Confessions of a Vigilante

by Manuel Fernandez

  Megan covered her neck dimples with her hand. Her mouth was open. A horrified look came across her face. This pleased Sergio.

  “Anyway, one of the Mexicans tells me, word is, my roommate is gonna make a move on me, turn me into his bitch. I look over and see my roommate choppin’ it up with his homeboy from his crew, some little Salvadorian shit head, who walked around the yard, slapping people. They was both laughing at me. I knew I was fucked. I did the only thing a desperate animal does in those situations. Find a pack of angry sheep to take out the wolves. Had no choice. I was looking at a lot of time, fuckin’ attempted murder charge. That’s at least a dime in CYA, and from the horror stories I heard, a dime is a life sentence sweat heart. That same day I make my move. Every night after dinner we have rec time. Everybody has to sit at a table, four per. I’m sittin’ at a table with three of the homies who claim red. My cellmate is sittin’ a few tables over with Pablo. Both are mean muggin’ me. One of the homies leans in, and asks, “Are you ready?” I nod my head, but my body is shaking. Dude says to me, “You’re on your own homeboy. Time to prove yourself.”

  Megan looked up at the clock again. The long hand made another loud click, finding the 4. 12:20pm.

  “He gets up,” said Sergio, “walks over to the table next to us and decks this white boy in the face. The staff sees it, yells, ‘Fight, everybody get down.’ In a situation like that all the prisoners are supposed to get down on the ground, no questions asked. So, everybody kisses the ground, except me. I get up and move towards the bathroom which was about a few feet away. I grab a broom and move towards my target. My roommate and Pablo were watching the fight, fuckin’ rules didn’t apply to them, the staffs were sucking their dicks. I take the broom, creep up behind and bash my cellmate over the head. He drops. Pablo is looking at me like “What the fuck?” I move towards him, I raise the broom over my head, Pablo puts his hand over his face, tryin’ to cover the blows but I bash that motherfucker over his head. I didn’t stop until one of the red-raggers, that’s what I call em’, cause they claim red. He gave me a look that said, ‘It’s cool, stop.’ I drop the broom and sneak back to my table and kiss the carpet. By the time the staff got the fight under control, they noticed my cellmate and Pablo face down, in a puddle of blood. After that, word got around. I wasn’t to be fucked with. Not only that, one of the red-raggers knew my uncle and got word to him about my case. My uncle paid my mom’s boss a visit, told him if he didn’t drop the complaint, he’d be in the hospital, permanently. From what I heard, at first the manager tried to play the tough guy, telling my uncle he wasn’t scared of him. I guess all those years bossing around border hoppers got to his head. He done thought he was some slave owner or some shit, like all brown people should bow before king whitey, ain’t no switching it in the hood. My uncle fucked dude up, broke his leg, cracked a few ribs, told him to give my mom her job back, or the next time he saw his face would be the last face he ever saw on earth. He ain’t got no spleen gene.”

  Megan Baker broke in, intrigued by the story. “So, what happened?”

  “Homeboy dropped his statement, said I wasn’t the one who assaulted him. My mom got promoted to Assistant Manager. She was so happy. She got health benefits, dental, all that shit. That’s fuckin’ gangster!”

  Megan said, “Would you say you and your mom were pretty close?”

  Sergio’s mind flashed. He was digging a hole in the woods. The voice called to him. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I mean, she’s my mom,” said Sergio.

  “Care to elaborate?” said Megan.

  “Nothing to elaborate. The woman gave me life. Enough said.”

  Megan waited for Sergio to continue but he didn’t. His back slouched. His chin found the air. Megan wasn’t blinking, her stare, icy, ready for battle. For the first time, Sergio felt like he was losing control of the interview.

  “Are you uncomfortable talking about your mother?” said Megan.

  “Na, just nothing more to say.”

  “Bad memories?”

  “Did I say that? Why you pushing this baby doll? Got some parent issues you want to share with uncle Sergio?”

  Megan looked down at her notepad. “Sorry, please continue.”

  “I’m out”, said Sergio, “After being locked up for two months. Free air never smelled so good. I hooked up with one of the red-raggers from the inside, Ernesto. Homeboy looked like the Mexican version of Ice-T, I shit you not. He had long hair, pale as a motherfucker, even talked like he was a brother, jive ass lingo. I remember one of his pinky nails was about five inches long, sharp as a razorblade. He introduced me to his crew, The Chicano Boys. This was my first taste of gang life. At first I just hung around, smoking, drinking, fuckin’ shit up, but you only play the groupie role for so long. If you want to be in the game you gotta put on the uniform. I didn’t mind, being around those guys was like belonging to the Roman Empire. Everywhere we went the red sea parted. We would go to the mall to mack on girls… man, I’m telling you, I left with at least ten numbers, minimum, fine ass chicken heads. I experienced a high no drug could match. By this time I didn’t even bother going home. I must have been 16 or 17. One day a bunch of us was kicking it at this liquor store. That’s where we always hung out, on the Westside of Modesto, right in the hood, fuckin’ crack heads and winos walking by asking for spare change. ‘Man, get the fuck out of here with that shit.’ Anyways…This car rolls by, real slow, some beat up Chevy. I see two cats inside. My homeboy Flaco, who was next to me says there’s two more heads in the back seat. They take off. We don’t think anythin’ of it, probably some fools from the south side, trying to flex. Ain’t no thang. Twenty minutes later we see the same car, parked down the street. This time the head lights are off. I tell Flaco. He tells the other homies to get the guns. But before anybody moved, the car comes towards us, burning rubber, chugging about 55mph. Flaco yells for everybody to break away, ‘It’s a hit.’ I remember seeing orange fire come out the car, someone shouting, ‘Maple St. punk.’ I hit the pavement. It seemed like time stood still. I look over and see Flaco on the ground, shaking. So long partner, may you rest with the angels. Shit jumped off after Flaco died. That’s when I realized these shit kickin’ gangsters was no different from where I grew up. These boys is serious. We all get together back at my homeboy Alfonso’s house. Ernesto steps to me, asks me if I’m down for the hood. I’m like, ‘Fuck ya.’ He hands me a gun, tells me to come with him. We go outside and hop into another homies car. Me, Ernesto, Alfonso and his little brother Emilio. Word got back that it was Maple St, retaliation for the beat down I gave them fools inside. So, we drove about two blocks from the hood. I look back, ten carloads deep, baby girl. I ask Ernesto who those fools are. He don’t say nothin’. I look to Alfonso and his brother. They stare at me like I was the one who shot Flaco. So we get to the park, I jump out the car thinkin’ this was where Maple St. hung out, I’m ready to cap some fools. Ernesto grabs me by the shirt. Usually this cats always joking around but he looked at me with dead eyes, no human feelings behind him, a total fucking robot, says, ‘You want to be one of us?’

  Megan performed a “cleanse.” (Setting her palms on her lap, back straight.) Another glance at the clock. 12:21pm.

  “Next thing,” said Sergio, “I know I’m surrounded by about a hundred heads. Homies, I ain’t never seen before. I’m shittin’ my pants but I know I gotta stand my ground, can’t be no punk in this game. I look at Ernesto and say, ‘Yeah, I’m down.’

  Ernesto says, ‘Let’s find out.’ I follow him about thirty yards by the playground. He nods his head to somebody. But before I had a chance to see to who it was, some fool cracks me in the face, someone else comes up from behind me, grabs me in a bear hug and slams me on the ground. I look up and there’s fists coming at me from everywhere, about a hundred killers vying for a piece of me. I was taking a beat down, boy. I could feel the skin on my face about to fall off. This shit went on for about two minutes, but damn, it seemed like two hours.
Ernesto comes over, picks me up, I’m half conscious. My face is bloody. He hugs me and says ‘welcome to the familia, holmes.’ Everybody that was kicking the shit out of me, two seconds ago was hugging me and giving me beer, passing me joints. Funny how shit goes down. Ok, so now I’m in, part of the crew, full-fledged member, time to handle business.”

  The Marshall yawned and cracked his knuckles. Megan focused on the triangle area between Sergio’s eyes and mouth.

  Sergio’s eyes narrowed. “A week later, me, Ernesto, and Alfonso was chillin’ in my homeboy Droopy’s car, loadin’ up to get revenge. One of the homies pages Ernesto, says they seen the fools who shot Flaco, fools are on Mchenry Ave. See, back in the days Mchenry was the place to be, nothin’ but G’s cruising up and down in low riders searching for pussy and mayhem. Players from the Bay to L.A. popped up, ready to get their shine on. This was before the police shut that shit down. Too many bodies stacking up in Stanislaus County morgue. It’s like what Shakespeare said, ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’

  “Anyways… We packin’ heat, creeping through Maple St. territory. It was a Friday night, so we know everybody’s on the Blvd. I got another beep an hour later, lettin’ me know them fools are at Taco Bell, grabbing a snack. We roll out. It’s about 9 O’clock. I remember there was a long orange line in the sky, and it was about 100 degrees, middle of August. Loud music was bumping from every direction, fools were just chillin’, mackin’ on broads.”

  “What is mackin’?” asked Megan.

  Sergio’s mouth widened. The row of pearly whites gave Megan an eerie feeling. “Gotta get you out of them fancy clothes, baby doll. Let your hair down.”

  Megan looked away, blushing.

  “Talking to women. Goin’ up to ‘em and gettin’ those digits.”

  “Digits?”

  Sergio said, “Rollin’ up on her and gettin’ her number. Damn girl, you really need to get out.”

  “I’m sorry, all this lingo is new to me.”

  “Don’t trip baby doll, it’s all good.” Sergio glanced at the guard, who was staring at Megan.

  Megan nodded her head. “Please continue.”

  “We pull in the parking lot. The fools are outside, hanging with a few females. Ernesto tells Alfonso to cut the lights. I’m ready to do this shit. We park in the Safeway parking lot. Ernesto pops the glove compartment and hands each of us a ski mask. I’m confused. Fuck do we need a ski mask for? He says, ‘We gonna do it gangster style.’ So, me, Alfonso and Ernesto put on the masks. Emilio is in the car, keeping the engine running. Everybody loads up. Guns are ready for takeoff. We rush out, Ernesto yells, ‘Chicano Boys fool.’ He starts blastin’, hits one of ‘em in the chest. I see Pablo, the look on his face is priceless. He was a dark skinned beaner but dude turned white as a ghost. He tried running but I caught him, pumped an entire clip into his ass. I’m staring at homeboy, he’s choking on his own blood, trying to breathe. Then it hits me. I just took a life.”

  Megan Baker interjected, intrigued by the war stories. “How did killing someone make you feel?”

  “That’s the problem, baby doll. I didn’t feel anything. It’s like what you see in the movies. Time stands still, everything moving slow. I stood there, not realizing where I was. I didn’t hear the screams. I didn’t see scared faces. Finally, Alfonso came up, grabbed my arm and told me we got to go. Here comes Emilio with the car. We hop in and take off, bye bye, Pablo, bye bye, black man. I could never remember what my roommates name was. R.I.P. big daddy, devils waitin’ for you in hell.”

  “How did you become involved in contract killing?” said Megan Baker.

  “Who said I was a contract killer?”

  Now Megan turned white, her words stuttering. “I…I…I…mean…that’s what I heard.”

  “From who?” His eyebrows lowered to his nose. He felt the control shift back to him.

  Megan Baker flinched. Her head whiplashed to the Marshall as if to say, ‘I need help.’ The Marshall turned his attention to Sergio, as if hoping he would leap over the table and attack Megan, so he could play the hero.

  Sergio smiled. “Relax baby doll, I’m just messin’ with you. By the time I was 18 I’d been inside a cell more times than a catholic priest’s been inside a young boy. My rap sheet was longer than a black dude’s dick. Hangin’ with the Chicano Boys brought me street cred, I got all the hood rat pussy a boy my age could handle. Yep! But something happened. I got tired of hangin’ out, getting’ high, not doing shit, watching life pass me by. Most of my homeboys was either six feet deep or doing hard time… Oh yeah, let me back up. I had this epiphany or whatever the fuck you call it when I was in Chino, wrapping up a nickel for robbing a bar. Since it was my first crime as an adult, the judge threw me a bone with a few strands of meat. ‘Five years, son, Chino, welcome to the big leagues.’ Didn’t know what to expect but you learn fast. The southerners run shit. Fuckin’ border bros. Damn judge sent me to a feast and I was the main course. First day there, some spick with a tear drop on his eye comes up to me in the mess hall, asking where I’m from. I’m a northerner but this place is crawling with blue raggin’ beaners, thirsty for fresh meat, so I don’t say nothin’. He asked me again. This time he pushes his finger in my chest. I’m thinking ‘shit!’ This is Pablo all over again. I don’t hesitate. I crack dude over the face with my lunch tray. I see his homeboys get up. I hit one in the face and caught the other one with a Bruce Lee kick to the ribs. The guards rush up, and throw my ass on the ground. Spent a month in solitary. I Swear, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. Nothin’ but darkness and questions that ain’t got no answers. How the fuck did I get here? What if? Shits irrelevant. You stuck in a box baby doll. Prayin’ don’t get you released. Once I’m out, word spreads. A bounty’s on my head. Here we go. The southerners want my ass. I hooked in with a few northerners but we weren’t deep, nowhere near the numbers those border bros had, so I’m thinking I ain’t gettin’ out alive, so I make the first move, out in the yard. Pecker words had their spot. Blacks got theirs and we spicks were divided up, red over here, blue over there. Some fucked up shit. Anyways, I tell one of the dudes I’m hangin’ with to give me the shank he was carrying. He looks at me like I’m crazy. He asks, ‘Who you taking out?’ I look at the peckerwoods, who are checking me out. Then I look over at the blacks. Their mean muggin’. I know I need allies to survive so I choose the lesser of two evils. I walk up to the peckerwoods, alone. I set my sights on the skinny skinhead in the middle. Two big skinhead fucks come up to me. ‘Fuck you want spick?’” Sergio explains.

  “I tell him I got a proposition for King Nazi. He stares me down, not saying a word, malice in his eyes. After a minute or so the leader finds his way over to me, asks me what I want. I lay out a proposition for him. He looks me over, turns to his boys then nods his head. I nod back. As soon as he turns I punch one of his goons in the face. Before you know it, I’m gettin’ the shit kicked out of me. The northerners I was with, knew the deal, so they weren’t jumpin’ in. Next thing I knew, the alarm sounded, the bulls screamin’ for everybody to get down. I was hurtin’ boy. They took me to the infirmary. I got three cracked ribs, but here’s where the okie doke comes in. Some 51/50 dope fiend that was hired by the peckerwoods, attacks Javier Castro, the southern shot caller and three of his top men. Sliced ‘em up pretty bad. So, the southern boys are in the infirmary with me. The guard was paid off. He gave me a knife. As soon as Javier and his boys showed up for medical treatment, the guard chains them to the bed and watches the door. I walk up, and stab two dudes, cut ‘em up good. I turn to Javier and I don’t know why I said it but I ask him if he knows why he’s gonna die today. He doesn’t know how to answer, so I answer for him. ‘You fucked up. Should have killed me first.’ Sergio continues.

  “I made a deal with the peckerwoods. Since they didn’t like the southerners neither, I was in. Told ‘em I had a connection on the outside. See, I knew this Columbian cat who could get 90 percent pure cocaine. His uncle or cousin, or wh
oever dealt with one of the cartels. I assured the peckerwoods the product is the bomb, no baby powder. They assured me I’d be cut into pieces if it was shit. Here I am, a few months into my sentence and I’m making alliances. So, now the peckerwoods got my back. Anybody fuck with me and it’s over.”

  “I thought in prison, you had to stick with your own race,” said Megan.

  Sergio laughed. “You’ve been watching too many movies. In prison, you do whatever you have to do to survive.”

  Megan’s feet interlocked. Her right hand cupped her left wrist as her head lowered to her chin.

  “Do I make you nervous?” said Sergio.

  “No, it’s just, I don’t know this world. A little intimidating.”

  The long hand of the clock, stretched to the 6. 12:30pm.

  The Marshall smiled in amusement.

  “The next few years weren’t so bad,” said Sergio, “my Columbian connection came through every week, five keys of some shit that will turn Mother Teresa into a hoe. He’d use some Korean cat, who delivered food to the prison as a front. The guard who oversaw deliveries was paid off, so no problem with gettin’ the product inside. Shit ran like clockwork, only one problem. The more money we made, the more unnecessary funk came our way. Let me give you an example. Couple of black dudes in the kitchen started fuckin’ with the shipment. They was takin’ a little here and there for themselves. At first I’m like, fuck it. It ain’t the end of the world, but then entire shipments would disappear. Didn’t take long to figure out who done it. I mean, just look at these two motherfuckers, and you know. Them fools are sweatin’ in twenty-degree heat, can’t stop sniffing, eyes is blood shot. I mean, come on homie, really? So I confront ‘em and they start gettin’ all racist on me. ‘Fuck you spick, get the fuck out of my face or I’ll fuck you in your sleep.’ Anyways… I knew we had a problem and I knew if I took care of it on my own the Black Nation would be lynching this Mexican, so I go back to Tommy Malone, the Aryan shot caller. I tell him what went down. Three days later the two black dudes were dead. Tommy’s guys caught ‘em in the shower, 84 shivs’ to the body. Ain’t no diplomatic immunity in these walls.”