As Diego followed he noticed the older boy’s shoes: white and new, the kind you buy in a real store. Not worn out hand-me-downs like Diego’s or the homemade ones they sold on Matamoros Street that fell apart a couple days after you bought them. Pedro definitely had a job. A paying job.
The morning heat stifled and the streets narrowed further as the boys moved south towards the river. They cut through a noisy alley crowded with taco stands and peddlers hawking knockoff fashions and stolen wares laid out on dirty, frayed blankets. Diego’s mouth watered when the thick, delicious smell of frying pork skins hit him.
As they made their way through the crowd a few vendors nodded discreetly at Pedro. Respect, Diego thought. Pedro The Joker from the neighborhood had a paying job and respect. There wasn’t a kid in El Cuatro who wouldn’t have traded places with that lucky cabrón.
At the end of the alley Diego noticed a trashcan-sized narcobot rolling along in a slow pattern up and down the sidewalk, its single red eye scanning the crowd for customers. He remember the saying everyone learned when they were little: Need some pot? Find a green bot. And as they got closer to the river they’d begin to see yellow bots, the ones that sold meth. Buy meth from a yellow and you’ll be a happy fellow.
Lorenzo always scolded Diego if he found out his little brother had wandered into yellow bot areas. Too dangerous, too close to the narcos. Stay in the pot territories, he insisted. Diego hated it when Lorenzo treated him like a baby, like he couldn’t take care of himself. Always telling him where to go, what to do. Sometimes Diego would sneak into yellow bot areas to see what was going on.
Diego paused near the little green bot. He was too young to remember when people, actual human beings, sold weed and meth, but Lorenzo had told him about it. Years ago some engineer had figured out how to modify factory bots so they could push junk. At first the narco bosses were skeptical; bots were expensive to maintain and replace, while people were cheap and plentiful. The numbers didn’t work, they said. But eventually a few of the more business-minded narcos gave a couple bots a trial run, and soon opinions began to change. Bots never skimmed money, never smoked the inventory, and never sold you out to your competitors. Robots were reliable, and narcos loved reliability, even if it cost them a premium to get it.
Soon the rolling vending machines completely replaced their human predecessors, roaming their carefully partitioned territories day and night in a tireless search for customers. And a steady flow of payments (El Carnicero called them donations) to local politicians and police chiefs ensured the little bots were allowed to make their transactions with impunity.
Nowadays you couldn’t walk a block in Laredo without seeing a one.
Pedro looked the green bot up and down and said, “Man, between the cash and junk inside this thing, there’s enough to live on for a year. Ever see somebody try to steal one? Not pretty, guey.”
Diego nodded. Anyone who’d ever witnessed a bot-jacking never forgot it: the horrible smell of someone fried on the spot by the bot’s shocker or the pitiful sight of some hopeless idiot trying to escape the narco’s motor soldiers after a bot activated its emergency locator. He’d seen and heard of countless attempts, but no one had ever pulled it off. Only junkies who needed a fix would even think about approaching a narcobot. Everyone else, including Diego, never risked getting closer than a couple meters.
“Come on, guey,” Pedro said. “We don’t have time for your hobbies. Hurry up, let’s go.”
They arrived at the river and the big concrete bridge. Whenever Diego came to the bridge he remembered how Lorenzo once told him men with guns used to guard each side of the river, and you needed papers to get across. But that was a long time ago, back when people called the city by two names: Laredo and Nuevo Laredo. Diego thought it was silly to call the city by two names only because a river ran through the middle of it.
The bridge was empty except for a couple emaciated dogs sniffing through the undergrowth that shot up from wide cracks in the concrete. “A couple more blocks,” Pedro said. As they started across the bridge Diego saw a yellow narcobot on the far side disappear into an alley. Yellow bots meant meth territory, and meth territory was narco territory.
Diego shuddered. Maybe Pedro hadn’t been joking.
***
El Carnicero was short. That was a surprise. He’s short like me, Diego thought, as the stout, plainly dressed man entered the small room hidden behind a fabric store. The dank, dimly lit space was empty of furnishings except for two folding chairs and a card table. Two large men with guns, bodyguards, stood on each side of the room’s only door; Pedro, suddenly timid and quiet, stood with his back to one of the corners. Diego nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other; he felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead.
“My God, jovenazo,” said El Carnicero. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Please sit down, my boy.” Diego sat and the man flipped Pedro a coin. “Go get our guest a soda.”
El Carnicero sat across from Diego and smiled a wide, silver-toothed grin. “So I hear you know a lot about robots. I hear you know how to make them work better.”
Diego’s throat was tight and dry. “Yes, sir. My brother taught me. He fixes robots for the university.”
The narco boss winked and said, “I heard you fixed the robots for the church in El Cuatro. The priest tells me they work better than new. What do you think about helping me with my robots?”
“¿Los narcobots?”
“Exacto. You see, my boy, I’ve been spending a lot of money on robots lately. We have a new governor who likes to take them from me so he can get his face on the news and tell everyone how brave he is for taking on the narcos.” Diego nodded; he’d heard rumors about police making bot raids, but he hadn’t believed them. He couldn’t imagine anyone, police or otherwise, would be stupid enough to mess with El Carnicero’s bots.
“And it’s not only the cost of the bots,” the narco boss continued. “I also have to replace the goods they carry. Es un chingo de lana, ¿entiendes? Lots of wasted money.”
Diego understood. “Could you pay the governor not to take them?” he asked, just as Pedro returned with a cold can of MaxSweet and placed it in front of him. El Carnicero burst out laughing and slapped his palm on the table. The loud smack startled Pedro and nearly toppled the soda. “Pedro, your friend is a smart one. Lots of brains.”
“Yes, sir,” Pedro said meekly and returned to the corner.
El Carnicero turned back to Diego and said, “My boy, believe it or not money can’t buy everything. This new governor isn’t like the ones before him. No, this governor’s a real church boy who couldn’t care less about money. He thinks he’s as pure as La Virgen de Guadalupe.” The narco boss popped open the can of soda and handed it to Diego.
“The situation, my boy, is what business people call an unsustainable model. But if I had better robots, upgraded robots the police couldn’t catch, that would change everything.” Diego shifted in his chair and glanced anxiously at Pedro; the older boy’s face betrayed nothing.
El Carnicero laughed. “You can say no if you want to, my boy. I’m not going to force you to work for me. There are plenty of robot engineers around. But you know how those college boys are; they’re not like you and me, Diego. They look down their noses at us because we grew up humble and poor. I’d much rather pay someone from my old neighborhood. And Pedro says you’re the smartest kid around, especially with robots.”
His old neighborhood? “You’re from El Cuatro, sir?” Diego asked.
“We have a lot in common, Diego. We’re both orphans, both poor boys from El Cuatro. And when I was a boy I was smarter than the other kids, just like you. I wasn’t smart with robots, but I was smart in other ways. Smart enough to make a bit of money and gain some respect.” El Carnicero smiled and added, “I had to share one bathroom with five sisters, can you imagine that? I would have done anything to get out of there. I had to pee outside until I was fifteen.”
Diego laughed and felt himself
finally relax. El Carnicero didn’t seem at all like the animal the street said he was. Maybe most of that was simply talk. The street wasn’t always right; sometimes the street exaggerated.
“My boy, come by tomorrow take a look at my bots and tell me if you think you can help. I’ll pay you a nice fee just to a look. No strings. Sounds like a fair deal, right?”
***
Lorenzo was furious. “Ten seconds, Diego. That’s all it takes to write a note and tell me where you’re going. You can’t be bothered to do that much?” Diego, scolded and sullen, sat at the tiny kitchen table as his brother angrily plated their dinner of tacos and beans. The busy din of the streets came through the open window.
“I said I was sorry.”
Lorenzo handed Diego his dinner plate and sat. “So where did you go?”
“Nowhere. Around.”
“Who were you with?”
“No one. I was playing soccer.”
Lorenzo glared at his little brother. “Don’t lie to me. I saw that idiot Pedro through the window when you came back.”
“He’s not an idiot.”
“Pedro’s messing around with the wrong people, Diego. I don’t want you hanging out with him again.”
Diego shot back defiantly. “Why do you always boss me so much? Mami was never bossy like you.” Lorenzo’s face dropped and Diego instantly regretted saying it. Diego only had a toddler’s fragmented memory of his mother: her soft, warm hugs and soothing voice. He knew Lorenzo’s memories were different, though. Lorenzo was about Diego’s age now when mom got the cancer that slowly killed her.
Lorenzo took a long, tired breath. “I’m not trying to be bossy, hermanito. I’m trying to look after you like I promised mom. And she wouldn’t want you running around with narco messengers. Maybe I’ve been too lazy about discipline around here, but no more. I’m sorry, Diego, but you’re grounded for the next two days. No leaving the house.”
Diego sprang up out of his chair. “What? You can’t do that! I have to be somewhere tomorrow.”
Lorenzo managed a small laugh. “Where, school? You haven’t been to school in ages.”
“Someone asked me to fix their robot.”
“¿De veras?” Lorenzo’s eyes brightened. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting some use out of what I taught you. So who’s the customer?”
Diego looked at the floor and said nothing.
“Diego, who’s the customer?”
“Someone from the neighborhood,” he slowly answered.
“From El Cuatro? Who from around here can afford a robot?” Lorenzo’s eyes suddenly widened with worry. “Not The Butcher? Please tell me it’s not El Carnicero.”
Diego’s silence was as good as an admission.
Lorenzo grabbed Diego by the arm. “Brother, I won’t let you do that, do you hear me? You can’t get mixed up with a narco, Diego. They’re animals, they don’t know right from wrong and they’ll kill you without thinking about it.”
Diego yanked his arm free. “El Carnicero isn’t an animal. He was nice to me. He’s going to pay me to take a look at his robots, that’s all. Nothing else.”
Lorenzo pleaded. “He’d say anything to lure you in, Diego. Don’t believe his act for a minute, he’s not a nice man from the neighborhood. He’s an animal who makes money from other people’s misery. Don’t you understand that?”
“He’s not an animal. He just wanted to make some money and get some respect. What’s wrong with that?”
“Listen to me. I won’t have you use what I taught you to help a narco. You’re a kid, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
Diego exploded. “I’m not a kid anymore and you can’t stop me! I don’t want to do what you do, Lorenzo. I don’t want to fix robots for rich people for a couple measly dollars while they look down their noses at me. I’m smarter than that.”
Diego stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He ran as fast as he could until he reached the big bridge, exhausted and panting. It was a clear, cool night and he knew lots of quiet places near the riverbanks where he could sleep. Tomorrow he’d prove Lorenzo wrong. He’d prove he wasn’t a kid anymore; he’d prove he could make his own way.
***
The abandoned warehouse that served as El Carnicero’s robot workshop was heaven to Diego, total heaven. The place had every tool and diagnostic machine one could possibly need to repair a robot or even build one from scratch. The shop mechanic Fernando, a slow-talking man Diego guessed was closer to seventy than sixty, gave the boy a tour of the spacious building. He had never seen so much expensive tech in one place: the programming interface terminals (sleek and glossy, the latest models from Ono-Hiroshi), a dozen state of the art diagnostic stations, the shiny new hand tools, the vast spare parts inventories. He marveled at the size of the place; you could fit half a soccer field in here, he thought. It was paradise.
Fernando shoved his hands into the front pockets of his greasy coveralls and said, “So they tell me you’re a robot genius.”
Diego blushed. “I don’t know about that, but I’m pretty good at programming.”
“Good,” Fernando said. “That’s exactly what we need around here, somebody who speaks bot. I can fix a broken wheel or replace a hydraulic arm as good as anybody, but when it comes to bot language I’m not very useful.”
The warehouse doors flew open with a bang and El Carnicero strode into the shop flanked by the same two bodyguards from the day before. Pedro followed behind, carrying a small bag of ice and looking anxious.
The bodyguards cleared a small table of spare parts so the two could sit. “Glad you could make it, my boy. Come, sit. Lots of nice toys here, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” Diego said. El Carnicero looked different, he thought. The simple shirt and pants from yesterday were gone; today he wore a pricey suit and bands of gold around his neck and wrists. And it wasn’t only his clothes. His eyes were cold and stern, not calm and kind as Diego remembered them. Today they looked like… an animal’s eyes.
“So, you’re going to upgrade my robots, yes?” the narco boss asked.
The severe look on the man’s face made Diego’s insides feel strange and his blood suddenly ran cold. He remembered Lorenzo’s warning and said, “No, sir,” almost without thinking. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do it.”
El Carnicero grinned. “I thought you might have some doubts, a smart boy like you. I understand.” He gave Fernando a small nod and the shop mechanic quickly turned and exited the warehouse. One of the bodyguards grabbed Pedro by the upper arm and brought him over to the table. Diego saw the confusion and panic on Pedro’s face as the other bodyguard snatched the bag of ice from him.
“You know, my boy,” the narco boss continued coolly, “I know the best doctors in the city. And did you know they can do almost anything these days? Even replace a finger that’s been off a hand for a whole day. Imagine that! In the old days if you waited more than few hours to get it back on, forget it. But now even after a whole day they can pop it on as good as new. It’s truly amazing.”
The larger bodyguard held Pedro in place while the other forced the boy’s hand onto the table and pulled out a hunting knife. Diego watched in horror as Pedro squirmed helplessly then howled in pain as the bodyguard leaned onto the blade, forcing it through the boy’s finger. Pedro passed out as blood flowed from the stump and pooled under the severed digit.
With swift, clinical precision the bodyguards placed the finger in the bag of ice, stemmed the blood flow and wrapped Pedro’s hand in bandages. The larger man threw the unconscious boy over his shoulder and left through a side door.
Diego was suddenly aware that he was sweating and panting uncontrollably. He felt sick and forced himself to breathe slowly to keep from throwing up.
El Carnicero eyed Diego grimly and said, “Things have changed a bit since we spoke yesterday and I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer, my boy. We learned from, shall we say, a
friend on the payroll that tomorrow morning the state police are going to raid my bots at Juarez Square.” Diego barely registered what he was hearing, the sights and sounds of the horror he’d just witnessed still blaring in the front of his mind.
The narco boss idly ran his finger through the pool of blood and made a smiley face doodle. “Of course, I could move the bots out of the square, but then I thought this might be the perfect opportunity for you to show me how good you are.” He flashed Diego a silver grin and said, “Now I know twenty-two hours isn’t a lot of time, so I figured your friend Pedro could give you a little extra motivation. If you do well I’ll have them put his finger back on, good as new.”
Diego’s mind raced as he thought about the impossibility of what he was expected to do. He looked down at his hands and fingers. El Carnicero laughed and said, “Don’t worry, my boy. You fix my bots so the police can’t catch them and you’ll get to keep all ten of yours.”
***
The next morning they sat in folding chairs on top of a tall building, the perfect viewing spot overlooking Juarez Square. It was still early and far below them the square was empty except for the four bots Diego had just finished modifying. He hadn’t had time to test anything, neither the add-on gear nor the lines of code he’d loaded a half hour earlier. There was nothing he could do now but watch and wait for the police to show up.
The bodyguards brought up some foil-wrapped tacos for breakfast. El Carnicero devoured his in large gulps, meat juice and bits of tortilla streaming down his chin. But despite the delicious smell neither boy could bring themselves to eat. Pedro coddled his injured hand and Diego anxiously studied the bots’ movements far below.
The bots had been emptied of their meth to keep the potential losses to a minimum, but even so the bodyguards were still edgy and tense. “We still have time to set up cameras, jefe,” one of them said. “We don’t have to be this close.”
El Carnicero laughed. “Nonsense. It’s much more fun to be at the game in person instead of watching it on TV.”
Diego, exhausted and bleary-eyed from his all-nighter, could barely fathom how much had happened in two days. His brother was probably eating breakfast right about now. He wished Lorenzo was there with him; he wished everything could go back to how it was before Pedro knocked on his door. Diego fought back tears as he pictured Lorenzo at the kitchen table alone and worried.
Ruined Cities Page 17