.” Revenge. “Your friends didn’t even kill the right guy. They killed an innocent civilian and the cops aren’t going to just drop it.”
“Not what I hear,” he muttered.
Now how did he know that? I poked his sore side again with my shoe and he winced.
“You kicked me in my balls, man!”
“You’re lucky I didn’t just shoot your ass.”
“Next time, homes. Next time. I won’t hesitate.”
Now I was running cold, just like training had taught me. I kept him in the gun sight. “There’s not going to be a next time you like, homes. You people aren’t going to be the only ones watching. I’m going to be watching. You won’t know when or where. I’m going to be watching this street, and if I have to blow away some felons, nobody’s going to bother me about it.”
“If you have the valor to pull the trigger.”
“You don’t want to find out. Better for everybody that we just drop it.”
“They won’t drop it, chingaso. They never do.”
“If they don’t, Estás chingado, hombre.” You’re fucked, man.
My legs were going stiff, but I went on with it. “Now, you be a good messenger boy and get the hell out of here.” He raised himself with difficulty and fell back into the driver’s seat. I said, “If I see your hand come out of that window, I’ll kill you. If the truck turns around and comes at me, same deal. Drive away. Don’t come back.”
He looked at me with sad eyes.
“My wallet…”
“Adios, asshole. I might need to know your name so I make sure it gets on the street that you talk to cops.”
He thought about it. He thought about it again. Then he sighed, closed the door, and started the truck. It drove slowly down to the corner and turned north.
I picked up the TEK 9. He also left his matches. The matchbook was yellow and said Jesus Is Lord Pawn Shop, with an address on Bell Road. I put them in my pocket and slowly walked home, my butt and lower back aching, my nerves drained. When I crossed Third, I could make out a pair of taillights several blocks past the traffic circle at Encanto Boulevard, moving slowly away.
Inside the house I sank gingerly into one of the leather chairs in the darkened living room, sweat against my chest, and my hands shaking so badly I had to put them under my arms. Nausea flooded my middle. I looked at the bookshelves in an urgent attempt to hold onto something steady: the shelves with grandfather’s books and mine, lifetimes of reading and reflection. It was a few minutes before I could will my legs into the bedroom, where I stowed the TEK 9, replaced the Python on the nightstand, and got into my sweatpants for bed. I missed sleeping in the nude. I missed a lot of things about my old life. I sure as hell didn’t know the person who had just done that take-down on the street. Was I willing to shoot the banger? Yes, I was.
