“My lips are sealed.” Light faded from the boy’s eyes as he came to terms with what he had to do. The body stretched before them nearly tripled his weight, but it didn’t matter. He’d disposed of bigger. He could do it. Just as long as he didn’t look at the face. As long as he didn’t give room to that lightless image. He hooked his arms under the fat corpse’s, keeping his head up.
“They better be.” The muscles around the man’s mouth screwed too tight. Too tense. Too ready to order the boy’s own death.
He didn’t have to say it. Romero wasn’t a man to trade words. You either obeyed or wished you had. That was the leader las calles de Tijuana demanded.
Pollo pulled at the body but stopped at a word from the sallow faced man.
“You’ve been lying to me, Pollo.” Romero’s blood red cap shaded sharp eyes. Eyes that haunted nightmares. Eyes that promised retribution for every sin.
Pollo straightened, tearing his gaze from the still wet knife in Romero’s gnarled hands. The two guards, Gordito and Gordo he called them, pulled themselves up to their full five and a half feet.
Wiping his sweaty palms on his greasy jeans, Pollo faced them and jutted out his chin. Anger gathered like storm clouds in his chest. He wouldn’t cower before them like all the others in the gang. “I’m no liar.”
Romero smiled. Then burst out laughing. A loud cackle that came readily and stopped just as quickly. He crossed his lean arms, rippling with small but taut muscles, and studied the boy.
A terrible urge to shrink under that measuring gaze filled him, and Pollo gritted his teeth.
“You knew that girl from Zona Norte? You knew her and you gave her free china.”
I’d never give her that mierda. She’s too good for that. Pollo forced calm into his veins. “I didn’t.”
Romero’s hawkish nose twisted. “Then who did?”
“I didn’t do it. She wouldn’t take it anyway.” Pollo repeated, fixating his stare at the brick wall of the alleyway. If this was the end so be it. He bit his tongue to keep from saying more. Like how she wasn’t like Romero. How she found good in life and didn’t need an escape. How she was braver than him.
The punch sent him sprawling to his butt. Blood pooled in his mouth. Every survival instinct ingrained from sixteen years of street life kicked in. He didn’t look up, didn’t let himself think. If he thought, he’d lose his temper. If he acted, he’d be dead.
Gordito and Gordo pulled him to his feet.
Romero sneered. “I know you didn’t. You’re too smart for that. And, believe it or not kid, I see you.” His hot breath reeked of onions.
He’s playing mind games, switching up on me. Pollo sucked in his cheeks till his head ached, partly from the blow.
“You’ve been lying to me, Pollo.” Romero’s blood red cap shaded sharp eyes. Eyes that haunted nightmares. Eyes that promised retribution for every sin.
“I see the way you flinch when I tell you to move the bodies. I see you sneer and walk away when everyone else is partying away their lives. I see the anger that fuels you. Makes you man enough to stand up to me.”
Romero’s uppercut dug into his solar plexus.
Pollo jerked forward in the two men’s grasp.
“Mírame!” Romero screamed.
Obeying, Pollo looked up and met his eyes.
“I. Envy. You!” Romero spat.
Taken aback, Pollo waited for the jump to reality. For the monster before him to grow back its second head.
“You can still walk away from this…this damned existence! You can still put it in the rear view.” He pointed the knife to Pollo’s nose. “If I let you.” Madness coated the beaming face. Pure power coursing through his gaze. He threw back his head and cackled.
Itching to shift, to run, to do anything but stand and wait, Pollo hissed a breath through his nose.
“Answer me one riddle,” Romero’s challenge may as well have been a bullet to the head.
Pollo clenched his hands, mustering his bravery to stand steadfast. He didn’t know how to read or write, and he’d never heard, much less solved, a riddle.
“How do the faceless live?”
Pollo paused. What was the man looking for? What answer did he want? A smart one would get him killed. A dumb one would get him killed. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. He thought of the girl Julia and her pretty smile. He thought of life away from here. He thought of not cleaning up others’ sins for a living. Then he smiled.
“We live off the shadows’ of others’ lives.”
“Not we,” the man groaned, low and long.
“We.” Pollo squared back his shoulders. “But the faceless may come to life. If they look with their chest.”
***
“How’d you know the answer, Abuelo?” The boy, the same age Pollo had been when faced with the life-changing question, stiffened and stared.
“I don’t know.” Abuelo sat back and soaked in the sunset. Closing his eyes, the warmth and evening air washed over him, tickling the hairs of his mustache. “Sometimes I think it was in the question. Sometimes I think it was in the moment. Sometimes I think it was just, inside of me.” Opening his eyes, he smiled down at the boy. He had Julia’s fierce eyes.
“Maybe it was all of them.” The boy pushed back the wicker rocking chair, lost in contemplation.
“Maybe it was.” Abuelo examined the front porch and heaved a sigh.
“Dinner.” The singsong voice called from the kitchen window. Turning, he caught sight of mussed cinnamon curls and laughing lips. The little girl jumped back into the kitchen.
“Don’t need to tell me twice.” The youth jumped to his feet.
Standing, Abuelo put an arm on his grandson’s shoulder for stability. Slowly, they made their way to a table draped with a yellow cloth. On top lay bowls of steaming pozole, hot rolls, and cinnamon tea. He piled on small portions, his large lunch still filling his belly.
“So little, Carlos? Get any skinnier, and I’ll have to start calling you Pollo again.” Julia laughed, the sound like bells. She met his gaze and suddenly grew somber. “No. No, I think that wouldn’t fit you anymore.”
A. Faith.
