Dealing in Dreams

by Lilliam Rivera

  I kick him again.

  In his hand he holds a harmless decorative figurine, a statue he probably grabbed from the hallway. Idiot. Although Santo calls himself a brother, he’s more than that. He’s been on Las Mal Criadas’ side for a long time, ever since the day he approached me after a battle and commended me on my skills. He kept coming around, offering me tips, better weapons. The friendship became something more. We are not partners or in love—don’t believe in love—we just have a strong connection.

  “What are you doing here?” The initial shock has worn off. I throw him a towel.

  “I should be asking you the same thing. What are you doing here with a chulo?” he says. “You don’t need him when what you need is right here.”

  I slap his cheek playfully. He takes off his wet shirt and places it against a seat. His arms are covered in ink. You can spend hours reading the elaborate tattoos on his body. There are quotes and symbols, animals and beautiful women. There’s a story behind each design. He even has LMC letters inked on his right arm. I did the tattoo myself. Everyone in Mega sees the letters and knows he stands with us.

  Santo pulls me toward him. We smile at each other. I’m happy to see him even after the stunt he pulled. Soon we will be together in the Towers. Me and him. There will be no need to pretend he doesn’t play favorites even when everyone can see it as plain as day. Santo leans in for a kiss. His callus-free hands and soft full lips remind me of my future.

  “You didn’t venture out of the Towers to reprimand me for hanging with a papi.” I pull away and put my clothes on. “What did you do to Books anyway?”

  Santo shakes his head, giving a look of disapproval. “I sent the boy to Truck. She needs that trash, not you. This place makes you weak,” he says. “You’re wasting your energy when you have bigger things to be thinking about.”

  Wow. He’s here for less than five minutes and he’s managed to cut me with a dose of harshness. This anger must be jealousy. What is there to be jealous of? I don’t worry my head over what goes on in the Towers. He’s free to do what he wants with who he wants. Our connection is built on openness. It has to be. There’s a whole lot of baggage that comes from being Déesse’s only son. Struggles I am privy to when he shares. Those moments are rare.

  “I’m sorry if my being here makes you uncomfortable. Next time you want to see me, send a message on the Codigo instead of springing up unannounced,” I say. “Now, drag your sorry ass out of here and leave me alone.”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about papi chulos.” He hands over my pants. “We’re cool even if these places are pathetic excuses for fun.”

  I snort. Fun? He should talk. I’ve heard of the craziness that goes on in the Towers. The lavish parties, scenes, anything you want to happen can happen with the snap of a finger. Of course, Déesse would never admit to the debauchery. We hear about it down on the streets. That’s why so many people want to have access. Live the high life and do what you want without any repercussions, without having to deal with hard labor. Everyone has their own way of coping. Most people work under the burning sun or in the factories. Others pay with fists. I would rather fight than work in one-hundred-degree weather, the sun beating down on me day in and day out. Until I make it to the Towers, the boydega clubs are my sanctuary. Who is he to judge?

  Santo caresses my arm. This is his way of sort of apologizing without having to say a word. I lean in to his hand. I don’t want to argue. Too much has happened tonight. I don’t want to end with Santo mad at me. I need him.

  “Where are your guards?” I change the subject.

  “I’m here alone.”

  When Santo leaves the Towers, he usually travels with at least two bodyguards. This is unlike him. To come and look for me when he could have easily sent me a message only adds to the seriousness. I search for clues and find none. He holds my stare, the only person who can.

  “Who did this to you?” He lightly touches the scratch under my eye. He kisses my forehead and then gently kisses the cut.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  He pulls away and picks an uncomfortable stool to sit on. I can tell he’s nervous by the way he toys with the lit candle, dipping his hand in the melted wax without flinching from the pain.

  “As promised, you are to meet with Déesse this weekend,” he says. “I’ll take you to her after the fight. Before that happens, I need you to do one thing.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. This is what I’ve been waiting for, to be able to speak to her in person. Only she can grant access to the Towers.

  Residents in the Towers are sent packing when they fall out of favor with her. Santo’s been letting me know when there’s been a vacancy. There is a weekly newsletter that lists people who are kicked out of the Towers and the reasons why. Infractions can be anything from not pulling your weight to starting beef with others. Santo has been giving me copies of the newsletter although he’s not supposed to. There are a few apartments available, enough room for my whole crew to create a new home. Those apartments won’t stay vacant for long. Finally, we can make a move.

  “I need you to fake the fight.”

  Wait. What the hell did Santo say to me? I must have heard him wrong. He didn’t ask me to throw a battle. Did he?

  “Your crew will let the Deadly Venoms win this weekend. There will be no victory for you,” Santo says. “You’ve got to let them win.”

  Is he high? I will never let my crew throw a fight. Never. We’ve bashed our way to get to this point. How would we look if we played chicken? No one would ever take us seriously. He’s got me wrong.

  “It won’t happen. We aim to win.” I vigorously dry my hair. “You made a mistake. Las Mal Criadas are no punks and, by asking, you’re insulting me.”

  He stands and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to face him. “This is no joke. You can’t win.”

  This can’t be. I pull away. “Why? Who benefits from this?”

  We’ve never been approached before to throw a game. If we had, the person would have been trounced for asking. By doing so, we lose credibility. How would we look in front of Déesse if we decide to cave in unless . . . ?

  “She’s asking us to pull it, isn’t she?”

  Santo returns to playing with the candle wax. I have my answer. This is wrong on so many levels. Why is she asking me to do this? I need a reason, because right now the signs point to hell no.

  “This doesn’t make sense. My crew is meant to prove we can beat the Deadly Venoms. I’ve been leading them toward this, and now you’re telling me to fake the fight. I don’t get it. Why would Déesse ask me to do that?”

  He can’t even look me straight in the eye because he knows this is trash. What a joke. I can’t go to my crew with this. Déesse has been straight with the people of Mega. Straight and fair. Why is she playing me?

  “What’s the deal?” I search for answers. Santo has his city look on, a hard and cold expression. Not even a tiny glimpse of why, just a furrowed brow. “Tell me, Santo. If you’re my brother, then you’ll tell me what’s going on.”

  He traces the lettering on my choker and pulls me in real close, so close I can feel his breath on my neck. He gestures to the door. The rooms here are being recorded. Of course. How foolish I’ve been. Doña Chela sits listening to our whole conversation.

  “This is coming from her,” he whispers. “Déesse has her reasons, and she’s not sharing them with me. I’m sorry.”

  Santo holds me tight, and I try to decipher the meaning behind this setback. As top crews, the Deadly Venoms and Las Mal Criadas must occupy the same neighborhood. The neighborhood is clearly divided. The Deadly Venoms patrol along the 2 Line, while we are on the D. The 2 Line is a sweet section of Mega City. No lost ANTs, just decent toiler families trying to get by. The D Line covers a bit of the border, which means breaking night is riskier.

  Even with their better section to patrol, the Deadly Venoms have gotten sloppy lately. They force certain families to pay tribute to t
hem in the form of trade. Protection “offerings.” Crews are meant to guard the citizens of Mega, not steal from them. The families they’ve been gouging are promised access to the Towers or a better living situation. The Venoms are even dangling medical supplies to these families, drugs only Tower residents are privy to. When the Venoms fail to provide what they promised and the families are brave enough to complain, they use violence to shut them up. People are too afraid of the Venoms to say anything to Déesse. These families are begging for us to retaliate.

  If the Deadly Venoms are messing around with the rules, then it’s only fair the better crew rises up. I don’t understand.

  “What if we don’t?” I whisper.

  “I think you know the answer.”

  I do. There will be no Towers for us. The chance to join her special guard will be squashed, and Las Mal Criadas will be stuck doing the same old crap, patrolling borders for lost toilers.

  This isn’t right. What did Las Mal Criadas do to get on her bad side? Did my crew overstep their boundaries? I rack my brain, going over recent events in my head, seeing if we tripped. I will tear the whole crew apart if I find one of them messed up our chances over a dumb mistake.

  Santo pulls away.

  “What’s this?”

  He takes hold of the black fist necklace. I try to snatch it back. He quickly moves farther into the room. Santo dangles the charm by a candle to get a closer look. He concentrates as if he’s waiting for the necklace to speak.

  “It’s none of your business,” I say.

  Adrenaline pumps through my body again. Keep it together. The plan was to find a way to get the charm to Déesse. This still holds true, although it looks as if my goal is slipping farther away from me.

  “Where did you get this?” Santo twirls the charm. I reach for it again. He’s too fast.

  “Stop trying to change the subject.” I try my best to be vague, sensing Doña Chela sits in a remote room watching us as if this is her own private novela being performed live.

  “This doesn’t look familiar. AR. AR.” He mouths the letters. “They must be a new crew. What did your intel get on it?”

  Any other day and I would freely share my findings with Santo. His connections have gotten me things other crews can’t ever afford. Not today. I’m taking this straight to Déesse. Now more than ever, I need the charm to be valuable. Besides, if he’s not willing to tell me why his mother wants us to pull the fight, then I’m not willing to tell him what I know about the charm.

  I punch him in the gut, not too hard, just enough to send a message.

  “Okay, okay.”

  He hands the charm back. I tuck the necklace deep in my pocket.

  “So, how are you going to play this?” he asks.

  This isn’t the first time he’s been a messenger for his mother. At least he came to me and didn’t send some random assistant instead. This proves Santo is an ally. Since the directive comes from his mother, I can see why he can’t divulge her reasoning. I respect this. He has to side with his blood family. As for me, I must decide whether I’ll be a true follower of Déesse or whether I choose another path.

  There’s no option. Las Mal Criadas will fight the Deadly Venoms. If Déesse is asking me to lose, then she must see an objective that goes beyond the throwdown. I don’t know what that is. I have to believe she will take care of us in the long run. She hasn’t proven otherwise.

  When my mother died, Déesse came to see me. Only a few hours had passed since I found my mother’s body unresponsive. I was alone in the underground home she claimed for us, unable to formulate my grief. I was so lost. I didn’t know what to do next. Déesse entered the room with no entourage. No guards. I had never spoken to her before. I was just a young punk with no reason to be close to such a goddess. Yet, here she was before me. Déesse took hold of both my hands and made me a promise.

  “This pain will pass, and what will remain will be the loving moments between you and your mother. Don’t blame her for how she handled this life. A broken family is hard to heal. Now it’s your responsibility to honor her and forge a new family. I promise to take care of you as I take care of my own daughter. Because when you hurt, I hurt.”

  I will never forget what she said. Those weren’t just words. I felt them. Although I never spoke to Déesse after that day, she kept true to her promise. A beautiful ceremony was held for my mother in the courtyard for everyone to see. My mother died of a broken heart. When my sister and father left, where else could Mom turn for her pain? Déesse understood that Mom wasn’t an addict. She was just confused. It was an accident.

  “I believe in Déesse. She will take care of my crew,” I say. “I will do what she asks me to do.”

  Santo nods with an air of indifference. As much as he wants to pretend he’s one of us, down with the cause, he’s living a privileged life. He’s royalty, whereas I’m just one notch above a toiler. Las Mal Criadas will toe the line. We have to. Déesse holds the key to our fate.

  “I’ll see you on Saturday, then,” Santo says. “Suerte.”

  “I don’t need any luck.”

  He heads toward the door and turns with a serious expression. “Always with the last word. Sorry, not tonight.” With that, Santo leaves.

  I thought Déesse wanted a crew that stood for righteousness. So be it. Las Mal Criadas will go down this weekend whether we want to or not. I’ll fake the fight and let the Deadly Venoms win. I’ll lie because lying will save us.

  CHAPTER 5

  CHANCE WITH DESTINY

  The three tall buildings that make up Mega City Towers have the shape of a giant letter U. It’s the only complex to survive the Big Shake with minimal damage. Those who live in the Towers get a gorgeous view of the courtyard that lies below at the center of the U shape. Only Tower residents have access to the blooming flowers and shady trees inside the courtyard. There’s even a playground for kids. On most days, the rest of Mega City can peep enviously through the gates and admire the luxury of having such a green space. Not today. Today is the last Saturday of the month. The gates are wide open for the throwdown. The courtyard is overrun by Mega City people.

  As we enter, red paper flowers rain down from above, covering the floor in scarlet, the color of my crew. I look toward the hundreds of windows that make up the Towers and to those tossing the flowers. The chosen ones. They smile and laugh, secure in being far away from the toilers down below. Can’t say I blame them. No one wants to be near regular ol’ toilers, sweaty and reeking from hard labor. The sun will soon set and a cool breeze will serenade us. If only the breeze could gather me and place me next to the luminous people above. I hope the potent drinks flow tonight. How closely will they look when I give up the fight? I hope not too closely.

  Across from us, the Deadly Venoms present their game face. They’re dressed in black, with mugs painted in their trademark skulls. When they snarl, they flash their neon pink mouth guards. I take a hard look. Which one of them did Manos in? Who threw the last punch? It’s going to take everything to throw this fight now that they stand before me.

  “Hey, Deadly Dumb Dumbs!” I yell to them. “You goofs need to sit down. Take all the seats. You’re looking janky.”

  Around me, several toilers laugh and jeer at the Deadly Venoms without fear of repercussion. This is the only time when throwing shade is not only encouraged, but it adds to the whole spectacle.

  “We’re going to shred you to pieces,” counters one of the Deadly Venom soldiers. How original. These idiots deserve to be crushed. The worst fate for any crew is to be dull, and the Deadly Venoms are the dullest.

  “You cows are played out, you and your skull faces,” yells Truck.

  “Suck my tip!” they scream back.

  As we trade insults, the toilers behind us yell out who they will bet against. A girl sells wooden dolls made to our likenesses. Other vendors trade drinks and delicacies normally found only in the Towers in exchange for sueño tabs. Seats are free, but toilers will gladly give up
their spot if a good trade presents itself. Everyone is in on the action.

  Two crews battle it out fist to fist. Five girls against five girls. Technically it should be a pretty clean fight but crews are known to bring extra help with them. Sticks. Bats. Rocks. Fight whoever you want to fight except for the leaders. The leaders of each gang must end the throwdown by battling each other. It is a show, and that is what the masses expect. Schedules are determined in advance. There are lightweight throwdowns for baby crews starting out and main events like ours.

  Ask any old-timer. They will reminisce back to when large sporting events were held as a way to bring people together and to invigorate the cash flow. They forget how most of those events were catered to men. Déesse brought back these competitions with a twist—women only take center stage. The throwdowns are reminders that we have strength equal to or more so than men. For crews, these battles are a way to position themselves and gain favor with those above. A battle won can mean a better line to patrol or entrance to the best papi chulo clubs. Losing can mean being stripped of your status and delivered to a weak toiler job.

  “This is going to be the end of Las Muchas Muchas,” says Destiny. “Yeah, I’m looking right at you. Santo’s squealing sucka.”

  Destiny is the leader of the Deadly Venoms. Funny how her name sounds so queenly. Doesn’t go with the person who beats her crew with a large gold cane while gorging off their findings. Destiny surrounds herself with a young, shredded group. She makes sure they’re desperate, a real hungry bunch, willing to accept her beatdowns in exchange for whatever measly piece she tosses their way. I can’t believe I have to lose out to her. Faking this fight when Destiny is literally the worst piece of trash in Mega City.

  “I’m going to take that gold cane and shove it up your ass,” I say. “You’re going to be my very own piñata.”

  More and more people stream in. Children climb poles to get a better view. There’s a real surge of energy emanating. A sense that a harsh and bloody show is about to go down. My girls stretch their bodies. Get limber. It’s on us to teach Destiny and her crew a lesson in the name of Manos Dura. They have their rage faces on.