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Tuco woke up at sunrise in a muddy ditch behind the saloon. He groaned and held his head for a while before getting up. He couldn't remember if someone had stolen his wallet or if he'd simply lost it playing poker. Oh well. Luckily one of the places he'd buried his gold was just outside of town.
He stood up and slapped as much of the mud off himself as he could. Then he made his way back to the main street and started trying to find where he'd hitched his horse.
As he passed by a hotel, he heard a high voice call out. “Hey! Wait!” It was a kid, maybe about ten years old, jogging towards him. The urchin's gender was impossible to determine underneath all of the grime, but Tuco decided to assume it was a boy because it had short hair and was wearing trousers.
“Get lost,” Tuco said, giving the kid a glare. He tugged on the leather strap holding his pistol to emphasize the point.
The kid didn't seem fazed. He switched to speaking in Spanish. “You're Tuco Ramirez, aren't you? You look just like the posters.”
Tuco froze for a moment, on reflex. “...And what is it to you if I am?” He groaned and held a hand to his forehead. “You're real lucky I'm so hungover, kid. I'm just gonna let you forget all about those posters, you understand? Now beat it, before I change my mind.”
“No, wait, that's not—” The kid held up his hands. “I'm not going to tell anybody about you, I promise! I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Why?”
The kid hesitated. “Well… because you're my father.”
…
…
Tuco was surprised. He shouldn't have been. He had wives all over, it followed that he had kids all over, too. But he'd never met one before. He'd never stayed around longer than nine months. His mouth felt suddenly dry. “...Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Who's your mother?”
“Mariana Castillo.” After a short pause the kid added, “from Abilene.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember,” Tuco lied. “Very pretty lady.” He looked the kid up and down. Evidently she hadn't been pretty enough to save the poor tiny bastard from inheriting his features. Curly dark hair, big ears, big nose. The kid also had big brown eyes and a small gap between his front teeth. Tuco rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long breath. “Shit. Alright, well, what do you want? Money? Divorce papers for your mama?”
The kid blinked up at him. “I … I guess I sort of thought I could … stay with you.”
Tuco winced. “Ah. No. Look, this is going to sound harsh, but there’s a reason I left in the first place. It’s not personal, it’s just that I can't let myself be tied down anywhere or to anybody, you understand? And besides, you don’t want to get mixed up with an outlaw like me. I'm a bad man, and I do bad things. It’s no life for a kid. So just go on back to your mother, okay?”
The kid gripped the hem of his dirty shirt and stared at the ground. He mumbled. “- - - - -.”
“What?”
“Mama’s dead,” the kid said, with only a small quiver in his voice. “Three months ago. She got sick.”
“Oh.”
Tuco glanced around briefly. The town was slowly starting to wake up. He spotted the chestnut horse he’d rode in on hitched in front of a barbershop. “Here,” he said, “why don’t we find a quieter place to talk?”
The kid just nodded.
Tuco hopped into the saddle and swung the kid up to sit in front of him, where he could hold onto the pommel. “I’ve got to make a stop somewhere,” he explained, coaxing the horse into a trot. “It’s just a short ride out of town. But once that’s done I’m gonna bring you back here and we’re gonna part ways, understand?”
The kid nodded again. “I understand.”
“Good.”
They rode in silence for a bit. The sky was slowly lightening, the deep oranges and pinks of the sunrise fading into a light blue. The kid's small body pressed against Tuco’s chest and Tuco’s arms encircled him as he held the reins, almost but not really an embrace. Eventually Tuco broke the silence. “What about your mama's family?”
“There's my grandpa,” the kid said, “and Aunt Josefina. They live in Abilene. But they don't like me. They say I'm nothing but trouble. And they were always telling Mama she should have never had me. I didn’t want to stay with them. That's why I ran away.”
“And you've been, what, wandering around on your own for three months?”
“Yes. I'm working for the landlady at that hotel right now. I've been doing odd jobs, but I can't stick with them for more than a few days. I get distracted too easy.”
“You know, I always had that problem, too. But you better find something to stick with. You don’t want to end up a bandit like me.”
The kid tipped his head back to look up at him. “Why not? You seem to be doing alright.”
Tuco chuckled and rubbed his neck. He still had a few scars there from all the rope burn. “Sure, it's alright most of the time, but when it gets bad it gets real bad, and quick. I'm only alive because God likes me. And because a certain blonde bastard is a really good shot.”
“Well,” the kid said, puffing his chest a little. “Maybe God likes me, too.”
“No, I don't think so.”
“Why not?”
“If He did, you wouldn't have a bandit for a father.”
Eventually they came upon a small grouping of cacti amongst a pile of rocks. Tuco dismounted and helped the kid hop down from the saddle. The kid stared up at the tallest cactus. “That one's shaped like a—”
“A prick,” Tuco said. “Yeah. That's how I remember this place. If that thing ever gets cut down I'm fu— err, in trouble.”
He unhooked a small shovel from among his saddlebags. He'd started carrying it with him for convenience's sake. “Right,” he said, tossing it to the kid. “You can help me dig. That's what Tuco does, he digs.”
Between the two of them, it only took a few minutes before they hit the sack of gold. The kid's eyes were enormous as he watched Tuco open it. “Is that real?”
“Of course it's real,” Tuco said. He counted out about a thousand dollars’ worth and scooped it into his satchel. “You think I'd have it buried out here if it wasn't?”
“Just like Captain Flint's treasure,” the kid murmured.
“Who?”
“Oh, um…” The kid looked a bit sheepish. “It's from a story about pirates. I read it in a boys’ magazine.”
Tuco raised his eyebrows. “You like to read?”
The kid smiled and nodded. “I like adventure stories, mostly. But Aunt Josefina told me I'm not supposed to read them.” He began to look sheepish again. “I want to write one of my own, someday. I don’t know what to write about, though. I've never been to the jungles of Africa and I don't really know that much about pirates, either.”
“A writer, huh?” Tuco whistled as he put back the rest of the gold and filled in the hole. He'd never been very good at reading; the letters always seemed to get jumbled up whenever he looked at them. “My kid, a writer! Who'd have thought it…”
When the gold was good and re-buried, he straightened up. “Well. Time to be heading back.”
The kid looked away. “...Yes.”
Soon enough they were in the saddle again and riding back the way they came. The kid was quiet. Tuco had to admit to himself that he was starting to feel bad about turning him loose.
He was starting to imagine buying a farm or something up north and watching the kid run around feeding the chickens or playing with the goats or whatever. That was the kind of life his parents had given him growing up, even though they were poor. It had been a very long time since he'd had a real family like that. He wanted it, he realized. He wanted it bad.
But the tragedy of it was that he knew himself too well. He'd never be able to settle down and stay in one place. He'd been running for so long that he felt like if he stopped, he'd die. And it was true that an outlaw's company was no place for a kid. Tuco knew that one day his luck would run out and he'd hang, really hang. If nothing else the kid shouldn't have to see that.
Some impulse made him pat the kid on the head and ruffle his hair. The kid looked up at him with his big brown eyes. Tuco swallowed. “...Hey. You know, the story of how I got this gold is a pretty good one. Might not be as good as pirates, but maybe good enough for you to write about. Do you want me to tell it to you?”
The kid's eyes lit up. “Yes! Please!”
“Alright, alright, if you insist.”
The kid leaned back against him and nestled his head into the crook of his arm. Tuco felt a surge of something he rarely felt for anything anymore—affection. He patted the kid's soft curls again.
“You see, a while ago, I met this man named Blondie. Well, that's what I call him, anyway, he doesn't really have a name. Me and him, we started running this scheme together…”
The story was over and the sun was high in the sky by the time they rode back into town. Tuco put about half of the gold he'd brought into a small bag and gave it to the kid. “Here,” he said. “I think you should use this to go back to Abilene. At least until you're a little more grown. But if you really can't stay there, you have an uncle in San Antonio, Pablo Ramirez. He's a priest and a good man, he'd take care of you. And you know where the rest of the gold is; you can take it anytime if you need it. Just be sure to leave a little behind for old Tuco, okay?” He hadn't told the kid about the other stashes, but he didn't need to know everything.
The kid took the bag in both hands. “I'd still rather go with you, even if I have to become a bandit. I bet I could pick pockets or something, I have small hands!”
Tuco, admittedly, had considered that. “Sorry, kid, the answer's still no.”
The kid nodded. His big brown eyes were suspiciously shiny. “Will I ever see you again?”
Tuco looked down the street, so he wouldn't have to look at him. “I… I don't know. Maybe. But it's a big world, you know? And I’m still wanted in Abilene.”
Tuco felt arms wrap around his waist, and the kid pressed his face into his chest. It was the first time anyone had hugged him like that in years. It made him feel … warm.
He patted the kid's back. “Say,” he said. “What's your name, anyway?”
The kid looked up at him. “Elena.”
“Huh?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Ah, no,” Tuco said, mentally reconsidering some things. “It's a nice name. For a girl. It's a girl's name.”
“...Yes.” Elena pulled back. “You know, even if you are a bad man,” she said, “I'm happy I met you.”
Tuco gave her a half-smile and one last pat on the head. “Me too, kid. Me too.”