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"Phone sex?"
"Yeah. Touch yourself, Brit. And then tell me what youre doing. Itll totally turn me on. "
"While Im touching myself, whatll you be doing?" I ask him.
"Choking the gopher. Whatd you think Id do, my homework?"
I laugh. Mostly its a nervous laugh because we havent seen each other in a couple of months, we havent talked all that much, and now he wants to go from "hi, nice to see you after a summer apart" to "touch yourself while I choke the gopher" in one day. I feel like Im in the middle of a Pat McCurdy song.
"Come on, Brit," Colin says. "Think of it as practice before we do the real thing. Take off your shirt and touch yourself. "
"Colin . . . ," I say.
"What?"
"Sorry, but Im not into it. Not now, at least. "
"You sure?"
"Yeah. You mad?"
"No," he says. "I thought itd be fun to spice up our relationship. "
"I didnt know we were boring. "
"School . . . football practice . . . hanging out. I guess after a summer away Im sick of the same old routine. The entire summer Ive been waterskiing, wakeboarding, and off-roading. Things that get your heart racing and blood pumping, you know? Pure adrenaline rush. "
"Sounds awesome. "
"It was. Brit?"
"Yeah. "
"Im ready for that adrenaline rush . . . with you. "
CHAPTER 8 Alex
I push the guy up against a sweet, shiny black Camaro, one that probably cost more than my mom makes in a year. "Heres the deal, Blake," I say. "You either pay up now, or I break somethin of yours. Not a piece of furniture or your fuckin car . . . somethin youre permanently attached to. Get it?"
Blake, skinnier than a telephone pole and as pale as a ghost, is looking at me as if I just handed him his death sentence. He should have thought about that before he took the Big 8 and bounced without paying up.
As if Hector would ever let that happen.
As if I would ever let that happen.
When Hector sends me to collect, I do it. I may not like doing it, but I do it. He knows I wont do drug deals or break into peoples homes or businesses to steal shit. But Im good at collecting . . . debts, mostly. Sometimes its people, but those get to be messy affairs, especially because I know whats gonna happen to them once I haul them back to the warehouse to face Chuy. Nobody wants to face Chuy. Its way worse than facing me. Blake should feel lucky Im the one assigned to look for him.
To say I dont live a squeaky-clean life is an understatement. I try not to dwell on it, the dirty job Im doing for the Blood. And Im good at it. Scaring people into paying us whats ours is my job. Technically my hands are clean of drugs. Okay, so drug money does touch my hands quite frequently, but I just hand it over to Hector. I dont use it, I just collect it.
It makes me a pawn, I know. As long as my family is safe, I dont care. Besides, Im good at fighting. You cant imagine how many people break down with the threat of their bones breaking. Blake is no different than the other guys Ive threatened, I can tell by the way hes trying to act cool while his spindly hands are shaking uncontrollably.
Youd think Peterson would be afraid of me, too, but that teacher wouldnt fear me even if I shoved a live grenade into her hands.
"I dont got the money," Blake blurts out.
"That answer aint gonna cut it, man," Paco chimes in from the sidelines. He likes coming with me. He thinks of it as playing good cop/ bad cop. Except we play bad gang member/worse gang member.
"Which limb you want me to break first?" I ask. "Ill be nice and let you choose. "
"Just smoke his sorry ass, Alex, and get this over with," Paco says lazily.
"No!" Blake shouts. "Ill get it. I promise. Tomorrow. "
I shove him against the car, my forearm pressing on his throat just enough to scare him. "As if Im gonna take your word for it. You think were stupid? I need collateral. "
Blake doesnt answer.
I eye his car.
"Not the car, Alex. Please. "
I take my gun out. Im not going to shoot him. No matter who I am and what Ive become, Id never kill anyone. Or shoot anyone. Blake doesnt have to know this, though.
At the first glance of my Glock, Blake holds out his keys. "Oh, God. Please, no. "
I snatch the keys out of his hand. "Tomorrow, Blake. Seven oclock behind the old tracks on Fourth and Vine. Now get outta here," I say, waving my gun in the air for him to run off on foot.
"Ive always wanted a Camaro," Paco says after Blake is out of sight.
I toss the keys to him. "Its yours--until tomorrow. "
"You really think hell come up with four Gs in a day?"
"Yeah," I tell him, totally confident. " Cause that car is worth way more than four Gs. "
Back at the warehouse, we give Hector the update. Hes not happy we havent collected, but he knows itll happen. I always come through.
At night, Im in my room unable to sleep because of my little brother Luiss snoring. By the way he sleeps so soundly, youd think he didnt have a care in the world. As much as I dont mind threatening loser drug dealers like Blake, I wish to hell I was fighting for things worth fighting for.
A week later Im sitting on the grass in the school courtyard eating lunch by a tree. Most of the students at Fairfield eat outside until late October, when the Illinois winter forces us to sit in the cafeteria during lunch period. Right now were soaking up every minute of sun and fresh air while its still decent outside.
My friend Lucky, with his oversized red shirt and black jeans, slaps me on the back as he parks his butt next to me with a cafeteria tray balanced on his hand. "You geared up for next period, Alex? I swear Brittany Ellis hates you like the plague, man. Its hilarious watchin her move her stool as far as she can from you. "
"Lucky," I say. "She might be a mamacita, but she aint got nothin on this hombre. " I point to myself.
"Tell your mama that," Lucky says, laughing. "Or Colin Adams. "
I lean back against the tree and cross my arms. "I had phys. ed. with Adams last year. Believe me, hes got nada to brag about. "
"You still pissed off cause he trashed your locker freshman year after you smoked him in the relay in front of the entire school?"
Hell, yeah, Im still pissed. That one incident cost me a shitload of money having to buy new books. "Yesterdays news," I tell Lucky, keeping up the cool facade I always do.
" Yesterdays news is sittin right over there with his hot girlfriend. "
One look at Little Miss Perfecta and my defenses go up. She thinks Im a drugged-out user. Every day Ive dreaded having to deal with her in chem class. "That chick has a head full of air, man," I say.
"I heard that ho was dissin you to her friends," a guy named Pedro says as he and a bunch of other guys join us carrying either trays from the cafeteria or food they brought from home.
I shake my head, wondering what Brittany said and how much damage control Ill have to do. "Maybe she wants me and doesnt know any other way to get my attention. "
Lucky laughs so hard everyone within a few yards stares at us. "Theres no way Brittany Ellis would get within two feet of you on her own free will, giley, let alone date you," he says. "Shes so rich the scarf around her neck last week probly cost as much as everythin in tu casa. "
That scarf. As if the designer jeans and top werent fashionable enough, shed probably added the scarf to showcase how rich and untouchable she is. Knowing her, she had it professionally dyed to match the exact shade of her sapphire eyes.
"Hell, I bet you my RX-7 you cant get into her panties before Thanksgiving break," Lucky challenges me, breaking my wayward thoughts.
"Whod want those panties?" I say. Theyre probably designer, too, with her initials embroidered on the front.
"Every single dude in this school. "
Do I need to state the obvious? "Shes a snow girl. " Im not into white chicks, or spoiled chicks, or chicks whose idea of hard labor is pai
nting their long fingernails a different color each day to match their designer outfits.
I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it, ignoring Fairfields no-smoking policy. Ive been smoking a lot lately. Paco pointed it out yesterday night when we hung out.
"So what if shes white? Come on, Alex. Dont be an idiot. Look at her. "
I take a glance. I admit shes got it goin on. Long, shiny hair, aristocratic nose, slightly tanned arms with a hint of muscle in her biceps to make you wonder if she works out, full lips that when she smiles you think world peace is possible if everyone had her smile.
I shove those thoughts from my mind. So what if shes hot? Shes a first-degree bitch. "Too skinny," I blurt out.
"You want her," Lucky says, leaning back on the grass. "You just know, like the rest of us Mexicanos from the south side, that you cant have her. "
Something inside me clicks on. Call it my defense mechanism. Call it cockiness. Before I can switch it off, I say, "In two months I could have a piece of that ass. If you really wanna bet your RX-7, Im in. "
"Youre trippin, man. " When I dont answer, Lucky frowns. "You serious, Alex?"
The guy will back down, he loves his car more than his mama. "Sure. "
"If you lose, I get Julio," Lucky says, his frown turning into a wicked grin.
Julio is my most prized possession, an old Honda Nighthawk 750 motorcycle. I rescued it from a dump and turned it into a sleek ride. Rebuilding the bike took me forever. Its the only thing in my life Ive made better instead of destroying.
Lucky is not backing down. Time to either back down myself or play the game. The problem is, Ive never backed down . . . not once in my life.
The most popular white chick at school would sure as hell learn a lot by hanging with me. Little Miss Perfecta said shed never date a gang member, but I bet no Latino Blood ever tried to get into those designer pants.
Easy as a fight between Folks and People--rival gangs on a Saturday night.
I bet all itll take for Brittany to come around is a bit of flirting. You know, that give-and-take wordplay that heightens your awareness of the opposite sex. I can kill two birds with one stone: get back at Burro Face by taking his girl and get back at Brittany Ellis for having me called into the principals office and dissin me in front of her friends.
Might even be fun.
I imagine the entire school witnessing the pristine white chick drooling over the Mexicano she vowed to hate. I wonder how hard shell fall on that tight white ass when Im done with her.
I hold out my hand. "Deal. "
"You gotta show proof. "
I take another drag of my cigarette. "Lucky, what do you want me to do? Pluck out one of her fuckin pubes?"
"Howd we know its hers?" Lucky responds. "Maybe shes not a real blond. Besides, she probly gets one of those Brazilian wax jobs. You know, where every thin is--"
"Take a picture," Pedro suggests. "Or video. I bet we could make muchos billetes on that thing. We can title it Brittany Goes South of the Border. "
Its trash-talkin times like these that give us a bad rep. Not that rich kids dont talk trash, Im sure they do. But when my friends go at it, its no-holds-barred. To be honest, I think my friends are damn entertaining when theyre ragging on someone else. When theyre ragging on me, I dont find it half as funny.