ties, and prayed to everything unholy that he’d get away, that he’d, dare one say, swing it.
The family hushed it all up. Sebastian even read the eulogy at the very private mass, quoted a passage from Wilfred Owen.
Later, when he saw the movie The Talented Mr. Ripley, he so identified with Matt Damon, he almost shouted: I’m with you, old chap!
Eight
“Cuccia was angry that he would have to renegotiate the price of a hit gone wrong, he would be dealing from a very weak hand.”
After that shit in the mess hall, with the bandajo Max Fisher takin’ all his pies, and his whole crew sittin’ there, watching like, You gonna take that shit? Sino knew he had to make a move. Shit, not only was he dissed, but he got called by that white pudgy middle-aged white motherfucker.
His face burned, man, rage. He swore on his abuela ’s life, he’d gut this white trash from his balding head to his tiny dick. He knew he’d have to act and fast, to be crewless was to be chowder. Yeah, he’d love to do Fisher himself, but that wasn’t the way it was done. When you were the main man in charge of a whole crew, you told people to do shit, you never did it yourself. White people had a name for that shit. Out saucering? Yeah, he was gonna out saucer this shit.
In the yard, he spotted a new fish, kid named Carlito. Puta ’s first day, looked like somebody’d already cut him a new asshole. The bandajo ’d been caught driving a stolen car, first time. Man was Mex and got the max, five and change.
Yeah, was time to make the man earn his way in.
Carlito stood with his back to the wall. He’d been told about the train and couldn’t get Tom Hanks in that goddamn movie, going All aboard the train, out of his mind. He’d been told his only hope was to join a gang in, like, Speedy Gonzales time. But how the fuck did you join? He’d seen the Crips, and the other gangs, all giving him the dead eye, not like he could wander up, go, “What’s shakin’, dudes? And, oh, I wanna join the gang.”
Then he saw a dangerous-looking one heading his way. The guy was smiling, like a Great White, put out his hand, said, “ Muchacho, how’s it hanging, boss?”
As Carlito took it and felt the man squeeze real tight, Carlito tried to figure out where it had all gone down the shitter. He’d had a nice lady, girl named Maria, and she’d been making marriage sounds. She was such a sweet senorita, they grew up together in Guadalajara. He was making seven bucks an hour from his job in the garage. Yeah, the garage – he knew cars, and that was how the shit hit the fan.
Maria had gone to see her Mama and Carlito had decided to let off a little steam. He’d been pulling twelve- hour shifts, getting the down payment ready on a little apartment, and Dios Mio, he was wound up awful tight, so he got together with a few amigos, they were downing some Dos Equis, nice and cold and going down so easy, till one of the hombres ordered up shots of Tequila. Carlito was basically a beer and chips kinda guy, but he didn’t want to look bad, like some maricon, so he had the shot and then, Madre Mio, a whole lot more and he didn’t know, they were falling out of the bar, laughing and high fiving, when one of the hombres spotted the Firebird, red and with the keys in the ignition. The owner gone to the ATM. Next thing, Carlito was driving the baby, like he owned the highway. State Trooper chased him for half an hour before the bird ran outa gas and Carlito ran shit out of luck.
He’d paid all of their savings to a slimy lawyer who promised, “Probation, no problem, first offense, no problema.”
He got five years and change. No problema?
The lawyer shrugged, said, “You got any more of that there green, I’ll lodge an appeal.”
Maria had taken off with the few remaining dollars and Carlito got to ride the bus.
Scared, chained, out of it. A guy sitting beside him asked, “First time, chiquito?”
He nodded in total misery.
The guy, covered in prison tats, said, “You’re a real pretty boy, they gonna ream you good, compadre.”
The guy was staring at Carlito’s solid gold Miraculous Medal. Carlito, with difficulty, using his manacled hands, tried to button the prison-issue shirt and the guy laughed, a laugh born of pure nastiness and worse, deep malevolent knowing, said, “First day in the joint, it’s like, every worst nightmare you ever had and bro, it’s worse, ’cause it’s true and it ain’t gonna git no better, so you do what you can, you get wasted, you hear me, fish, you gotta get some serious dope going in your system – then it don’t, like, hurt. Me, I got my main running buddy up there, he’ll hook me up right after orientation, and you wanna, you want some of that good stuff, help you get focused, you come see me, I fix you right up but it costs, you know what I’m sayin’?”
He shut up for a bit then said, “Speed. The ol’ reliable, amphetamines, they set you right up and Bennies, ain’t nuttin on God’s good earth like those beauties.”
He laughed, obviously feeling the effect of some of the above, began to sing, “Benny and the Jets.” Was it horrible, man, or what? Even worse than having to hear Elt himself do it.
The guy added, “That there medal, always wanted me one of those babes. You want some recreational drugs? That there is the freight, muchacho.”
Carlito snapped himself out of his reverie, tried to pay attention to the guy holding onto his hand. Leader of the Crips. His mouth went dry and he smiled like some wetback fresh from the border.
Sino swept his arm round the yard, said, “Who you with?” Then in a mocking tone, continued. “I tell you, fish, you with nobody. You got, like, de nada, you hear me, fish?’
Carlito did.
Sino said, “See those hombres over there? Yeah, the ones lookin’ at you, like you a big juicy empanada. They gonna run a line through yo skinny ass, you don’t be with somebody.”
Carlito was already crying, bawling like a damn baby.
Sino moved in close, said, “Yo, you join my crew, you be safe, know what I’m talkin’ about?”
Carlito nodded. He’d have joined the army at this stage. Anything. Sino palmed him a toothbrush, handmade blade embedded on the top, said, “Yo, you wanna make some bones, you show yo’ got cojones. Know what I talkin’ about, jefe?”
Carlito wanted to run, but where?
Sino looked at his watch, a shiny TAG Heuer knock-off, said, “Twelve noon, fat middle-aged white dude, takes his shower on C… you go rip him a new one, comprende?”
Sino sauntered off and Carlito began a whole new set of tremors.
At twelve noon Carlito headed to the showers. He’d managed to score some bennies from the guy he’d rode the bus up with. Cost him his gold Miraculous Medal he’d always worn. In a haze of drug-induced adrenaline and outright fear, he saw the fat white dude and launched himself. The phrase It got away from him might be appropriate here. He was still slashing and chopping when the guards clubbed him senseless. One of them, who’d seen most all a prison could offer, muttered, “Holy Mother of Christ.”
And too bad for Sino, what remained of the fat dude on the shower floor was the armaments guy for the Aryan Brotherhood.
Carlito heard another guard say, “ Hombre, you just fucked yourself good,” and everything faded out.
Nine
“A caged woman is a beast of ferocious instinct.”
