Dealing in Dreams
Page 3
The booming bass from a popular song rattles the gilded mirrors lining the stairs leading down to the club. I catch my reflection and see the long, jagged scratch left by the last lost toiler. Kicking her felt justified. My black curls lay limp. I look tired and run-down, much older than sixteen.
“Ugly,” Truck says. She ruffles my curls.
I follow her down the stairs.
Giant paper animals hang from the ceiling: massive tigers and lions, pandas, and kangaroos, each with a maniacal grin. When the place is jumping with people crushed side to side on the dance floor, Doña Chela usually invites the victors to bash the giant animals and shower the partygoers with candy laced with “happiness.” Unlike the synthetic sueños, the candy has a natural high consisting mostly of THC. On this subdued night the giant animals stay put. The massive piñatas turn their heads as if they are watching us.
Truck elbows me. A couple dances in the center of the club. I recognize the Deadly Venom colors, black and pink, on the drunken girl. The chulo she leans on tries his best to keep her steady.
“She’s by herself,” Truck says. I shake my head, signaling to Truck she’s not worth it. The couple continues to dance. I sit at our table a little away from the dance floor.
“What’s going on with you?” Truck says after taking a large gulp from her drink. “You’ve been with a sour expression. We need to get pumped for this weekend. It’s on!” She pats my back hard.
The throwdown this weekend is by far our most important one. We’ve sparred our way to this very moment, beating other crews and proving we’re the best. The Deadly Venoms are hopefully the last obstacle for us to overcome before we step to the Towers. The stakes are too high for us to mess up.
I want to live in the Towers. It’s what I’ve been dreaming most of my soldiering life. We’ve never been this close to having this dream realized. I sense—no, I can see—it becoming my reality. No one else sees it as clearly as I do. Truck is too busy thinking of what’s going on right now, beating so and so, drinking and fooling around with chulos. I’m thinking about our future, of my whole crew’s destiny. Battling gangs for a measly crumb is dead. Once we’re set up in the Towers, we can watch other crews bash each other’s heads. Truck is wrong in thinking this weekend’s throwdown with the Deadly Venoms is just another fight. We are not only avenging Manos Dura’s death, but we are proving once and for all we’re worthy enough to live in the Towers.
“We can’t just beat the Deadly Venoms. We’ve got to put them on display,” I remind her.
“Don’t stress, Rocka. We got this. It’s a wrap!” Truck stands. “We got this. I’m going to—”
“No, we don’t got a thing.” I pound my fist on the table. “It’s important we show we’re smart. You feel me?”
Truck settles back down into her seat. She places her hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture that would embarrass others. Truck is fearless that way, not afraid to show a bit of vulnerability.
“Don’t worry. I’m here. We’ll get to the Towers,” she says. “No one else comes close. They’re even proclaiming our name.”
It’s true. Most walls across the city are tagged with our initials, LMC. More and more residents are sporting our colors of red and gold as a show of solidarity. The LMC has a reputation of playing things straight and fair. Even if the attack to Manos was never proven to be by the Deadly Venoms, it was cause enough for most of the residents of Mega City to despise them. I should feel good about this. Then why do I feel as if my plans are held by the thinnest of ropes? Anxiety rises, gnawing at me, telling me the bloody favors I’ve made along the way will never be enough.
I look at Truck. There is never any doubt, only confidence. I wish I were like her.
“I won’t sleep until I hear it straight from Déesse,” I say.
“It’s a done deal—”
“No.” I cut her off. “We need to be laser-focused. If we are not careful, we’ll end up old-timers, homeless, unable to contribute to Mega City after one too many throwdowns. We’ve got to protect ourselves and shape what we want our tomorrows to be.”
“I am,” Truck mumbles after a pause. She pulls her hand away and gestures over to a chulo to bring us more drinks. If Truck is nervous she’ll never tell.
“What are you tired cows doing here?” The drunken Deadly Venom pulled away from her chulo and now points at our table. The drink is giving her courage.
“Let’s go dance,” the chulo urges. The Deadly Venom refuses.
“No. I want to talk to them,” she slurs. “Las Mal Criadas are a bunch of played-out girls who can’t fight. Just wait until you see what we are going to do to you.”
This Deadly Venom is barely twelve. There are no scars or marks on her. She must be a new soldier, as green as Nena. I want to warn her, to tell her no matter how many soldiers she knocks out, there will be another one waiting to strike her down. I want to tell her she’s young enough to bail. This life is definitely not for everyone. The sueño factories aren’t that bad. There’s time to carve a decent if boring life as a toiler. Instead, I keep quiet.
The Deadly Venom lunges toward us. She bumps into our table and tips over our drinks. Truck looks at me. To let this soldier go would mean to show weakness. It doesn’t matter how green she is or if she acts alone. I must play the part. I get up and shove the Deadly Venom hard. Before the young girl has a chance to figure out her next move, I straddle her and throw a flurry of punches to her side, then toward her chest and ears. The girl tries to protect her face. I stop when her blood covers my knuckles.
“Go home or I’ll end the night with you,” I say. “Tell your leader we are ready for this weekend.”
The papi chulo helps the Deadly Venom up. He muffles her cries with his hand. The giant piñatas grin their paper smiles at me.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Truck laughs. I do not join her. Stupid girl probably hasn’t been fully initiated into the Deadly Venoms, so she’s here trying to make a name for herself. What a fool.
We eat our meal in silence. When I’m done, I retreat to the rented room and leave Truck with her chulos.
• • •
I submerge my bruised body into the scalding-hot water. Hot baths are so rare, the cost of having one in the Luna Club depends solely on the whims of the owner. Since it’s a slow night, Doña charges only a few of my tabs. It’s so worth it. My body aches from the patrol.
“Do you want me to read to you?” he asks. The papi chulos in Luna Club don’t go by names, just by type. I’ve nicknamed him Books because of the glasses he wears, although I’m sure he wears them only for show. I don’t know anything about him except he has a calming effect.
“No. Can you work on my neck, please?”
“Of course. Whatever you want,” he says.
I’ve never seen Books outside of the club environment. I don’t even know how he looks in regular clothes. I go to him because he knows right away what to do. A hot bath. A massage. It’s enough to slow down the adrenaline racing through my veins. Books is tall and slender with dark brown eyes that stand out behind the glasses. He knows well enough to wear a tight green T-shirt to make them pop even more.
“Have you heard?” Books whispers in my ear.
“What are they saying?” I ask.
“They say there’s a new crew coming into play.”
If Books expects me to react, then he’s at a loss. Not even in front of this harmless chulo will I reveal how I feel. Surely the next person who rents this room will be given a lowdown on my reaction. No. I act as if I don’t have a care in the world and wait for him to continue to spin his tale. I won’t have to do much to coax Books to talk.
“Really?” I say with a hint of boredom.
Books pours more hot water into the bath. The steam creates a fog around the room, shadowing the lit candles. Besides the tub and a couple of mismatched tables, the room is pretty bare. Doña rents more elaborate suites for role-playing. I detest those types of entertainment.
There’s a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Life as a papi chulo can’t be easy. Dealing with rowdy crews. Always being charming and at their service. Still, there’s no reason to hate on Déesse. Being a papi beats working in the factories or mercados. Books also can’t deny that a threat to Déesse is a threat to what we’ve built.
“Be careful. You seem to forget we owe Déesse everything,” I say. “Besides, new crews are constantly being formed. It took my crew two years to be registered. Another four to get to where we are at. This is just talk. Probably a crew trying to create buzz without doing any real work. Nothing more.”
“You’re probably right,” Books says, wiping the steam from his glasses with a red handkerchief. “Then again, people seem to think this crew might have a bit of leg to them.”
“And who are these ‘people’ you keep mentioning? They seem so knowledgeable,” I ask.
There are only a handful of crews that truly count. Most two-bit players don’t stand a chance. These lowly nobodies believe if they can hold a weapon in one hand they can use it.
He places his glasses back on and reveals a smile. This grin is familiar. He doesn’t fool me. Books is trained to be a lover. This tempting smile won’t work on me because this is business, and I don’t pay extra for alluring games. I’m trained as well, just on other things.
I face him and hold his stare until he looks away.
“People say a lot of things, don’t they? This talk is just toilers trying to shake things up in Mega City,” he continues. “It’s been a while since we had a good throwdown. We wait for you to rescue us from boredom.”
Books resumes the massage.
“Right. I’m more than happy to provide the proper entertainment for the masses.” I try my best to read him. He’s not giving me much information. “What else are they saying?”
A smart papi, he ignores the question and continues to knead my neck. He hums to himself while he works.
“What are you humming?”
“An old song. Ever heard of Graciela?”
“The singer?” I say. “Vaguely.”
Graciela Divina. I remember how I loved her name. It sounded so regal. She was popular back in the day. Old-timers adored her. Her makeup was always the same—three elaborate buns and blood-red lipstick. Her most popular song was called “El Fuego me Llama.”
“She was beautiful. A voice unlike any others. Truly special. Can’t get the song out of my head. Anyway, it’s not important. You’re tense,” Books whispers. “I’ll get you a pot of relaxing tea. I’ll be right back.”
I’m relieved when he walks out of the room. No more talk about crews and throwdowns. I close my eyes.
It doesn’t take long for my thoughts to turn to Manos Dura. No one can argue that Manos was a fierce fighter but there was a side of her that few saw. Manos carried with her a picture of the Towers. At night, she would pull the picture out when no one was looking and kiss the image. “I just want a place where I can look out the window,” she once told me. “When I have that, I can stop running the streets, You know?” I can see the face she would make when she stared at the picture. She was full of hope. Her dream was mine and I failed her.
How I wish the day had played out differently. We knew the consequences of being in a gang, Manos included. The violence is real. Tronics are meant only to shock a person. This doesn’t stop crews from using other weapons. When one of your own is brutalized the way Manos was, it’s hard not to follow suit.
Soon I’m spiraling into more heartache, where my thoughts shift to my own family. Mother and her pain, when she was so deep in her sickness, right before passing away. Her lips blue. The signs were there. I can see them now. I was too young to regulate the sueños, to make sure she took the right amount. An overdose could have easily been avoided if only I’d had help. Where was my father? It’s impossible to even remember him. There isn’t a feeling of a father. He’s a ghost, if he existed at all.
Then there’s my sister. The moments when I can see her are so rare that when she appears I hold my breath for fear I’ll lose the memory forever. In this memory, I’m crying, reaching out to be comforted. I must be six years old. Close to seven perhaps. When my emotions seem to overtake my everything, my sister appears out of nowhere, her head popping up as if by magic. She has a full head of crazy curls, similar to mine. The only difference is her hair is light brown, not inky black. Her skin is dark, and she has a warm smile. Her full lips mouth words to a song I no longer recall.
The vision lasts for only a moment and I feel a comfort I never get in the real world. There’s a sense everything and everyone will be safe if I just stare at this funny girl with deep brown eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Soon the smile is gone and she is serious. I stare at her lips. I can’t make out the words or why she is so upset. There are tears in her eyes. She tries to tell me something urgent. I don’t know what.
This is my slim recollection of her. There are certain scents that conjure her to me from time to time. The smell of the sidewalks right after a light rain can do it. A vague sense that perhaps we played together outside. A feeling of joy. I don’t know why I’m thinking of her. It’s been so long.
There are times when I’m not even certain if this memory is mine. Perhaps I stole it from another person—as with the other items I’ve taken throughout my soldiering life. I don’t want to believe that. It’s my sister, my only sister, before she abandoned me for Cemi Territory. Her name is Yamaris. I hated her for so long. Now I don’t even think she exists.
I reach over to the charm tucked in my jacket. I turn the necklace over and notice the small initials engraved along the arm of the fist. The letters AR for Ashé Ryders.
The plan is to show Déesse the charm. She’ll know what to do with it. Truck is right. We’re so close to our goal. I have to focus on this weekend’s throwdown. If there was a real threat, we would have been told. Mega City is tempting for the wild ones in Cemi Territory to want to try to bum-rush. With Déesse’s military hold, degenerates who try to break through our borders fail. Those in Cemi Territory are just not organized enough. As for the LMC, we’ll beat the Deadly Venoms. Déesse will welcome us into her military fold and into the Towers.
I roll my shoulders a bit to shake off the tension. The water is already losing its heat. I continue to rest.
“Missed me?”
That is not Books’s voice. I reach for my baton. It’s back where I left it when I checked in.
I’m naked in a tub and about to get jumped. This is not how I’m meant to go out.
CHAPTER 4
SAINTS AND SOLDIERS
Before I can turn, the person jams a weapon to the base of my neck. This fool is on a serious mission. My heart races. Is this connected to the Deadly Venom I just bashed? Retribution? Where is Books with the damn tea?
“What the hell do you want?” I say.
There is only silence. I search the room. The candles are too far away. The necklace is the only thing I have. What good will a leather strap do if I can’t reach the person’s neck to strangle them with it?
“I asked you a question.” There is only a slight chuckle. It’s not enough for me to determine who he is or to tell if he’s tall or short, alone or with an army. I can’t smell him either, since the room has the powerful scent of jasmine meant to create a soothing effect. How does a sweet fragrance smell so deadly now?
“There is no way you passed a tronic through Doña Chela, so this object you’re feeling my neck with is harmless.” This gives him the cue to use the weapon to caress my hair. He is playing. If this person had wanted to stun me, he would have done so long ago.
Maybe Doña Chela got confused and thought I wanted a little extra with my massage. The club caters to every type of “game.” This idiot probably thinks I paid for this show. He strokes my hair again.
Coming to the Luna Club was just another bad call. Add it to the endless questionable decisions I’ve made tonight. Letting Nena roll ahead of us instead of staying close during our patrol. Allowing the ANT to mess with me in ways I can’t pinpoint. Because I was too wrapped up in flashbacks of my family, this guy caught me with my guard down. I can’t fall victim the way Manos did. I need to think quick, because it’s me or this guy.
When he pokes me again, I make my move. I inhale deeply and duck my head into the water. As I go down, I grab hold of him and pull as hard as I can. I drag his upper body into the bath. Gushes of water splash everywhere. I waste no time in whipping my body around and using my strength to keep his head in the water. He thrashes violently. Everything around me disappears as I concentrate on using my anger to keep him down. He kicks and makes gurgling noises. The room no longer exists. The candles. The papi chulos. Time is at a standstill. I won’t let him breathe.
The rage of having a punk disrespect me rises. No one touches me. No one invades my space. I hold him down. Harder. Harder.
And then it hits me. My eyes focus away from my hands and examine the person. The familiar build. The clothes. Holy Mega. I know him.
“Santo!”
I lift his face from the water. He coughs uncontrollably and spits. The cough soon changes into laughter. Santo drops to the floor and cradles his stomach in between gulps of air.
“Have you lost your damn mind!” I yell. “What is wrong with you?” I could have killed him. What he did was dangerous.
He laughs and flashes his almost perfectly straight teeth, which shine against his olive complexion. The more he cracks up, the more I want to slap him. I get up and wrap a towel around my waist. When he won’t stop laughing, I kick him. Hard.
“Hey,” Santo says. “Is that any way to treat a brother?”