by Kiki Swinson
“Ahh!” Carlos screamed out in a high-pitched voice like a woman. “Help me! Please, somebody help me!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Eduardo hissed, slamming more fists into Carlos’s face. Each time Eduardo let his left or right fist land at will, he would say something else to Carlos about being a bitch-ass nigga. Eduardo was not stopping until he felt satisfied. He was possessed. He slammed another hard blow to Carlos’s face and that time a gush of blood spurted from Carlos’s nose and lips in a spray. Carlos was crying like a woman and pleading for mercy. He’d even asked me to call Eduardo off. I stood there watching and thinking that he was getting everything he deserved.
Eduardo was saying things, but he was so winded and seemingly possessed as he rained down an onslaught of strikes that I couldn’t even understand him. When he was tired of punching, Eduardo lifted his foot and began kicking Carlos all over his body.
“You threaten anybody that works for me and you die, motherfucker. You threaten my business and I fucking kill you,” Eduardo huffed. Those words struck me like an open-handed slap to the face. I wondered right then if the real reason Eduardo was fucking Carlos up was because Carlos had threatened to tell and to shut down the business. As much as I wanted to believe that Eduardo was doing this to get revenge on Carlos for raping me, something in my heart said he was doing it to ultimately protect himself.
Carlos was barely conscious, but Eduardo wouldn’t stop hitting and kicking him.
“That’s enough,” I said. “He’s not even moving anymore.”
“Enough? You think I’m leaving this nigga alive so he can snitch? You think I came here just to beat his ass for recreation? Nah, I wanted him to suffer first, but this nigga gotta go, so go get me a pillow and get a towel,” Eduardo replied, winded and sweating. He was dead serious too. I was frozen in place. Murder wasn’t what I had bargained for.
“Go! Do what the fuck I said!” Eduardo barked at me, spurring me into motion. My legs were moving, but they didn’t even feel like they belonged to me. I knew my way around Carlos’s apartment, but I wished that I didn’t. I came back and handed Eduardo the pillow.
“Use the towel to wipe your prints from this fucking place. But not before you take the laptop and any disks you find that might have any videos on it,” he instructed.
“If—if you kill him—who will we have to get the packages done?” I asked softly, too afraid to upset Eduardo any further. It was a valid concern, although I knew it wasn’t a big enough concern to save Carlos’s life. I wanted him dead too, I just didn’t want the police to suspect us.
“That’s for you to figure out. This nigga right here ain’t no more good to us. He will never stay loyal after this. Plus, if I know Lance, he wouldn’t like to know that he threatened our entire operation,” Eduardo said with finality. I scurried away and grabbed up the laptop and whatever else I thought could be holding any incriminating videos. Then I began wiping the hard surfaces clean of my prints. Pop! Pop! Two muffled shots rang out. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and tensed my shoulders in response to the noise. I bent over at the waist and threw up all over the floor.
“Yo! Now you gon’ have to use bleach or something to clean that shit up. That shit will have your DNA all over this fucking place,” Eduardo yelled at me. I certainly hadn’t thought of that when I was hurling up my guts. That scared me about Eduardo. It was like he was an expert on this type of shit. He had just killed a man and his hands weren’t even shaking. His face showed no emotion: not fear, not remorse, nothing. He was simply cold, like nothing had just happened. All of the anger he was previously displaying against Carlos had seemed to subside. It was like the murder had brought him some type of calming relief. Me, I was a fucking wreck. Even after everything Carlos had done to me, I was still not really prepared to see him lying there stiff and dead like that. My hands and legs were shaking. I was crying and shivering. I was scared to imagine how I would be all night. Every time I closed my eyes I was sure I would keep replaying the murder over and over again.
“Let’s fucking go, Gabriella. I’m hungry and I have shit to do,” Eduardo demanded. I could do nothing but look at Eduardo like he was crazy. I had just assisted in committing a cold-blooded murder and this nigga was talking about he was hungry. I couldn’t imagine eating one bit a food at that moment. There was blood on my hands. We had committed the ultimate sin. I would never be the same after that and I knew it. I had gotten myself caught up in a truly risky business.
CHAPTER 7
MIXING THINGS UP
I didn’t sleep for days after Carlos’s murder. Just like I imagined, I couldn’t eat, sleep, think, interact with my son, nothing. Each time I tried to do anything—when I closed my eyes or even when they were opened—I would see Carlos’s fat, bloodied dead body. I was spooked as shit when I returned to work. Everyone was talking about how Carlos had been gunned down in his own house. It had been on the news and everything. I could barely look anyone at work in the eye. Since Carlos had hardly called out in the ten years he was with the Postal Service, when he didn’t show up to work for three days everyone grew suspicious. Ben was the one who’d sent the police to the apartment. They’d broken down the door and found him damn near rotting inside. It was a huge news story, which only served to scare the shit out of me even more. Of course, Eduardo wasn’t fazed at all.
People at work started looking at me for answers. They were asking me when was the last time I had spoken to him; if I knew of any other friends and family he might’ve had and if I knew of anyone who would’ve wanted to hurt or rob him for any reason. I was annoyed as shit about all of the questions. Why would they assume I knew the answers? What would have made people believe Carlos and I had spoken outside of work? Right away, I wondered if Carlos had been spreading rumors that he and I were somehow romantically or sexually involved. Just the thought of anyone else at the job knowing what had happened between us made me shudder and feel sick to my stomach. It would’ve been a little more than just regular embarrassment if anyone else even suspected us.
“Gabriella,” Ben, my supervisor, said as he touched my shoulder from behind me. I almost jumped out of my skin as if a bolt of lightning had struck me. Ben snatched his hand away quickly and took a few steps backwards, like a snake had bitten him. That is how hard and fiercely I had reacted to his touch.
“Did I startle you?” he asked, his face folded into a confused frown. I swallowed hard and put on a fake smile.
“Um . . . no. I was just daydreaming and didn’t hear you coming, so I was a little thrown off when you touched me. I’ve just been feeling a little stressed with everything going on . . . you know,” I said, my voice shaky. My nerves were on a hairpin trigger. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I shoved them in my pockets and even that didn’t help.
“I know you of all people heard about Carlos. I know you must be taking it hard,” Ben said sympathetically. I looked at him strangely as if to say, What the hell do you mean by that? Carlos wasn’t my fucking man! I guess Ben read my mind and the expression on my face.
“What I mean is, you’ve worked so closely with him since you’ve been here and he always spoke so highly of you. He told me that you had been bombarded by a lot of deliveries lately and that you were doing such a great job with it. I think Carlos really cared about you, Gabriella,” Ben continued. A pang of guilt flitted through my chest. I had no idea Carlos had been sticking up for me and giving me compliments at work. I had to shake off those thoughts and remember that Carlos also made me sleep with him through fucking blackmail.
“What a senseless tragedy,” Ben said, shaking his head. “He was such a nice guy. I don’t know who would do such a terrible thing to an innocent, harmless person like him.” I had to really choke back down my words. Obviously, my opinion of that fat pervert was the total opposite.
“Yeah, a tragedy,” I repeated, at a loss for better words.
“Well, we are all prepared to do our part to help get to the bottom of this. So, I wa
nted to let you know that there are a few police detectives who are coming in today to speak with some of us here who worked with Carlos. We all know Carlos didn’t have any family, so we were the closest thing he had to one. I guess they want to try and get a better sense of how something like this happens to a guy like that. I told the detectives that you and Carlos had a pretty close relationship,” Ben was saying. I was too nervous to even let him finish.
“We weren’t close! We worked together and that’s it! Why do people keep saying we were close!” I snapped, annoyed that everyone kept insisting that Carlos and me were so damn close. Ben looked at me, clearly taken aback.
“Well, I would see you talking to him all the time—that’s all I was saying. I mean, he was your sorter and I could’ve sworn you guys were like friends. You all seemed to have gotten closer over the past months too. So I just assumed . . .” Ben replied, his eyebrows in high arches on his face.
“Don’t assume. Carlos was my sorter and I used to speak to him at work. But, that’s it. I can’t stand to hear people keep saying we were close, as if we did things together or told each other our closest secrets. We weren’t friends outside of work or personal or close or anything like that. It was just a work thing . . . nothing more than that,” I rambled, immediately on the defensive. I was coming apart at the seams and I knew it. I had to get away from Ben before he figured it out. This was definitely more than I had bargained for. And where was Eduardo? Nowhere around to deal with the backlash of his fucking actions.
“Well, the detectives will be here when you’re done with your route. So make sure you check back in because they want to speak to as many people as they can, so they can try to make some sense of this horrific incident. I told them we’d all help as much as we could. I told them it was important to speak to you, out of all of us,” Ben said, repeating the same thing again as if he was sending me some sort of message. He was still eyeing me suspiciously.
“Okay, I’ll be here,” I said, as calmly as I could. I knew that I had no intention of coming back that day. I didn’t know if I’d ever come back. That was, of course, until I spoke to Eduardo.
After my conversation with Ben, I headed into the sorting room. When Carlos first went missing from work, I had asked Ben if I could sort my own packages. Ben allowed it, but had said he was working on finding me a new sorter. That wasn’t good at all, but at least that day I was able to get Eduardo and Ant’s packages and get them delivered, so there was no lapse. When I got to my last stop that day and met up with Eduardo I told him what Ben had said about the detectives coming by to speak with everyone.
“So? Just got back down there and talk to them,” Eduardo had said nonchalantly, like it was no big damn deal. My eyebrows shot up into arches. I was really starting to think this nigga was straight-up crazy.
“I’m not going back to speak to any cops, Eduardo!” I snapped angrily. “Do you know how nervous I would be? They would be able to tell right away from my body language that I knew more than I was saying. No way,” I continued my tirade, on the brink of tears. I was feeling weak and I knew how persistent cops could be. They would’ve been able to crack me like a fragile egg in the state of mind I had been in since the murder.
“Yes, you are. You are going to speak to them fucking pigs and act like you know nothing about what happened to that nasty nigga that was blackmailing and raping you. You can play dumb or put on a good show. I don’t really care how you do it, but dipping out is not an option. Avoiding shit is never an option, as you can tell from that nigga pushing up daisies right now,” Eduardo demanded.
“What if they feel like I know something?” I complained, biting down on my bottom lip.
“They won’t know shit, because you don’t know shit. If you start telling yourself you weren’t there, you don’t know what happened, you had nothing to do with it, then you will believe it when you speak to them. You’re going to play it cool; you have no other option. What we got is too good to fuck up right now, Gabriella. You making more money than you could’ve ever dreamed up. We got a good thing together. Your kid is happy. That lame-ass baby daddy of yours is finally out of the picture. Your mother is proud of you. What more can you ask for? If you want to risk all of that, then you’ll fuck this up. If not, you got this. If you play your hand right, everything will be all right. Don’t let some bullshit nerves fuck this up for everybody,” Eduardo said convincingly. I closed my eyes for a few minutes to contemplate his words. He was right. My son was so happy. My mother was happier than I’d seen her in years. I was able to buy whatever they wanted and needed with no questions asked.
“C’mon, baby girl. Think about it and then go down there, speak to those fucking cops, and convince them that they are barking up the wrong fucking tree,” Eduardo said, grabbing my hand. I opened my eyes and looked at him. Before I could say anything to evoke any more doubt, Eduardo stuck a wad of money—my weekly pay for the deliveries—in my hand. I guess that was his way of helping his little pep talk hit home. I looked down at the money, which usually made me feel happy and excited, then I looked back at Eduardo. Money wasn’t enough to calm down the torment I had going on inside of me, but I still didn’t let the money go. I stuffed it into my pocketbook and turned back toward the man I had done all of this for.
“What if, Eduardo? I mean, I don’t know how good I can hide because I’m so fucking nervous I can’t even keep down any food,” I whined. Eduardo made a face like he was growing sick of me.
“Gabriella, for the last fucking time! Calm the fuck down and just go talk to them. If you avoid them that’s like admitting you’re guilty about some shit. You can’t fuck this up because if you do, shit will get worse for all of us than just a few homicide cops investigating a murder. It’ll be fucking DEA, FBI, and all types of feds breathing down our necks. You think they gonna take lightly to you, working for the federal government and doing the shit you’ve been doing? Hell no—they’re going to come down harder on you than even me or Lance. Forget what Luca might do if you fuck up his entire flow. You better go in there and act like you about to win a fucking Emmy award. No joke, you better act like an innocent angel and be damn convincing about it. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. I’m not going to talk about this shit anymore,” Eduardo replied, and the tone of his voice was borderline threatening. I looked down at the money sitting in my bag, seemingly glaring back at me. I wondered right then if it was worth it. Was a couple thousand dollars that would’ve never made me rich anyway worth digging deeper and deeper into the quicksand of my actions? Or signing my life away, for that matter.
CHAPTER 8
CONSPIRACY THEORY
When I got back to the post office after my routes, Ben was there with two white detectives waiting for me. Talk about bag of nerves—my damn teeth were hitting together like it was zero-below outside. I had tried to stall and take as long as I could, but that just caused Ben to call me up on my personal cell phone. I guess that was how badly those detectives wanted to speak to me. Apparently, they had already spoken to all of the other mail carriers, clerks, sorters, and packagers at the station. I walked inside slowly, with my head down, too afraid that if I made eye contact they’d be able to read my guilt right away.
“Ah, there she is,” Ben said, rushing over to me. “Whew! Gabriella, I thought you weren’t going to show up. They’ve been waiting a long time for you. What took so long? I had to keep making excuses,” Ben whispered through his teeth. I didn’t answer him or look at him, either. Ben pushed me in the back, ushering me toward the two detectives as if I needed help walking.
“Gabriella, these are Detectives Sinclair and Boules. Remember I told you that they wanted to talk to you about Carlos?” Ben introduced, his voice jumping and nervous. He was so damn jittery he was making me jittery. What the fuck was he nervous for? I barely opened my mouth to greet the two men, who were both dressed in their obligatory sand-colored trench coats, wingtip shoes, and cheap Men’s Wearhouse suits and ties. Because the
inside of my mouth was so dry, it felt like I’d eaten ajar of paste.
“Hello, Ms. Vasquez,” one of the detectives said. He had a friendly enough face, unlike his stony-faced partner. I barely opened my mouth again. I just nodded at the detective, who I could tell was just being nice as a tactic.
“They’ve been speaking to everyone in the break room,” Ben interjected, motioning for me to follow him and them. Apprehensively, I followed Ben and the detectives to the break room. With every step I felt like I was walking into uncertain doom. My legs felt like two lead pipes. I was thinking all sorts of shit now. What if they had found a video in Carlos’s house that I had overlooked? What if Carlos left some kind of death manifesto, letting them know everything? What if I had left DNA or fingerprints somewhere in the house, even though Eduardo and I had tried to clean it up? But just as fast as those thoughts came into my head, I started replaying Eduardo’s words over in my head as well: Your kid is happy and your mother is so proud of you. What he’d said was more important to me than anything else. I decided then that I was going to have to put my big-girl drawers on and ace this fucking interview as if was the last test of my life.
“We can take it from here,” the detective with the friendly face said to Ben. Ben gave my shoulder a squeeze as if he could transfer some strength from himself to me. With that, Ben was gone and I was alone with the two detectives. Friendly-face was tall, bald, slightly overweight, and breathing hard like he’d just run for miles. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Sinclair. Stone-face was also tall, but he was muscular; I could tell that by his thick neck. He seemed to be the paramilitary, clean-cut, by-the-book-type that kicked ass and took names after. He didn’t bother to extend his hand or introduce himself. He just kept eyeing me evilly. I guess their good cop-bad cop routine was starting already and it wasn’t hard to tell who was going to play which role.