Dealing in Dreams

by Lilliam Rivera

  “Everyone is welcome here,” one of the Rumberos says. “We only ask you enter with love and an open mind.”

  Truck snorts behind me.

  “How many tabs?” I ask. There has to be a payment to enter. I’m sure of it.

  “Tabs are worthless here. This place is created to build community. Are you part of this community or are you against us?”

  What kind of question is that? I want to tell her shut up with her weak-ass words. I won’t because this is the start of our journey, and if I have to pretend to be down with these religious freaks, so be it. I face Truck and smile my widest grin. Truck rolls her eyes. Then she copies me.

  “We’ve come only to build and connect with our people,” I say. My syrupy words make me sick. I better get used to them. The success of this mission will depend on the lies I spew to make myself fit in.

  The guards are more than happy to let us in.

  A never-ending row of congas takes over the back of the tent. Women of all ages play the instruments with enraptured faces. To abandon themselves so fully to a spiritual movement is my worst nightmare come true. How can anyone believe music or chanting can elevate you to a better state? There is no higher plane in sight except for the Towers, and those buildings are undeniable. My hands can touch the structure. Closing your eyes and searching for the divine is a useless task. There is only what is in front of me, what I can feel and see with my own eyes. To think otherwise is to live in a fantasy. You might as well take sueño tabs and call it a night. I find solace knowing my tronic is close at hand.

  Truck and I separate. There must be a hundred people crammed inside the tent, way more than I had anticipated. People young and old move to the music. Not everyone is wailing. Women are muttering prayers to themselves. Others groan. It’s a sea of blue.

  These toilers want to check out of reality. They don’t understand how heavens won’t save them. Only their hard hands, their fists, can be their salvation. We built Mega to be what it is through our intelligence, not through supplications. I want to scream this to them. They are lost within their endless spiritual dance.

  I walk to each person, hoping to find the ANT. There are too many people. The worst are the kids. Kids who will soon be of age to enter the training camp. For Mega City to be safe, we need to keep the borders secure. Without new recruits, who will keep Cemi Territory outsiders away? It’s been years since haters have tried to bum-rush the city. The last time the haters did, they caught the force of Déesse’s army. We can’t sustain this success if kids aren’t taught how to defend themselves.

  I asked Santo once why Déesse allows the Rumberos to live aboveground and worship in such a fruitless way. I even offered our services to help close down the tents. He was abrupt in his response. Shutting the Rumberos will only make their religious fervor stronger. So what if a few toilers want to escape and temporarily live in a limbo state? They’re not harming anyone, is what he said. I’m not so sure.

  A young girl, about six years old, begins to hop up and down. She pounds her tiny chest to the rhythm of the congas. I’ve seen her before. She sells wooden dolls made to the likeness of various crews. I purchased one from her a long time ago. On the streets of Mega the girl appears timid, selling her dolls. Not here. In here she almost appears ageless.

  She hits her chest hard, and with that the conga players start to beat even faster. Others gather around her, creating a protective circle to guarantee enough room for her to dance. As the girl spins around, those closest to her touch the top of her head. What is it about her that makes everyone here want to connect with her? I see Truck. She’s way over on the other side of the tent, barely visible in this ocean of blue.

  The girl begins to moan, and her wail rocks the room. How is this even possible? She must have a microphone on her.

  A group of elderly ladies press against me. Their movements are no longer gentle. I push back with force. I’m going to faint from this oppressive heat. I want to tear off these clothes.

  Where’s Truck? I need to get out of here before I pull my tronic and start emptying it on everyone. I don’t want this uncontrollable feeling. This rapture is menacing. A threat.

  The girl continues to go around in a circle. Around and around. I am mesmerized by her movements. Is she the vessel Nena mentioned? I don’t believe in religion. Calling for a powerful being? Music and dancing are useless actions. No one should have the time or privilege to engage in such frivolousness.

  I need to get out of here. I push past the elderly women to get to Truck on the other side. I don’t care if I’m crossing this stupid circle. The ANT we are looking for is here, and these Rumberos are blocking my way. I don’t want to call the spirits. I don’t want to be sucked into this vortex, a black hole that takes you nowhere.

  As I walk across, ready to bash a head in if I have to, the girl grabs my arm. I try to pull free. She has a steady grip that doesn’t belong to such a tiny person. She draws me closer to her even when I’m doing everything I can to pull away. When she doesn’t let go, I reach for my tronic. I come back empty- handed. My piece was stolen. It could have been anyone. I am powerless.

  “He’s here. He has your answers.” The girl sings these words to me. A song that goes with the drumming. She won’t let go of my hand. Her deep dark eyes bear down on me. What does she know? She must be on a celestial trip, a sueño? It can’t be. Kids don’t suck on tabs.

  “Let go. This is just a dream.” I try to reason with her. “You’re on a trip.”

  With this, she smiles. “You will not win this fight. Stay here with us and call for the spirits to heal you. Stay here or you will not return to the city as Las Mal Criadas. The LMCs will perish and so will you.”

  She lets me go, and the circle engulfs her. She’s swept away before I can ask her more questions.

  “Wait! Come back here!”

  I push the ladies protecting her. They refuse to part. The drumming increases and so do the lamentations. They’re singing in unison—a song that sounds eerily familiar.

  I will follow you, child. I used to know the way.

  I can’t place the tune. From where?

  It’s as if hundreds and hundreds of people are singing the lyrics. I start to feel light-headed. What is going on? The music is hypnotizing. Taking me down. Was I slipped a sueño tab? The rhythm is taking me in. Maybe if I stay here, I will no longer fight. This isn’t the Towers. Still, it could be home. The girl said I will perish. If I join the Rumberos, I won’t. I can live with them forever in this space where only the strong can connect to the other world. If I learn the song, I can follow the path of the Rumberos.

  “C’mon! I got him!” Truck pulls me away before I truly lose myself.

  “Wait . . . No . . . the girl . . .” I plead with Truck, not wanting to stop the dancing.

  “We got to go.” Truck yanks my arm hard and, pushing her way through the people, she thrusts me into the far end of the tent.

  “This will snap you out of whatever you’re in.” She splashes water on my face. Slowly, the spiritual force fades away.

  “You didn’t feel that?” I ask. My head is groggy.

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t feel a thing, just mad annoyed by the singing and the heat. Your head injury is messing with you.”

  Stupid brat. It wasn’t drugs. It must have been the temperature and the noise that got me dizzy. What the hell does the kid know? Using vague words so she can play to my weak side. It’s a trick. My injury is causing me to make foolish moves.

  Truck leads me to a smaller tent. In a corner, the ANT sits clutching a conga to his face. He looks completely lost. His clothes are torn. He sings a song to himself. I can barely make out the words.

  El fuego me . . .

  The ANT doesn’t even notice when Truck and I grab his shoulders and lead him to the entrance. When we reach the opening, it finally dawns on him what we are doing. The ANT tries to get away.

  “Let me go! Let me go!” He screams. I give him a
shot from Shi’s drug arsenal. The guards notice the commotion and block the entrance. Truck pulls out her tronic.

  “Back off,” Truck says. “He’s coming with us.”

  The guard lunges toward Truck. She stuns her with her tronic. The Rumbero falls. The other stays frozen, confused. They are by far the worst guards I’ve ever witnessed. We cut out.

  After a few blocks, I dump the ANT to the ground. Truck empties his pockets and checks his vitals to make sure he’s not too far into sleepy land.

  “Are you okay, Nalah?” Truck asks. “You seem spooked.”

  I don’t want to think about what happened inside. I can’t dwell on the girl and her dark proclamations. “How long before he wakes up?”

  The ANT starts to jerk his body around. Soon his saucer eyes are open. He’s pissed he’s not back in the tent.

  “Remember me?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. I give him a sip of my water. Under the streetlight, I can see him a lot clearer. The blue outfit is dirty and stained. He’s malnourished. Underneath the dirt, though, there’s a tiny glimmer of who he must have been before he got hooked. He’s beautiful. Not in the papi chulo sense. No, his beauty, or what were his looks, are in a different category. It’s sad how time and sueños can destroy a body.

  “What about this?” I show him the azabache necklace. He’s no longer in a daze.

  “That doesn’t belong to you,” he says, and foolishly reaches for the trinket. Truck punches him in the stomach.

  “It’s ours now, ANT. Truck is going to ask you questions,” I say. “Every time you answer with a worthless comment, Truck here will practice her jab.” Truck won’t give him much time to catch his breath.

  “Where did you get it? I don’t care if you stole it. I just want names, a place.”

  He shakes his head. Truck hits him. He doubles over.

  “It doesn’t matter. Keep it. I messed up,” he says. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

  “How did you mess up?” I ask.

  He cries now. Big sobs. So pathetic. Truck is about to punch him again. I tell her no. In between his cries, he speaks. His long greasy hair covers his dirt-encrusted face.

  “I thought I was stronger. I thought I wouldn’t be lured by the sueños. I was wrong, even after all these years.”

  “Do you hear him?” Truck says. “Leave it to an ANT to play victim while reaping the joy of sucking on tabs.”

  “Zen. Zen,” he cries. “I shouldn’t have come. I wasn’t strong enough.”

  Truck and I can’t follow.

  “Zentrica,” he says.

  Truck pipes in and asks him more questions. He refuses to answer anything other than cry over Zentrica.

  “Who is Zentrica? Is she in Cemi Territory?” Truck asks. “Is that where you came from?”

  He starts to mumble. “My home. Los Bohios,” he says. “I never should have left Cemi.”

  Bohios? Truck taps the words in her Codigo and waits for the information to come in.

  “It’s a dwelling, old-school, as in way back in ancient times. The structures are made of wood,” says Truck. She shows me an illustration. “Maybe it’s not literally a dwelling. Maybe it’s the name of the place.”

  Are the Ashé Ryders living in Los Bohios? There are so many questions. I wish this ANT weren’t so far gone into his addiction. I kneel down.

  “Is Zentrica an Ashé Ryder?”

  This is the moment of truth. He’s not holding back the tears. I hope he doesn’t hold back this vital piece of information.

  “Yes. Zentrica is the leader of the Ashé Ryders.”

  Then it’s true. The Ashés are real. This is the confirmation we needed. We are heading in to Cemi Territory, and Los Bohios will be our destination.

  “Why did Zentrica send you to Mega City? When we met you the other night, you said you were looking for someone. Who was it you were looking for?” I ask. “What were you meant to do here?”

  “Zentrica didn’t send me. I came for the sueños. I needed to fix. I thought Déesse might help me get more. Déesse is the reason why I am the way I am.”

  He blames Déesse for his addiction. Freaking ANT. He failed to use the tabs correctly. It’s not Déesse’s fault if a person becomes addicted to them. For the majority of Mega City, they can control the intake. What makes this guy think he’s special?

  “Aren’t there sueños where you live?”

  “Sueños are the devil,” he says.

  Truck nudges me. This is the angle. He thinks sueños are bad even when he can’t stop taking them.

  “You are right. A city freely dishing sueños can’t be the city for us. You saw our fight with the Deadly Venoms. You saw how it went down,” I say. “We are on the outs with Déesse. There’s no point in staying here, not when the odds are stacked against us.”

  “It’s true,” Truck says. “We are not down with the way she’s running this city. We are ready for a change.”

  “Let us help you get back home, where you belong,” I say. “Show us the way to Los Bohios.”

  There is an inkling of a smile. I can’t tell if it’s from the sueños or from what we’ve said. Maybe it’s a combination of both.

  “I won’t be able to get back without help,” he says. I know what he means by help. He’ll need sueños to get him by. Not a problem.

  “We will take care of you,” I say.

  “Wait until you meet Zentrica,” he says. His eyes are closed. “You’ll fall for her too.”

  We’re losing him to the dreams. Zentrica. The person I must align myself with. I search the Codigo. The screen comes back blank. Who is Zentrica? Will we be able to deceive her?

  Truck picks him up and throws him over her back. We’re heading to Los Bohios, and this ANT is going to be our guide, whether he knows it or not.

  CHAPTER 11

  READY OR NOT

  The ANT sits on a rock, chewing on a stick meant to ward off his craving. His next hit won’t be for two hours. It’s hard to figure him out. He seems so resigned to this new circumstance of traveling with the LMC. He gives only the smallest of morsels—a street name here, a landmark—whenever we ask about Los Bohios. Shi says this must be due to the sueños screwing with his memory. She’s probably right. It doesn’t stop Truck from threatening to cut his fingers off. Violence doesn’t seem to work on a man who appears to be holding on to such little hope.

  I look up. The sky is an unbroken darkness. No moon to keep watch over us. No clouds. There are too many worries, too many “what-ifs” racing through my head. I try to play them out, close the gap of the unknowns. The azabache is nestled in my pocket. I calculate our odds.

  My Codigo blinks red. It’s Santo. He wants to see me. Where was he when I sent him a message a couple of days ago? He never bothered checking in to see how I was doing. My name was dirt. Now he wants to see me. No. It’s too late. I ignore the request. It blinks again.

  “You should answer that.” Truck motions to the Codigo.

  Part of me wants to write him off but I’m not stupid. I shouldn’t. He is too important in the scheme of things. Santo holds sway with his mother. I need to make sure we stay on their minds while we are away.

  “Anything wrong, Chief Rocka?” Smiley asks.

  “No,” I say.

  Truck raises her eyebrow. “Who knows what Santo might have for you? Only way to find out is to talk. We’ll wait for you by the border.”

  She’s right. He’s only five minutes away. “I won’t be long.”

  The toilers I pass are leaving work and heading home. A couple of them give me a nod hello. To avoid my path, a man crosses the street. He’s smart to stay clear. Men have been taught to defer to crews. His reaction is a show of respect.

  I pick up the pace. The lights from the Towers glow brightly. Breaking night will soon begin. We agreed to leave then. I walk toward the courtyard where Santo said he would be waiting. The place is desolate. There are no red petals blanketing the ground. No sign of our recent battle there
. Instead, there are posters advertising the next throwdown. Baby crews I don’t even recognize. Mega City will go on without us.

  Santo leans against a cement wall. He’s not alone. Three guards wait with him. I chuckle at this. The last time I saw him at Luna Club he was all swagger. Unafraid to travel alone to the boydega. Now he comes with heavy protection. I return to being angry. Where was my brother when my head got kicked in by Destiny? Where was he when Déesse presented this mission? There’s enough hurt inside me that I want to hit him. Yet I walk foolishly forward. Why? Because there is a history between us. Even if he hides behind these guards, there is a satisfaction in knowing I am valuable enough to merit this meeting.

  Once the guards see me, they grab hold of their tronics and aim.

  “What’s up, Santo? Scared I might ruffle your hair?” I ask. “You were the one who reached out to me.” He nods to the guards, and they put their weapons down.

  “Leave us,” he says.

  Santo is starting to grow a beard. He’s trying to make himself look tougher. He doesn’t need to, not when he walks around with guards protecting him. It’s not the first time he’s tried to mask his face. The new fuzz always seems to coincide with drama at home. As if he can conceal his feelings behind this growth. What’s going on in the Towers that has him hiding?

  “Did you come here to try to convince me not to go, or are you here to give me a pep talk?” I say. “Either way, I can’t take you serious with that facial hair.”

  “Always with a smart mouth. That mouth isn’t going to work where you’re going.”

  “What do you want, Santo? I have things to do.”

  He hesitates. We are in a different space since the last time we saw each other. I try to disguise the awkwardness between us with harshness.

  “You don’t have to live there.” He motions to the Towers. “You can stay and become a toiler. I can hook you up at one of the factories. There’s no need to prove a thing to me or to anyone.”