Once Upon A Wish : Book One

by Richard Poche

“Maybe we can get a house on a pond.”

  “Maybe.”

  Nestor stopped dreaming about a better life years ago. But now, maybe, if they saved enough money, they could make a getaway.

  He looked at Hernan. He never thought of someone else’s wellbeing in conjunction with his own before.

  Hernan dropped to the couch and held up the picture of Ana in front of him.

  “She's beautiful.”

  “She's a whore, amigo.”

  Hernan stayed silent for a few moments. “Still beautiful.”

  Hernan dropped the picture of Ana to his chest. He closed his eyes.

  “You know how you told me that you always had this dream where you're looking for your bike and you can never find it.”

  “I remember the dream,” Nestor said. “But I must have been drunk when I told you that story.”

  “I have dreams like that too. The same dreams over and over.”

  “You’ll be having wet dreams about that whore over and over.”

  Hernan shook his head. “It isn't like that. This dream. This nightmare is of me in a jail cell. It is quiet. I mean, noise does not exist. There aren't any guards or other prisoners. I can’t get out because there isn't a door. Just three walls of cement. And bars in the front. But I look up at there is no ceiling. I can see the stars. So I try to climb the walls but keep slipping down. And then slowly, one by one, the stars all go out. And then everything goes completely black. What do you think that means?”

  “It means you’re losing your mind.”

  “Sometimes I dream about my abuelita. The last time I saw her. I saw her on that hospital bed. She didn’t even look like my abuelita anymore. Like someone else. I couldn’t stand to see her like that. I stared at the silver wheels under her bed. I thought about fast cars. Mustangs and Corvettes. Maybe I am crazy.”

  Nestor got up and took the briefcase off the coffee table. He opened it up and tried to attach the silencer to the gun.

  “You're doing it wrong.” Hernan got up and attached the silencer to the weapon. He pointed the gun at the wall.

  “This is a good one,” he said.

  “Take it easy with that thing.”

  “I think I should call Ana tonight.”

  Nestor laughed. “She doesn’t even know your name.”

  “I mean, I could die tomorrow. Life is short.”

  “Call her then!”

  “Are you serious? It’s okay?”

  “You have the money to pay her, who am I to stop you?”

  Hernan rushed to the phone with the card and dialed. He waited and waited.

  “Hi Ana. It’s Hernan. The guy you saw eating a cheeseburger. You gave me your card today. Give me a call please. Thanks.”

  He hung up the phone and jumped for joy.

  Gunshots rang outside their window. They both rushed to look and saw an African-American man running down the street. Clutching his chest, he dropped to the ground.

  “Should we call the police?” Hernan asked.

  Nestor closed the window and pulled down the shade.

  The phone rang.

  Hernan did a somersault and sprinted toward the phone.

  “Hola Ana,” he said.

  The exhilaration that filled his face faded quickly into a sober expression. He handed the phone to Nestor.

  “It’s Cisneros,” he said. “He has a job for us.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Hernan stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He put on his khaki pants and looped his newly acquired leather belt through. Then he ironed his blue shirt once more. He put it on and meticulously buttoned himself up.

  Hernan stepped out of his room and saw Nestor on the couch. “Dude, she's coming.”

  “Yeah,” Nestor belched.

  “You said you wouldn't be here.”

  Nestor shook his head. “Fine. I'll go back to my hole.” He took another swig of his beer.

  “Do I look okay?” he asked, straightening his shirt and adjusting his collar.

  “You’re talking like a girl.”

  “Do you have any cologne?”

  “Cologne?” Nestor laughed. “You fucking serious right now?”

  “Yes,” Hernan said. He walked back to his bedroom.

  “Amigo,” Nestor followed him. “She won’t care if you smell like a burning Tijuana shithouse. The only thing she cares about is the money you put on the dresser.”

  Hernan looked at the top of his dresser. He took out his wallet and dropped a couple of hundred dollar bills.

  “Like that? She said 'three roses.'”

  “Well, at least you got that right.”

  A knock at the door.

  “She's here,” Hernan almost jumped up, excited.

  “Jesus.” Nestor walked into his room and slammed the door shut.

  Hernan opened the door. Ana wore a tight purple dress that left nothing to the imagination.

  “Hey,” she smiled as she entered the apartment. She looked around nervously as Hernan closed the door behind her.

  “Anyone else here?”

  “Nestor,” Hernan said. “But he’s asleep.”

  “So I’ll guess we’ll have to be real quiet then.” Ana talked fast and giggled after almost every sentence.

  “Is that your bedroom?” Ana walked toward the rear door.

  “Yeah. I'll be right there.”

  Ana walked into the bedroom and looked around. She looked surprised at the lack of furnishing or pictures. She saw the money on the dresser and dropped it into her purse. “You know, I usually don’t take dates this early.”

  “The morning is the best time. Trust me.”

  She stepped out of her high heels and sat on the bed.

  “Are you ready?” Hernan stood at the door with a cooler in hand and a blanket under his arm.

  “What?”

  “Let's go.”

  They drove to the duck pond in Nestor’s truck.

  “What kind of music do you like?” Hernan asked, shifting through the radio stations.

  “Anything that sounds good.”

  He settled on a ballad from a singer whose name he didn’t recall. Ana started singing along and he wished he could record her voice somehow.

  They parked and they walked out to the grass area. Hernan spread his blanket out.

  “Sit down.” Hernan opened his cooler and handed Ana a can of horchata.

  “Okay,” Ana said, laughing softly.

  “I hope you like it,” Hernan took out a napkin and handed Ana a rock-shaped cookie.

  “What is it?”

  “It is a piedra. I also have some pan dulce, sweet bread, if you don't like that.”

  “No, it's fine. Thank you.”

  He leaned back on the blanket and watched the sunlight play on her hair as she nibbled on the cookie. She looked like a doll with her ivory skin and pale green eyes. He could not imagine her doing all of the things that Nestor said she did to make money.

  “I can only stay for an hour—”

  Hernan didn't respond. He just looked at her in awe.

  “Not like I'm clock watching or anything. We can do whatever you want.”

  “You're so beautiful,” he said. ”I’ve never seen a woman as pretty as you before.”

  “Awwww,” she laughed, her cheeks turning scarlet. “Thanks.”

  “I come here a lot. To think. Feed the ducks.”

  The ducks gathered near the couple but kept their distance as if waiting for the green light from Hernan.

  “My abuelita loved ducks,” Hernan said. “They mate for life. They are loyal. Not like people.”

  “That's not true,” Ana said. “I did a book report once in school. They don't mate for life. At least these mallards don't. They only live for three years. Their life is short. They have to get all the pleasure they can get so they screw around a lot.” Ana swallowed the piedra cookie and looked inside Hernan's cooler. “What else do you have there?”

  ***

  Dressed like gar
deners, Hernan and Nestor waited inside the white truck.

  They had three days to perform the hit. Nestor wanted to scope the target out for a day or two before they made their move. He remembered that is how they did it on TV, and it seemed logical. He wanted to be sure of his target's movements and tendencies.

  He found the target, Lashon, to be a dutiful grandson. Nestor watched as he helped the old lady into his green Acura and followed them to a doctor's office. He helped her out of the car and into the building.

  He watched as Lashon bought groceries at a local mom and pop store. At night, his dress and body language changed. Lashon added a baseball cap and shades to his outfit.

  Joined by his homies on the street corner, Lashon walked with a swagger that he didn't have when he accompanied his grandmother.

  He watched as Lashon loitered by a pay phone.

  “I can kill him now,” Hernan said.

  “Too risky,” Nestor said.

  Hernan yawned. “How long are we going to track this guy?”

  “You do the killing, but I give you the green light. No witnesses. We don't take unnecessary chances. That will be one of our rules.”

  “Okay.”

  A police car glided down the street.

  “See what I mean?” Nestor said. “If you popped him now there would be a cop coming just at the right time. We don't take those kind of risks.”

  Everyone had a routine. Once he had the target's patterns down, they could make their move. He noticed on both days that his grandmother went out for a walk every morning at ten o'clock. She would return an hour later.

  Like clockwork, she left the home at exactly ten o’clock.

  Both Nestor and Hernan remained silent in the car as they watched the old woman amble out of the fenced gate.

  Most drug dealers were smart enough to have dogs guarding their yard. Nestor figured Lashon to be a small-timer trying to go big in Cisneros' territory.

  Hernan put a white surgical mask over his mouth and took out the leaf blower from the trunk. He looked back at Nestor who gave him a nod.

  He entered the yard, looking as nonchalant as could be. Pressing his finger against the doorbell, he heard no sound then knocked hard.

  “Who the fuck is it?” came the reply from outside the door.

  “City of Oakland,” Hernan answered. He put special emphasis on his Mexican accent the way Nestor had coached him to. Said the accent would lower people’s guard.

  Lashon ripped the door open wearing nothing but a pair of baggy sweat pants. He rubbed sleep rocks out of his eyes and blinked hard at Nestor.

  “What you want?”

  Hernan raised the pistol as fast as Lashon opened the door. The bullet to the temple blasted Lashon to the ground.

  He shot Lashon again in the heart, as instructed by Nestor.

  Turning around, he turned on the blower and casually walked back toward the truck.

  The grandmother returned from her walk earlier than expected.

  Nestor made a quick u-turn and whistled for Hernan.

  The young man jogged toward the truck.

  Lashon’s grandmother saw him get into the truck and raised an eyebrow at her open front door. She quickened her step as she saw her grandson’s legs splayed out on the floor. Coming closer, the old woman wailed so loud that crows flew off their perch from a telephone line above.

  Nestor hit the gas. He rolled up his windows and turned up the volume on the radio.

  “Did she see you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hernan said.

  “What do you mean you don’t think so? We can’t leave any witnesses. That’s the rule. Remember?”

  Hernan nodded his head. “We can go back.”

  Nestor turned a corner and the truck came to a stoplight.

  A group of schoolchildren crossed the street. All walking in file. A young Hispanic girl waved hello at the men in the truck.

  “Hola!” Hernan yelled out.

  “Hola!” said two other giggling girls.

  “We can’t go back now.” Nestor turned down the radio.

  A young teacher trailed the kids. She had curly brown hair to her shoulders and she smiled at the men, shrugging her shoulders as if to say ‘What can you do?’

  “Sorry,” she said. “Field trip today!”

  Nestor nodded his head and managed a smile.

  The hits got easier and easier. They preferred hits during the morning hours. Nestor would take a few days to track the movements of the targets and find the optimal time. They performed hits throughout Oakland, Vallejo and Richmond.

  Nestor didn't bother reading or listening to the news. Hearing about the things they did would only make him nervous.

  Cisneros always came through with payment. They would wait behind an abandoned Mexican restaurant in town and a man would drive up in a Subaru. He would throw a brown bag into their pickup and speed off.

  Nestor was on edge during the pick-ups. He knew that one day the man in the Subaru would point a gun at him as opposed to throwing a bag of money.

  Hernan spent as much time as he could with Ana. He would see her once a week. And take her to the duck pond to talk.

  Cisneros had not contacted them for about a month.

  Their rent and other bills were paid. Nestor decided to risk a little capital at the horse races that Saturday.

  He put a sizable chunk of money on the daily double and lost. Then he doubled down on a fourth race exacta and lost again. In the stakes race, he won a superfecta and high-fived Hernan. He had never felt this confident in his life. He finally had a win streak going.

  “Let's go get some chili burgers!” he said to Hernan.

  Hernan started to smile big until he saw the Escalade parked in front of them.

  The driver side door opened and the large Latino man stepped out. Nestor remembered Cisneros referring him to him as “Carlos with a K.”

  They approached the vehicle with caution until Cisneros popped his head out.

  “Should have given you a hot tip,” Cisneros said. “Amped was my horse.”

  “I bet on him,” Nestor nodded.

  “So you won!” Cisneros shook Nestor's hand as they entered the vehicle.

  Karlos closed the door and waited outside.

  “I must say you guys are a doing a damn good job,” Cisneros said. “Damn good. You have done your heritage proud. In fact, I'd say you two are probably the most efficient damn hit men I've ever had. I can't afford to lose you. Too valuable an asset to the company.”

  Cisneros slipped Nestor a manila envelope.

  “You'll find everything that you need in here. And within the week, please.”

  “Of course.”

  “Pay is the same. You know, gambling is a bad habit. I never gamble unless I know for sure the odds are in my favor.”

  Nestor nodded his head.

  “The other day I bet on the damn Raider game. Should have known not to bet. I mean, their running back is fresh out of rehab and says he found God. That's the last thing the owner wants to hear. When a player finds religion, it takes away his edge. Takes away his drive and ruthlessness. A woman can have the same effect.”

  As if on cue, Karlos opened the door and motioned for Hernan and Nestor to exit.

  “Keep up the good work, gentleman.” Cisneros took out the cell phone from his breast pocket and began texting.

  Hernan and Nestor walked back toward their truck. Walking behind Hernan, Nestor opened the manila envelope to see who their next victim would be.

  Inside were surveillance photos of Ana.

  CHAPTER 8

  Nestor left the apartment while Hernan showered. He would have to figure out a way to fix the problem himself. He did not like the head games of Cisneros. He had to figure out a way to get a chess move ahead of the man.

  Nestor parked in front of Ana’s apartment. He counted five rooms on the second floor and four rooms on the first.

  A young Mexican man chugged by, pushing a cart of ic
e cream. He slowed as he reached the apartments and rang the bell on his cart.

  A door blasted open on the second floor. A barefoot boy, about seven years old and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, bolted for the ice cream man.

  Ana followed behind. She wore a red bikini top with a large towel covering her waist. The little baby fat she had around her waist was sexy. He understood Hernan’s infatuation. Ana had a carnal vibe about her that made a man’s heart beat faster whether he wanted it to or not.

  “Antonio!” she called out. “Don’t run!”

  The boy did not listen and eagerly looked inside the vendor’s cart. He smiled as he took out a red, white and blue colored snow cone.