twenty-four

Gato woke to the sound of automatic gunfire. Automatic gunfire. Sounded pretty. Like a rap song he wished he knew. Screams. A noise of … something … outside the door to his room. A fight? More gunfire. Then the door burst open and a man fell into the room, in slowmo, his head a mess of bone, flesh, and hair. Gato had to admit, the sparkle of the blood as it splashed to the floor was as beautiful as he’d always imagined Jesus’ blood to be as it fell after the soldier pierced his chest with the spear.

A man ran into the room then. Young and strong guy, like how he’d been young and strong once. Dressed in black. So dramatic. “Vamos, gato. ¡Ven conmigo!”

All Gato could do in response was laugh. Man, it was so fucking dramatica. The man came and grabbed him up. Dragged him to his feet. It hurt but not in the good way the needle had hurt. He tried to struggle out of it. “Hey vato! I’m good, man … keep cool!”

“¡Silencio!” the man said. Pulled Gato to the door like pulling a five-year-old. Pulled him into the hall. There was a lot of noise out here, and it hurt Gato’s head. Lots of gunfire. He thought it was important, but the only thing that was starting to feel important was the needle and The Need. Gato was pushed and yanked down the hall and it was only then that he realized the man held an Uzi. Nice rig, that. They went down a hall, stepping over some bodies that certainly looked dead. He’d looked at dead fucker’s before, right? He was sure he had.

Then they met up with two other men, both dressed in black. That was when the bullets started to fly again. Came from the doorway on their left. Chopped up the walls, some hitting the man that pulled Gato along as they fell back, away from the fire. The man toppled to the ground, dead. There was a part of Gato’s mind that begged him to pick up the gun and start surviving but the rest of him just stood there, staring at the Uzi, unsure what to do. One of the other men then grabbed him and pushed him down the hall, yelling out, “¡Hijo de puta! ¡Vete al infierno!” And he did. But it was such a long hallway. Finally they were at a door and he was shoved aside and there was a huge explosion as the door was blasted apart, wood shards cutting his face. The night air felt great and he realized then that he hadn’t felt the night air for what felt like a really long time. A glance over his shoulder showed him some sort of abandoned warehouse but other than that it was all desert dark. Why leave that place though? The happy drug was in there! He made a move back to the building but was smacked in the face by one of the men dressed in black. There was the screech of tires and a van came into view.

“Hurry!” one of the men with him yelled out and the van skidded to a stop, the side door sliding open. Before Gato could say anything, he was tossed inside like a bag of recycling and then it was about men yelling, more gunfire, the door slamming shut, the crunch of tires skidding over dirt and then it was a rollercoaster of speed and tossing about and then he had to puke, and did, all over himself and everything.

“Fuck me,” he heard someone in the dark say, “and we let Marcos die for this piece of shit? Fuck.”

And then Gato passed out.

–––––

The first thing Gato noticed when he came out of the darkness was that he again found himself in the back of some vehicle. This time it was an SUV. His mind was fucked up and foggy. Couldn’t tell who was driving. The sun outside the windows hurt his eyes when he tried to find out. The figure in the passenger side turned to look at him. Took him a moment to realize who it was and what name belonged to her.

Mama Lobo …

“Mama … ” he said. Couldn’t say the rest he was so weak.

“Quiet, gatito,” she replied. “You’ve had a bad time, right? You have to leave now. Don’t return. Ever.”

It was coming back to him. But as that happened so did the hurting. He needed something to make it okay. Then it hit him hard. He needed the smack. He’d been given smack. Oh … no … no … no …

“When you didn’t show again,” Mama Lobo told him, “I started sending out feelers. Trying to find you. But that Mike … ” Shook her head. Her eyes turned hard. “That Mike.”

“But … I can’t go,” he said through teeth that had begun chattering. “Lupe.”

“You forget about your sister, gatito. She’s not going anywhere for about another two months. Maybe two and a half.”

Gato curled up on the backseat. Only then noticing a man next to him. The man put a bag over Gato’s mouth just in time. Heard the man curse, then the window going down. The smell left slowly and the window stayed down.

“I can’t leave her,” Gato muttered, his remaining strength leaving faster than the losing team’s fans.

“I’m sorry, Eduardo. There’s nothing else I can do for you, except get you out of town. You’re sick. Dehydrated. You need food and rest and … ” She looked out the car window. “Now you go home.”

“I … can’t. Oh, Lupe,” he muttered. Tried to keep his eyes open but it was growing impossible. The agony was tearing his bones to shreds. His skin was on fire, the leather of the seats like a burning whip. The sun scalded his eyes.

“Where am I going” he managed to ask. What about Lupe? Even through the pain, he realized he’d failed. His sister. His mother. Himself. He’d failed. Couldn’t help hit: tears rolled down his cheeks, and even those scalded him.

As he began to fade into darkness, a darkness that felt like diving into hot tar but was still welcome as it offered oblivion, he heard Mama Lobo say, “You’re going to the only place I know to send you where you’ll be safe.”

–––––

Gato could never remember just how he survived the trip, survived what he’d been put through. All the way west he shook and vomited into a bag that would get thrown out the window once it was used. The van would frequently stop for the expulsion of other body liquids and solids, sometimes just in time to make sure Gato could get out. He had no embarrassment left. Would just shit right there, not caring if the entire world saw him there, crouching with his filthy pants down. The only thing that kept him going was his thirst, his driving thirst for revenge on Mike and all his crew. He knew he’d go back again. Knew he’d rescue his sister and her child. He knew he would. If he had to walk all the way back to Vegas, he’d have his vengeance. Every time he thought about what had happened to him, he thought about his cell. About how they’d kept him like a dog in a kennel. Then he’d think about Mike.

About the dope.

About the pain.

Oh yeah … habría jodido tener su venganza. Yes, he’d have his revenge.