by Jadie Jang
He began chanting a bit louder and more regularly, and I started identifying words. Was that … Latin? As he chanted, I felt that power, that almost-consciousness, increase … or focus, as if waking up more thoroughly. Its focus seemed to narrow in on Tez, although I could feel a tendril of it reach out to me, as if to sniff me, like a dog, or something less friendly. A sort of … amoeba of energy appeared to coalesce above Tez’s outstretched hands. His chanted lines began to repeat more quickly. I could sorta see where this was going now, I thought. I started to relax.
Then a familiar engine sound, followed by a familiar screech of tires, broke my concentration—and his.
Tez looked around behind him and muttered, “Shit.”
I floated off in the direction of the noise, only a few yards up the hill and through a small stand of trees to where a short residential street dead-ended into the empty lot of the hill. Sure enough, the 70s Arroyos’ gorgeous green Mustang was parking, and even before its lights were out, spilling out a clown car’s worth of gangbangers. Actually, after a moment I was able to see that it was only six. Six very purposeful Arroyos, but surely Tez could handle them?
I recognized the driver from the shooting at Tez’s house—his face still a mess from the beating—and the braided shot-caller from the restaurant patio in Fruitvale, but the rest of the guys were either new to me, or ones I hadn’t noticed before—Hey, I never forget a face, but I don’t always notice the face, either, do I? They moved with purpose and confidence, filing one by one through the little wooden gate into the open space on the hill, skipping down to the flat area, and spreading out in a circle around Tez.
I remained invisible, watching closely, but Tez was the farthest thing from alarmed. He stood up slowly and grabbed the walking stick in his left hand, although he was right-handed. The shot caller nodded to a henchman to his right, who drew his pistol and pointed it at Tez. Did they not have enough guns to go around? Or were they being smart and keeping themselves from shooting each other? I didn’t like the latter option.
“Give me the Huexotl,” the shot caller said in a raised, peremptory voice.
“That’s not going to happen,” Tez said. His voice was quiet, but somehow penetrating. “Either I bond with it now, or I destroy it. So, given those options, how would you like to walk away? Intact, partially intact, or not at all?”
The shot caller drew his own pistol from his waistband. He pointed it at Tez. “How you gonna hurt me, asshole?”
“You have a short memory,” Tez said, an edge of impatience breaking through his calm. “Last chance: walk away.”
“Hand it over,” the shot caller said, raising his pistol a little for emphasis.
Then, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move before, Tez leapt in a high arc over the distance between them, and landed beside the shot caller, knocking him out with a single blow from his right fist. I noted that he was controlled enough to not use the stick.
The shot caller crumpled, dropping his pistol. Tez seemed in my perception to pause a moment, but he must have moved immediately, because the henchman fired, and Tez was no longer in the spot he’d fired into. Instead, he was behind the henchman, felling him with one blow as well.
The remaining guys were apparently better trained, or smarter, because none of them pulled a pistol—if he even had one—as that was clearly the pointless move. Instead, they broke formation and re-encircled Tez, who allowed this. I didn’t hold out much hope for them, and settled into my invisible cloud as the fists and feet started flying.
But my complacency didn’t last long. Just as Tez was most occupied with the four remaining attackers, Monkey noted the purr of a high performance engine approaching. I floated back through the little gate to the street just in time to see two black Escalades pull up and park: one next to the 70s’ ‘stang and the other crosswise behind it. I didn’t know if either of the cars was the one from two days ago, but had little doubt who was occupying them.
Sure enough, all eight doors opened nearly at once, disgorging a virtual army of San Antonios, including, of course, Juice, Beto, and—after a short delay sliding out of the middle of the back seat—Juice’s little brother Jimmy. Juice waited for him, put a hand on the back of his neck.
“Oye mocoso, stay with Beto. Don’t fuck up,” Juice said to him, low.
I counted 13 assholes. At least half of them were packing, and they all had the intent looks of people whose boss has threatened them within an inch of their lives, even—especially—Jimmy.
I decided to stay invisible. Why give up an advantage? And why let Tez see me, Monkey countered, when I might still get away clean?
Tez must have heard the cars in the background. He’d already dispensed with the remaining four 70s dudes, who were lying where he’d dumped them: in an unconscious pile at the back of the flat stage area, bleeding slightly. He stepped away from the 70s, back into the center of his stage.
Juice wasn’t stupid enough to go in guns blazing. He lifted a hand to Tez as his boys encircled him.
“I see you got back what they stole from us. That’s a good job.” Juice’s voice was a combination of admiring friend and loving pet-owner. You could almost hear the “good boy,” underneath. That probably worked well with a doggish Chucha, who had accepted her subordinate status, and was probably half in love with him; but wasn’t going to do anything but piss off a jaguar, particularly one smart enough to recognize a Chucha-managing tactic.
Sure enough, Tez’s nose flared in disgust.
Juice saw that he’d miscalculated and tensed a little. “Just hand me my Huexotl, primo,” he said, still friendly, “and all of this will be over.”
Tez lifted the stick, and as he did, it grew to the length of a staff. He whipped it around almost unimaginably fast and elegantly, then set its heel on the ground again, and let it subside back into the length of a cane. I was torn between a giggle and admiration: yes, they were now almost literally measuring dicks.
“Not yours, primo,” he said, almost unnecessarily.
“I disagree,” Juice said gently. “I paid good money for It. My money, my Huexotl.”
“My family made This,” Tez said, lifting it. “It was stolen from my father and came back into our possession when you gave It to Chucha. It was her Huexotl, by right of magic, and now that she’s dead, It’s mine.”
I was so surprised by this that I actually jerked, quite a feat for an invisible cloud of mist. I’d been so focused on how I thought the stick was an evil influencer that I hadn’t actually considered that Chucha had had as much right to bond with it as Tez—and in fact probably would have done so if Slim Shady hadn’t killed her. I couldn’t imagine her being stupid or manipulable enough to hand the thing back over to Juice, even if the magic had allowed her to, which it wouldn’t have.
My god, if it hadn’t been for this almost-certainly-entirely-unrelated stupid stupid fucked up shadow stupid rat-shit-eating camel-cock-sucking wrinkled-knee-length-ball-sack motel-cockroach of a creature, Chucha could have solved everyone’s problems by taking over the family business. She was clearly dominant enough; enough of a leader. Why had that never occurred to me? Guess I wasn’t as much of a feminist as I’d thought. It clearly, so clearly, had occurred to Tez. In fact … was that part of his desperation to get her back? Had he been grooming her to take over so he could be free?
“I don’t recognize that,” Juice said, just as gently.
“There’s no law in the universe that would award the Huexotl to you,” Tez said, confidently. “And, in any case, possession is nine tenths of the law.”
“I can fix that problem easily, Tez,” Juice said. “But for love of Chucha, I don’t want to cause her family any more damage. You can walk away, and be with your brothers. There will be no more beef with us. Just give me back my property.”
Tez sighed. It was the strangest exchange I’d ever seen, both interlocutors sad and reluctant, and about to become violent. “It’s your use of the word ‘property’ that exp
lains why you can never have This. It’s not about property, or buying or selling, Juice. It’s about guardianship, and responsibility, and leadership.”
“Let’s not bullshit each other, Tez,” Juice said, a little angry now. “We both know how little you want that responsibility. You could be calling the shots at 23rd Street by now, but you’ve always said no. Chucha said you’re stronger and faster than she was, but she could always beat you because you wouldn’t use it. And that’s how it’s always gonna be with you. You look down your long nose at me, but I haven’t just been taking care of my own family since I was fifteen, but all of these vatos.” He gestured around him at his boys. “I keep them alive and fed. I train them and educate them. I make men out of them. And I’m happy to do it. I’ve never hesitated to step up. And you, chulo …” he sucked his teeth and contempt crept into his careful voice, “… so powerful, you couldn’t even keep your own family safe.”
I winced, but Tez didn’t react at all. I knew immediately that he’d been saying such things to himself all week, and had been expecting such an accusation. In fact—and I almost gasped when I realized it—Tez was negotiating with Juice because he felt… responsible?… to him for failing to protect Chucha. God, how complicated this had all gotten.
Juice held out his hand again. “Give me the Huexotl. I already got the leadership, the responsibility. Give me the Huexotl and I’ll become the … what did you call it? ‘Guardianship’? I’ll become the ‘guardian,’ not just of San Antonio like I am now, but all of Oakland, maybe the whole Bay. I can feel that it might even go that big. Do you doubt it? Do you doubt I could do a better job than you?”
It was a real question, not a rhetorical one, and Tez answered seriously. “Juice, if you were a nagual, with my abilities, or Chucha’s, and our training, I have no doubt you’d do a better job than me. But if you were a nagual, with our abilities and training, you wouldn’t be a San Antonio.” He dropped the hand holding the stick and stepped slightly towards Juice. “You got juice, but it’s the wrong kind. I know your rep. I know you prefer diplomacy to war. But you’re still too willing to use violence. There’s doubt in my soul, but there’s straight up coldness in yours. You don’t have the magic to manage it, and if you bonded with the Huexotl, the cold would eat you alive.”
Still with his hand out, Juice said, “I’m willing to take that chance.”
Still not moving, Tez said, “I’m not.”
Juice adjusted himself to readiness and said, “Last ch—”
And Tez was on him.
They’d been too close for Tez to take one of his devastating leaps, so Tez had gone directly for Juice, fists flying. But Juice dodged him easily—it was probable that Chucha had trained him—and cried “to me!” His boys instantly obeyed him, even Jimmy, and I saw four of them jump Tez, while the rest closed in. Shit.
Tez could handle them.
Couldn’t he?
Time to get involved. I passed a still-reluctant Jimmy on my way to the scrum and decided to do him a favor. Changing back into human form, albeit still invisible, I smashed his nose in (What? I was gentle … for some values of “gentle” … and it would get nice and bloody, and he had the sort of nose that looks good broken; he’d get hella play from it), choked him out, then threw his unconscious body near the pile-up of mixed assortment gangbangers. When they sorted themselves out later, they’d think he’d waded into the fight and gotten knocked out. Jimmy: taken care of.
I couldn’t see Tez in the middle of the pile-up, but they were all too close together for anyone to use a pistol, and I was sure he could handle it for a while. My best bet was to pick them off, one and two at a time, just to lighten his load. I tried to decide if I was worried about down-the-line issues from concussions, but Monkey mentally shook me, screeching: Gangbangers! Everyone’s attention was on Tez, and they couldn’t see me anyway, so I just took them out with punches to the jaw. One, two, uh … three, uh oh, he’s noticed… grunt… four…
Unfortunately, after number four went down for no apparent reason, the rest of the guys started noticing, and looking around themselves. One smart, if silly-looking, dude starting swinging punches wildly around him. Monkey, who’d been lying back, found this funny and came to the fore. I knocked out a fifth guy who wasn’t paying attention, but that just made the remaining two go crazy. Easy peasy. I plucked out a hair, turned it into an (invisible) tire thumper and went to town. One went down with two broken arms, but, just my luck, the second had some martial arts training and immediately started defensive blocking.
I paused, to consider the situation, and was therefore perfectly placed to see the guy laid out by a graceful blow from a now-standing Tez’s fist. I looked at him and he looked right back at me.
“I know you’re there, Maya. You can drop the glamor.”
“It’s not a glamor,” I said, complying. “It’s invisibility. I know the difference is subtle—”
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might need backup. Turns out …” I gestured to the landscape of unconscious bodies around us. I most certainly did not tell him that I came because I promised not to leave him alone with this.
Tez frowned more deeply. “How’d you know that I was going to do this?”
Utter airhead that I am, I wasn’t prepared for this question. Monkey flapped and screeched in my head, but wasn’t very good with rational answers. If I’d been prepared, I could have said something like:
1. I guessed; I’ve gotten to know you pretty well the past two weeks;
2. I didn’t. I was just worried that those gangbangers would come after you for the stick;
3. I’ve been following you, dude. In case Slim Shady came after you;
4. [pretty much anything except guilty silence.]
But I hadn’t been prepared and I was stymied for a second. I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. And Tez’s face changed. Even at that moment, I could have pulled it out, but my own confusion confused me further. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think of a single, goddamn thing to say.
“You knew … you knew already … you …”
I could almost see the images inside his head, could almost see him remembering how, when I first met him, I’d turned into him for a second, spoken with his voice. I cringed helplessly.
He was shocked, down to his feet. He was frozen.
“You evil bitch,” Tez whispered. “You crazy, fucked up …” He shook himself … no, that was a shudder. “That was you last night. Not my dad. That was you.”
He walked a few steps away from me in a passion of disgust and bewilderment. I felt my skin crawling, a cold sweat climbing up my legs and arms. Tez immediately turned back.
“Who does something like that? What kind of a … what kind of an animal are you?”
I wanted to believe that he was overwhelmed by the stick, but the disgust in his voice was too calm, too real. Too mirrored by my own disgust. I opened my mouth to explain, and as I did so, I reached for that vision I’d had yesterday, the one that explained everything. But it was gone. It was out of reach, as if it had never been, as if I’d made it up. Even Monkey was gone, hiding somewhere. My mouth hung open, and I couldn’t find the words.
So it was almost fortunate that the shadow chose that moment to attack.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Kite Hill Park, San Francisco
Shady didn’t mess around this time. He just descended on me all at once, like a bell jar, and sealed me to the flat ground with his impenetrable smoke. I was shocked and confused for a moment, and weakened by self-disgust; and he was definitely stronger now, stronger than he’d been even the last time I ran into him. So he was able to apply that horrifying, familiar pressure to me without encountering resistance, and I felt my energy, my essence, my soul, start to give immediately.
And why shouldn’t I give? I was an evil bitch. I’d tried to fool Tez into doing something he didn’t want to do. I had no right
. I was disgusting—
Fire! cried Monkey. Light!
Right.
Not able to think very well, I changed myself into a Maya-shaped bonfire. Shady reared back immediately, but it didn’t retreat like it had two nights ago. It still contained me, but more loosely. And it had a …(shudder) … considering air. Oh shit.
It started to move, only this time, instead of smothering me closely with its bulk, it created a larger bubble around me—one that allowed it to keep most of its bulk at a distance—and simply sent a finger of smoky darkness down to probe me.
Again I felt that despair, that sense of hopelessness and pointlessness begin to rise up in me. Tez knew what I had done, and I was going to die and he wasn’t going to save me because he hated me. It was no less than I deserved.
Then, all at once, Shady’s pressure disappeared and I was gasping for breath and feeling that hollow in my core, but clear. It hadn’t gotten as much from me as it had two nights before, and sitting up quickly, I saw it fighting with Tez, walloping Tez with its shockwave, and Tez walloping right back with the almost-as-effective stick, which had grown again and flattened at one end until it was almost like a pizza peel. Monkey cheered at the sight.
But almost as soon as I had caught my breath, the shadow dealt Tez an angry blow that sent him heels over head a few yards down the hill, losing his grip on the stick. The victorious Shady leapt to cover him, carefully avoiding touching the stick right next to him, and began sucking his essence energetically.
Without even thinking, I threw a fireball at him.
“Hey! Shady!” I yelled. “Don’t be greedy! I’m the one you want! Let him go!”
Maybe Tez and I really had discombobulated the thing, because he seemed confused. He … uh … looked down at Tez, and then looked back at me, undecided. Uuuaagghh.