“I… uh… but I… ” Patrick looked from Jesús to Krystal, not really sure what to do with himself. His face pulsed, his body ached, but when Krystal stepped forward and kissed him again, all of that was forgotten.
Jesús stepped out of the way as Krystal led Patrick into the house by the hand. The air was thick with pungent smoke and loud conversation. The music still played, but at a much lower volume, and Patrick noticed a good amount of the men and women were passed out or fucking on couches or various spots on the floor. Others sat at a table, drank and smoked and played cards.
“Come on, Patrick.” Krystal led him toward some stairs, and as they ascended, each step sending tremors through his beaten body, the men clapped and hollered.
Patrick flushed with embarrassment, all eyes on him now, as he was led to the second floor, and even when he and Krystal moved down the hall away from the others’ view, the shouts followed them.
“Krystal… wait, wait a second.” He stopped just outside of a door that Krystal had just opened. Inside he could see a bed and a window, and little else.
“What’s the problem?” She pressed her body against his, kissed his neck.
“It’s just… you, you’re not doing this because you have to, right? Jesús didn’t give you orders or anything, did he?” Patrick bit his lip and nearly yelped from the pain. He wanted badly to follow her into that room and live out the fantasies that had been playing in his head ever since laying eyes on her, but he had to make sure she wanted it. After hearing Jesús’ speech about that new girl, there was just something that didn’t feel right about this.
We share.
“It ain’t like that. Now come on.” She tried to pull him, but he held his ground.
“When you joined, I mean… when you were initiated… did they, did they do you like—”
“Did they fuck me?”
He nodded, but the look in her eye made him wish he never asked.
“Yes, okay. That’s how it is. Just like every man got beat, every woman got fucked, all right?”
He shrugged, wanted to ask her more, but couldn’t make any words come.
“And if you’re wondering, no I don’t just go around fucking everybody all the time. But I won’t lie, sometimes we fuck. You’ll fuck other girls, too. That’s just how it is, man. It ain’t no big fuckin’ deal.”
Patrick didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want to fuck any other girls, that she was the only one he wanted, the only one he ever wanted. He wanted to tell her that if they were going to be together, he didn’t want her to be with anyone else but him, but instead, he just stood there, remained silent.
She rolled her eyes. “You know what, nevermind. Fuck this—”
She had started to walk away, but Patrick caught her by the arm, pulled her back in front of him. He slammed his lips into hers, slid his tongue into her mouth. She fought him at first, then relaxed, kissed him back, swirled her tongue against his. Patrick let his hands roam her body, rubbing and squeezing and raking. Krystal held him by the hips, walked backward into the room and pulled him in with her where she tossed him on the bed and slammed the door.
Patrick saw the video camera propped up on a tripod in the corner, but he didn’t see any red light to indicate that it was on. The room was hot, stuffy, smelled of stale cigarettes and sex.
Krystal pulled her shirt over her head, her gold necklace glinting from between her breasts, and all the events of the night, all the craziness, melted away as he took in her body. As she lay on top of him, grinding into him, he melted into the stiff mattress beneath him and allowed her to take him away to paradise.
Patrick woke up on the bed with Krystal, his body stiff and screaming with fresh pain, and checked the time on her pink cell phone that lay on the floor. Already almost eleven. After the long night they had, he didn’t have a clue what time they actually fell asleep, and he quickly got dressed.
“Where you goin.’ ” Krystal muttered, still half asleep, looking at him with one eye squinted.
“I gotta get home. My mom’s—” He winced at the pain in his face.
She giggled. “This is your home now, Patrick. You don’t need to worry about your mom anymore.”
He ignored that comment, leaned over and kissed her. “I’ll meet up with you tonight, all right? I got work today, and—”
She sat up, not smiling anymore. “You don’t understand. You’re a Loco, man. Fuck your job.”
He kissed her again, but she didn’t kiss back, and his lips fell on the loose flesh of her mouth. “Just… just let me at least explain it to Harry, okay? I’ll be back later.”
She clicked her tongue, lay on her back, bare-chested and staring at the ceiling. “You got a lot to learn, Patrick. But you’ll learn quick.”
He didn’t like the implication of those words, but his attention was on her naked breasts, and it took every ounce of will power not to climb right back into bed with her.
He crept out of the room and into the hall, took the stairs slowly. Some of Los Locos still lay in their spots on the floor or couch, snoring, groaning. Patrick caught a few open eyes looking his way, red and thick with hangover, but he hurried out of the house and found himself jogging across town toward his complex.
His body didn’t allow him to jog much, so he settled for a brisk walk, and it felt like it took an eternity before he finally made it to the stairwell of the apartment building. He climbed the stairs, hoping his mom was either still asleep or at work, and crept down the hall toward his apartment. He pressed his ear to the door, but didn’t hear anything, then slid his key in and eased the door open.
“Patrick! God… where have you been? I’ve been so… ”
Patrick winced at the sharpness of her voice, like razor blades sliding across his brain. He turned toward her, and she stared at him slack-jawed, staring at his bruised and beaten face.
“Mom, let me expl—”
“What happened?” The anger disappeared and she rushed toward him with a pinched face and shaking hands. She reached out and touched his cheek, her mouth still open, her bottom lip drooping to expose her lower teeth.
“Ow! It’s nothing, okay? Just an accident… ”
Then the anger returned and she backed away from him, furrowed her brow. “It that girl, isn’t it? Did her Mexican friends do this to you? The gang? I’m calling the police, I call them right now.”
She hurried toward the phone, but Patrick ran after her, blocked her way. “No, mom. Don’t. Everything’s cool, everything’s fine, okay? I promise… you just have to trust me.”
“No. They hurt my boy, they need to go to jail. And that girl, too. I told you, Patrick. I told you!”
She tried to shove Patrick out of the way, but he stood strong. “You can’t, mom. It’s just gonna make it worse. Just chill out for a second!” He gripped her by the shoulders, and she flinched at how hard he had grabbed her. His hands opened, released her, and she backed away and looked into his eyes.
“What’s the matter with you, Patrick?”
“Look… you were right, okay? They were in a gang, just like you said. Los Reyes Locos. They run this whole town. And if you call the police, they’ll kill us both.” He almost told her the whole truth, that her son was now one of them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wondered how long he could keep both lives apart from each other, keep one from finding out the truth about the other.
“Kill… k-kill us? Patrick, what’s happening?”
He hid his hands in his pockets so she wouldn’t see the tattoo, the mark that said he was a Loco just like the others. It wasn’t until now, until he was apart from them, back in the real world, in his former life, that he wondered what that truly meant. What are they gonna make me do?
“This is crazy! Get out of my way… I’m calling the police!”
Patrick s
hoved her. He didn’t know where it came from, but he shoved her again, harder this time when she reached for the phone again. She stumbled backwards and landed hard on her backside, grimaced and stared up at him. A tear dripped free from the corner of her eye, which broke Patrick’s heart, but he kept the scowl on his face.
“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, okay? I told you you can’t call the cops. How many times do I have to fuckin’ say it?”
“Patrick? Y-you’re scaring me… ” She remained on her spot on the floor, not moving a muscle but for the up and down of her mouth as she spoke.
“I’m goin’ to work. I’m already late. If you call the police, I promise you you’re dead. We both are.” He reached out to try and help her up, but she flinched and scurried away from him, the tears streaming now. “Mom… mom, I’m just sayin.’ ”
But she jumped to her feet and ran to her bedroom where she disappeared behind a slammed door.
Well fuck you then!
Patrick wiped a tear from his swollen eye, then went straight to the bathroom to at least rinse off before seeing Harry. He knew he probably smelled like weed smoke and alcohol and dried blood. And Krystal.
A shudder ran over his body as he relived his time with her in the bedroom last night. He still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe the things she did to him, the things she let him do to her. His body ached to feel her again, but it also throbbed as he stepped into the cold shower and let the water wash away the filth. Maroon-clouded water swirled into the drain, and Patrick winced as he ran his soapy hands over his battered flesh.
He eased out of the tub, got dressed as quickly as his aches would let him. When he left his room, he stood in the hall between his and his mom’s bedrooms for a minute, listening, but heard nothing. There might have been a sniffle or two, but he couldn’t be sure, so he left the apartment and went stra’ight for the bus stop.
As he stood there, staring blankly at the gray concrete of the street, a brown Cadillac rolled by, and he looked up to see the driver and the passengers looking toward him. The driver nodded, smiled to reveal scattered gold teeth, and waved him over. Patrick recognized him as the thug from the grocery store.
Patrick jogged across the road toward the car, locked hands with the driver.
“You need a ride? Get in, homie.”
“Nah, I’m good right now. Thanks, though.”
“Where you goin,’ dawg?” someone said from the back.
“Just gotta take care of some shit. I’ll meet up after.”
They all started talking in Spanish, laughing and mumbling, but Patrick thought he heard the word “pocho” a few times. The driver turned back to him, but there was a hint of aggression there now. “My name’s Chapa. And this is Frankie, Angel, and Queso,” he said motioning to the men in the passenger seats. “Get in the fuckin’ car, Loco. We don’t keep no secrets.”
The men in the back seat scooted over, and Patrick hesitated for only a moment before he hopped in. When he checked over his shoulder, he saw his mom standing just outside the complex, staring at the Cadillac as it pulled away.
Oh fuck.
When they pulled up to Harry’s, music bumping, blunt passing between them, Patrick stepped out of the car and hoped Harry wasn’t around to see him do it. He turned back to his new friends. “ ’Preciate the ride, man. I’ll see y’all later on.”
“That ain’t it, homie. We’ll kick it right here, make sure you don’t need us.” He hit the blunt, blew the smoke from his nose and smiled up at Patrick. “You new, dawg, so you don’t get it. We got each other’s backs… always, you know what I’m sayin’? We family, dawg.” He turned and laughed with the others, passed the blunt to someone in the back seat, then turned back to Patrick. “Besides that, we got some work for you. Jesús wants to see you. So hurry the fuck up, nigga.”
Patrick held back the squeak that wanted to seep from his throat, and just nodded. “I’ll just be a minute, it’s cool.”
He jogged into Harry’s, feeling relieved to be away from the car full of Los Locos. The look on his mom’s face as she watched the Cadillac drive away wouldn’t leave his mind, and he could only hope she wouldn’t call the cops. He had a lot of explaining to do, but he had no idea how to do it. Hell, he still couldn’t figure out how he got caught up in all of this in the first place. It all happened so fast, it seemed like a blur.
Krystal.
“Patty? Jesus Christ, boy, what happened to your face?”
Harry’s voice crashed into Patrick’s head, and he turned to face the man, who was red-faced and stomping toward him. “It’s… it’s nothing, Harry. No big deal.”
Julius walked up with him, smirking, as Harry grabbed Patrick by the chin and turned his head left and right. “Nothing? Boy, your face looks like a baboon’s swollen ass.”
Julius chuckled and looked on the verge of saying something obnoxious, but Patrick looked him right in the eye. “Fuck you, man.”
“What the fuck you say, boy?” Julius stepped up, but Harry stepped between them.
“Hey, hey. None of that shit, Julius, you can’t see he’s beat to hell? Patty, now what in the hell happened to you? Guess me and you got more work to do on your—”
“I have to quit, Harry. I’m sorry… I don’t want to… but I have to. Thanks for everything.”
Patrick wanted to be done now, just wanted to leave. He hoped Harry would just let it lie, but he should have known better. His intention was to go to Harry, explain everything that had happened, but with a car full of Locos outside, he just wanted to make it quick and get the hell out of there. The old man’s callused hand wrapped around his arm pulled him backward as Patrick tried to escape.
“Now wait just a goddamn minute. You in some kinda trouble, boy? You need help?”
Yes! Please help me!
“No, it’s… it’s complicated. I can’t get into it. I just can’t work here anymore.”
“Just let his punk ass leave, Harry. Little pipsqueak wasn’t no good anyway.” Julius had his eyes cemented to Patrick’s face, and Patrick stared right back.
“I think you need to shut the fuck up and mind your business, man.”
“Big words, boy. Big words.” Julius’ body tightened as he stepped toward Patrick, ignoring Harry as the old man tried to pry them apart.
“You better step back, nigga, ’fore you get dealt with.” Chapa’s voice came from the front door, followed by a round of chuckling.
Julius frowned, knotted his lips, and turned to face the group of Locos that stood at the entrance to the gym. Chapa still smoked the blunt that was burned down to a roach. He tossed it and stamped it out.
“You bastards get outta my gym, goddamnit. Get the fuck outta here!” Harry stomped forward, and before Patrick could run up and stop him, one of the other men, Frankie, stepped around Chapa and tried to blindside Harry.
The old man dodged it, caught him with a hard left hook. But the others jumped on him before he could defend himself any further, knocked him to the ground and pummeled him.
“Hey, man, y’all don’t have to do that shit,” Patrick said, and he tried to run to Harry’s aid as the group of Los Locos began stomping on his flailing body, but Julius stopped him, shoved him hard in the chest and sent him flying backward, tossing him to the ground.
“I ain’t done with you, bitch.”
But before Julius could take another step, a chair raised in the air from behind Julius above his head, then it swung down and crashed into the back of the big black man’s skull. Julius grunted, fell over onto his knees. The muscles in his arms and chest bulged, every vein popping out, and he growled, but before he could do anything about it, the chair hit again, throwing him to his stomach.
“Los Locos, motherfucka,” Chapa said, then tossed the chair away and started stomping on Julius. The other men ran over and joined him, Julius groaning beneath them, ga
sping for air.
Patrick got to his feet, looked over at Harry who was splayed out by the entrance, his white hair stained red. His hand moved, just barely, twitching and shaking.
“What the fuck you standin’ there for, homie?” Chapa said, him and the other men now staring at him, all panting. Julius bled from his head and face and writhed on the floor.
“I think he’s had enough, don’t you? Y’all got his ass good, all right?” Patrick just wanted to leave, just wanted to hide in a hole somewhere for the rest of his life. All of the other people at the gym stood in place, watching, too scared to move.
“You think he’s had enough, esé?” Chapa pulled a pistol out from the waist of his jeans, pointed it at the back of Julius’ head, and pulled the trigger. “Now he’s had enough, homie. Let’s go.”
The other people in the gym screamed, scrambled. Patrick stared at the widening pool of blood under Julius, the gunshot blast still assaulting his eardrums. He couldn’t move or say anything. His body shook as he watched the other three men laugh and run out the gym door, Chapa backing up slowly as he stared at Patrick.
“Come on, puto. Popo be here any minute.” And he turned and trotted away.
Patrick followed, hesitated when he saw Harry staring at him. The old man had propped himself up on an elbow, and his eyes jumped from Julius’ body to Patrick, back and forth. Patrick opened his mouth to say something, but the look on Harry’s face hurt too bad, so he turned and followed the other Los Locos into the street.
“Ándale, motherfucka. Jesús is waitin.’ “
Patrick ran to the Cadillac, opened the rear driver’s side door. He looked back toward Harry’s one last time, the black Los Reyes Locos crown staining the wall above the door, and knew it was the last time he’d ever see it again. He wanted so desperately to apologize to Harry, to explain that what had happened was out of his control, but he slid into the car, and they peeled off.
Jesús circled a heavy bag hanging from the ceiling, the black leather cylinder swaying back and forth as he hit it. His tattooed skin glistened, the depiction of the Mexican man’s
Mutt eBook Page 6