Juarez Square and Other Stories (7 page)

* * *

“Ten seconds, Diego. It takes all of ten seconds to write a note and tell me where you’re going. You can’t be bothered to do that much?”

When Diego had finally shown up at home two hours past dinnertime, he’d found his brother Lorenzo fuming.

He sat at the small kitchen table as Lorenzo plated a dinner of tacos and beans and placed it in front of him. A cool breeze and the busy din of the streets came through the open window.

“I said I was sorry.”

Lorenzo sat across from him. “So where were you?”

“Just around.”

“Who were you with?”

“Some kids, what does it matter?”

Lorenzo glared at him. “I saw that idiot Pedro through the window when you came back.”

“He’s not an idiot.”

“He’s messing around with the wrong people. I don’t want you hanging out with him anymore.”

The TV on the counter was running a news report on last week’s bot raid at Juarez Square. An image of the new police chief, who Diego thought looked like a real
pendejo
with a stick up his butt, flashed onto the screen as the news lady gave the latest update. Still no drug activity in Juarez Square.

Lorenzo slapped the table like he’d seen a game-winning soccer goal. “That’s the way to do it! That’s how you take on that old narco bastard. Take it right to him.” He pointed at the television. “We could use more men like this around here these days.”

Diego scoffed. “That
pinche
church boy just likes to have his face on TV.”

Lorenzo waved his hand, dismissing the comment. “What do you know?”

Diego’s cheeks warmed with anger. Every day it was the same shit. Lorenzo playing the daddy even though he was only four years older. Acting like he knew everything. Knocking down whatever Diego said like he was some stupid kid.

But this time Diego resisted the urge to snap back the way he always did. That’s the kind of thing Lorenzo expected, the kind of thing a kid would do. A man played it cool and controlled, like the Butcher played it today.

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “I know he ain’t gonna keep bots out of Juarez Square. That’s what I know.”

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. Diego felt a self-conscious rush of adrenaline, as if his brother could figure out where he’d been just by studying his face. Lorenzo stood and towered over him.

“Where did you really go with Pedro today? Tell me right now.”

Knowing how his brother felt about narcos, he considered the low-hassle option of sticking to the lie. Then Lorenzo slapped his shoulder hard, leaned in, and pointed his finger in Diego’s face. “You tell me right now,
niño
.”

Diego sprang out of the chair, his shoulder stinging, and lifted his chin defiantly. “
El Carnicero
! I met the Butcher!”

Lorenzo took a step backward. His face looked like a boxer’s who’d been hit with a surprise gut shot. He sat down slowly and stared at the table, shaking his head. In a near whisper he said, “The Butcher? My God, Diego, what have you gotten yourself mixed up in?”

Diego had never seen fear in his brother’s eyes before. The very idea of a frightened Lorenzo was something unthinkable. Lorenzo with his broad, muscled shoulders, who never lost a fight, who no one ever messed with. Diego found it at once thrilling and unsettling that a few words from his mouth could shake his brother to the core.

Lorenzo took a breath. “What did he want with you?”

Diego shrugged.

“Answer me, goddammit.”

“He asked me about robots.”

“Robots? What about robots?” Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. He pressed until Diego gave up the details of the Butcher’s questions about mods and upgrades. As Diego spoke his brother glanced back at the TV, then furrowed his brow like he was putting the pieces together: the new police chief, the raid on Juarez Square, the narco’s questions about robots.

Lorenzo stood up quickly, shut the window and closed the curtains. “You stay away from Pedro, you hear me? And I don’t want you going anywhere near that narco again.”

Diego clasped his hands behind his neck. “Ah, you worry too much.
El Carnicero’s
not so bad. Did you know he’s from El Cuatro?” Even as he tried to appear unworried, his stomach fluttered with the memory of his meeting with the narco boss.

“Listen to me,” Lorenzo pleaded. “It doesn’t matter if he’s from our turf or Mars. When a narco goes to war, you don’t want to be anywhere near it. Things get bloody and messy real fast.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Lorenzo grabbed him by the upper arm, nearly toppling him over. “If I have to lock you in your room, I’ll do it. You hear me?”

His brother’s breath blew hot and angry on his face. Diego yanked his arm away. “What’s the matter, pissed he came to me instead of you?”

“What?”

“You’re just jealous I know more about bots than you do.”

Lorenzo laughed. “Is that what you think? Jesus.” He shook his head.

“Truth hurts, don’t it?”

“Right, the truth. You want the truth? The truth is he didn’t ask me because he knew I wouldn’t come. He knows I’m not a dumb kid he can fool with a smile and wink and some narco line of crap. You’re a mark, little brother. And I’ll be damned if I let you use what I taught you to help that animal. End of story, you got me?”

As his brother spoke, Diego felt a pressure building inside him, the rumbling of a volcano. He couldn’t take another word of it. He wouldn’t. The words exploded out of him in a fiery rage.

“FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!”

Diego stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He ran down the street without looking back, not knowing or caring if Lorenzo was coming after him. He ran until he reached the big bridge, exhausted and panting, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Lorenzo wasn’t his father. He couldn’t tell him who he could see and who he couldn’t. Diego didn’t have a father. Or a mother.

And he didn’t need any.

* * *

Diego whistled as he moved his wide-eyed gaze around the old warehouse. “
No mames,
guey
.”

Pedro nodded. “What did I tell you?”

For Diego, who loved nothing more than working on robots, the warehouse that served as
El Carnicero’s
bot workshop was heaven on Earth. The immense space had every tool and diagnostic machine one could possibly need to repair a robot or even build one from scratch. Pedro introduced him to the shop mechanic Fernando, a slow-talking man Diego guessed was around sixty, who showed him around. Diego marveled at so much expensive tech in one place: the interface terminals (shiny and new, the latest models from Ono-Hiroshi), a dozen state of the art diagnostic stations, the endless variety of hand tools, the vast spare parts inventories. His mind raced with possibilities, the things he could do here.

Fernando shoved his hands into the front pockets of his greasy coveralls and said, “They tell me you’re a robot genius.”

Diego felt a rush at the compliment, but he tried not to show it. “I’ve worked on bots since I was a kid.”

“You know bot code?”

“Sure.”

“Good,” Fernando said. “We could use somebody like you around here. I can fix a broken wheel or a hydraulic arm as good as anybody, but I don’t speak no bot languages.”

The warehouse doors flew open with a bang and
El Carnicero
strode into the shop, flanked by the same two bodyguards from the day before. One of the bodyguards held a melon-sized bag of ice.

Diego’s insides churned with a strange kind of anxiety he’d never felt before, part fear and part excitement, as the narco boss approached, shook his hand, and gave him a broad, gold-toothed grin.

“Lots of nice toys here, no?”

“Yes, sir,” Diego said. “
Increíble
.”

The Butcher clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “You ready to help old man Fernando here do some upgrades for me?”

Diego shot a confused look at Pedro, who raised his eyebrows and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. A signal to play along.

Puta madre, he already told him I’d do it
. Fucking Pedro.

Diego’s pulse quickened. He swallowed and said, “Sir, the things we talked about yesterday, the upgrades. I’ve never done them before, they were just ideas.”

The narco boss nodded. “I see. Well, I tell you what, if you can make those ideas happen, you’ll get a very nice payday.” He lowered his chin. “More than your brother makes fixing janitor bots at the university. Much more.”

Diego shuddered at the mention of his brother. How did he know about Lorenzo? Then he remembered a narco boss had eyes and ears everywhere. Anything the street knew,
El Carnicero
would know.

When Diego hesitated the narco boss said, “Things have changed a bit since we spoke yesterday, my boy. Last night I rolled my bots back into Juarez Square.” He chuckled. “And the new police chief wasn’t very happy about it. Then we learned from, shall we say, a friend we have in the police department that tomorrow morning they’re going to raid my bots again.”

Diego blinked.

The narco boss motioned around the warehouse. “You’ve got all these tools and old Fernando to help you.” He fixed his eyes on Diego. “But I need some of those upgrades you know so much about ready by tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow morning
. The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. There was no way. He cursed himself for not listening to Lorenzo.

His mind raced for a reply that wouldn’t get him killed. “Sir,” he said, his voice cracking, “I’m not sure one day is enough time to—”

El Carnicero
raised his hand, cutting him off. “I thought you might have some doubts, a smart boy like you. I understand.” He looked at the bodyguards, nodded, then added, “So I thought I’d give you some motivation.”

One of the bodyguards grabbed Pedro by the upper arm and brought him over to a table. The other followed them, holding the bag of ice with one hand and swiping the mess of spare parts and tools to the floor. Pedro’s face twisted with panic as they forced his arm onto the table.

Diego watched in horror. Fernando turned away.

“I know the best doctors in the city,” the narco boss said calmly. “They can do almost anything these days, even replace a finger that’s been off a hand for a whole day. Imagine that! In the old days if you waited more than few hours to get it back on, forget it. But now even after a whole day they can pop it on good as new. You have to keep it on ice, of course.”

The larger bodyguard held Pedro’s hand in place while the other pulled out a hunting knife. Pedro squirmed and pleaded with them to stop, then suddenly howled in pain as the bodyguard leaned onto the blade, forcing it down through the boy’s index finger. Pedro’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp as he passed out. Blood flowed from the stump and pooled under the severed digit.

The bodyguards worked with clinical precision, stemming the blood flow, wrapping the boy’s hand in bandages, and placing the detached finger in the ice bag. The larger man threw the unconscious boy over his shoulder and left through a side door.

Diego stomach lurched and he forced himself to breathe deeply to keep from throwing up. He was suddenly aware of the chill of sweat on his forehead, the weakness in his legs.

The narco boss idly ran his finger through the pool of blood on the table and drew a smiley face doodle. “I know twenty-two hours isn’t a lot of time, but I have faith in you, my boy. And when the job is done and everything goes fine, I’ll have the doctors put his finger back on, good as new.”

Diego barely registered the narco boss’ words, the horror of what he’d just witnessed blaring in the front of his mind.

He looked down at his hands and fingers.
El Carnicero
noticed this and laughed.

“Don’t worry, my boy. You do a good job with my bots and you’ll get to keep all ten of yours.”

* * *

A dull orange sun rose over the eastern horizon, its edges blurred and indistinct in the hazy blanket of the city’s smog. Diego stood on the roof of a ten-story building overlooking Juarez Square, watching the sunrise, wondering if it would be his last one. His brain felt like mush and his fingers and forearms ached from working on robot chassis all night.

On a normal morning at this hour, he’d be watching the sun as it rose above the laundromat in front of the apartment while he and Lorenzo ate breakfast. Was his brother eating breakfast now, sitting alone in the kitchen, wondering where Diego was? Had he come looking for him? Or had Lorenzo finally had enough of being a substitute parent and thrown up his hands? A lump formed in Diego’s throat. Lately he’d given Lorenzo plenty of reasons to give up on him. Questioning every decision, making fun of his job repairing janitor bots, saying something was white just because Lorenzo said it was black.

If Diego lived through the day, he vowed things would be different. He’d make it up to Lorenzo and stop acting like a child.