Magic City

by Paula Guran

  I pretend to ignore him.

  “My parents are going to kill me,” I say instead.

  Reuben, Señora Young Deer and their friends have done a really good job cleaning things up, but there’s no ignoring the missing picture window, nor the broken coffee table that one of the bandas must have damaged in their mad effort to escape—me, I realize.

  I sit down in the nearest chair. The weight of everything that’s happened is too much to carry, standing on my cut feet.

  “So what am I now?” I ask the room in general.

  Johnny and the other Indians all look to Reuben.

  “One of us,” Reuben says. “A dog boy. Is that such a bad thing?”

  “I don’t know. Am I going to pull a Hulk every time I get mad and turn into a dog?”

  Everybody laughs, but Reuben answers me seriously.

  “This isn’t some little favor you did for us,” he says. “It’s major. You saved my niece and my aunt. And you’ve become one of us. We’ll take care of you. We’ll teach you how to control the dog under your skin. Anything you need, we’re here to help.”

  I give a slow nod. “Because it’s a pack thing.”

  “A tribe within the tribe,” Reuben agrees.

  I look around at the other dog boys. “And everybody’s okay with that, me being—you know, not born into the tribe?”

  “You’re our brother now,” Johnny says. “How would it not be okay?”

  He’s got such a big, easy smile I can’t help but return it.

  “But what about my parents?” I ask Reuben. “It’s not just explaining the mess in here. How do I tell them what’s happened to me? Can I even tell them?”

  “I would never advise a son to lie to his parents,” he says. He waits a beat, then adds, “But I might recommend that you edit your story a little. Tell them what happened at school and how, when the bandas threatened to come after the two of you, you brought Rita and Gabriella here because you thought it would be safer in a gated community. There was a power failure. The bandas broke in and you held them off long enough for me to arrive.”

  “But nothing about this . . . other thing that happened to me.”

  “It’s your call, son. You will need to spend some time on the rez with us to get a handle on things, and for that we’re going to need your parents’ permission. We can tell them that you’re taking a desert survival course with the tribe, which won’t exactly be a lie. You will be in the desert and we will be teaching you how to survive. But if they know the truth and blame us for what’s happened to you, it could cause problems.”

  “Oh boy.”

  Reuben nods. “The biggest one being trying to figure it out on your own. Learning to control the dog that’s now sitting under your skin.”

  I glance at Rita and she gives me a sympathetic look.

  “Last question,” I say, turning back to Reuben. “For now, anyway. What happens with the bandas? I didn’t—I didn’t kill any of them, did I?”

  Reuben shakes his head. “The funny thing is, they probably won’t even remember all the details. They’ll remember us, but not the dogs. People tend to ignore anything that doesn’t fit into their world view.”

  “But they used magic themselves.”

  “Yeah,” Reuben says. “There’s that.”

  “Are they still going to be coming after us?”

  “Not with magic, they won’t. Turns out they didn’t hire a brujo. One of the gang was messing with spells and got lucky.”

  “What’s to stop him from getting lucky again?” I have to ask.

  “Gabriella put him under a compulsion. Now whenever he even thinks of magic, he’ll break out in hives. If he keeps at it, he blacks out.”

  I rub my head, trying to be cool about all of this. But I can’t pretend it doesn’t freak me out. I shoot Señora Young Deer a quick look.

  “So you guys do this broo-ha, too?” I ask.

  “Brujería,” Señora Young Deer says. “But ours is different. We work with spirit guides. We try not to upset the natural order of things.”

  “Don’t worry,” Reuben says. “The kid won’t be bothering you anymore. Gabriella can be very persuasive.”

  “Okay,” I say, like I understand. “So, what about school? What happens with us there?”

  “Getting there in the morning shouldn’t be a problem,” Reuben says. “I’ll take you myself. But be careful during the day. Don’t get caught alone anywhere. Some of the boys will meet you after school to make sure nobody starts anything.”

  I look at Rita and she shrugs, but I can tell she’s no happier that I am with the idea of having to constantly be on guard.

  “I know,” Reuben says. “It’s not ideal. But before we do anything I have to have a sit down with Big Chuy and see if he even knows what his kid brother was up to. He’s smart. He knows a war with the dog boys isn’t in his best interest, so I’m sure we’ll work something out. But it might take a couple of days. Can you hang in that long?”

  “I guess. I think I’ll go clean up these cuts on my feet.”

  But when I stand up there’s hardly any pain. I pull off the slippers I’m wearing and look at the soles of my feet. They’re crisscrossed with lots of tiny white scars.

  “We tend to heal quickly from little wounds,” Reuben says.

  I remember the cut on my palm from when I shared blood with Señora Young Deer. There’s no sign of it now.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I can see that.”

  Except for Reuben, the dog boys clear out, and Dad comes home not long after that. Naturally, he’s freaked. The first thing he wants to know is where’s Mom and am I okay. I tell him that Mom is still at Judy’s, then I relate the story we agreed on. It sounds preposterous to me as I’m explaining what happened, but he buys it completely. He even tells me he’s proud of me, which makes me feel a little like an imposter, except I guess I did try to do the right thing. Everything just got way out of hand.

  “Have you called your mother yet?” he asks.

  “No, we were just trying to clean stuff up,” I say. “I knew you were coming home soon and I didn’t want her to worry and feel like she has to leave Judy on her own.”

  “Good thinking,” Dad says. “I’ll call her.” He looks over to Señora Young Deer and Rita. “You’re welcome to stay until this blows over.”

  Rita’s grandmother starts to say no, but Reuben interrupts her.

  “Maybe that’s a good idea,” he says. “I can pick you all up here in the morning.”

  “I still don’t understand why we’re not calling the police,” Dad says.

  Reuben lifts his hands, palms up. “I certainly won’t stop you if that’s what you feel you have to do. But when it comes to the gangs—I won’t say the police are helpless. They’re simply not as effective as we might like, and the bandas always find ways to punish those who report them.”

  “But you can clear this up?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Because . . . ?”

  “In a situation such as this, the Kikimi Warrior Society has more flexibility than the police department. The 66ers know that when we make a statement we’re not just blowing smoke. We’ll back it up.”

  I can tell Dad doesn’t like this. But he knows he’s out of his depth, so finally he just nods and goes off to call Mom.

  The morning goes just the way Reuben said it would. He drives us to school and we get through homeroom and our first classes without incident. I meet up with Rita between each class and we stick to the crowded hallways.

  At noon, Rita and I go out into the schoolyard with the lunches her grandmother made for us this morning. She leads me to a free picnic table under the mesquite trees where there’s some shade. There are kids all around us, but that’s where Bambino decides to make his play.

  He swaggers over to where we’re sitting, a half-dozen guys following in his wake. I stand up and put myself between him and Rita.

  “You and me,” Bambino says. “We’ve got business.”


  “Are you sure you want to get into that right now?” I ask.

  I’m talking a lot braver than I feel, but at least I don’t see any knives. Yet.

  I wonder if he remembers what happened back at my house last night, how he and his crew ran like little girls from the big pissed-off dog I became. I wonder if I can call that dog up again. I know it’s a terrible idea. I don’t need anyone to tell me that the dog boys are something that needs to be kept out of the public eye. But I need some kind of edge.

  “Why?” Bambino asks. “You think I’m scared of you?”

  “Okay,” I tell him. “You and me. Let’s go.”

  He’s pretty much my size. Probably a little stronger. But I’m fast and I’m not going to get into a clinch.

  He laughs. “That’s not how it works, puto. You disrespect me, you disrespect my crew. Everybody’s going to need a piece of you.”

  “How about me needing a piece of you?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  I turn to see a tall Indian boy has stepped up beside me. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, held back from his face by a thin strip of leather around his forehead. He reminds me of the coyotes I’ve seen running in the desert. Smart and lean.

  “No me chingues, Joaquin,” Bambino says. “This isn’t Yaqui business.”

  Rita told me yesterday that only a couple of kids from the rez go to school at Rose Creek. The other Indians are all from the local Yaqui pueblo, although there are a few Apache and Tohono O’odham, too.

  “And you know that—how?” Joaquin asks.

  Bambino shakes his head. “I’m serious, man. Back off now or you’re next on my list.”

  “What list is that? The guys you want to blow in this school?”

  Bambino takes a step, cocking a fist, but one of his friends grabs his arm. Bambino starts to shake off the grip, but then he realizes what everybody does. A dozen or so big Indian boys have drifted over to where we’re standing, outnumbering the bandas two-to-one.

  Bambino lets his hand drop. “This isn’t over,” he says.

  I’m not sure if he’s talking to Joaquin or me.

  He stalks away, his crew fanned around him. Beside me, Joaquin laughs. When I turn to him he lifts a fist. I hesitate a moment, then bump fists with him.

  “Back where you come from,” he says, “do they all have big cojones like you?”

  “Back where I come from we don’t need them. Thanks for stepping in with Bambino.”

  “De nada. Rita tells me you play a little ball.”

  “I used to be on the team at my old school.”

  “She says you’re pretty good. You should try out for our team.”

  I glance at Rita with raised eyebrows and she just smiles.

  “Did she tell you we played a little one-on-one yesterday,” I say, “and she totally wiped me out?”

  Joaquin nods. “Yeah, but she says you stopped maybe a third of her shots. You know how many people can do that?”

  I shake my head.

  He gives me a grin. “You have no idea who she is, do you?”

  “Sure. She’s Rita Young Deer.”

  “Yeah. She’s also captain of the girl’s team. State champions last year because of her scoring. Seriously, try out for our team. Why let the girls have all the glory? We could use a good defenseman. We have a practice tomorrow after school.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  If I’m still alive, I think. I guess he reads it on my face.

  “Don’t worry about the 66ers. They’ll be waiting for you after school, but we’ll be there, too.”

  “Reuben’s picking us up,” Rita says.

  “We’ll still be there,” Joaquin tells her. He nods at me. “Later.”

  I turn to Rita. “Captain of the team, huh? No wonder your grandmother told me not to bet with you.”

  I look at her, thinking, here’s a smart competitive girl who’s good at sports, takes her studies seriously, and nobody thinks it’s weird. I amend that to: nobody I know thinks it’s weird. I’ve never understood how so many other kids act like underachieving is something cool. But the best thing is that I think she kind of likes me.

  A cute girl kind of likes me. People are talking to me. I got asked to try out for the basketball team.

  I should probably thank Bambino for being such an asshole because, without him, none of this would be happening.

  “What are you smiling about?” Rita asks.

  “I’m just in a good mood.”

  “Almost getting beat up puts you in a good mood?”

  “Sure.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re weird.”

  It feels a bit like some western movie when Rita and I leave school at the end of the day. You know, the big showdown scene. It’s hot and dusty. Bambino and his crew are waiting for us, strung out in a line just off school property. Joaquin and his friends fall into step on either side of us as we walk in their direction. I look for Reuben, but I don’t see his jeep. I don’t see any of the dog boys. There’s only the 66ers. I just hope they’re not carrying guns.

  With the Yaqui beside us, we now outnumber the 66ers, but people are still going to get hurt.

  “You ever fight a guy with a knife?” Joaquin asks me.

  I shake my head.

  “Here, do this,” he says.

  He takes off his hoodie and holds it loosely in his left hand.

  “Wait for the right moment,” he goes on, “then trap the knife hand with your jacket. Try to get it wrapped around at least a couple of times.”

  “Sure,” I say without an ounce of his confidence.

  We stop while I take off my backpack and then my jacket. I put my backpack on again. My jacket feels useless in my hand, but what he said makes sense. Whether I can pull it off—well, that’s a whole other matter.

  “Do you have your phone?” Joaquin asks Rita. When she nods he tells her, “Get a video of everything. If they pull weapons we want proof they started it so that it’s not our asses that get dragged off to jail.”

  He looks at me and his friends.

  “Everybody ready?” he asks. “Then let’s do this.”

  We start moving again. In my head I hear the themes of one of those spaghetti westerns that Ronnie and I used to watch back home. I’m not feeling confident, but at least there are more of us than them. Then a black Hummer comes up the street and stops near the bandas. A Mexican guy gets out. He’s covered in tattoos—they’re even all over his shaved head.

  Joaquin puts up a hand and we all stop.

  The bandas perk up. A couple of them give each other high fives as a half- dozen more guys join the first one. Of course they’re happy. They just got serious reinforcements.

  “Crap,” Joaquin says.

  “What?” I ask. “Who is that guy?”

  “Big Chuy. Bambino’s older brother. He and Crusher run everything in this part of town.”

  “Maybe forcing a face-off with those losers today wasn’t such a great idea,” one of the other Yaquis says.

  Joaquin grunts. I can’t tell if he’s agreeing or not.

  For my part, I never thought it was. But I don’t say anything. Beside me, Rita is still taking the video. I don’t know what use it’ll be if we’re all dead.

  Where the hell is Reuben?

  Big Chuy walks up to his brother. He yells something in Spanish, then gives him an open-handed slap on the back of the head. I say slap, but it’s hard enough to almost knock Bambino off his heat.

  “Oh, this is good,” Joaquin says. “You keep shooting that video, Rita.”

  Bambino says something back and Big Chuy slaps him again. Then he glares at the other 66ers who were lined up with his brother.

  “What are they saying?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

  Joaquin grins. “Big Chuy’s tearing a strip off of them. Man, is he pissed.”

  “About what?”

  “About starting something with the rez boys. Rita, put the camera down,” he adds when Big Ch
uy turns in our direction. “But save that file, girl.”

  Bambino’s friends take off, heads down, not looking anywhere but at the ground. Bambino starts to follow them, but his brother slaps him again and says something to one of the men that came with him. This guy is huge, all shoulders and arms. He grabs Bambino by the arm and hauls him back to the Hummer. Pushing him inside, he closes the door and leans against the side of the Hummer, arms folded across his massive chest.

  Just as Big Chuy turns to us again, Reuben finally shows up. He parks his jeep behind the Hummer. Johnny’s sitting in the shotgun seat, but he stays in the jeep while Reuben gets out and saunters towards us. He’s walking at an angle to Big Chuy, who’s also approaching. They reach us at the same time. I glance at Rita to see she’s palmed her phone and stuck it back in her pocket.

  “Everybody okay?” Reuben asks.

  “We are now,” Rita says. “What took you so long?”

  Reuben jerks a thumb in Big Chuy’s direction.

  “I was having a conversation with Mr. Perez,” he says. “Chuy, this is my niece Rita and her friend Brandon.”

  Big Chuy frowns as his gaze rests on me. “He’s Anglo.”

  “Is he? I hadn’t noticed. All anyone needs to know is that he’s one of my people.”

  Big Chuy nods.

  “So we’re good?” he asks Reuben. “This stops here and there won’t be any retaliation?”

  “Not so long as you keep your boys in line.”

  “That isn’t going to be a problem,” Big Chuy says.

  He gives us all another considering look, then turns and walks back to his Hummer.

  “How the hell did you pull that off?” Joaquin asks when Big Chuy is out of hearing.

  Reuben shrugs. “There’s a lot of desert between Mexico and here. Lot of places where a car could be ambushed. That wouldn’t be good for some people’s business. Expensive, too, with all the extra guards you’d have to hire.”

  “Sweet,” Joaquin says.

  “You kids still want a ride?” Reuben asks Rita and me.

  I leave the decision to Rita. She shakes her head.

  Reuben points a finger at me. “I need you on the rez this weekend.”

  “Sir, yes sir,” I say.

  “Piss off,” he tells me, but he’s laughing as he turns away and heads back to the jeep.