by Amber Hart
“Anything you can remember will help.”
I wait a few minutes, so long, an eternity, it seems for him to finally hang up. Javier turns back to me. Places the phone in my hand. His eyes are terrifying, brutal, ferocious.
“I have to go now,” he says to me.
Half of his food is uneaten. I don’t argue, though.
“Thank you, Melissa.”
He kisses me roughly and leaves.
26
javier
I will find them. I will find every single gang member that ever tormented Diego and I’ll torment them right back with my bare hands. Thanks to Faith’s description, I now have an idea of what the cartel members look like. Lot of good that does me since they’re in Cuba. But the gang is here. I have access to MS-13. I need to use this to my advantage.
I hop in my truck. Gun it to the warehouse.
I will ruin them. I will be a sleeper cell in their powerful army. I will detonate and they will burn.
They didn’t have the right to take Diego away.
They didn’t do their homework well enough. They didn’t bother to look up his family. They don’t know what killing Diego has left behind. They should always consider the aftermath of carnage. That would have been smart of them, to know what they’re up against. To know just who they’ve pissed off by ending a life. But they didn’t assess the damage done.
This is my advantage.
I pull up to the warehouse. Notice the gang members hanging out by the door. Young and strong. Tattooed and packing heat. I recognize Monkey and Colt right away. Colt with his shaved head and pudgy face and Monkey with his lean, short body. I’ve never seen the other one standing next to them.
“You must be the new guy,” the one I don’t recognize says, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He laughs likes he’s made a joke.
“Yep,” I say.
I step up to the door but he blocks it. He already knows about me, so he should know that I’m a part of the gang now. This looks like a guy who’s intimidated by the newest member. Does he think that he needs to show me how tough he is?
“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks.
I’ll take that as a yes.
“Yeah, inside. Muévete de mi camino.”
He really shouldn’t mess with me right now.
“Lay off,” Monkey says. “He’s new, yeah. You’re not, got it. We done with this?”
Monkey’s trying to talk him off the ledge, but I’m kind of hoping he doesn’t move. Because my conversation with Faith left me angry, and Wink isn’t here to take my anger out on. This guy is the next best thing. He’s still a gang member. Maybe not one that ever messed with Diego, but a member all the same. An enemy just as well.
“He wants to walk right in like he owns the place. Not even sayin’ a word to us. He needs to show respect,” dude says.
He wants to teach me about respect? Pitiful.
“He didn’t pass out during initiation, Jewels,” Monkey says to him. “Careful.”
Jewels is taken by surprise, but only for a moment before his face returns to stone.
“Should that scare me?” he asks.
He wants me to say sorry, probably. Never happening. There’s only one way to solve this.
I step forward. He reaches for his gun. I quickly bend his wrist backwards. He screams in agony. I don’t stop there. I grab his gun and toss it aside.
“You will move out of my way next time,” I say as I bend his wrist more.
He tries to punch me with his other fist, but I dodge it easily.
I take note of Monkey and Colt. Make sure they’re not gonna make me fight them, too. They aren’t. Colt is smiling and Monkey is saying, “I warned you, Jewels. Always have to be the big guy. Shouldn’t have been a prick.”
They’re on my side.
Too bad I’m not on theirs.
“On the count of three your wrist will break. I want you to think ’bout that next time you consider pullin’ a gun on me.”
There’s something animalistic about telling your prey exactly how you plan to hurt them. He needs to know that he can’t just pull a gun on me if he feels like it. I need to have the upper hand from the beginning. I can’t afford to fall behind.
“One,” I say, bending his wrist farther.
“Don’t,” he pleads, but it falls on deaf ears.
“Two,” I say.
I hate this part. I hate that I enjoy this. That the need for revenge is so strong that I have to release it.
“Three,” I say.
Snap.
His wrist breaks underneath my fingertips. I let him go. He falls to his knees, clutching his hand. He throws a million curses out at me in Spanish.
I smile, though I feel dead inside.
“I will go inside when I want to,” I say, making eye contact. “I earned it.”
A million hits from your gang decided so.
More curse words from him.
I step past. Open the door. Take a seat on the couch.
“Did you really have to break it?” Monkey asks, sitting next to me.
Colt stops behind us. Makes a call. He says something about what I’ve done. I don’t know who he’s talking to.
“He was ready to pull a gun, Monkey. Did I have much of a choice?”
Monkey laughs. “I knew from the moment you pulled a gun on us in the parking lot the second night we saw you that you were needed here. We have too many guys like Jewels back there. All talk and intimidation. Don’t get me wrong, he’ll do damage if necessary, but mostly he runs his mouth. You don’t. You get your point across. You don’t need many words to do it, either. That’s what MS-13 needs.”
What they need is to show me Wink.
“What you did back there was crazy. All slow and methodical. You never even hit him,” Monkey says. “If you can use that sort of power towards our enemies, you’ll be a good asset.”
Monkey pulls out a cigarette. Lights it.
“You gotta keep it together, though. Save it for our enemies, not members. We can’t have loose screws.”
“He’s right,” El Asesino says, coming into view. “So my question is, are you a loose piece?”
Yes. “No.”
He smiles. “Let’s hope not.”
“Jewels brought it on himself,” Monkey says, sticking up for me.
Maybe Monkey and I could be friends in another life. He has the instant devotion of a real friend. Doesn’t matter that he’s known Jewels longer. We clicked for some reason. But we can’t be friends. Not ever. He belongs to MS-13 in a real way. He helped deliver the blows that gained me acceptance. He answers to the one that I’m tracking down. There’s no changing that.
El Asesino nods. “Okay. But don’t break any other brothers.”
This, he directs at me. An order.
I won’t agree.
“Let’s talk about your job,” El Asesino says. “I want you to stick close to these guys for now.” He motions to Colt and Monkey. “They’ll show you around. You need a few weeks to learn our territory, our enemies, our profits. Got it?”
“Yep,” I reply.
He has just given me my timeframe.
“I got something to do next week,” I tell him, remembering the construction job I have lined up. “I can start right afterward.”
He throws a wad of cash at Monkey. “Take care of the jobs I gave you this week. Peón will join you next week.”
It’s settled. I have a month before they’ll make me go on real runs. I need to find Wink before then. I won’t hurt people for MS-13.
Which also means that Wink has a month. Four weeks to accidentally show himself to me.
Unless I find him first.
27
melissa
Three days.
Two missed phone calls.
One burning question.
Where is Javier?
I’ve tried his cell. I’ve waited for a return call. I’ve heard nothing.
Maybe Faith didn’t give Jav
ier closure. Maybe what he got instead was more pain. Or maybe he just needs time.
Time is all I seem to have lately.
Waiting, waiting, waiting.
The doctor said it would take six months to know if the cancer has come back. Six months to find out if the cells metastasized and spread to other areas, namely my lymph nodes, where they would be hard to fight. I would need more than surgeries then. I would need chemotherapy. I would maybe need radiation. I would be sick for months and years and it’s not something I like to think about.
“Melissa, are you hearing me?”
Yes, a thousand times yes. I can’t hear anything but the doctor’s words over and over again.
“The cancer might come back. . . .”
I look at the doctor. Glasses and long nose. He’s been telling people for years about cancer. Every week he walks into this office and announces whether a person can go on living freely, or whether they have to be hooked up to IV’s and medicines and live in hospitals. He must have a hard life, too. He must hate having to deliver this news to me. He, with his many years on me, has seen a lot of life.
I don’t know if I ever will.
I will wait. I will wonder. I will doubt.
“I’ll see you in six months for more blood work,” he says.
He smiles like he wants me to accept that this is the way things are.
“We’ll fight it together,” he says, taking my hand. His fingers are freezing. “I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
I believe that he means it.
He’s removed my cancerous cervix. Ovaries, tubes, and uterus, too, just to be safe.
I can never have children. I don’t even know if I ever wanted them, but now that choice has been taken from me before I had a chance to decide.
The doctor lets go of my hand.
“Stay strong,” he says.
And wait, I tell myself.
Six months.
It’s been five.
This last month is both dragging on and going too fast. I want to know already. But then again, I don’t want to know. Not if it’s bad. I’m a mess either way.
Three days of not talking to Javier may not seem long, but when I only have a month left before the world could potentially crash around me, it feels like forever.
I wonder . . . if I told Javier about my cancer, would he run away?
Or stay?
Too bad I’m not brave enough to find out.
He’s here.
No call. No text. At least I don’t think so. I double-check my phone. I’m right. Javier hasn’t sent me any warning that he planned to see me today. But here he is, parking his truck, and walking up my driveway.
I know because I’m sitting down to dinner with my sisters and Mom. Mom actually has time to eat dinner with us before going back to work the night shift.
I wasn’t expecting Javier. Black shirt and rugged jeans, baggy around his legs. His hands tucked into his pockets. His hair blowing around his face in the nighttime breeze.
I like the look of him. Dark, Cuban skin and full lips. Warm brown eyes and square jaw. Tattoos hidden, but I see them in my mind anyway.
I want to run to him. I want to kiss him. This is the effect he has on me. Strong and pulling. Dragging me toward his presence.
My sisters look at me. Out the window. Back to me. “What?” Mom asks, not realizing why the table has fallen silent.
“Melissa’s boyfriend is here,” Megan says to Mom. Turns to me. “You didn’t tell us he was coming.”
“I didn’t know.”
Megan makes a sour face. “Rude. So he just shows up without being invited? Not to mention that he was late last time.”
I break away from the sight of Javier. Stare at Megan.
“If it’s ‘not to mention’ then why mention it?” I ask.
“Because,” Megan says, taking a sip of water. “Shouldn’t he at least be on time?”
“What is it with you?” I sigh, exasperated. “Why are you so uptight all the time?”
The doorbell rings. Mom silently watches the interaction between me and Megan.
“I’ll get it,” Megan says, beginning to stand.
“You will not,” I say. I don’t bother to say it nicely. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but give it a break, okay?”
Megan backs down. “I’m just worried about you. You’ve been sick and now this new boy comes along. How well do we really know him? Is this the right time to have a boyfriend?”
Megan acts more like the mom than Mom does. I wish she would relax.
“I’m fine, Megan.” That might not be true. “I like him a lot. Don’t ruin this for me.” Definitely true.
The doorbell rings again. I get up to answer. Nerves follow me every step of the way.
“Hi,” I say, pulling the door open.
Javier grins. “Hola, mami.”
I step outside and close the door behind me so that we can talk on the porch. In private.
“Bad time?” he asks.
A little. “We’re just eating.”
Javier’s hands move out of his pockets. Reach for me. They stop on my lower back. Pale moonlight kisses my skin, wraps around Javier’s jaw.
“Sorry about the other day,” he says. “I came here in person instead of callin’ ’cause I figured I owed you an apology face to face. I shouldn’t have left you hangin’ like that, especially after you let me talk to Faith. It was just . . .” Javier works to keep his tone normal. “It was just horrible. To hear ’bout it. I thought that I prepared myself for Faith’s words. I had been waitin’ so long to hear them. But when they came, I don’t know.” His jaw twitches, tightens. “I couldn’t deal.”
I’m pretty sure that this is Javier’s way of telling me that he needed time. That it wasn’t me. He needed space.
I’m glad he’s back.
“It’s fine,” I say. It really is. “Wanna go somewhere?”
I would invite him in, but I miss him and I don’t feel like sharing. Also, I don’t want Javier to have to deal with Megan and her overprotectiveness.
“Sí, where to?”
I shrug. Hadn’t thought about it. Just not here.
“There’s this pond down the road,” he says. “You have to walk the trail a little bit, but it’s private. No one will bother us.”
“One second,” I say.
I run inside. Grab my purse.
“Be back later,” I say, not waiting for replies.
I shut the door and hop in Javier’s truck.
“I’ve missed you,” Javier says.
Quietly is how he says it. Looking out the window.
A mad blush sweeps over my entire body. It’s only three words, but they melt my insides.
28
javier
Melissa’s mouth curls into a smile the minute we hit the trail. She’s wearing flat shoes, jean shorts, and a thin white tank top. I can see the outline of her bra when the moon shines just right.
I want to touch her. I want to lay her down in the leaves and kiss her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. I want to feel her fingers on me.
Does she understand what she does to me?
I reach for her. Grab her hand. Lamp posts light our path. Branches spread toward us. A cover of shadowed leaves. Hooting in the distance.
“This place is incredible,” Melissa says.
The path splits off into other paths. Technically, we’re in a local park, but it doesn’t have specific hours, so I figure we can’t get in trouble. Plus, no one comes out here at night. I’ve been a few times on my own. Trying to figure things out. Trying to get over Diego’s death. It hasn’t worked so far, but the park is nice anyway.
“How did you find it?” she asks.
“I worked on a job in the neighborhood across the street,” I explain. “Came over on my lunch break one day.”
I’ve already told Melissa that I work on houses. The contractor who hired me has taught me enough that I swear I could build m
y own house. Everything from tiling floors, to installing drain pipes to wiring electricity. The money is good, when it comes. Jobs aren’t always lined up, though, so sometimes I go weeks without a paycheck.
We reach the pond. It’s lit by a watery beam of reflecting moonlight. I take a seat on the bench. Splinters snag my jeans. The bench is old, with iron legs. Melissa sits next to me. Runs a finger around the outside of a bruise on my forearm. Left over from my initiation.
“Why did you get in a fight that day?” she asks.
Not telling. “No reason.”
“Some reason.” Her eyes find mine.
She holds my stare. Doesn’t let up.
What’s the deal with your scars?
“Are we sharing stories now?” I ask. It’s a low blow. The only fair way.
The thing is, I know she won’t tell me where her scars came from. Melissa has built a barrier one million feet long and equally as high.
Melissa’s face changes to stone. Her eyes to ice. Her palms flatten against the bench.
No, she won’t utter a word, I’m sure. Her reaction at the mere allusion to scars, though I haven’t said the actual word, is answer enough.
Melissa understands what I’m implying. She gets where this conversation is going and she wants nothing to do with it. I couldn’t pry it from her tight lips, even if I wanted to. And until she tells me, I’m safe to hide my bruises behind non answers.
Neither of us can really be mad because we’re both liars. We both act like they’re no big deal, our scars.
They are.
“We’re not talking about that,” she says.
That’s settled. I break our stare. Look out at the water.
“I’ll tell you something different, though,” Melissa says. “Something about me, not my scars.”
I didn’t actually expect her to open up about anything.
“My dad was a great man,” she says to the ground. “Had a respectable job. Loved his family. At least that’s what I always heard other people say.”
I’m frozen solid. I hang on every word. The song from our ride to the zoo plays in my mind. Something about there not being enough rain to wash the sins away. Melissa is telling me about the person who made that song mean something to her. Which, as it turns out, is not a good thing.
