The boy reminded Nestor of himself, because his own mother had been a prostitute. Nobody told him that, but he figured it out from innuendo of his other family members. Memories flooded his thoughts as Nestor watched the boy interact with his mother and the ice cream man.
Nestor took out his wallet and removed a photo in the billfold. A long faded and wrinkled photograph of his mother holding him on a porch in Tijuana.
She had sparkling brown eyes and smiled directly into the camera as if she had no worries at all.
Nestor could not remember exactly how old he was when his mother disappeared from his life. He knew she had been murdered, but he never found out by whom or what the circumstances were. His grandmother took him in and never once spoke of his mother or the murder. He got only snippets from his many aunts and uncles, most of who shunned or ridiculed him.
He folded the photo and put it back into his billfold. Then he fingered the gun in his back holster and stepped out of the vehicle, tunnel vision on Ana.
“Oye, Ana!” Nestor called out.
Ana turned around startled. She immediately put herself in between Nestor and her young boy.
“Go inside, Antonio.”
The boy looked at Nestor with suspicion.
Nestor could only look away. He did not want the boy to see such a strange man talking to his mother but he had no choice.
The boy complied and Ana shut the door part way, keeping her eyes on Nestor the whole time.
“I don’t see men here,” her voice low and hard.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But there is no other way. Can we talk in private?”
“I don’t fucking see men here,” Ana said through gritted teeth. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Please,” he said. “Someone wants to kill you.”
Nestor looked around nervously. He wanted to be one move ahead of Cisneros. In the back of his mind, he felt Karlos watching them from afar, and didn’t want to dismiss the feeling as paranoia.
Ana glared at him and started walking down the steps. She led him into an alcove in front of the laundry room.
Nestor noticed the broken lights on the ceiling of the hallway. There were cobwebs in every corner and graffiti on the walls.
“Okay now...what!?”
“A very ruthless man wants you dead.”
Ana just rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Maybe it is best that you don’t.”
Ana started to walk away. Nestor spun her back around.
“This is serious,” Nestor hoped his tone of voice would convince Ana of the gravity of the situation. “How much money do you need to leave here? Go far away. And don’t come back.”
“I don’t take handouts. My clients are here. They call me. I do the job. I get paid.”
Nestor took a deep breath.
“Hernan and I work for the biggest dealer in the Bay Area. You are involved with Hernan. He’s obsessed with you. Our employer seems to think that you will affect his work. He ordered us to kill you.”
“So don’t kill me,” Ana walked away and this time Nestor grabbed her arm hard. Ana didn’t pull away. She just looked at his hand and then directly into his eyes.
“This is not the kind of man that can be reasoned with. He makes up his mind. His decision is final with no going back. If it isn’t us, it’s someone else.”
Ana wrenched her arm away from Nestor’s grip but her face had a look of surrender. “I have to think about it,” she said.
“Ana!” An older woman’s voice called out from the second floor.
Ana stepped out from the alcove. Nestor did not follow.
“I’ll be right up.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Mommy!” Antonio came down the steps. He licked the juices of the melting snow cone of his hand.
“Antonio! You’re making a mess. Come on.”
Ana took Antonio by his wrist and led him back up the steps. The boy looked behind himself and watched Nestor disappear into the shadows.
Nestor opened the door and saw Hernan standing in front of the couch.
“We have a hit to do, right?”
“I took care of it.” Nestor said eyeing Hernan from the side.
“You took care of it?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I did the killing.” Hernan stood firm, but his hands fumbled in front of him.
“This one was special.”
Hernan stared at Nestor with unblinking eyes.
“What’s your problem?” Nestor asked.
Hernan reached down on the couch and picked up the manila envelope. He reached inside and took out Ana’s picture, turning it over to show it to Nestor.
Hernan stared at Nestor with an intensity that he had never seen before. Nestor licked his lips and started to speak. Then he averted Hernan’s glare by staring at the picture.
“You kill her?”
“No.”
“I want to see her.”
Nestor shook his head no.
“I want to see her now!”
They drove to her place in silence. They passed all of the abandoned storefronts and broken trees that looked like brown skeletons reaching out for them. Nestor parked outside the apartment complex and the two waited.
“You can’t go in,” he said. “She doesn’t see clients in her house.”
“I know,” Hernan said. “I know the rules.”
“I’m not a killer, Hernan. I know what she means to you.”
The apartment door opened. Ana stepped outside holding Antonio’s hand as her grandmother trailed behind and closed the door.
They watched as the grandmother took the young boy’s hand from Ana. Dressed in a suit and tie, Antonio waved good-bye to his mother as they headed off to church.
“Why would Cisneros do this?”
“I don’t know. A power play maybe. Maybe he thinks she’s a distraction. Maybe he’s testing you. Or me. Or both of us.”
Hernan just shook his head in disbelief.
“Maybe he’s right,” Nestor said. “Maybe she is a distraction. I’ll talk to him. Tell him that we’ll put her up some place. Some place far away. She won’t be a problem.”
Hernan shook his head again.
“I know a guy,” Nestor continued. “Chuy. He set up my people when I helped them across the border. I can have him set up Ana in Los Angeles. Or San Diego. He doesn’t have to know. We can say we made the hit and just hide her.”
“I want nothing bad to happen to her.”
Hernan watched as Ana stepped back into the house. He took out his cell phone and texted her.
He waited a few moments.
“I don’t think she’ll call you,” Nestor said. “I came and had a talk with her. It didn’t go well.”
Hernan’s cell phone rang.
“She calls me back. She always does.”
Ana looked behind herself and in both directions as they walked to the duck pond. She clutched her purse tightly.
Hernan pulled out his bag of bread and began throwing it at the ducks.
“You have to go,” he said. He caressed her arm, noting the contrast in his adobe brick skin color and her pale complexion.
“I want to know what is going on, Hernan. What kind of trouble are you in?”
“I’m a killer.”
“A killer—”
“A hit man—” Hernan tossed the ducks a morsel of bread. They quacked as they pounced on it.
Ana took a deep breath and rolled her eyes.
“You see those killings on the news? That guy that was shot on Bancroft Avenue?”
“Yeah.”
Hernan nodded his head. “I did that,” his voice barely audible.
“Are you serious?”
Hernan pulled up his shirt to show Ana the gun he had strapped to his waist.
Ana started to laugh. She looked at the ducks and shook her head, laughing louder in disbelief. “And here I thought you
were some lonely weirdo who washed dishes in some greasy restaurant.”
“There’s a safe house. In L.A. We’ll set it up for you.”
“My kid has a life here. My grandmother. I’m sick of running and hiding. If your asshole boss wants to kill me, I don’t care!”
Ana pushed Hernan away.
“And how are you going to set things up for me? You idiots cannot even take care of yourselves!
She pushed again. Harder this time.
“You have to go or he will send someone else.”
“Why don’t I just eliminate you? Huh?” Ana reached into her purse and ripped out a small derringer. “Would that solve my problem?”
“Ana, don’t.”
“You think I care about you? I mean, really.”
“Ana—”
“You’re a dumb ass. And a weirdo. I can’t stand you.”
Hernan grabbed the gun. He pushed and she pulled.
She pulled the trigger and fell to the ground, the gun bouncing down on the grass.
The bullet’s trajectory had went up through her chin and exited underneath her nasal cavity. Ana began spitting out blood.
Hernan could only stare at her now disfigured face.
Ana rolled over and slowly reached for the gun. She said something unintelligible.
Hernan stepped on her hand as she got hold of the gun. He took out his own gun with the silencer attached. She looked up at him. Her gentle eyes the only dignity left in her corrupted face.
Hernan shot her once in the head and then in the heart like he was taught. He stared down at her for a moment and dropped the bag of breadcrumbs alongside her.
He sprinted back to his truck.
He turned around and saw the ducks gather around Ana’s body.
A white duck followed Hernan’s truck with its beak.
Hernan slammed the apartment door shut.
Nestor came his bedroom door startled.
“You can call Cisneros,” Hernan said. “The job is done.”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s done is done.”
“You didn’t—”
“I took care of it.”
Nestor stared at Hernan for a few moments.
The young man stared down at his feet then started to sob. “I tried not to look down at her. When she was dead. I knew I had to run. But I looked down anyway.”
Nestor put his hand on Hernan’s shoulder.
The young man choked backed sobs. “I’m never going to be able to sleep again. I’ll close my eyes and see her blood—”
Hernan put his head on Nestor’s shoulder and cried. Nestor put his arms around the young man, the first time he hugged anyone in his life.
CHAPTER 9
Hernan stayed in his room most of the day.
Nestor stared at the TV, flipping channels until he heard a knock at the door, urgent and hard.
Hernan popped out of his room, his eyes sleepy. He had his gun in hand.
Nestor looked through the peek hole. “It’s Cisneros,” he whispered.
Hernan gripped his gun, his face a picture of menace.
“Hide it,” Nestor said. “And be cool.”
Nestor opened the door and gave Cisneros a look of practiced indifference.
His employer stood there with Karlos the goon by his side. He looked at Nestor through his tinted blue shades, unsmiling.
“I have something for you,” Cisneros said, holding up a suitcase. “May I please come in?”
Nestor stepped aside. Cisneros walked in while Karlos took a step back.
Nestor shut the door.
Hernan stood frozen in the doorway of his bedroom.
“When we are in the line of work we are in,” Cisneros began. “We cannot have distractions.”
Hernan did not move a muscle. He glared at Cisneros' blue tinted glasses as if the hotness of his gaze could melt the glass.
“That gun in your back pocket,” Cisneros said. “Give it to me.”
Hernan didn't respond.
“It's my gun,” Cisneros said. “I want it back.”
Hernan pulled out the gun, and for a moment, stared at the weapon. Then he flipped it over and handed the gun, handle first, to his boss.
Cisneros set it to the side then placed his suitcase on the couch. “I have something much better for you,” he said as he opened up the briefcase.
“You can't find your salvation through a woman,” he said. “Or even money.” Cisneros removed a large envelope from the suitcase. He opened it and removed a handful of hundred dollar bill stacks from inside.
Hernan looked at the money then at the suitcase.
There were three new guns inside.
“There is salvation in violence though, isn't there?” Cisneros handed Hernan a shiny black Luger.
Hernan appraised the gun for a beat.
“It is only a matter of time before someone higher than the local popos get involved. It’s important that you use different guns. Different methods. You can't shoot folks with the same damn gun all the time. They’ll trace that shit eventually.”
Hernan aimed the gun at the wall for a moment. Then he pointed it at Cisneros before taking a look at the other guns.
“I know you are upset with me,” Cisneros continued. “But women like Ana—” He shook his head in disdain.
He stepped closer to Hernan and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Mexican men your age,” he said. “They get involved with the wrong woman. They work these lousy scut work jobs and they have to support all of these kids and then their hot wife becomes fat and flabby.” Cisneros chuckled to himself and looked over at Nestor. “And some don't even make it that far.”
Hernan moved Cisneros hand off his shoulder and walked toward the window.
Cisneros ignored the snub and looked at the books on the coffee table. He saw Nestor's self-help choices in “A Purpose Driven Life” and “The Richest Man in Babylon.” He picked up one of the books and shook his head again in contempt.
“You don't need a purpose,” Cisneros said. “Society wants you to be the guy with that leaf blower on his back. To be the guy that picks up dirty dishes from the table. Fuck that.”
Cisneros walked over to Hernan. He tapped his finger on the young man's chest.
“You are an assassin! That is your identity. They want you to be a gardener. Some idiot that spends all day wearing an orange vest riding a lawnmower. If you’re lucky, maybe you can be a janitor standing around with a mop up your ass. But you are defiant. By working with me, you have made a different choice. You will not be what they want you to be. You will be what you are meant to be. A hired killer. Maybe the best one ever.”
Hernan looked up at Cisneros. “I am the deadliest hit man in the world. I am an assassin.”
“That's the spirit.”
Cisneros walked toward the door and opened it. He nodded at Karlos and the goon handed him another envelope and a long, black case.
“Next target is inside. Half the money now, half later.” He opened the second case. A large rifle with a scope laid out inside.
“You can take out the big game with this one.” Cisneros looked at Hernan like a proud father. “Happy hunting.”
Hernan spent the next day watching hit man movies he bought at the local 7-11 bargain bin. B-movie fare starring former professional wrestlers.
He practiced some of the moves he saw in the mirror. Nestor spied on him from the kitchen table.
“Your techniques are fine,” Nestor said. “What you see on TV is fake. Remember that. Fake guns, fake ammo. In real life you can’t spin around three hundred and sixty degrees and shoot off sixty rounds.”
“I like it though,” Hernan spun around and pantomimed shooting off both the guns he had in his hands.
Nestor got up and turned off the TV.
“But some of what happens in the movies is true,” Nestor said. “Sooner or later, this ends bad for us. We have to have a goal. You know what I mean? We have
to change the script. You know that, right?”
Hernan shrugged his shoulders.
“We have to deal with all of these dangerous targets, most of whom will now be expecting men like us to come after them. Then we have to worry about the cops. The FBI. Maybe the CIA if we hit some foreign diplomat. Then there is Cisneros. I am not sure which one we should be worried about the most.”
Hernan got quiet. He looked at his new guns.
“We have to figure out how to cut ties with him. Figure out how much money we need to have a better life and cut loose from dealing with people like Cisneros.”
“He won't let us quit,” Hernan said.
Nestor nodded in agreement. “There will come a time when we'll scorch the earth. Kill him. Kill all his people. Then disappear.”
“How much do you think we need?”
“I don't know,” Nestor said. “Maybe a hundred thousand. At least. More would be nice but we can't push it. We save up and we off Cisneros. He'll be expecting it so we have to keep our cards close to our chests. We are just dumb immigrants to him. We have to let him think we aren't anything more than that.”
Once Upon A Wish : Book One Page 6
