“You’re probably right,” Books says, wiping the steam from his glasses with a red handkerchief. “Then again, people seem to think this crew might have a bit of leg to them.”
“And who are these ‘people’ you keep mentioning? They seem so knowledgeable,” I ask.
There are only a handful of crews that truly count. Most two-bit players don’t stand a chance. These lowly nobodies believe if they can hold a weapon in one hand they can use it.
He places his glasses back on and reveals a smile. This grin is familiar. He doesn’t fool me. Books is trained to be a lover. This tempting smile won’t work on me because this is business, and I don’t pay extra for alluring games. I’m trained as well, just on other things.
I face him and hold his stare until he looks away.
“People say a lot of things, don’t they? This talk is just toilers trying to shake things up in Mega City,” he continues. “It’s been a while since we had a good throwdown. We wait for you to rescue us from boredom.”
Books resumes the massage.
“Right. I’m more than happy to provide the proper entertainment for the masses.” I try my best to read him. He’s not giving me much information. “What else are they saying?”
A smart papi, he ignores the question and continues to knead my neck. He hums to himself while he works.
“What are you humming?”
“An old song. Ever heard of Graciela?”
“The singer?” I say. “Vaguely.”
Graciela Divina. I remember how I loved her name. It sounded so regal. She was popular back in the day. Old-timers adored her. Her makeup was always the same—three elaborate buns and blood-red lipstick. Her most popular song was called “El Fuego me Llama.”
“She was beautiful. A voice unlike any others. Truly special. Can’t get the song out of my head. Anyway, it’s not important. You’re tense,” Books whispers. “I’ll get you a pot of relaxing tea. I’ll be right back.”
I’m relieved when he walks out of the room. No more talk about crews and throwdowns. I close my eyes.
It doesn’t take long for my thoughts to turn to Manos Dura. No one can argue that Manos was a fierce fighter but there was a side of her that few saw. Manos carried with her a picture of the Towers. At night, she would pull the picture out when no one was looking and kiss the image. “I just want a place where I can look out the window,” she once told me. “When I have that, I can stop running the streets, You know?” I can see the face she would make when she stared at the picture. She was full of hope. Her dream was mine and I failed her.
How I wish the day had played out differently. We knew the consequences of being in a gang, Manos included. The violence is real. Tronics are meant only to shock a person. This doesn’t stop crews from using other weapons. When one of your own is brutalized the way Manos was, it’s hard not to follow suit.
Soon I’m spiraling into more heartache, where my thoughts shift to my own family. Mother and her pain, when she was so deep in her sickness, right before passing away. Her lips blue. The signs were there. I can see them now. I was too young to regulate the sueños, to make sure she took the right amount. An overdose could have easily been avoided if only I’d had help. Where was my father? It’s impossible to even remember him. There isn’t a feeling of a father. He’s a ghost, if he existed at all.
Then there’s my sister. The moments when I can see her are so rare that when she appears I hold my breath for fear I’ll lose the memory forever. In this memory, I’m crying, reaching out to be comforted. I must be six years old. Close to seven perhaps. When my emotions seem to overtake my everything, my sister appears out of nowhere, her head popping up as if by magic. She has a full head of crazy curls, similar to mine. The only difference is her hair is light brown, not inky black. Her skin is dark, and she has a warm smile. Her full lips mouth words to a song I no longer recall.
The vision lasts for only a moment and I feel a comfort I never get in the real world. There’s a sense everything and everyone will be safe if I just stare at this funny girl with deep brown eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Soon the smile is gone and she is serious. I stare at her lips. I can’t make out the words or why she is so upset. There are tears in her eyes. She tries to tell me something urgent. I don’t know what.
This is my slim recollection of her. There are certain scents that conjure her to me from time to time. The smell of the sidewalks right after a light rain can do it. A vague sense that perhaps we played together outside. A feeling of joy. I don’t know why I’m thinking of her. It’s been so long.
There are times when I’m not even certain if this memory is mine. Perhaps I stole it from another person—as with the other items I’ve taken throughout my soldiering life. I don’t want to believe that. It’s my sister, my only sister, before she abandoned me for Cemi Territory. Her name is Yamaris. I hated her for so long. Now I don’t even think she exists.
I reach over to the charm tucked in my jacket. I turn the necklace over and notice the small initials engraved along the arm of the fist. The letters AR for Ashé Ryders.
The plan is to show Déesse the charm. She’ll know what to do with it. Truck is right. We’re so close to our goal. I have to focus on this weekend’s throwdown. If there was a real threat, we would have been told. Mega City is tempting for the wild ones in Cemi Territory to want to try to bum-rush. With Déesse’s military hold, degenerates who try to break through our borders fail. Those in Cemi Territory are just not organized enough. As for the LMC, we’ll beat the Deadly Venoms. Déesse will welcome us into her military fold and into the Towers.
I roll my shoulders a bit to shake off the tension. The water is already losing its heat. I continue to rest.
“Missed me?”
That is not Books’s voice. I reach for my baton. It’s back where I left it when I checked in.
I’m naked in a tub and about to get jumped. This is not how I’m meant to go out.
CHAPTER 4
SAINTS AND SOLDIERS
Before I can turn, the person jams a weapon to the base of my neck. This fool is on a serious mission. My heart races. Is this connected to the Deadly Venom I just bashed? Retribution? Where is Books with the damn tea?
“What the hell do you want?” I say.
There is only silence. I search the room. The candles are too far away. The necklace is the only thing I have. What good will a leather strap do if I can’t reach the person’s neck to strangle them with it?
“I asked you a question.” There is only a slight chuckle. It’s not enough for me to determine who he is or to tell if he’s tall or short, alone or with an army. I can’t smell him either, since the room has the powerful scent of jasmine meant to create a soothing effect. How does a sweet fragrance smell so deadly now?
“There is no way you passed a tronic through Doña Chela, so this object you’re feeling my neck with is harmless.” This gives him the cue to use the weapon to caress my hair. He is playing. If this person had wanted to stun me, he would have done so long ago.
Maybe Doña Chela got confused and thought I wanted a little extra with my massage. The club caters to every type of “game.” This idiot probably thinks I paid for this show. He strokes my hair again.