headed home for dinner. I said goodbye to my friends and informed them I’d be back in a few days.
“Don’t get in too much trouble,” I said as I pedaled off on my bike.
Chapter 10
Flying South
A new day was starting, and not soon enough. I would be flying in a private plane down to Mexico. Those were two things I had never done before, and I couldn’t have been more excited.
When we arrived at the private airstrip, the pilot, whose name was Red Turner, was warming up the plane. It was a Super 18 Beechcraft, and it kinda looked like the last plane Amelia Earhart was seen flying in, so you can get an idea. By the way, you may take a guess as to why his name was Red.
Also boarding were Uncle Jorge’s brother Alberto and two of his friends making the trip.
Alberto was what I would call a prissy type, somewhat effeminate, but given the beautiful