crumpled five dollar bill.
Maria's nostrils flared, but she said nothing. Instead she turned around and began marching for the stairs to retrieve the toilet paper. Again, the hand grabbed at her uniform, held her bra, and jerked her backwards off her feet. Her breasts, slightly large for her age, were flattened painfully, the rough material scratching her nipples.
'I ain't asking, honey,' he growled, and wrapped his thick hand around her mouth. She tasted nicotine on his sweaty fingers. Panic sizzled along her skin and she felt vomit bubbling up in her throat as she struggled against his powerful grip.
Quickly he dragged her into the room she'd been cleaning, slammed the door shut, and slipped the chain into place, all the time holding the kicking girl under his left arm. When the door was secure, he tossed her easily across the room onto the bed. 'Strip!' he said.
'Please, sir,' she sobbed. 'No, please.'
'Strip or I'll do it for ya.' He was already unbuttoning his shirt.
She looked at him, the giant American in the wrinkled business suit, half drunk and half crazy with lust, and shrugged resignedly. She stopped crying, stopped begging. She had seen men like this before, knew they would get what they wanted no matter what she said. Some would feel bad afterwards and beg for forgiveness, though she suspected this gringo was not such a man. With brisk efficiency she unfastened her uniform, slipped it over her head. Kicked her shoes off. Unhooked the tattered bra. Peeled off the worn panties. She sat naked in the middle of the bare mattress, the blanket lying on the'floor. She was skinny everywhere, bones protruding at angles in every direction. She was embarrassed more by her skinniness than her nakedness, and tried to hide herself with her arms.
'Don't do that!' he snapped, stepping out of his pants. 'I wanna see them sweet little titties of yours.'
She let her arms relax to her sides. She had only made love with one boy in her whole life, and with him only twice. Both times it had been over with so quickly she had wondered if she'd done something wrong. But Orlando had assured her she would get better with practice. Yet he too had been killed in the great flood.
The American was naked now, his body even bigger without clothes. His thick stomach hung down almost to his penis, which was pale and not very large at all, even though it was sticking straight out. It reminded her of the small bars of soap she had to place in the bathrooms. Ivory.
Then he was on her, his crushing weight driving her deep into the soft mattress. She could hardly breathe. He fumbled at her body roughly, squeezing her breasts, pinching the nipples until she cried out. His hand at her crotch felt like a burrowing pig, digging, thrusting, poking. Finally he lifted himself enough to stick his penis into her and began an awkward pumping rhythm. Once he burped in her face and she turned away from the bitter smell of cigarettes mixed with whiskey.
He began grunting, his weight pounding into her tiny frame like a jackhammer. She dug her nails into the mattress, closed her eyes, and imagined a large knife plunging into the back of his neck.
'Shitfuckshitfuck,' he groaned, arched his back, and slammed into her as deep as he could, his penis squirting into her endlessly. He opened his eyes, glanced at the clock, and abruptly pulled out of her, dripping onto her stomach. 'Gotta get to work. Fucking boss will shove a hot poker up my ass.'
He dressed without looking at Maria. She lay there, waiting for him to leave, her eyes still closed.
'Christ, you're a skinny bitch,' he said. He leaned over, stuck the five dollar bill between her wet legs and chuckled. 'Don't spend it all in one place now.' And he was gone.
Nine months later Indigo Cruz was born.
By the time he was eighteen, Maria Cruz was happy to see him join the Army. She didn't question how a boy who couldn't read and who was so grotesquely large could get in. She knew Indigo had his ways of getting what he wanted. She just said her prayers of thanks to the Virgin Mary and accepted the wonderful news. For she'd come to realize that he was just like his father in every way. Worse really. Where his father had merely been cruel, Indigo Cruz was cruel and cold. Arctic. He was not quick to violence, but when he did choose that direction, the outcome was inevitable.
On the day he'd signed his loyalty oath to the United States, the San Antonio police had discovered the body of an eighteen-year-old Chicano boy named Juan Cortez. All his fingers, his tongue, and his eyelids had been cut off with a pair of toenail clippers. The coroner found the clippers later during the autopsy. Juan had been forced to swallow them.
Maria read about it in the paper, recognized Juan as one of Indigo's friends. She never asked him about it, he never mentioned it. In fact, once he left for basic training, mother and son were never in touch again. The next day Maria moved to Los Angeles, left no forwarding address. Not that it mattered. Cruz couldn't write, and wouldn't have written her if he could have.
Cruz managed to keep a low profile in the Army for awhile, getting by as he always did, through intimidation. Eventually he found his niche as a hand-to-hand combat instructor training new troops in how to fight. Things were going pretty smoothly until PFC Eddie Hooks showed up.
PFC Eddie Hooks was a Golden Gloves heavyweight champion. Two hundred and twelve pounds of trim muscles packed tightly into a 6'2' frame. And he was fast. The hands snapped at any angle. He could bounce on his toes for fifteen rounds and still deliver a knockout punch on cue. His recruitment officer had promised him an easy gig on the Army boxing team. Free training for a couple years then he'd be ready to turn pro. He'd planned every little detail of his future. Except Indigo Cruz.
Cruz had Eddie out on the mat for a demonstration of a wing-roll throw. It was simple technique, but required sharp timing.
'All right, Hooks,' Cruz had said. 'I want you to throw a punch at me with your right hand.'
'Yes, sir.' Eddie tossed out a slow-motion right cross.
Cruz stepped back and stared at him contemptuously. 'I said throw a punch. Hooks. Not slap me silly.'
'Well, I thought…' Hooks trailed off.
'Just throw the damn punch.'
Hooks stepped back into position, threw a punch. This one was a little faster, but still not a real punch.
Cruz caught Hooks' fist in his hand in midair. 'I said a punch, cocksucker. Do you know what a punch is?' Cruz began squeezing Hooks' fist, grinding the fingers under his grip.
Hooks felt his own fingernails digging into his palms. 'Jesus, you're breaking my hand.'
'Good. When I tell you to do something, fucking do it. Understand?'
Hooks winced under the pain, nodded. Cruz released his grip. Hooks shook his fingers out, massaged them. Four half-moons of blood were etched in his palms where the nails had bitten through the flesh. Son of a bitch, Eddie thought. He wants a punch, I'll give the freak a punch to write home about.
'Okay, Hooks. Go ahead.'
And Eddie did. He snapped a left into Cruz's chin, then double-pumped it into his nose. Cruz's head flew back. Blood trickled out of his nostril.
Cruz nodded apprecialely. 'Nice, Hooks. That's more like it.'
Hooks was still bouncing on his toes, huffing angrily through his nose, his face grimly set. He'd expected Cruz to yell at him, take a swing, have him arrested. Something. But the big guy was just smiling. Maybe he was okay after all.
Cruz turned to the rest of the recruits, all of whom had stopped breathing. 'Now that's how to throw a punch. You watch Hooks here and you guys can learn something. Way to go, Hooks.'
Hooks shrugged proudly. He was used to accepting praise. Besides, he'd be hearing a lot of it when he was heavyweight champion of the world.
'Okay,' Cruz said. 'Let's try it again, Hooks.'
'Again, Sarge?'
'Yeah. Just like last time.'
'Fast?'
Cruz grinned through thin bloodless lips. 'As fast as you can.'
Eddie began bouncing on his toes, his left hand hanging near his hip in a cocky posture, his right hovering near his chest. He danced to the left, then to the right, changing directions with impossible speed and agility.
Cruz stood still, his arms hanging at his sides.
Eddie snapped out a left jab, so quick and unexpected some of the recruits jumped a little. It was aimed
