pretty normal, maybe even a bit small for his body. And there’s no fat on him. He’s hard and sinewy as a knotty wooden cudgel and just as quick to come down on someone. ‘Thirteen’ is the key. The inches he’s got swinging between his legs. The guy’s a fucking animal. Even the whores in the barrio are scared of him. He could split them in two. El Jetita calls him Sosa and treats him with respect. Sosa’s his deputy.
I pass the General himself as he heads towards the bar. ‘What are you doing,
pibe
?’ he whispers. ‘Sit down, I’ll be right back.’ I stare at him, but he just carries on walking. These are the first words El Jetita has ever said to me. It’s not like I expected a formal introduction. At least now everyone knows everyone. But he better not try giving me orders. Who the fuck does he take me for? One of his toy soldiers?
‘Hey …’ Chueco greets me as I slump into the seat next to him. ‘
Qué onda?
’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, I’m cool … you?’
‘Sweet. What are you drinking?’ he asks, waving Yani over.
‘Beer,’ I say good and loud so she can hear me.
Halfway to our table, Yani turns and heads back to the bar.
‘Give me a cigarette.’ Chueco’s on the scrounge again.
I give him one and spark one myself. Yani comes back with the beer. The glass is full to the brim, not a millimetre of foam. I give her a wink, but Chueco has to spoil it and says something gross. Yani curls her lips contemptuously, and turns on her heel.
‘Jesus Christ, get a load of the arse on that!’ Chueco says to me, staring at her as she walks away. I can hardly blame him: you can see her thong through her jeans.
‘So what’s going on,
loco
?’ I say, changing the subject.
El Jetita sits down and starts chatting quietly to Fat Farías and Rubén. One of the few 40-watt bulbs in the bar hangs directly over the three heads. The shrunken pool of light barely extends beyond the table. It looks like a conspiracy. El Jetita is talking fiercely and waving his hands. Rubén manages to get a word in from time to time and Fat Farías just nods. I’m feeling jumpy.
I look at Chueco and ask him again what’s going on.
‘We’re on a roll, that’s what’s going on,
viejo
,’ he says. ‘The lean times are behind us.’
‘What are you talking about,
loco
?’
‘I’m talking about business. The General there has offered us some work.’ He points his cigarette at El Jetita. ‘Both of us,’ he says as though he hadn’t made it clear already.
I take a long slug of beer, necking half the glass so I don’t have to answer, and take a couple of drags on my cigarette.
‘I told him about your mad skills with a strap and he was really impressed, so you’re in.’
He takes a last drag on his cigarette, stubs it in the ashtray and blows the smoke in my face with a triumphant smile.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he says arrogantly. ‘Anything for you.’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry …’ I play along. ‘Thanks,
viejo
! I’m really fucking grateful.’
‘What’s the fuck’s with you? Play your cards right, you might get your gat. You should be made up.’
‘Well, I’m not. I’m out of here. I don’t trust that fucker.’
‘You chicken, Gringo?’
‘Fuck you, Chueco, and fuck your
mamá
,’ I whisper through gritted teeth so as not to be overheard. ‘I’m not some punk bitch. I just don’t trust the guy. You retarded or just dumb?’
‘You can’t just dump me like this, Gringo.’
‘What? Like I owe you something?’ I cut him dead.
Chueco arches one eyebrow likes he’s the lead actor in some soap. And it’s true, I do owe him. I owe him for keeping his mouth shut. And I’ve been paying him back for years now. There’s no way to keep score with this shit, but recently I’m thinking that maybe I’ve paid my debt. I can’t be expected to put up with Chueco’s crap for ever just because once upon a time he kept shtum. Sooner or later, the debt’s got to be paid. Chueco’s taking
I pass the General himself as he heads towards the bar. ‘What are you doing,
pibe
?’ he whispers. ‘Sit down, I’ll be right back.’ I stare at him, but he just carries on walking. These are the first words El Jetita has ever said to me. It’s not like I expected a formal introduction. At least now everyone knows everyone. But he better not try giving me orders. Who the fuck does he take me for? One of his toy soldiers?
‘Hey …’ Chueco greets me as I slump into the seat next to him. ‘
Qué onda?
’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, I’m cool … you?’
‘Sweet. What are you drinking?’ he asks, waving Yani over.
‘Beer,’ I say good and loud so she can hear me.
Halfway to our table, Yani turns and heads back to the bar.
‘Give me a cigarette.’ Chueco’s on the scrounge again.
I give him one and spark one myself. Yani comes back with the beer. The glass is full to the brim, not a millimetre of foam. I give her a wink, but Chueco has to spoil it and says something gross. Yani curls her lips contemptuously, and turns on her heel.
‘Jesus Christ, get a load of the arse on that!’ Chueco says to me, staring at her as she walks away. I can hardly blame him: you can see her thong through her jeans.
‘So what’s going on,
loco
?’ I say, changing the subject.
El Jetita sits down and starts chatting quietly to Fat Farías and Rubén. One of the few 40-watt bulbs in the bar hangs directly over the three heads. The shrunken pool of light barely extends beyond the table. It looks like a conspiracy. El Jetita is talking fiercely and waving his hands. Rubén manages to get a word in from time to time and Fat Farías just nods. I’m feeling jumpy.
I look at Chueco and ask him again what’s going on.
‘We’re on a roll, that’s what’s going on,
viejo
,’ he says. ‘The lean times are behind us.’
‘What are you talking about,
loco
?’
‘I’m talking about business. The General there has offered us some work.’ He points his cigarette at El Jetita. ‘Both of us,’ he says as though he hadn’t made it clear already.
I take a long slug of beer, necking half the glass so I don’t have to answer, and take a couple of drags on my cigarette.
‘I told him about your mad skills with a strap and he was really impressed, so you’re in.’
He takes a last drag on his cigarette, stubs it in the ashtray and blows the smoke in my face with a triumphant smile.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he says arrogantly. ‘Anything for you.’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry …’ I play along. ‘Thanks,
viejo
! I’m really fucking grateful.’
‘What’s the fuck’s with you? Play your cards right, you might get your gat. You should be made up.’
‘Well, I’m not. I’m out of here. I don’t trust that fucker.’
‘You chicken, Gringo?’
‘Fuck you, Chueco, and fuck your
mamá
,’ I whisper through gritted teeth so as not to be overheard. ‘I’m not some punk bitch. I just don’t trust the guy. You retarded or just dumb?’
‘You can’t just dump me like this, Gringo.’
‘What? Like I owe you something?’ I cut him dead.
Chueco arches one eyebrow likes he’s the lead actor in some soap. And it’s true, I do owe him. I owe him for keeping his mouth shut. And I’ve been paying him back for years now. There’s no way to keep score with this shit, but recently I’m thinking that maybe I’ve paid my debt. I can’t be expected to put up with Chueco’s crap for ever just because once upon a time he kept shtum. Sooner or later, the debt’s got to be paid. Chueco’s taking
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