Mutt eBook

by McKenzie, Shane

  “Where you from, dawg?” the man said, his mouth never losing that upturned look.

  “Um… California.”

  “Long way from home, ay?” He sucked on his teeth, took a step forward, but the girl stepped between him and Patrick, whispered something into the thug’s ear in Spanish. The man hesitated, looked Patrick up and down one more time before strutting into the store.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Did I do something to piss him off? I didn’t meant to… ”

  “Nah, that fool’s always pissed off, don’t even worry about it.” She squinted at him and smiled. “Me recuerdas?”

  Patrick blushed, the chocolate and peanut butter still thick on the roof of his mouth. “Uh… what?”

  She laughed, shook her head. “Don’t tell me you’re one of them Mexicans that don’t speak Spanish.”

  Shit. He didn’t know what to say. Going into what race, or races, he was didn’t seem to matter at the moment, and if she thought he wasn’t Mexican, she might walk off, laugh in his face, say something derogatory against Asians and never speak to him again. So he just nodded. “Yeah… guess I am.”

  She laughed again, stepped toward him. “I said, do you remember me?”

  He finally worked the last of the candy out of his mouth, and he forced a smile, hoping there weren’t any chocolate stains on his teeth. “Yeah… from the bus stop, right?”

  “Yeah, stupid, from the bus stop.” She play shoved him. “What’s your name?”

  “Patrick.” His skin tingled and he wondered if he was daydreaming. “You?”

  “Krystal. Sorry I popped off the other day, didn’t mean to. Was trippin’ on some bullshit, but it ain’t nothin’ no more.”

  “Nah… it’s cool. No worries.”

  She smacked her lips and shoved him again. “Ay, I knew you remembered me, puto.”

  Patrick feared his skin was glowing at that point.

  “A’ight, cool then. I’m gonna go find my homeboy in there before that fool robs the store or some shit.”

  “What? He—”

  “I’m fuckin’ with you, man. See you around, okay?”

  “Yeah, cool. Okay, yeah.” He smiled and she snickered as she walked into the store.

  Not wanting another run in with her friend, Patrick quickly walked back toward his apartment building.

  She talked to me. She knows who I am… recognized me.

  He knew it didn’t mean much, but just the fact that she remembered him enough to apologize meant she had been thinking about him. And that sent Patrick’s heart to thumping like a subwoofer.

  When he was back in his apartment, he stowed his food into the refrigerator and cupboard, then shuffled to his room and hopped onto his bed, unable to peel the smile from his face.

  Don’t tell me you’re one of them Mexicans that don’t speak Spanish.

  I am an idiot, he thought. Why didn’t I just tell her the truth? He knew this meant he would have to keep the lie going, would have to pretend to be Mexican around her. And she used the same bus stop as him, at least some of the time, so he wouldn’t be able to be seen with his own mother outside of the apartment—but she was worth it.

  With Krystal on his mind, he ended up downloading an R&B album, then rested his head on his pillow and imagined she was on top of him, grinding her body into his.

  “What’chu listenin’ to?”

  The question came after a sharp tap on his shoulder, and he could just barely distinguish the words over the music.

  He turned and there she was. It had been a couple of days since he’d seen her, but she never left his mind for a minute. Krystal looked as good as ever, with that same wet, just-stepped-out-of-the-shower hair. A darker color outlined her maroon lips, made them pop out of her face, and Patrick wanted to kiss them so bad. She leaned over, pressing her breasts against him as she peered at his iPod. He could tell by how they felt she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he concentrated on not getting too excited, otherwise he didn’t know how he’d walk to the bus without putting a hunch in his back.

  Patrick yanked one of the earphones out. “UGK. It’s the Ridin’ Dirty album.”

  She raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. “For real? Let me see.” She grabbed the loose earphone and popped it into her ear.

  “One day you’re here, baby. And then you’re goooone.”

  Krystal bobbed her head, swayed her hips. “Shit, that’s my jam. What else you got in there, pocho?”

  Patrick frowned at the term, but just shrugged, shuffled through his iPod for her. “Shit, all kinds of stuff.”

  She giggled and returned his earphone. “You know what a pocho is, Patrick?”

  She remembers my name!

  “Uh-uh.”

  “A Mexican that don’t speak no Spanish. And that’s you, fool.” She elbowed him in the side and stuck her tongue out. “But that’s cool. You all right with me, pocho.”

  Patrick forced a chuckle, but shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. The bus came and they walked on together. Krystal stopped mid-stride when Patrick took his seat in the front, clicked her tongue and waved him to the back with a nod of her head. “Come on, man. Don’t leave me hangin’ all alone and shit.”

  “Oh… my bad.” Patrick followed her and took a seat beside her, trying to give her space. She looked at him, shook her head, smiled, and rolled her eyes.

  “You’re a dork, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “So, where you live in California? I heard they got the bomb weed out there. The real killa.”

  “I stayed in San Jose, and the weed I smoked was alright. Not that shit Dre and Snoop are always talkin’ about.”

  “How long you been in town for?” She scooted closer, her thighs bulging out of her jean shorts. Her skin was the color of cinnamon, and Patrick forced himself not to stare.

  “Just a few weeks. It’s cool, I guess, but Texas is hot.”

  “Shit, it’s better than those cold places. Did it snow where you stayed at?”

  “Not since I been alive. Heard it did one time in the seventies, but I ain’t never seen it.” Her right thigh was pressed against his left, and as the bus drove on, it seemed she squeezed herself tighter against him.

  “So who you kick it with? What you doin’ this weekend?”

  He thought about coming up with another lie, tell her how many homeboys he hangs with, try not to sound too pathetic. But he didn’t want to dig his hole any deeper than it already was, so he just shrugged. “Nobody. Haven’t really met anyone in town since I got here. I just go to work, that’s where I’m goin’ now.”

  “Work? Where you work at?”

  She used some kind of tropical fruit shampoo, Patrick could tell from the scent of it. The sunlight gleamed off skin that was obviously lathered with some kind of lotion. Her legs looked so smooth, he just wanted to massage them, wanted them wrapped around him.

  “At… uh… over at Harry’s. The gym? He lets me… I clean it up.”

  “You the janitor?”

  He chuckled. “You don’t have to say it like that… but yeah, I guess so.”

  She shoved him. “It’s cool, puto. My dad’s a janitor over at the elementary school. Gotta make your money, right?”

  “Yeah… guess so. Harry’s cool, though.”

  “I seen the place, couple of my homeboys slang over there.” Her face became serious, hard and all business. She sat up stra’ighter, unpeeled her leg from his and stared into his eyes. “You know who I roll with, right? I know you new in town and shit, but you heard of Los Locos yet?”

  Patrick nodded, arched his mouth like the thug from the store, then felt stupid for doing it and pursed his lips. “Yeah… yeah I heard of ’em. That’s cool.”

  “Shit, you don’t know. Cool? We run this motherfuckin’ town, pocho.
We run deep, you know what I’m sayin.’ “

  Her eyes pierced his, dug deep into his brain and twisted. She never looked sexier.

  “Los Reyes Locos por vida, puto. Dominamos esta ciudad.”

  Patrick nodded like a bobble head on a bumpy road. He put his hands up. “I don’t have any kind of problem with you, or Los Locos. I’m cool with it, for real.”

  She eyed him for a minute without saying anything, then scooted back up against him and clicked her tongue. “That’s good, Patrick. You get good with Los Locos, you ain’t got shit to worry about, you know what I’m sayin’? Nothin’. You say you don’t have no friends in town, right? Well, now you do.”

  “I… I do?”

  “What, you scared now?”

  Hell yes!

  But he shook his head instead, clenched his hands into fists to make sure they didn’t start shaking. He wanted more than anything for Krystal to like him, to be accepted by someone, to make friends, but having to spend any kind of time with any of those Mexican thugs he’d seen her with scared the shit out of him. Someone would find out he wasn’t Mexican, and he didn’t think a group like Los Reyes Locos would take kindly to some Asian mutt coming into their territory and trying to pretend he was one of them.

  Fuck… now what do I do?

  The bus stopped and Krystal stood. Patrick was face to face with her groin, and he glanced at it, then quickly looked up at her face. She sidestepped to get past him, but just before she made it to the aisle, she sat down in his lap. Patrick could do nothing to stop his erection from poking her in the back pocket, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Tonight, Los Locos are having a party. And I want you to come.”

  Her face was mere inches from his, and he smelled a mixture of toothpaste and weed smoke on her breath. She leaned even closer, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought she was going to kiss him, but she only smiled and raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, you comin,’ or what?”

  “You sure they’ll be cool with me just showin’ up? I mean… they don’t know me, and I don’t want—”

  She rolled her eyes and stood from his lap. “Don’t be such a bitch, pocho.”

  His skin flushed again, throbbed with embarrassment.

  “You got me to vouch for you, a’ight? I’ll put in a word, and you’ll be stra’ight.”

  “Yeah… okay, cool. Where do I go?”

  “Just meet me at the bus stop at eight. I’ll be there waitin’ on you. And we’ll go together.”

  “That’s cool, then. I’ll… I’ll see you tonight.”

  She shoved him in the shoulder, rolled her eyes, and smiled, then walked away, swaying her hips as she went. Patrick couldn’t help but stare at her ass as it bulged with each step, and his lap burned and ached to have that ass back on top of it.

  He lifted just high enough from his seat to look outside, and just as always, there was a group of men waiting for her, and among them was the scrawny Mexican guy with the tattooed crown on the side of his head.

  Krystal walked right up to him, and as the bus pulled away, Patrick sunk back into his seat as he saw their lips lock.

  Harry had been busy training the white boxer again, and Patrick didn’t feel like lifting weights or working out after cleaning up all the equipment, re-racking weights, and scrubbing the restrooms that day. He finished up in a couple of hours, strolled toward Harry who was giving his fighter a break. The boxer sat on a padded bench, leaned over with his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging and dripping sweat.

  “Hey, Patty. You all right?”

  “Got my work done early today, Harry. Not feeling too good, so I think I’m gonna head home if that’s okay with you.” It was a lie—he was feeling fine—but he didn’t want Harry to think he was lazy.

  “Suit yourself, boy. Got this knucklehead all day anyway. What say we pick up where we left off on Monday, yeah? And tomorrow, you get yer Ko-Reen ass up and jog at least three miles. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll see you later, Harry.”

  Harry just grunted in reply, then turned to the sweating boxer. “All right, sweetheart. Get yer ass up and give me fifty pushups.”

  Patrick decided to walk home, and though it was a pretty long journey from Harry’s to the apartment complex, he figured he could use the fresh air, get his thoughts in order. Yes, he was ecstatic to be invited to a party, especially by Krystal. But what did it really mean? She was obviously in some kind of relationship with that bald guy, and Patrick wasn’t really the kind of guy that could go to a party where he didn’t know anyone and mingle.

  He could already picture himself, getting escorted to the party by Krystal, then when they got there, she would leave him to fend for himself while she dry humped her boyfriend. Patrick would probably stand in a corner somewhere, lean up against the wall, and listen to his iPod while he just watched all the other people having a good time.

  And the people? Los Reyes Locos. What kind of party would these thugs throw? And without Krystal by his side, without her there to watch out for him, vouch for him as she said, how would these guys treat him?

  Will I be the only… pocho there? he thought. Shit, I’m not even that because a pocho is a Mexican who doesn’t speak Spanish. What am I? Some fucking chink mutt posing in the most dangerous crowd in town.

  Oh, fuck, I’m a dead man.

  He thought about just no-showing at the bus stop tonight, staying safe in his own bedroom. But what would Krystal think of me then? She would probably never talk to me, might even get pissed off and sick some of her homeboys on me.

  His chest and stomach wouldn’t stop tingling, and he’d been so lost in his own thoughts, his walk flew by, and before he knew it he was standing in front of his complex. Sweat soaked the collar and armpits of his shirt and the bottom of his feet ached from the trek.

  He wondered if she was trying to get him to join the gang. It was the only reason he figured she invited him in the first place, had even made the comment that he had friends now. Though the thought appealed to him, it scared him even more.

  I’m not a gangster. I can’t do this.

  But he knew he’d be at that bus stop at eight, just like she told him to. And he trudged up the stairs to the third floor and slid into his apartment. He made himself a turkey sandwich, but it had no flavor. All he could do was stare blankly at the wall as he chewed, cursing himself over and over for his stupidity.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” His mom sat on the couch, watching some fashion talk show on the E! channel.

  Patrick paced around the living room, checking himself in the bathroom mirror again and again. He couldn’t stop his palms from sweating or his heart from racing.

  “Remember that girl I told you about?” He stopped himself from pacing and gripped the back of the couch behind his mother.

  She turned more toward him in her seat, smiled and widened her eyes. “Yes. You finally talk to her? You have a date?”

  Patrick snorted, wiped his hands over his jeans again. “Yeah… sort of, I guess. She invited me to a party tonight. I’m supposed to meet her at the bus stop in half an hour.”

  “Party? They drinking there? Doing drugs?”

  Patrick shrugged, rolled his eyes. “Mom, come on. It’s… it’s not like that.”

  She sat up stra’ighter. “She Mexican girl?”

  “What? What’s your problem?”

  “They tell me about the Mexicans here. They no good. Is she?”

  Patrick didn’t answer, turned away from her and started to walk off.

  “Patrick come back over here!”

  He was almost to his bedroom, but he stopped, turned, and crossed his arms.

  “I don’t want you going to this party. Those people… they in a gang. You know that? All Mexicans here are—”

  “Shut up! Okay? Jus
t shut up. You think you know, but you don’t. All Mexicans are in a gang, mom? All of ’em? That’s stupid.”

  She ignored his comments. “You not going. Mmm-mmm. You staying here.” She was standing now, one hand on her hip.

  “I am going, and you can’t do shit to stop me!” He stomped toward the door, and just before reaching it, his mother darted across the apartment, but he swung it open and slammed it behind him before she could reach him.

  “Come back… please, Patrick. Please don’t go.” All the umph had been drained from her voice now, and she pleaded, which made it all the harder for Patrick to push on, to keep his back to her.

  But he reached the stairs, not once looking behind him, knowing his mother’s face, twisted with hurt, would be staring back at him, probably wet with tears by now. In all of his life, he’d never talked to her like that, and his stomach roiled from the memory of it.

  The worst part of all was that she was right. Patrick still didn’t think all Mexicans in their town were in a gang, but that didn’t matter because the girl he was going to see was, and the people he was going to hang out with were. Los Reyes Locos.

  But he just kept picturing Krystal’s face, her ass in his lap, and all apprehension melted away.

  As he exited the complex, he started to hope Krystal would stand him up, just not show up and he could march back up to his apartment, apologize to his mother, and watch the E! Channel with her instead.

  But Krystal was already there, waiting for him. She was alone, and that much he was thankful for, but he knew they would be surrounded by tattooed flesh and bandanas soon enough.

  When she saw him, she smiled, nodded at him, strolled toward him. She embraced him with a hug, and she had the same tropical fruit, weed smoke smell as before. She wore khaki shorts that were about crotch-length, her creamy thighs smooth and delicious looking, and brown tennis shoes. The dark brown shirt she wore was the same pattern as the bandanas the thugs hung from their pockets, but the collar was cut into a long V, showing off her ample cleavage, bits of glitter sparkling in the moonlight.