Mutt eBook

by McKenzie, Shane

  Patrick ran both hands through his hair. “They killed a man today. Just shot him like it wasn’t shit. I was at my job, just wanted to tell my boss I was quitting, that’s all. But Chapa… he shot this guy. The dude was giving me shit, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

  “That’s how it is now. Didn’t use to be that way. These youngsters… they’re dangerous. I don’t think you understand what you got into, esé. But it’s too late now. You want out? You get out like that.” He pointed to Chuy’s grave. “That’s it, homie. Krystal didn’t tell you that shit, did she?”

  Patrick didn’t answer.

  “Ain’t the first time. That girl—”

  “We done? It’s hot as fuck out here.”

  Jaimé glared at him for a minute, and Patrick thought for a second the man would attack him again, but he just nodded, reached out and patted Patrick on the shoulder. “Si, let’s get outta here.”

  As they left Chuy to rot in the desert, Patrick leaned his face out the window and let the hot air sweep over his skin. He couldn’t help but wonder about Krystal, couldn’t help but let Jaimé’s words get to him. How many of these men had Krystal brought in herself? And was Simon one of them?

  Patrick desperately wanted to go back home, wanted to see his mother, explain to her what had happened, and hope she didn’t disown him. But Jaimé took him back to Jesús.

  “I’m sorry, esé. Orders.”

  When they pulled up, Krystal was sitting on the curb outside of the house. She stood as the Cadillac pulled into the driveway, wiped her hands on the back of her jean shorts. Jaimé looked over at Patrick, had his mouth open as if to say something, but just patted him on the shoulder.

  Patrick hopped out of the vehicle and approached her. She immediately wrapped her arms around him, but he found it hard to return the embrace. Her face pulled away and she looked into his eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “No, not really. I’ve seen two people die today. In the last couple of days, that makes three total. Found out if I ever wanna leave Los Locos, I’ll die too. Funny how you didn’t mention any of that shit.”

  She looked over her shoulder, then back to him. “Come over here.”

  She tried to lead him by the hand, and Patrick pulled away, but followed anyway. They went down the street and into an empty alleyway, but the graffiti of Los Locos was ever present.

  “I didn’t have a fuckin’ choice, all right?”

  “You didn’t have a choice? You invited me to a party, and the next fuckin’ thing I know, I’m initiated into this fucking gang? Fuck you, man.”

  She shook her head. “It was Jesús. He makes me do it. Makes me recruit for Los Locos. If you don’t join, he sees you as an enemy, and that’s a lot worse, believe me.”

  “So that’s what this was all about? The bus stop, all that shit… you were just trying to recruit me? But why me, I don’t understand.”

  “You’re a strong-lookin’ Mexican, simple as that. And you proved your worth when you took that ass beating.” She stared at the wall, hand on her forehead. “Jesús, he’s… he’s crazy, man. Got everybody scared. And he wants to expand Los Locos… wants to fuckin’ take over everything.” She stepped toward him. “I didn’t want to, Patrick. But it didn’t mean shit to me… not at first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean I like you, okay? You’re different… not like all the others. He makes me ride the bus, makes the other girls do it to. We help recruit that way. But after I saw you… I—”

  “I’m not Mexican.” He didn’t know why he said it, but it spilled from his mouth like hot grease.

  She smiled, furrowed her brow. “Don’t be stupid, a’ight. I’m telling you I like you, and—”

  “I’m not kidding, Krystal. I’m… Korean. Well, half anyway. I told you I was Mexican because I didn’t think you’d talk to me if you thought I wasn’t.” He couldn’t read the look on her face, and he felt like running away. “I’m sorry… I never thought any of this would happen. I never thought—”

  She leaned into him and kissed him. “Just stop talking, okay?” She kissed him again.

  “You’re not… I don’t know, turned off by me now?”

  She shook her head, smiled. “Of course not. I said I liked you, didn’t I? If anything, it’s a relief.” But her expression grew darker, and she checked the opening to the alley. “But you have to be careful. If Jesús finds out… he’ll kill you. You have to leave, have to get out of here.”

  Patrick had already been thinking about it. Thinking about running home, telling his mom everything, and the two of them getting the hell out of town, finding someplace—any place—other than here.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll… I’ll make something up, I don’t know. Try to give you enough time to get the fuck outta here. And then… ” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the pink cell phone. “Take this. I know the number and I’ll call you. Then I’ll come find you.”

  He took the phone, squinted at her. “You will? But what about—”

  “I’m tired, Patrick. It used to be different, but now… I don’t know. I’m done with it.”

  “What y’all motherfuckas doin’ over here?” Simon stood at the end of the alley, looking in at them with hard eyes. His face was bruised, a small bandage over his nose. “Y’all up to no good up in here?”

  “Just talkin.’ That okay with you?” Krystal said.

  “Not really. Jesús wants to talk to you, homeboy. Got some more work to do. Break time’s over, nigga.”

  Patrick shot Krystal a look, but she grabbed his hand, intertwined her fingers with his and led him out of the alley.

  “We know the way, puto,” she said to Simon, who glared at Patrick as they passed.

  “Chop chop, motherfucka. Don’t wanna keep El Rey waitin’, know what I’m sayin.’ “

  Patrick paused for a minute, but Krystal pulled him along. Chop chop? Did he hear something?

  Simon trailed them the whole way back to Jesús’ office, and when they got to the door, he grabbed Krystal by the shoulder, motioned for Patrick to enter. “We’ll wait out here, homeboy. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Go ahead,” Krystal said.

  “Bitch, he ain’t got no motherfuckin’ choice.” Simon scowled at Patrick. “I got her, dawg. I’ll take good care of her.” He leaned over and grabbed her ass, smiled at Patrick.

  “You motherf—”

  “Patrick! Get in here!” Jesús’ voice exploded from the other side of the door, stopped Patrick in his tracks.

  Patrick wanted to feel Simon’s face against his knuckles, but Jesús called him again. Krystal gave him a reassuring smile, nodded toward the door.

  The buzz of a tattoo gun filled the air as Patrick entered the office. Jesús sat in a chair, straddling the back of it, Ralph concentrating with his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he ran the ink across the man’s skin. The stab wound on Jesús’ shoulder had red-stained gauze taped over it.

  “Come sit,” Jesús said.

  Patrick did as he was told, trying to keep his cool. He figured that even if Simon did hear something, even if he knew Patrick wasn’t Mexican, there was no way he had already told Jesús about it. Still, though he reassured himself of this over and over again in his head, it did nothing to calm his nerves.

  “Jaimé tells me you did a good job, hermano. Even I can admit that wasn’t an easy first job. I’m proud of you.”

  Ralph wiped Jesús’ back with a hand towel, inhaled, and the cherry on the end of his joint brightened. “Ya terminé, El Rey.”

  Jesús stood, strolled across the room to the standing mirror, waved Patrick over to join him. He turned so the tattoo was reflected—Chuy’s face, amongst a crowded forest of inked faces. “You see these mayates, Patrick? They all challenged me and failed. But I
’m proud of them, all of them. And I’ll love them forever.”

  Patrick wondered if these were the men Jaimé spoke of, the OGs.

  Jesús nodded to Ralph who set the tattoo gun on the desk, clamped the joint between his lips, and wheeled toward the door. When the door swung, Patrick tried to catch a glimpse of Simon and Krystal, but saw only an empty hallway.

  “There’s a lot of work to be done, Patrick. A whole lot. I got big plans, esé. But you know what we need before I can make that happen?” He paused as if expecting an answer, but Patrick only stared at him. “Pinché dinero, güey. Money, esé.”

  “Yeah, okay… money.”

  “That’s where you come in, homie. I need you to make a little run for me, for us, your family. Can you do that?”

  “A run?”

  “That’s right. I’m sendin’ you off with Simon. He tells me he knows a spot, says y’all can be in and out. I need you to hit that lick, Patrick. We good?”

  With Simon?

  “Where are we goin’? What—”

  “None of that shit matters to you, boy. I tell you to do something, you do it without hesitation. I don’t like fuckin’ questions.”

  “I’m sorry… yes, I’ll do it. We’re good, El Rey.” Patrick put on a stone face, did his best tough guy impression.

  “That’s better. Simon will fill you in on the way there. And Patrick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t fuckin’ disappoint me, a’ight?”

  “I, I won’t.”

  Jesús waved him away. “Tell Simon to come talk to me before y’all go. And when y’all are finished, I’ll give you the rest of the night off. Let you get back to Krystal’s bed.” He smiled, sat on the edge of his desk. “Bitch got a sweet pussy, don’t she? Out of all these bitches we got runnin’ around here, she’s still my favorite flavor.”

  Patrick held his breath, tried not to let the words get to him. His fists shook at his sides, but he held his poker face.

  “All right, homie. Go on.”

  Patrick nodded, and had to force himself not to run out of the office. On the other side of the door, Simon stood there waiting for him, but Krystal was gone. A cigarette was pinched between Simon’s fingers, and as he brought it to his mouth and took a long drag, he smiled at Patrick. Smoke streamed from his nostrils and he stepped forward, put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

  “Looks like me and you gonna be workin’ together, yeah?” He spit into his palm, put the cigarette out on it. “You ain’t gonna be givin’ me no trouble, right? I know I’ve been givin’ you shit, homeboy, but it’s all love. But today? You got a problem with me, let it go. We got work to do.”

  “I’ll do what needs to be done, don’t even worry about it.” Patrick said the words, but didn’t believe them himself. From what Jesús had said, it sounded like maybe they were doing a quick breaking and entering. He didn’t like it, but he could handle that. Just get it over with, do the job, and then get him and his mom the fuck out of town. “Jesús wants to see you.”

  Simon patted him on the back, chuckled, then disappeared behind the door.

  Patrick stared at the shut door for a moment, wondering where Krystal was. A buzz tickled his thigh, and he reached into his pocket. He had forgotten about the cell phone, the screen indicating that there was a new text message. After unlocking the keypad, he tapped the message to open it.

  “Good luck. Don’t let Simon get to you, he ain’t shit. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Patrick wondered why she couldn’t just tell him that in person, and at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to feel her lips on his again, give him something good to think about while he rode with Simon to whatever job Jesús had in mind.

  He walked through the house, hoping to run into her somewhere, but the house was full of the other men and women of Los Locos, all too busy with whatever they were doing to do more than nod at him.

  I hope you’ve got a plan, Krystal.

  When they pulled up to Patrick’s complex, he turned in his seat and glared at Simon. “What the fuck are we doin’ here?”

  “In and out. We grab the shit, we leave. Simple. Don’t think anyone’s home, so we should be good.” Simon tucked a pistol into his waistband.

  “Then what’s that for?”

  “Just in case, nigga. You ready?”

  Patrick peered up at the complex. A lot of people live here, he thought. This is just a coincidence, that’s all. He turned back to Simon. “Well, what about me? Don’t I get a piece too?”

  “Won’t need it. You got me and my girlfriend,” he said patting the gun. “Don’t worry.”

  They slid out of the car and headed stra’ight for the stairwell. As they passed the first two floors, Patrick started getting more nervous. Simon was behind him, quiet, and when Patrick tried to stop, he felt the cold barrel press against the back of his head.

  “Keep movin,’ motherfucka.”

  “What the fuck, man?”

  “I know what you are, pinché pendejo. Heard every word. And El Rey knows too, or at least he does now after I told him.” He snickered, cocked the hammer back. “See, we was gonna hit up the gas station, take the cash out the register, but once Jesús found out about a fuckin’ chino in our family, the plans changed.”

  “Look, man. Simon. It’s… it’s not what it seems. I didn’t mean to… to—”

  “Shut the fuck up and keep walkin’, bitch. You want to come into my family and lie? Pretend to be Mexican, motherfucka? You ain’t fuckin’ worthy, you hear me?” He shoved Patrick in the back of the head with the gun barrel. “Now fuckin’ walk.”

  Patrick knew that if he led Simon into his apartment, and his mom was home, things would get ugly fast. He prayed that she was at work. He wanted to be brave, to fight off Simon right then and there and not give him the chance to hurt her, but the gun pressed to his head wouldn’t let him. So he walked, scraped the bottom of his sneakers across the flat carpet of the hallway until he reached his door.

  “Open it up, chino. Before I splatter your motherfuckin’ chow mein all over the wall.”

  Patrick’s cold, clammy hands wrapped around the knob, and he turned to look over his shoulder. “P-please… ”

  The barrel pressed into the back of his head so hard, his forehead was forced into the door. Simon pushed on it, grinded the metal into the back of Patrick’s skull. “Open. The fucking. Door.”

  But before Patrick could, he heard rapid footsteps from inside. He wanted to shout a warning, but didn’t have time before the door swung in and his mother’s face appeared there, her brow furrowed. “Patrick? Where have you—”

  Simon shoved him from behind and Patrick slammed into his mother, knocking her backward and nearly off her feet. She scowled at him, but then her eyes looked past him and her facial expression slackened.

  “Look at that shit,” Simon said as he pointed the gun at her. “It’s true. A fuckin’ chink playin’ like he’s Mexican. I’ll admit it, chino, you had me fooled too.”

  “Who are… what… g-get out of my home!”

  Patrick had turned to face Simon now, his mother at his side. He had his hands out in surrender, pleaded with Simon with his eyes.

  “Patrick, shut this bitch up before I do. Her voice makes my finger twitch, know what I’m sayin.’ “

  “Mom… I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.”

  She glanced at him, then back to Simon.

  “That’s right, bitch. Your chinky son decided he wanted to play gangsta, but he’s about to find out the shit ain’t a game.”

  “Patrick? W-what is this?”

  Tears poured from his eyes now. “I’m so sorry, mom. I’m so sorry.”

  With the gun still on Patrick’s mother, Simon turned his eyes on Patrick, bared his teeth. “And you put your fuckin’ chino dick inside my girl? You lied to our faces and
fucked my bitch? Is you crazy, nigga!” With every word, he thrust the gun forward, the veins in his neck pressing tight under his skin. He growled, raked the nails of his free hand over his face.

  Patrick glanced at his mother, but her full attention was on Simon, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes squinted and swimming with tears.

  “Fuck that!” Simon stepped toward Patrick, clocked him in the side of the head with the barrel of the pistol.

  Patrick hit the ground hard, and as he tried to blink the stars away, Simon kicked him in the middle of the face, pain erupting, blinding him, filling his nose and mouth with blood. He writhed on the ground, moaned.

  “I’ll show you what’s up, motherfucka. I’ll show you how Los Locos fuckin’ do it, bitch!”

  Patrick’s vision was blurry, but his mother’s screams penetrated his brain. He tried to blink away the fuzziness, but it wouldn’t leave his eyes; he could tell from the unfocused shapes in front of him that Simon had his arms wrapped around Patrick’s mom.

  “Always wanted to fuck a Chinese bitch, you know that, Patrick?”

  Patrick heard the tinkling of a belt buckle being loosened. His mother screamed, and as Patrick’s vision started to clear up, he saw her flailing her arms and legs, Simon’s arm wrapped around her torso, his hand at her chest, rubbing and squeezing.

  “G-get off me… get o-off… ”

  Simon let her go long enough to grab her by the throat. Her clawed hands went to her neck, and she choked, kicked her legs. “This bitch know karate, esé?” He let her go, hit her twice in the face, and as she fell forward, thrust his knee up. She grunted, her head whipping back and blood blossoming on her face, then she crumpled to the ground. “Nope, guess not.” Simon chuckled as he finished unbuckling his belt.

  “You… you mother… f-fucker… I’ll kill you.” Patrick forced himself to his feet. He stared into Simon’s face, ignoring the gun pointed at his head. “Let her go.”

  “Nah, homeboy. I’m gonna pump this bitch so full of brown cum, the next baby she has will be Mexican, you feel me?”