Dealing in Dreams

by Lilliam Rivera

  He has a hard time completing his sentence. He must have snuck up on Nena when she tried to light our path. We taught her to use the large slabs of crumbled concrete as cover or to walk alongside the multitude of empty buildings. You can never be too sure if another crew is hiding, holding their buffalo stance on a desolate lot, waiting to jump you. We’re here to make sure no one makes false claims on our section of the city. With Déesse living in our neighborhood, life for us is way easier and more comfortable than in other parts of the city. We’ve got the best boydega clubs and a better selection at the mercado. Unfortunately, we divide the neighborhood with the Deadly Venoms. A temporary thing until we beat them in the next throwdown. The other sections of the city can’t compare. Crews have tried to muscle in. They fail every time.

  “You’re breaking curfew,” I say. “Everyone in the city is asleep. You need to join them.”

  I inch closer to him. His eyes and lips are awash in blue. Soon his skin will turn an ashy gray. I should have known. He’s an Anonymous Nervous Toiler, an ANT, a toiler addicted to sueños. Sueños are meant only to ease people into sleep and to alleviate pain. Weak people abuse the tabs and end up wanting to live in a euphoric state of fantasy forever. I’ve seen the strongest succumb to the temptation. From the looks of his disheveled state, this ANT’s desperate for another trip into dreamland.

  A message from Truck appears on the screen of my goggles, asking permission to attack. I let her wait. I don’t want the mess. He’ll harm Nena. The ANT’s smirk disappears and becomes a grimace. Just what I thought. He’s in pain. Nothing but an ANT caught up in the sueño cycle, where there are never enough tabs to keep him going. I have no pity.

  “Okay, relax. We can work this out. I’ll help you find the person you are looking for.” I slowly lower my tronic. He loosens his grip on Nena. He’s doing exactly what I want him to do. That’s right. Keep thinking you’re winning this fight, ANT, keep dreaming.

  “See, I’m listening to you,” I say. “No problem.”

  His stormy eyes are so focused on the tronic, he doesn’t notice how my other hand reaches behind for my baton.

  “Legs up,” I say calmly to Nena.

  Kneeling, I throw my baton toward his leg just as Nena pulls up hers. The baton hits his ankle with a loud thump. He buckles down in pain while Nena manages to break free. As I step to him, the ANT rushes toward me. I don’t wait to see if he has a weapon. I grab hold of his arm and kick him where my baton landed. The pain is enough to cause him to cringe. While holding his hand, I turn away from him, pull him toward my back, and bend my knees. He’s lighter than I thought, light enough to flip. His head makes a horrible smacking sound as the ground knocks the wind out of him. Without missing a beat, Truck catches up to us, straddles him, and gives him a punch to the side of his head. As quickly as it began, the ANT is out for the count. Too easy.

  I’m only a few feet away from him, and his stench makes my eyes tear. I adjust my goggles to cover my nose. This ANT is our third victim of the night. He better be my last.

  “I didn’t know he was behind me. I swear, Chief Rocka,” Nena says. “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t get mad at me. I didn’t see him. It’s not my fault.”

  “Shut up, soldier! You should know better than to let an ANT take hold of you,” Truck yells at her. “You’re never going to be a true Mal Criada. We should send you right back where we found you.”

  Nena tries to muffle her cries, nearly hyperventilating with the effort.

  “Do your thing, Nena,” I say firmly. She’s the youngest in our outfit. She has to wise up. Get hard or get dumped.

  Nena wipes her tears with the back of her hand while Truck looms over her. She removes her bomber jacket and ties it around her waist, exposing her thin arms covered in thick metal cuffs similar to the gold cuffs I wear. She puts on her gloves and walks over to the ANT. She empties his pockets.

  “He got used tabs,” Nena says in a shaky voice. “Garbage. Garbage. Garbage. Wait. There is an object around his neck.”

  She pulls out her knife to release the item.

  “Can I keep this?” she asks.

  Nena dangles a necklace in front of me—a miniature black fist charm hangs from a crude leather cord. Wait. I’ve seen this charm before. Where? I scan my head, going over the other gangs. Is it an emblem from another crew? No. I’ve never seen anyone rock this fist. So strange.

  “Give me that.” Truck grabs the piece from Nena.

  Truck is never one to play it cool. If she’s not unleashing blood on an enemy, she’s turning on those who are close to her. It’s hard to keep her anger in check. We’ve been together since we were recruited by one of Déesse’s scouts when we were seven, almost ten years ago. I vaguely remember my recruiter. She had a nice smile. There was nothing hard about her, not what you would expect from a person whose job was to find the roughest. I never saw her again. She must be in the Towers. Recruiters continue to go station to station, assessing families with daughters. Not every girl is selected. You can’t be sickly or harbor any weird flaws. Only a lucky few can catch a break. The girls who aren’t selected must figure out how to make themselves useful—work in the sueño factories, feed the soldiers.

  “What are you looking at?” Truck yells.

  Nena quickly moves away from Truck after getting caught staring at the guy. There’s not a day that goes by without Nena getting scolded for not paying attention. She quickly gets distracted. Nena searches for members of her family—an aunt perhaps, a distant cousin? As Nena tells it, she woke up one day and her parents and younger brother were gone. A note was left with the word “Cemi.” Nothing else. How can a family just pack up and head toward violence and uncertainty in Cemi Territory when Déesse provides us with everything? Nena’s family is probably dead by now.

  I went through a similar period when I was Nena’s age. My sister did the same thing to me. She left without so much as a word when I was six. I didn’t even get the courtesy of a note. Ten years ago. I don’t feel the loss. Once a person crosses the border, they are as good as dead. The crew is Nena’s only family and mine.

  Nena snaps a picture of the ANT. I watch as she taps with frustration at her Codigo5G, cursing how the equipment isn’t working right. The Codigo will scan faces of Mega City residents and see if there’s a match. I listen for noise. Any person hiding might be connected to him. It’s deadly quiet. We are alone on this street. Truck twirls the necklace. A slight feeling of anxiety grows inside of me. I can’t place the fist.

  “His name is drawing up blank,” Nena says. She cocks her head to the side. Nena has the tendency to end her sentences as if she’s asking a question and not answering one. “Searching the other libraries? I’m not having much luck. He has no people. I’ll do a search on the necklace.”

  Nena takes another picture. I adjust my choker and stroke the embossed LMC lettering, a gift given to me by one of Déesse’s assistants after our last throwdown. I study the ANT. His appearance holds no clue, just dirt and blue lips cracked from dryness. His body jerks from sueño withdrawal. Most men will show their preferred gang with ink on their right arm. His arms are bare.

  “Whoa,” Nena says. “You’re not going to believe this. Seriously? This is crazy.”

  “Spit it out,” I say.

  “The necklace belongs to the Ashé Ryders.”

  My heart sinks.

  “The Ashé Ryders,” Truck says. “There’s no way this skinny mocoso is associated with the Ashé. No way.”

  “Have you ever met an Ashé?” Nena asks. “In the flesh?”

  Nena instantly regrets asking the question after the scowl Truck throws her way for trying to start a conversation. No one in my crew or anyone we know has run into an Ashé Ryder. The stories on the Ashé are legendary, from conjuring natural elements to destroy their enemies to burning their dissenters alive. The tales are bogeyman stories, though, told to keep people in check. Apparently, the Ashé Ryders were a regular crew until they started to get too
big. This happened way before I was born. I learned about the Ryders history while training in the camp to become a soldier. Greed is what Déesse said was the root of their collapse. They were run out of Mega City many, many years ago for going against the people and starting a riot. Now they’re in Cemi Territory, or what’s left of them. No one ventures outside of Mega City for fear of running into an Ashé. Déesse’s army has kept the borders tight and everyone in Mega City safe within. The degenerates who live outside in Cemi Territory serve only as reminders of how lost they are in their brutality. There is no sense of community, only violence. The same violence almost destroyed Mega City. Ashé Ryders are no different from the hundreds who chose anarchy over order.

  “We should try to wake him up,” I say. “Ask him where he got it.”

  “Why?” Truck says, annoyed. “He probably stole it.”

  “Are you questioning me?”

  Truck steps down while Nena stares nervously at her boots. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Truck walks over to me, speaking quietly so that Nena will not hear.

  “Nalah, we are both beat. We need to chill,” she says. “This ANT probably found the necklace and wanted to trade it for more sueños. I’m telling you, he’s not worth it. Right now all I see is an addict. We follow Déesse’s orders and slip him a tab so he won’t crash too hard from withdrawal. Okay?”

  I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. I’m letting my emotions cloud the correct action to take. Truck is right. But I can’t seem to shake that I’m missing a sign. Why is this silly necklace stirring doubt in me? As if this addict holds information I should know. It’s dumb. I must be tired. It’s been a long night. The sun will soon rise. Breaking night will be over. I need to check in on Shi and Smiley.

  I study the ANT again. His grimace stays plastered on his face. I’m being paranoid. It’s a simple charm representing a crew that no longer holds any power in Mega City. The old-school ways of doing things were destroyed in the Big Shake. The past is truly dead. There’s only Las Mal Criadas, our leader, Déesse, and my goal to make it to the Towers.

  “Okay,” I say. “Mark him.”

  Nena takes out her cap and tags our letters on his left arm, our normal procedure whenever we run into a guy with no allegiance. When he comes to, he’ll forever bear the mark of the LMC on him, an indicator to everyone we crushed him first.

  “I’ll take that.”

  Truck sulks as she reluctantly hands me the necklace. Although the black fist charm is small, it weighs heavily in the palm of my hand.

  This is my city, and I intend to defend it to the end. There are throwdowns to bet on and boydegas to party in. No one goes without, not even the addicts. There is a citywide distribution of food pellets. An abundance of underground stations for families to live in. You cobble together a crew of strong girls and create a life worth living. It’s simple. This is due to Déesse’s vision. We owe her. Maybe this necklace will prove valuable.

  Nena creeps over with a shy smile, the remnants of her assault already forgotten. Her eyes are large and green, almost alienlike. She’s tiny for an eleven-year-old. I want to protect her. Her skills for soldiering are sorely lacking. I’m giving her a chance because I believe, in time, she can be a strong LMC. It’s probably a weakness on my part.

  “It’s pretty,” she says. “You think Déesse will want it?”

  I rub her shaved head, feeling the tattoo still raw from when we branded her last week. Her green eyes pop against her sunburnt skin.

  “He didn’t hurt me,” she says when I inspect the emerging black-and-blue marks around her neck left by the ANT. The bruises will only get worse by tomorrow. At least she’ll have a good story to tell the others.

  “Sure he didn’t,” I tease. “It seemed as if you were handling the situation, especially when he had his arms wrapped around you.”

  I’m reluctant to walk away.

  “Do you think it’s enough to get us to the Towers?” Nena asks. “We’ve beaten those other crews. That’s got to be enough.”

  “Stop asking Chief Rocka stupid questions,” says Truck. “You’re never going to live in the Towers. You can’t even follow orders. Keep quiet and move.”

  Nena scurries to gather what’s left on the ANT to sell. I remember when I was as young as Nena, a skinny thing trying to roll with the big girls. I got beat down so much when I spoke out of turn. I soon learned to punch first and punch hard.

  It was the fight in me that made me Chief Rocka.

  In our weekly newsletter from Déesse, there are always images of former Mega City residents who took their chances in Cemi. True violence. Body parts. Real hunger. The Ashé Ryders have stayed in Cemi Territory with the other degenerates for years. Now is not the time for them or anyone to appear.

  “Let’s roll.”

  “If the Ashé Ryders are itching to creep into Mega City,” Truck yells, “they’re going to have to contend with Las Mal Criadas!”

  “Mal,” I yell.

  “Criiii-adas!” Nena and Truck respond with our signature call.

  I shove the necklace into my pack and head toward the direction where Smiley and Shi should be waiting.

  CHAPTER 3

  BOYDEGA DREAMS

  We stand in front of the entrance to the Luna Club. Doña Chela squints at us. She wears her usual uniform of a grungy bathrobe and slippers. She’s an old-timer. We’ve lost many bets trying to guess how old she is. Doña refuses to reveal her age. It doesn’t help that she’s missing various teeth and that her hair is a disheveled nest dyed a putrid green.

  “Bendición, Doña.” I ask for her blessing. My tiny show of respect is mandatory. She owns the most popular boydega club in Mega City. I must shower her with love even when my crew is one of her regulars.

  “My girls been playing rough tonight, huh?” Doña inspects us with her lime-green eyes made to match her hair. I wonder how much she was willing to trade to get those colored contacts. Those who live in the Towers love changing the color of their eyes. Doña probably has a Tower connection for petty beauty accessories like this one. She points a chubby finger at me. “Where are the rest of your girls? Chief Rocka, you should let them have fun, too.”

  Provocative images of guys in various forms of undress cover the walls of the boydega from their latest calendar, the Papi Chulos of Luna Club. One papi flexes his muscles, another admires himself in a full-length mirror, and another sucks on a lollipop. When I was young and lived in the training camp, papi chulo trading cards were given to those on good behavior. I collected the cards and traded with others, professing my undying love for my favorite. My preference always leaned toward the papi dressed as a scholar by way of thick, black-rimmed glasses and an open book on his lap. He looked smarter and hence more approachable. The chulos here are kept forever young with a fresh crop of candidates willing to strike a pose.

  I peel off my jacket, remove my cuff, and thrust my arm under the detector. I can’t shake the uneasiness I’ve felt since the run-in with the ANT. I sent Nena, Smiley, and Shi back home. Nena’s carelessness caused the rest of them to get screwed out of papi action.

  Doña Chela offers a toothless grin when the mandatory bell rings the rank of our crew. Only the top-five gangs gain VIP entrance to this particular club. Everyone else who wants to party in the Luna Club must contend with begging for access. If you’re not VIP, expect to wait hours to get in, if you get in at all. The embedded numerical rank placed under my skin is proof of our worth. With every throwdown, Déesse and her inner circle determine your crew’s rank. There are currently about fifteen registered crews in Mega City, each ranked in order. Unregistered crews are not worth a mention.

  I’ve been to underground boydegas when Las Mal Criadas were just starting five years ago. The chulos were so ugly and dirty. There are Mega City residents who don’t approve of boydegas, which is hard to believe. Instead they cut loose with the Rumberos over by the water. A religious group, the Rumberos spend way too much time dwelling in the
spiritual mumbo jumbo instead of reality. They are a small, forgettable bunch.

  The Luna Club is legit. There’s good food, music, and potent drinks. There are sueño tabs too, if you are into that. My crew stays far away from sueños. We keep our minds clear of manufactured dreams. It’s a decree I made when I started the gang. I’ve seen firsthand how sueños can destroy a person.

  I won’t stay long tonight, though, just long enough to return to my normal self, not shook because of a dumb charm.

  “What other mocosos are here trying to uglify your home, Doña?” Truck asks as she checks in her weapon. Truck loves the club. Here, the chulos think Truck is the bomb. She plays drinking games with them or wrestles. She’s generous with the papis to the point one summer I cut her off for trading too much of her sueño supply. Sueños are our top currency. With every throwdown won, we get paid in tabs. Since Déesse provides us with food and we carve our own shelter, there is no need for old-school money. Still, we can’t spend tabs carelessly. That summer the battles were pretty dull, so Truck went kind of nuts with boredom. She handed out tabs as candy. It got so bad I had to block her from entering the club for a whole month. Nowadays I allow her a little bit of leeway. Not much.

  “Nobody’s here, just a couple of my girls. Quiet. I think everyone is getting ready for this weekend.” Doña accepts my sueño tabs and chucks them into her purse. She calls gang members, no matter what affiliate, her girls. Doña doesn’t have any children of her own, although she gives a motherly vibe. I don’t have that type of relationship with her and I don’t let my soldiers be seen that way. We don’t need mothers. We only need each other.

  “We’ve got a special tonight,” she says. “If you buy two, you get the third chulo at half price.”

  There won’t be any sales on the day of the throwdown. In fact, she’ll make renting a papi twice as expensive. That’s when everyone will want papi action. I’m glad the club is empty. For the most part, boydegas are neutral territory. No one is supposed to fight. Of course, things get stirred up from time to time. How could they not when you have rival crews hanging in one spot? Not tonight. Everyone will save their aggression for the throwdown this weekend.