Although he would never admit it, Victor was afraid.
As he pulled the rust-orange door closed and walked away from the art studio and the tree-lined block, fear filled his body like a violent fever. He took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Silently, he told himself to calm down. He grappled with his desire to turn back, go upstairs, and spend the rest of the day with his new friend Riley. Doing that would’ve been better than the revenge he’d have to plan and strike against Los Soldados.
Someone has to die for what they did. It’s up to me to make it happen.
Victor slipped into a brief reverie, imagining what it would be like if his life were different. If he could just hang out with Riley instead of dealing with all the craziness and fighting. He saw them shooting pool, playing video games, and crossing the bridge together. Victor smiled at his thoughts, admitting to himself how much he liked the baseball player.
Quickly, he erased Riley from his mind and focused on what needed to be done.
Victor knew he had no choice: he had to walk through the park. In order to do so, he’d have to step on territory that didn’t belong to Los Reyes. He stood at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Ahead, he could see the tall pines—the soccer field, the baseball diamond. The sight of the place caused a shudder. He knew he’d be lucky to make it out alive.
Not like Jorge. Man, why did it have to be him? He was such a good kid. Why couldn’t it have been Paco instead?
For a moment, Victor saw Jorge in his mind. He was small, frail even. He was young, only thirteen. He had a sweet smile and beautiful eyes. They always revealed his true innocence, his pure heart. His softness made him vulnerable. Without Los Reyes to protect him he never would’ve made it as long as he had.
“You good?” Victor had asked when Jorge stood in the abandoned warehouse, bare chested, wincing from the pain. Paco was standing over him branding his thin arm with their tattoo, making him an official member of Los Reyes.
Jorge looked like he was on the verge of passing out. The kid nodded and assured Victor. “I’m good.”
Now, less than three weeks later, Jorge was dead.
Everyone thought he was like Alma and was destined for college. To prove them wrong, he joined Los Reyes two days after the funeral because it was Manuel’s dying wish. Jorge loved his older brother, tried his best to be like him. But it was a lost effort. Jorge’s attempts to be tough were almost comical. No one took him serious, not even with his new tattoo and a gun in his hand. He looked like he should be at the library studying trigonometry instead of banging.
His brother Manuel had been one of the most feared leaders in the history of Los Reyes. Ruthless and vicious, Manuel stopped at nothing to rule their neighborhood like a true king. He loved the power. It made him high.
It’s also what got him killed.
Victor stared at the park in the near distance. His body continued to sweat. His pulse was at full throttle.
The same thing’s gonna happen to me.
The traffic light changed. Victor stepped off the curb with trepidation.
I just want to get home.
Cutting through the park was the fastest way to get back to the new hideout. There, he knew Hugo, Gilbert, Javier, and Paco would be waiting for him. His leadership would be questioned. Paco was already positioning to take over. If it was true—if Jorge had really been shot and killed by a Soldado—Paco would have all the leverage he needed to oust Victor.
Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“Do you think my brother knew I loved him?” Jorge asked Victor just seconds after the casket had been lowered into the ground at the cemetery.
“Yeah, man,” Victor had said. “Of course he did. That’s why he told us to look out for you.”
We failed you, Manuel. We led your little brother directly into the line of fire. I got no business trying to run these streets now. It was my idea to go to the park. All because of Alma.
For the first time in longer than Victor could remember, he allowed himself to feel a small bit of hope. Maybe if his life was different, things would be better for him. Maybe he could learn to play baseball or finally see what was on the other side of that magnificent bridge. Fuck, maybe he could be the one to go to college and surprise these dumb-asses.
Maybe I could get out.
His hope dimmed immediately as he thought about the four guys waiting for him to be their leader. He searched his mind for the right words to say to them.
They’ll turn on me. All of them. Except for Hugo. That kid always has my back.
As he approached the sidewalk path leading into the park, Victor envisioned himself back in his own neighborhood, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds—Yvonne Escobedo always yelling at her television when she got excited, the gray-haired woman they called Drunk Ginny who wandered around in her pink bathrobe talking to herself and her bottle, and the scent of burned flour tortillas drifting out the eternally open window of Guillermo Hinojosa’s basement apartment because he always overcooked the first batch.
If I walk all the way around the park, I’ll be a moving target on the street. Los Soldados will find me within seconds.
But Victor worried they might still be in the park, waiting.
He said a silent prayer and kept moving.
Seconds later, he entered the park. Immediately, he was hyperaware of his surroundings. He paid close attention to every shift of light, every shadow, every sound. He knew he had to keep his guard up. He had to be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. Every time the leaves in the trees rustled, he felt his chest tighten and his heart pound.
According to her text, Alma promised to meet him at the baseball diamond. It would be a safe place, since it was in Los Reyes territory. No Soldado would come near it, especially after killing Jorge.
He felt a slight sense of relief when the baseball diamond came into view. His sister wasn’t there yet, but he knew she would be. She’d never let him down. Sure, they fought like all siblings did, but Victor and Alma had always been there for each other, bonded by their mutual dislike of their overbearing mother and passive father.
He knew Alma would have the answers he needed.
She saw who shot Jorge. I know she did. I’ll make her tell me. Then we’ll kill the fucking son of a bitch who did this. I’ll tell Paco to pull the trigger. He’s been dying to kill someone.
Once Victor reached the baseball diamond, his thoughts drifted back to Riley. The wild feelings stirring inside were even more terrifying than the thought of being found in the park by Alfonso and Sergio.
What the fuck is happening to me? This isn’t cool.
Victor was scared of Riley, of what they could become to each other. Because of him, Victor knew it would be harder than ever to keep his secret; it would become impossible to not let it show.
He flashed back to the two of them standing side by side in the art studio and looking out the window to the faraway golden bridge. So badly Victor had been tempted to kiss Riley—just grab him and hold him and kiss his hot mouth.
Man, I wanted to.
Victor just couldn’t understand why. Where was the desire coming from?
He forced himself to think about Isabella. She was a beautiful girl. Every vato in the city would kill to be with her.
I don’t think she’s in love with me.
Alma suddenly appeared. She looked dazed and exhausted. She joined her brother, moving as if it were a chore. They stood behind home plate. The crisscross pattern of the chain-link fence appeared on their faces in shadows. Victor towered over her.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked.
She avoided his questioning stare, a sure sign she was about to tell a lie. “I don’t know,” she said. Her curly dark hair fell into her eyes. She pushed it away and tucked a few loose strands behind her ears.
“Bullshit,” he challenged. “Yes, you do, Alma. Tell me.”
Finally, she looked her brother in the eye. “I didn’t see who did it.”
He moved closer to her. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You know I gotta go see Los Reyes right now. You gotta give me something to tell them. You know what Paco’s like.”
For a moment, Victor thought his sister was going to cry. He’d never seen her so upset. Normally, it seemed like nothing ever fazed her.
“I swear, Victor. I was trying to get Isabella out of there like you told me to and then I heard the shot,” she said. “Then I saw Jorge fall. It happened while you were fighting. When the gun went off, everybody ran.”
He looked around as a thought struck him. “How come the cops aren’t here?”
She followed his gaze and scanned the green space surrounding them. It was strangely quiet and still. There was no one else in sight. “I guess nobody called them,” she said with a light shrug. “Maybe nobody knows. The playground was empty when it happened.”
Victor felt his body tense with anger. “Then where the fuck is Jorge?”
Alma lowered her eyes again as if she were ashamed. “I think he’s still in the park.”
Victor thought he was going to lose his mind. “Are you fucking kidding me? You just left him there?”
Alma raised her voice. “I didn’t have a choice, Victor. I had to get outta there. We all did. Even you.”
Victor kicked the chain-link fence as hard as he could. A small cloud of dust rose up as a result. Alma didn’t flinch. His voice boomed. “Fuck!”
“What did you expect me to do?” she said. “It was me and a bunch of Soldados until you guys showed up. There were six of them, Victor. You were there. You saw them.”
“But I didn’t see the gun. I need to know who pulled the trigger. Damn it, Alma, you know this shit is important.”
“I didn’t see the shooter,” she insisted. “I went back after everybody left. I told Isabella to go and she did, but I stayed with Jorge. I was with him…”
Victor sucked in the air around him as he watched a tear slide down his sister’s cheek. “We can’t leave him there,” he told her. “He’s family. He’s Los Reyes. So was his brother and his father.”
Alma wiped her eyes. He could hear the frustration in her voice. “Don’t you think I know that?”
On impulse, he grabbed his sister’s arm and pulled her as he moved. “Come on.”
She struggled, trying to get away. “What are you doing, Victor?”
“We’re going back.”
She freed herself from his hold. “Fuck you! We can’t go back there. Soldados will get you. They’ll kill you.”
“No, they won’t,” he said. “You see ’em? Where are they, Alma? They ran away like a bunch of punk-ass bitches.”
“You don’t know that. It could be a trap. They’re not stupid.”
“We don’t have a choice,” he told her.
She stepped forward. Her tears were gone in an instant, replaced by unstoppable confidence and her usual fire. “Fine,” she said. “Then I’ll go.”
He gave her a look. “By yourself?”
“Sergio’s not gonna touch me,” she said. “You know that. You need to go see Los Reyes. They need you, Victor. We just lost Manuel three weeks ago. Those fucking Soldados have to pay.”
Victor looked at the ground. “I know.”
“And, now his little brother,” said Alma. “Our cousin. I can’t take this shit anymore. Everybody just wants to fucking kill each other.”
“Who’s gonna tell his mom and grandma?” he asked her. “They don’t have no one now.”
“I need to go, Victor. The cops are gonna be all over this place soon. I don’t wanna be here for that.”
“All right,” he agreed. “But you text me.”
“What am I supposed to do about Jorge?” she asked. “I can’t carry him home.”
Victor reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill and gave it to his sister. “There’s a guy who hangs out by the snack bar. His name’s Tony. Tell him you’re my sister. He owes Los Reyes a favor. He’ll sell you a burner. Use it to call the cops and tell them about Jorge. Then get rid of the thing. I’ll meet you at home.”
Alma nodded, indicating she understood her brother’s instructions. “Soldados need to pay for this,” she said. “They got two of us, Victor. Don’t let them get any more.”
“I got this, Alma,” he promised. “I’ll make sure they get what they deserve.”
Alma stopped. “Be sure to tell Las Reinas that I’m going back to the park,” she said. “Tell them I wasn’t afraid. I want them to know.”
Victor looked at his sister. “Why would they care?” he asked.
“Just do it,” she said.
He shook his head. “I don’t want you getting mixed up with them.”
“Too late,” she said. “They’re jumping me in next week. So if Los Reyes don’t take out the Soldado who did this, then Las Reinas will.”
Victor felt a new flash of rage rattle his veins. “The hell they are,” he said, fighting the impulse to follow his sister when she turned and walked away. “It’s not gonna happen, Alma.”
Seconds later, Alma disappeared, fading into the darkness of the trees.
*
Victor stood outside the dilapidated Victorian house. He imagined it had once been a nice home for a nice family. Now, the windows were broken, the lawn was dead, and every possible surface had been tagged with spray paint.
I bet they were happy here—the family. The mom probably trimmed the yellow rosebushes while the dad mowed the lawn. And their kids and their happy dog sat on the big front porch drinking lemonade and reading books or some shit like that.
He wondered what Riley would think if he were to bring him to the house, to Los Reyes’ hideout. Not that he ever would or could. But he was curious as to what the reaction would be. Would Riley be able to understand why Victor did the things he did?
This ain’t no art studio.
Victor hated the idea of going inside and facing the four men who had trusted him to protect them, but it was something that had to be done.
He climbed the rickety wooden steps slowly, secretly hoping they would give way and transport him to another place and time.
Come on, universe. Come get me. Eat me alive.
He reached out to the front door and rapped on it with his knuckles, indicating with the memorized rhythm that he was one of them.
The door opened almost immediately. He came face-to-face with Paco. Red-hot rage was burning in Paco’s dark eyes.
“Where in the hell you been?” he demanded.
“I’m here now,” Victor said.
“Like that even fucking matters,” said Paco. “I’m not taking orders from you, Toro.”
“I’ve been Los Reyes longer than you,” Victor reminded him.
“You’ve turned us into a bunch of pussies. You ain’t cut out for this shit and we both know it.”
“You got any better ideas?”
“Yeah,” said Paco. “I do. We need to make some money. We need to start selling.”
Victor felt his jaw tighten. “You wanna sell drugs to our own people?”
“Everybody else is,” he said. “Bangers in Oakland got cash, Toro. Those fuckers want for nothing, man. We need to hook it up. Make shit happen around here.”
“That’s not the answer, Paco.”
“Then what is?” he said. “I’m tired of burying our own.”
Paco opened the door wider to let Victor in. He stepped inside. The two men gave each other a look, speaking silently. Paco shut the door and bolted it.
The house was so quiet, Victor was certain he could hear the breathing and heartbeats of his brothers. He could feel their eyes on him, following as he moved through the foyer and to the dining room. Within seconds, he was standing in front of them, in front of the built-in white cabinets that took up an entire wall.
Is that where they kept their dishes? The fancy plates and bowls and teacups the mom kept on hand for special occasions? I bet they were a white family. I bet they loved each other. I bet some of them are dead now.
He wondered if the family who used to live there sat around a table and talked about their day. Did they have big holiday meals where they each ate too much but saved just enough room for a slice of homemade pumpkin pie? Did they laugh and hug and make inside jokes? Did they pose for pictures, unaware in the second the flash went off of what their house would become someday—a place where death was planned?
He stared down at the spot on the dirty floor where Jorge had sat earlier that day. He raised his eyes and looked at the four men who were waiting for him to speak. Only Hugo was sitting. The rest stood like the guards of a gate, arms folded across their broad, tattooed chests. Paco was centered, with Javier and Gilbert standing at each shoulder. They looked like guerrillas, savage street fighters ready to rip the limbs off the enemy with their bare hands.
Victor could smell their anger. It filled the room like an invisible heat, coating the walls and air with a thick, murky taste that crawled down your throat and kicked your lungs.
I don’t know what to say to them. I’m supposed to hype them up and convince them we need to go kill two Soldados—one for Manuel and one for Jorge.
The silence lasted for too long. In it, Victor watched as their respect for him dimmed in their eyes.
Finally, someone spoke. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now, Toro?” Javier asked.
Victor turned and looked at his tall, lanky friend—at his chipped tooth and piercing green eyes. Almost every girl in the neighborhood lusted after Javier, even though he was skinny and not too bright.
“My eyes get me out of everything,” he’d once said to Victor. “Dishes. Homework. Trouble. All I gotta do is look at them and they give in to me.”
“Must be nice,” Victor replied then. “Most people think I got black in me so I don’t get away with shit.”
Even Hugo was no longer Victor’s ally. From the floor, his voice rose up to Victor’s ears. “He asked you a question,” the twelve-year-old said.
Victor looked at each of them before he spoke. “There’s none of us left,” he told them. “There used to be ten. Los Reyes are dying.”
Paco stepped forward. His short fuse had been lit. “What did you just say?”
Chubby-faced Gilbert intervened. He was usually the peacekeeper. “Let him talk,” he insisted.
Paco wasn’t having it. “He ain’t got shit to say,” he said. “Look at him. He ain’t nothing but a pussy now. All of you are.”
“Toro, say something, man,” Gilbert pleaded. “Just give us the heads-up and we’ll go blast four Soldados. An eye for an eye.”
Victor cleared his throat. His mouth was dry. The house felt hotter than usual, even though the sun was starting to set outside. “My sister…” he started. “She went back to the park.”
Hugo looked up with hope. “Is he alive?”
Victor shook his head. “No,” he said. “She was with him when he died.”
“Where is he now?” Gilbert asked.
“Alma’s taking care of it,” Victor explained. “She went back. I told her to get a burner from Tony.”
“Once the cops get involved, Jorge isn’t ours anymore,” Hugo said.
Victor directed his words to Paco. “What else was I supposed to do?”
Paco clenched his fists. “You let your little sister go into the park for you?” he said. A vein throbbed in his neck. “Into Los Soldados territory? Your own sister? Alma’s one of ours.”
“Sergio won’t hurt her,” Victor told him.
“How in the fuck do you know that?” he spat back.
Because he’s in love with her and has been since the seventh grade.
“We left him there,” Victor reminded them. “All of us. We all ran.”
“But we didn’t know he got hit,” Javier said.
“Yeah,” Gilbert added. “Once the gun went off we all split.”
Paco stood tall. With his military-style crew cut, scars, and tattoos, he looked like a vigilante. He was a wild beast of a guy who oozed violence and intimidation. Sentimentality didn’t exist. Not in his blood. “But Los Reyes never run,” he said.
“And we never hide either,” Victor reminded him.
Paco locked eyes with him. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
Hugo stood up. Victor felt a tinge of sadness stab his heart when he looked into Hugo’s soft eyes, his baby face, his fading innocence. “Toro, what do you want us to do?” he asked. An echo of respect could be heard in his tone.
He still looks up to me. But, why? I’m nothing.
Victor took a deep breath before he spoke. “Ask Paco,” he said. He turned and looked at Los Reyes’ new leader. “He’s in charge now.”
*
There were certain things Victor could count on where his mother was concerned: Graciela Alvarez never missed Mass on Sundays, her albondigas recipe was a secret she would take to her grave, and she insulted her husband and children every chance she got.
That night, Victor found his mother sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a pile of bills. Her reading glasses were perched on the tip of her nose. Her auburn-tinted hair was a mess as if she’d just woken up from a long nap and went right to work on the family’s finances. As he moved closer, he noticed the hair around her temples was starting to gray. He glanced down at her hands. They looked older than he remembered.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. There was a distinctive smell to her, a strange mixture of cleaning products, rose-scented lotion, and spearmint chewing gum.
“Mom, have you seen my suit?” he asked, knowing she would have an answer. He hadn’t bothered to even look for it. Sometimes he asked his mother questions to remind her he was there.
She didn’t bother looking up from the papers staring up at her. “It’s hanging on the back of your door,” she said. She reached for a nearby calculator. Then, she stopped as if something he’d said had set off a silent alarm. She looked at her son and asked, “Why? What do you need it for?”
He couldn’t avoid the question in her eyes. “For a funeral,” he said.
She gripped the edges of the table. “Another one?” she said. He nodded. She stood. Like her daughter, Graciela was petite but fiery. “Who was it this time?”
Damn it. Why did I have to open my big mouth?
Realizing she was bound to find out sooner or later, Victor took a breath and broke the news to his mother. “It was Jorge.”
Expecting his mother to break into tears, he was surprised by her angry reaction. “My nephew?” Victor walked away, heading toward his bedroom in the back of the cluttered apartment. The couch was empty. He wondered where his father was. He heard his mother behind him, following at his heels. “Victor, come back here!” He knew better, so he stopped in his tracks. Besides, the apartment was so tiny, there was no escape from her. “What happened to him? Does Consuelo know?”
Victor shrugged and said, “He got shot, Mom. In the park.”
She grabbed his arm. Her fingernails dug into his skin. “By who?” she demanded. “Who shot my nephew?”
He looked down into his mother’s eyes and said, “I don’t know.”
She released his arm. She held his stare. Her instructions were clear. “Then you better go find the son of a bitch who did this,” she said. “And when you do, you bring him to me.”