Zero Saints

by Gabino Iglesias

  What happens next is, you think you have a plan. That plan is simple, but simple is almost always the opposite of easy.

  What happens when you have a plan but you’re not sure about it is that you realize you have to ask someone about it, and when the person you usually consult about such things is no longer in this realm, you have to concentrate to find a viable alternative.

  That’s when you remember a man Consuelo told you about, a man whom she said could see even farther than she could and never blinked.

  13

  Visita al visionero

  The motherfucker doesn’t blink

  The bones never lie – Cards

  Castle in the distance

  I drove north on North Lamar and kept an eye out for the big red neon hand like los tres reyes magos kept an eye out for that guiding star.

  Ten minutes later I spotted the place, did a U-turn, and parked.

  The place had no name. It was one-story building with a façade made of light brown rocks. A giant red neon palm decorated the front. The words PALM READINGS and TAROT READINGS shone the same neon red on either side of the palm. The door was painted purple and had an OPEN sign hanging from the doorknob.

  Memories of driving Consuelo there invaded my head. She wanted to know if someone had done a trabajo on her dead sister and was curious about her health in the upcoming months because she’d been feeling tired. I asked her why she went to see this guy when it was obvious she could she beyond the veil. “You can see others very well, Nando, but your reflection always comes at you twisted regardless of the quality of the mirror,” she’d said.

  Not wanting to let the memories mess me up, I stepped out of my car and walked into the place. A skinny man who looked seven feet tall sat on a purple stool in the middle of an empty room. The only illumination came from a collection of candles pressed against the walls. The gaunt man stood up and looked at me. I remembered then what Consuelo called him when she asked me to bring her there, “the man with wild eyes and many faces.” His eyes looked normal to me.

  Then I remembered she’d said he never blinked.

  The man walked toward me slowly. He wore black jeans and a blue shirt with a purple vest. Every finger had a ring and necklaces made from beads of every color known to man hung from his neck. His arms were covered with tatuajes of faces, numbers, and names. I didn’t recognize any of the faces, but some of the names I saw were familiar. Blavatsky. Crowley. Laveau. Boukman. The portions of his neck that were not covered by the necklaces were inked with small, intricate designs. Some were numbers in a line and some resembled the drawings voodoo practitioners use in their incantations and rituals.

  Maybe it was because my spirits were down or maybe because Consuelo had spoken so highly of this man, but he struck me as someone with incredible power.

  When the man reached me, he said “Welcome,” and stuck out his hand. His voice sounded like dust being scraped off an old wooden surface. I took his hand. He squeezed my fingers with the strength of a man four times his size. I felt weak compared to him, small despite outweighing him by at least 80 pounds.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said with that voz de ultratumba. He sounded sincere.

  I kept quiet.

  “You’re lost. You have suffered a great loss and now love and hate are fighting inside you. When the sons and daughters of Changó get lost, they either disappear or learn to wield the power of their Father. Which group do you belong to, my friend?”

  “I think I belong to the second group. That’s why I came to see you…”

  “Isaac,” he said.

  “Isaac, I came here because Consuelo said…”

  “Consuelo,” he said, giving my hand one more squeeze and then letting it go with the same care one puts down a newborn baby. “She’s the hole in your heart. That space is full of negative energy now. The weight of it is making breathing difficult, but don’t despair, her light is keeping absolute darkness and an eternal storm of pain and bone dust from sweeping you away. She has left this plane, but her enlightened spirit is no longer bound to inaction by the limits imposed on us by flesh. She’s far more powerful now than she ever was, and that is a beautiful thing. I very much look forward to her visit.”

  He stopped talking and looked at a spot behind me. His lips curled up into something akin to a smile, but it immediately vanished. I kept my eyes glued to his, but he didn’t blink.

  “Consuelo is with you, protecting you now and in the trip you’re about to embark on. Be careful in this endeavor. The world of eternal danger and sharp shadows is trying to invade you. She can’t protect you if you don’t do your part.”

  “I want to go aft…”

  He raised his right hand with a quickness that seemed impossible given the calm look on his skeletal face.

  “You are a blind man trapped in a boat with no captain in the middle of an uncharted ocean. I’ll ask the Orishas. Come with me.”

  He turned around and used one incredibly long arm to part the beaded doorway to the side. A small round table with a white cloth and two chairs stood in the middle of the room.

  Isaac produced a deck of tarot cards.

  “Pick three cards. Don’t look at them. Hold them by your side and imagine them gone. We will do something else first.”

  I did what he asked me to. Isaac nodded and wrapped the remaining cards in a blue handkerchief.

  I thought we were going to sit down, but he turned and led me out of the room. About a third of the candles had blown out in the very short time we spent in the tiny room and everything looked darker now. We walked behind the black curtain entered a small room with no furniture. The walls looked like they had been painted with blood using a hand instead of a brush. The skin of some brown animal was laid out on the floor. Next to it was a small vase made of mud.

  Isaac bent down and picked up the vase. He looked at me and started shaking it. A few seconds later, he tipped the contents on top of the animal skin. I looked down. About twenty little bones were sprawled over the skin. Some looked like chicken neck bones but others were larger and I couldn’t imagine what kind of animal they came from. At least two of them looked like tiny penises. I was sure those came from human fingers. Issac kneeled down and studied the bones for a while. I kept my mouth shut. He started speaking without removing his eyes from the bones.

  “Death has been a part of your life for a long time, but the death that’s breathing down your neck now is a different beast. A son of Ogún has crossed your path. The many sacrifices this man has made to his Father have made the god hungry for more. Ogún wants your blood. ‘Ogún shoro shoro, eyebale kawo.’ He speaks loudly through blood and killing. This man has a dark pact, an unhealthy understanding with Ogún.”

  When a man wants you dead, you think about killing him first, about being smarter and faster and putting a few holes in his body before he can catch you slippin’, but what the hell are you supposed to do when a god wants you dead?

  “The bones never lie. They have knowledge that precedes us and all of our religions. They’re inhabited by spirits from Africa that witnessed the birth of our gods and feasted on their afterbirth. Trust what they say. They say you are a lucky man. Changó is your Father. He doesn’t want you dead, much less at the hands of a son of Ogún. However, Changó’s good will and Consuelo’s light might not be enough if you don’t make an effort to fight. The matters of the Orishas are complicated when they are carried by the hands of men. These men are drunk on blood and power. They are ignoring Ogún’s cries for blood, plying their bodies with liquor and chemicals. This has upset their god. Which is good for you.”

  “I’m praying a novena to Santa Muerte,” I said. “I burn a candle for her every day and offer her rum and food.”

  “That’s good. Burn a few candles for Changó as well. Offer him white wine and apples. These things will keep him happy and watching over you. Now show me your cards.”

  I had forgotten about the cards. I turned them over and held the
m in front of me like a kid holds an unknown insect.

  The first card showed a tower being struck by lightning. People were jumping out of windows into a starless night.

  “The Tower,” said Isaac. “Turmoil. Life’s rug is being pulled from under your feet. You’re falling, scared and confused. Something is striking down on you with a ferocious force. When life is a mess, a devastating fire is needed to clear out the dead wood, to scare bad creatures away, to clear the space and strengthen the soil so that fresh seedlings can sprout, take root. Survival is the only path to strength and vice versa.”

  Isaac removed the Tower card from between my fingers and looked at the second card. A woman with a blindfold on and her arms tied behind her back stood among very tall swords stuck in the earth. Behind her, a castle rose up in the distance at the top of a mountain.

  “The Eight of Swords,” said Isaac. “Oppression. The castle, the oppressive force, it watches over your every action. The woman looks trapped, helpless, but her feet are not tied. She’s free to run, or to a use a sword to cut the binds from her hands and face her oppressor. The choice is yours.”

  Once again, Isaac plucked the card he’d been reading from between my fingers and looked at the card that was behind it. It showed a skeleton riding a white horse and holding a strange flag. A dead man was underneath the horse and a couple of kids were in front of it. One seemed to be dying and the other one looked like he was praying.

  “Whispers from the future. Death. An intense change is at hand, a transmutation that requires action. The nature of Death is duality. The meaning of this card is in your hands. Obey the Orishas and Death can be a commanding force that carries you into a new plane. Disobey and the dark forces around you swallow you whole. Death of the flesh is only one of many.”

  I needed to get out that small room with its bloody walls and the man who never blinked.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “A friend of Consuelo would never owe me anything. Take what you have learned and use it. Retribution feels personal, but it can be a communal event. Keep that in mind as you move forward. Burn your candles. Offer Changó some apples. Let him know that you acknowledge his power. Be humble. Pray every day to your Santa Muerte. She is a good protector and healer. Give her a soul to deliver. Whether that soul is yours or someone else’s is entirely up to you.”

  He was done. He raised his arm and motioned for me to walk out.

  I mumbled another thank you and reached the door in a few hurried steps.

  As I reached the door, I turned one last time to look at the man who never blinked. His feet were hovering about two inches from the floor.

  14

  Butterflies are sometimes dragonflies

  Monstruos that hide in the sombras

  Late night visit – Licking flesh

  Tears

  With my new gun tight against the small of my back I went to work. If they wanted to come for me, I was ready. I thought back to what the unblinking man had said. They were getting confident. Sloppy. Drunk on their power. I stood a few feet away from the doorway, checked IDs, and placed whatever drug people asked for in their hands with practiced disimulo.

  I also ignored my phone. Surely some of the calls had to be from someone asking about Guillermo. He rarely left the house, but he was good about picking up his phone. I hoped no one had needed him too desperately. I needed time.

  Once things had fallen into their mid-night rhythm, I went to the back and talked to Manny, a Mexican American mountain of blubber and attitude who sucked as a bartender but was good with the money box. Manny had a black girlfriend who worked at one of T.B.’s strip clubs. She went by Butterfly despite the fact that the huge insect tattooed between her ridiculously huge fake tits was a dragonfly. I knew Butterfly was tight with Nikki and Baby Girl, the two young ladies who ran everything while T.B. pretended he was the man of the house. If T.B. had anything to do with the men living in the tiny house behind his juke joint, these ladies would know about it, and they would tell Butterfly what was up.

  As awful as Manny was to almost everyone, he had this twisted idea that, since I was the one who placed all the money in the box he got paid to protect with his life, he was supposed to keep me happy because I was above him in pay and rank. I never had time, or the desire, to explain to him he was wrong. If his confusion kept his huge ass docile and hasta un poco servicial, so be it.

  It didn’t take long. Manny tapped me on the shoulder about an hour before closing. T.B. was clean. According to Manny, the “tattooed motherfuckers” had even gone to one T.B.’s clubs, harassed a few dancers, and then stabbed a bouncer with a broken bottle when he tried to kick them out.

  That sucked for the dancers and the bouncer, but it was good news for me. The last thing I wanted was to go after Indio and then have the Pussy King, which is what some folks called T.B., coming after me with an army of angry black dudes armed to the teeth.

  A few hours later, we pushed the last drunks out into the night and closed up. I walked to my car with the hair on the back of my neck standing up like a cat’s and drove home, convinced there was a big brown car following me.

  I parked in my usual spot, near some dumpsters, and walked to my door with ears and eyes at attention. Going home felt like a mistake. I wondered if I was welcoming them, hoping they’d get me like they got me the first time. If they’d just end it. I entered my apartment and closed the door with a sigh of relief.

  I got a glass of water and opened the cabinet where I kept my collection of pills. I wanted to sleep for a few hours without my brain screaming nonsense at me. Then I heard a noise. A scratch. Something was scratching at my door.

  The gun was in my hand and the safety was off before my brain even had a chance to think about what the noise could be.

  Then came a bark.

  I walked to the door and listened before putting my eye to the peephole. Loud breathing. Shuffling. If Indio had come for me or had sent one of his monkeys, they’d be quieter about it. Just in case, I placed my finger around the trigger and held the gun in front of me. If someone with a tattooed face was standing on the other side, they’d get a bullet in the chest before they had a chance to realize the door was open.

  Then I pulled the door open.

  Kahlúa was sitting in front of my door. I lowered the gun. Behind her, the rest of Consuelo’s jauría walked around, their heads down and their noses to the ground. One dog was laid out and appeared to be sleeping.

  I stuck my head out. Looked left and right. The dogs were alone. Then I looked down at Kahlúa again. She stood up, moved toward me.

  The dog smelled the gun and then her muzzle moved up. Suddenly her rough tongue was on my new tattoo. My first instinct was to pull my hand away, but something held it there. After two licks, Kahlúa sat back down and looked up at me with her human eyes. They were full of tears. A tear rolled down her fur. Then she stood up and started trotting away without looking back. The rest of the chingos were all looking at me. Call me crazy but I swear they collectively gave me a nod before trotting off behind Kahlúa. It felt like a blessing, like a message sent by the beautiful soul I knew was now taking care of me.

  15

  They came looking for blood

  What’s good for a saint had to be good for a little devil

  Historias de la abuela

  Electric worms

  Knuckles on my door jolted me awake. The bad thing about pill-induced sleep is that reality has to fight its way into your life slowly. When your brain is surrounded by the soft cloth of magical chemicals, the outside world is like an unwanted interruption that gets locked out, and when it suddenly wants to break in, you end up being scared and confused.

  “Hey, Nando, you in there?”

  Yoli’s voice. It helped get me in motion.

  I shook my head, trying hard to get rid of something that couldn’t be shaken off.

  I pulled my jeans on and walked to the door.

  The sun was out. It pierced my
eyes and cut into my brain the second I opened the door. Yoli spoke from somewhere inside the glare.

  “I came by yesterday, but you weren’t here. Some guys were hanging out around your door when I got home from school. They were weird as fuck, so I pretended like I hadn’t seen them and went into my place. I don’t know what kind of friends you keep, but these dudes looked…unsavory.”

  Despite the blinding sun, her words sent a shiver down my back. The stuff in my system made the shiver leave a trace that lingered for a few seconds. They had come to tie up a loose end.

  “What did they look like?”

  My voice came out sounding like I had a dead cat stuck in my throat.

  “They had tattoos all over. One was smiling as I came around the corner and his teeth were all framed in gold. The other one was a bit shorter…”

  “Did they say anything to you?”

  “No, I told you, I went into my place. I had my phone in my hand and pretended to be looking at it. I didn’t want them to talk to me. They made me uncomfortable. It’s not that they were latinos or anything. It wasn’t even the tattoos. You know I have nothing against modified people, it’s just…I don’t know.”

  I knew exactly what she meant.

  “No, I get what you’re saying. They’re bad dudes. If you see them again, stay away.”

  My eyes had adjusted a bit to the sun and I could see Yoli now. She wore a red sleeveless shirt and no makeup. Her leche con chocolate cheeks looked like she’d been caught in a freckle storm without an umbrella.

  “Listen, Nando, I know you do more than work at the door of some club. We’ve been neighbors what, three years now? You don’t get your mail. You never walk by the office. You keep the weirdest hours. It’s all good, I don’t judge you, but I need to know if you have some trouble that’s following you home. I live here alone and I don’t want men like that walking around here every day.”