by Manuel Ramos
I had to wait forever but eventually I caught the bus at the corner of Wilder and Fortieth. It took me downtown, which seemed as good a place as any to spend the night. I seriously thought about staying on the bus until it got to the edge of El-town, out near the old airport. But then what?
As I debated my short-term future, my cell rang. It was the old man.
“Yeah?” I said. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Mike. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to Jamey’s. We got some math homework. He always needs my help with that stuff. Where are you?”
“I’m at work. Overtime, under the lights. I had to take a construction job. An old friend put in a good word for me with the foreman and the union. They need a lot of men to get the new courthouse back on schedule. It’s crazy out here. Ironic, me working on a courthouse, huh?”
“I guess.”
“I can’t talk too much, Mike. So you gotta listen good. You and your mother have to be careful. Sandra let me know that Cold Play put a target on my back. I can handle that, but I’m worried about your mother, and you.”
I wanted to say that if he had never left, maybe he wouldn’t have to worry so much.
“Mom’s at Grandma’s for a few days. I’ll call her and let her know. She won’t take your calls.”
“I know. I know. What about you?”
“I’m good, Dad. Jamey and me been in tight spots before. This is just Cold Play doin’ it macho for his suck-ups. No sweat, Dad. Seriously.”
“Yeah, I know, you’re a tough guy. But this Cold Play is just enough of an idiot to try to do something. You should be okay at school tomorrow. I’ll pick you up after and give you a ride home. About 3:30?”
“No way. I’m not in middle school. I can deal with it. I’ll be with Jamey. I’ll walk home the long way, by his house. We’ll be careful. I thought you had to work, anyway?”
“Yeah, I do. I probably can’t get to the school until 4:30. Wait for me, inside. I mean it, Mike.”
“I said I’d be okay. I can take care of myself.”
“This is serious, Mike. This guy is crazy. He tried to kill me once, that’s why I had to shoot him. And he won’t let it go. Now that I think about it, I’m going to pick you up in the morning and take you to school. I’ll be there by seven-thirty.”
I shut the cell. I didn’t answer it when he called back.
I called Grandma’s number but no one picked up. I texted Mom: Dad sd b careful. Cold Play threats. Stay @ Grandma a few days. I didn’t mention that I had run away.
I patted my backpack and felt the gun. Jamey and I had bought it a long time before, when we thought that we needed extra protection from the Cutters. I never had to use it, but I figured that it would be a good thing to have as I walked the streets when I . . . well, I wasn’t sure what I was trying to do, I only knew that I had to get out of the house and away from everyone and everything. I needed a change, and I was doing the only thing that might cause that change.
That night was rough. I roamed the streets, confused, sneaking around like a thief, heading for cover whenever I saw headlights. I avoided everyone—the homeless guys, the hookers, the other runaways. Dad’s message had put a little panic in my head. Maybe Cold Play was looking for me. What if he found me? What would I do? I decided to leave town, hit the road.
I crashed not too far from the Main Street Mall, down a flight of stairs that led to the small shop where Downtown Barbers had been for years, below street level. I leaned against the door and tried to get comfortable. I had to move broken glass and old newspapers. I made sure no one could see me from the street. I cleaned the area as best I could.
That’s when it hit me. What the hell was I doing? I had a warm bed at my house. Food. Cable. I should be going to school in the morning, spending time with Jamey and maybe talking to Andrea, if she would only give me a chance. What did I expect to accomplish scrunched up in a ball hidden away like a bum, a gun pressing against my ribs? Or on the run like an orphan? Did I think I could fix everything on my own? Take care of Cold Play? Get Dad’s job back? Get Mom and Dad back together?
The wind picked up. It whistled across the deserted streets, pushing trash and dirt into my concrete cave. I shivered, occasionally drifted off. The night dragged on. I nearly jumped out of my shoes when my cell buzzed. Jamey. The screen flashed 5:38 AM.
“Mike? I’m in a jam. You got to come.”
“What is it? What the hell . . . ”
“Cold Play grabbed me when I left Terry’s last night. He said he couldn’t find you, so he settled for me.” It almost sounded like Jamey laughed at his own words. “He finally got me to call you. He says you have to do something.”
“What does he want? Are you okay?”
He waited a few seconds. He shouted, “Call the cops, your dad! Don’t come . . . ”
I heard what must have been Jamey getting punched and a loud “Oh!” Then it sounded like the phone had been dropped. A gruff, almost hoarse voice said, “Kid … If you want to see your buddy again, you better listen good. It’s your old man. You get him to come and talk to me, and your pal walks out of here okay. If Reséndez ain’t here in another hour, Jamey’s dead. And you’re next.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Don’t be stupid, kid. Get your old man here to the football field, at the high school. One hour, six-thirty. You get him here. And tell him he better be alone or this punk is dead, and then you. I know where you and your old lady live.” He hung up.
I immediately punched in number 1, Dad’s speed dial. He answered on the first ring. I guess he wasn’t sleeping either. I tried to explain what was going on, but all I could get out was a jumbled mix of crying and half-sentences.
He finally had to shout at me, “Miguel! Get it together! Goddammit! What is going on?”
It took longer than I wanted but I managed to convince Dad that Jamey was in trouble and needed his help.
“You stay where you are. I’ll send Sandra for you and I’ll go meet Jackson. I’m gonna bust his ass for good.”
“How can you do that?” I was so mixed up that it sounded like Dad was talking as though he was still a cop. He just couldn’t give it up.
“I can’t explain now, Mike. I’ve got to get to the football field. Jamey’s in real danger. I hope I’m not too late. Wait for Sandra.”
My stomach tightened and dry heaves jerked my upper body. I couldn’t think straight for a long time. I sweated and shivered, imagined terrible things about Jamey, my Dad and Cold Play. Confusion mixed up with the wind that whipped around me. I should do what Dad said, I thought. But, I can’t let Jamey down. It’s all my fault.
That stuff went on in my head until I finally settled down and figured out what I needed to do. I grabbed the gun, stuck it in my pants, made sure I had my money and then I ran up the stairs from my hiding place. I left everything else for the barbers. I tore down windy Main Street heading for the high school and the football field. The gun hindered my running so I pulled it from my pants and held it while I ran. If anyone saw me, they’d have to call the police—crazy teenager running through the dark with a gun.
There was no traffic but some lights had been turned on in a few of the stores and buildings. I heard Jamey’s voice as I ran—worried but still telling me to stay away, to let my Dad handle it. Jamey had been willing to get hurt, maybe killed just to keep me out of danger. I saw a bike leaning against a tree in a yard. I didn’t slow down as I approached the short picket fence. I jumped over the fence, grabbed the bike, ran it to the gate and took off. A dog jumped at me from behind but I left him barking and howling.
The football field appeared in the night like a giant sleeping black bear. A wire and plywood fence surrounded the field, and the gate was chained and locked up. But I didn’t have a problem getting in. The fence had more holes than Grandma Herrera’s old aprons, and it was no big deal to get inside to the asphalt strip that circled the field. I left the bike at the fe
nce, found a break in the old wire and crawled in and stayed low, looking for any sign of Dad, Jamey or Cold Play.
When I saw them, I stopped breathing for a few seconds. They were in the end zone under the scoreboard, the darkest place on the field, maybe thirty yards from me. Cold Play must have thought he would be safe there, and the truth was that no one could see him from the street, outside the fence. Dad knelt on the ground, his hands behind his head. Jamey was also on the ground but he was lying down, and I didn’t see him move. Cold Play strutted around them, holding a gun pointed at Dad’s head. I moved to them, on hands and knees. I thought I inched along slow, so as not to make noise, but in just a few seconds I was close enough that I could hear Cold Play cussing and threatening my father.
“You thought you could burn Cold Play and that’d be it? You dumb pig. Get ready to kiss your ass goodbye, Reséndez. Tonight you pay for messing with me.”
“I already said I’m sorry that happened. We can do business together, man. I know stuff that you can use, and I want in on the action. Don’t you understand?”
Cold Play swung the gun at Dad and hit him on the jaw. Dad dropped to the grass, next to Jamey. Cold Play held his gun with both hands and aimed at Dad.
I stood up and waved at Cold Play. “Hey, asshole. Over here, you dumb sonofabitch.”
I jumped up and down. He stumbled backwards, surprised I guess. Dad screamed something I couldn’t understand. Cold Play aimed the gun at me and before I could do anything, he shot at me. The bullet landed a few feet to my right. I hollered although I didn’t even think about it. It just came out. I rolled to my left and dug into the ground. I aimed my gun in the general direction of Cold Play.
Dad’s rules rolled through my head. Stop. Look. Be careful. Be aware. It was too dark and I couldn’t take the chance that I might shoot Dad or Jamey. I couldn’t see Cold Play anyway. I rolled some more and picked up my head to take another look. I saw no one. I waited a few minutes. Nothing moved except the tips of the grass in the remaining breeze from the windy night. A piece of paper floated across the field and jammed itself against the fence, where it quivered like something dying.
I started to crawl to the end zone, slowly and quietly, and had gone only a few yards when I heard the footsteps behind me. Then I felt the gun at the back of my head.
“What a night for old Cold Play. A trifecta. The pig, his kid and another kid just for grins. Yeah, a great night.”
I smelled booze and a sickly, sweet odor of something else coming from Cold Play. It’s strange, but I didn’t feel afraid. That might sound like bragging but I’m just saying that right then, when Cold Play had his gun pressed against my skull and I waited for the final flash or whatever it was that would happen when he pulled the trigger, right then, I could see clearly, make out details in the dark; I could hear each sound in the night, any little bit of noise, even the beating of Cold Play’s crazy heart. And I knew I could handle it. My only thought was that I still needed to do something to help Dad and Jamey. I hadn’t finished and I hadn’t helped, and that bothered me.
The shot sounded like every movie gun blast I had ever heard, like every explosion in Grand Theft Auto, like every argument Mom and Dad made me sit through. I collapsed on the ground, heaving and breathing deeply but feeling like my lungs were blocked off. Cold Play fell next to me, blood flowing from his mouth, a gurgling noise coming out of his nose, tiny red bubbles covering his lips.
Dad reached down and picked me up. He hugged me, and I think we were both crying.
“How . . . ?” I stammered.
“The dummy didn’t think that I might have a back up. Hidden in my boot. I was waiting for my chance. You gave it to me, Mike.”
“Jamey?” I said.
“He’s hurt, beat up pretty bad. But he’ll be all right.”
I looked over Dad’s shoulder. The sun was coming up over the downtown buildings. A half-dozen cops were running into the field. Four of them surrounded us, two checked out Cold Play. Sandra stepped forward.
“Carlos, you all right? I told you to wait for backup. ¡Cabezón!” She slugged him on the shoulder, then she smiled. “Your boy, he okay?”
An ambulance raced onto the field and Jamey was loaded aboard and then hauled away. Sandra called his parents.
There were more questions but I didn’t say too much. Dad had to tell the story of what happened at least three times to different cops and detectives. It looked like the cops didn’t know how to deal with Dad. At least there wasn’t a question about it being self-defense. Finally, they let him take me home. Sandra said she would make sure the bike I had “borrowed” would be returned. She grabbed my gun, too.
Dad took me to the motel where he was sleeping. He could tell that I was tired, completely beat, so he didn’t ask me any more questions or dig into what I was doing on the street, with a gun, or what the hell did I think I was doing at the football field. He saved all that for the next day. When he was finished with me, he called Mom and told her what had happened. Dad and I talked a lot waiting for Mom. I think he needed that. Then she picked me up and took me home where I had to deal with another lecture, then more crying from her, and finally hugs and kisses.
A few days later, Jamey and I were able to talk without anyone else around.
“So, your Dad is still a cop, undercover, eh? That’s wild—crazy but cool, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. He said not to tell anyone, not even you.”
“You serious? You know you can trust me. Who else you got?”
“Yeah. It’s all good. I think he expects me to tell you.”
“There you go.”
“Anyway, Dad and Sandra had been trying to stop the burglary ring for months. Cold Play and that Zebra guy are just part of the gang. The burglaries are a small piece of what they’re in to. When Dad had to shoot Cold Play it gave him an idea, an excuse to put himself on the street in civilian clothes. A way to get inside the gang.”
“But they didn’t find a gun. The story was that Cold Play didn’t have a weapon.”
“Dad explained that. When Cold Play got shot he managed to kick his gun down the sewer drain, and Dad and Sandra acted like they couldn’t find it. Dad’s trying to make contact with one of the leaders of the gang, someone who doesn’t think much of Cold Play. Dad said his own rep is shot now, and everyone thinks he’s dirty. That’s how he wanted it.”
“He should have told you, or your Mom at least.”
“He thought it was too dangerous for us to know. But it didn’t matter anyway. Cold Play made his move.”
“Your Dad stopped him. Ain’t his cover blown?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Since Cold Play is dead, there’s only a few who know the real story. You for one.”
Jamey tried to smile but he looked nervous.
“Dad shooting Cold Play gives him some cred with the gang. Cold Play wasn’t too popular. That’s why you can’t say anything, Jamey. Nada.”
He extended his hand and we knuckle-bumped. Jamey would never tell anyone.
“But your mom and dad are over? This didn’t fix it?”
“No way. If anything, she hates him worse now. He almost got me killed, according to her. I’ve tried to tell her it wasn’t his fault. He saved me. But that’s not the way she looks at it.”
Jamey nodded.
“When you get those stitches out?” I asked. “They are ugly, bro. How can Terry stand to kiss that face?”
“Hey, man. She’s all over me now, like syrup on a pancake. Nothing better than a good beating so women will act nice and accommodating. Too bad nothing happened to you that you can use on Andrea. You missed your chance. You should have got wounded, or something. At least.”
“Yeah, too bad. Maybe next time.”
THE SMELL OF ONIONS
Shorty stumbled from the Rainbow Inn
Jenny would give him hell
again
no patience for her father
these days
>
where’s that damn car?
tight legs
the arthritis had him gnarled
like a piñón tree
too old to hang with punks
what do they know
about playing pool?
back in ’63
they played real pool
on the Westside
Snipe
Porfy
Dutch Borman
man he was tough
had to be to drink
with pachucos
mojados from Juárez
locos from L.A.
and then
kick their ass at pool
he wiped his nose
with the back of his skinny
gray-haired wrist
that once had the touch
that could win hundreds
in one night
no one believed him
but he remembered
when his stroke was clean and quick
crip
wino
bum
begging a few bucks
for T-Bird
betting on rounds of pool
for Jenny and the rent
his legs kept him up
half the night
reefer helped
when he could get it
one day
he would pack it in
back to the Valley
where he could
die in the sun
stretched out in a field
the smell of onions in the air
chicharras buzzing the hot midday
bony fingers grabbed him