--Hey, no s.h.i.t you ain't my vato. Don't worry about not being my vato. Worry about the cops having my car. Worry about when I finally get it back and it still has that hole you put in the window.

--Send me a bill.

--A bill. Ese, I give a s.h.i.t about the bill. I care about you broke my rear windshield.

He pulls Hector's chain out of his pocket.

--A f.u.c.king chain you threw at my car. My car. f.u.c.k you and the bill, you broke my gla.s.s.

He lashes Hector's face with the chain.

Hector folds in half, hands over his face, face between his knees, eyes squeezed shut, mouth closed tight around the shriek that comes up his throat. He opens his eyes and watches the blood that runs out of his face and between his fingers and trickles down to pool on the warped hardwood floor between his feet while Fernando whips his shoulders with the chain, the Levi's jacket on his back the only thing that keeps his skin from being ribboned.

--Save a little for me, big brother.

Fernando stops beating Hector and looks at Ramon coming in the front door.

--What's up?

Ramon knocks the door closed with his crutch.

--Cheney got away.

--Got away? Get Timo and go find him. What if he calls the cops?

--Kid's got a half kilo of meth. Ain't calling the cops.

Fernando drops the chain on the floor.

--Hope he don't, little bro, f.u.c.king hope he don't.

Ramon leans against the wall.

--You hope he don't, man, I been in prison. s.h.i.t don't touch me. I can do that s.h.i.t I have to. Worry 'bout how you handle a little real time. Where's Timo?

--Yo, ese.

Timo comes down the hall, joint between his lips, trailing smoke.

Ramon lays out his palm and they trade skin, Timo slipping him the joint.

He takes a toke.

--Thanks, bro. What's up?

--Whelan and his kid bro are out cold.

--Want to wake those b.i.t.c.hes?

--Let's do it.

Fernando holds up a hand.

--Don't wake s.h.i.t. I say to wake s.h.i.t?

Ramon holds out the joint.

--Bro, take a hit, chill out. Ain't nothing. Just gonna wake them up. Ask some questions. Find out where the s.h.i.t is.

--n.o.body asking questions. n.o.body asking questions till the man gets here.

Ramon and Timo bug their eyes at each other.

Timo smiles big at his big brother.

--Get all jefe on us, ese? What's with that? This your thing all a sudden? We all not in the same s.h.i.t? We all not takin' the same bust?

Fernando takes two steps and pops Timo in the nose he broke two days ago in their last fight.

Timo screams and goes down.

Ramon c.o.c.ks his fist, but Fernando has him by the neck. Ramon unclenches his fist.

Fernando nods.

--That's right, bro, relax that s.h.i.t.

Ramon points at Timo.

--What the f.u.c.k?

Fernando lets him go.

--Little s.h.i.t talking about we all got the same bust. He's a f.u.c.king minor. No priors. Nothing. Bust means s.h.i.t to him. He's talking jailhouse tough s.h.i.t he gets from you. And you? Acting like it's a f.u.c.king joke? Joint don't mean nothing to you, bro? That your story now? What I remember when I went up there to visit, I remember I seen what you look like comin' down that hall, sittin' on the other side of that window. I remember you so lonely you were crying. Remember what I said that day?

Ramon touches the bandage around his thigh where the cops put a bullet in him.

--Yeah.

--Say it.

--Said. Said it was no good me being inside. Being away from my brothers. Said not to forget how it felt, not being with blood. Said outside we had each other. Inside we got n.o.body.

--That's right. Inside we're alone. And we're not going inside. Not you, not any of us. You want to go against those charges with a public defender? Some whitey from the county gonna get you off that s.h.i.t? The man is gonna get us off that s.h.i.t. We do his thing, he's gonna get us a real lawyer. That's what I want. Till we got that settled, you're right, I am the jefe. We all work together, but I am the boss and you gotta listen to me. Gotta follow what I say. Do that, stay together, stay on the outside. Stay family. Blood?

Ramon puts out his hand.

--Blood.

Fernando takes his brother's hand.

--Blood.

Timo sits up, fingering his nose.

--Thit's brothen again, futhcker.

Fernando helps him to his feet.

--Come on, blood, let's clean that s.h.i.t up.

He takes his brother back down the hall to the bathroom.

Ramon watches their backs.

--Jefe.

He smiles, takes a few steps and, leaning on his crutch, bends and picks up the snake of b.l.o.o.d.y chain. He looks at Hector, still folded and holding his face.

--Check you out, ese, you're all f.u.c.ked up. How's s.h.i.t like that happen, holmes? How'd you get into this s.h.i.t?

He takes a seat on the couch, leaning forward to take the hacksaw from his belt and tuck it next to the armrest. He stretches his wounded leg.

--I don't want to f.u.c.k with you while you're down, but you gotta be told, you ain't got it so bad.

He taps his thigh.

--This s.h.i.t, taking a .38 in the leg? That hurts. No lie. Know what the bullet did? Skipped off the bone. Check that out. Doc said it could just as easily shattered the motherf.u.c.ker. 'Stead, it skipped off the bone and went right out my leg. Told him I wanted to keep that bullet, good luck charm there ever was one. Said they can't give it to me. Said it's evidence. Evidence in the resisting arrest part of the case. Cops got a case against us, it's so big it's got f.u.c.king parts. Makes my head hurt as bad as my leg. Take it from me, little man, you ain't got it so bad.

He leans back.

--Still, this s.h.i.t is all f.u.c.ked up. This brown on brown thing? Know what I'm talking about, holmes? Yeah you do. This ain't right. Mean, here you are, three white dudes and one Chicano. And, whoa, stop the presses, who's in here getting f.u.c.ked up? Two white dudes in the back room sleeping it off, other white dude ditched this s.h.i.t. Cue up the same sorrya.s.s story.

He wiggles the chain.

--And us, here we are, three brothers, hermanos, the real deal lowrider vatos. Who we waiting on? That's right. White dude. In the meantime, how we spending our siesta? Beating on a fellow Chicano. That seem right? There something wrong with this picture? Know there is. Blanco Nortinos steal all of California from us, right? That's how this s.h.i.t started, that's how far back. Still there's places like this, towns where we got the numbers. Still we can't seem to do s.h.i.t any different than before. Ain't right, ese. All us Chicos here and hardly any Mr. Browns in sight, and we're still f.u.c.king each other up instead of taking it to them.

He levers himself up with the crutch.

--That's some prison education for you. Lessons direct from the school of hard knocks. Santa Rita social studies.

He looks at Hector, still bent over, bleeding face still in his hands.

He looks at the chain, watches a drop of Hector's blood slowly creep from link to link.

--Anyway, whatever. Let's see how this s.h.i.t works.

And he puts the chain to use.

[image]

--Andy. Andy.

--Leave me alone.

--Andy.

--I hurt. Leave me alone.

--Let me see your face.

--I donwanna.

--C'mon, man, just let me take a look.

--No. No.

--Andy, stop being a f.a.g and let me see your face.

--f.u.c.k you. f.u.c.k you.

But he turns his head, letting his brother see his face.

--s.h.i.t, oh s.h.i.t, little brother, oh s.h.i.t.

Andy looks down.

--Your legs are bleeding.

--It's OK, it's just sc.r.a.pes. How's the inside of your mouth, did you bite your tongue?

Andy sticks his tongue out.

--I thon thing tho.

--It looks OK.

--Thor hed ith bleeing.

--Put your tongue back in your mouth.

Andy puts his tongue back in his mouth.

--Your head is bleeding.

--They hit me with something.

--Who did?