said.
“Who plans on it?”
K-Dog actually had a misty look in his eyes. Man, pruno could make anyone feel sentimental. Sam picked up his glass and toasted K-Dog, let him know he felt his pain.
“You gotta be tough,” Sam said.
“True,” K-Dog said, his composure back where it should be.
“Who was the toughest Latin Emperor?”
K-Dog scratched his chin and really gave it some thought. “Well,” he said, “I think you start with a guy like Junior Gonzalez and work your way down. You know of him?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“You should keep it that way,” K-Dog said. “He’s out now. Literally ran into him at Publix one day. You know, that’s the funny thing. Standing in line, buying your shit—you know, Pop-Tarts, Fruit Roll-Ups, whatever—and you look across the aisle and there’s some gangster in line buying the same shit, plus, you know, a big thing of Woolite, paper towels, whatever. Even a gangster needs to wash his shit, right?”
“You guys talk about old times in the parking lot?” Sam hoped he wasn’t overplaying his hand, but, then, he couldn’t really feel his hands anymore.
“We talked some shop. I told him I was keeping it on the narrow, got my own printing company now, all that. He told me he was ruling, which I took to mean he wasn’t giving up the life.”
Ruling. Interesting.
“Was he top dog in prison?” Sam asked.
“Oh, indeed,” K-Dog said. Just then, one of K-Dog’s three cocker spaniels came bounding into the room and leaped onto the couch with Sam. For a guy named K-Dog, it didn’t really fit that he was housing spaniels, but even Sam had to admit they were cute. He could have lived without seeing K-Dog giving the one on the sofa a kiss on the lips, however. “Know what I missed most in prison? These little guys. All my life, I’ve had spaniels. They’re just good, nice dogs. Now, Junior? He was bad news my first couple of years. But by the time I got out? He was working in the library, leading education groups, had the warden’s ear on things. Complete turnaround. Homeboy had already done twenty-five, right? He learned to play the game like all the rest. Me? I just had five years, so I knew I could get out in three, four, if I kept my nose clean. Ernesto? He had my back until that shank, but even still, people didn’t give me too much trouble, on account of what I could do with paper and ink. But Junior was LE to the fullest. Even if he was toeing the line, you knew he was running that gang, inside and out.”
Sam reached over and scratched the dog behind its ear, which caused the dog to emit a low growl of pleasure. If only all things were so easy. He decided to move the conversation closer to the finer points, seeing as the dog’s growl echoed in his head like he was at a Pink Floyd concert in 1974, minus the floating pig and the laser, though he had the feeling that any more pruno would bring those forth, too.
“Did you know Father Eduardo was a Latin Emperor?” Sam said. “I saw him on television the other day and then got on the Google, and there it all was. Can’t see him doing that gang-life stuff.”
K-Dog took a deep gulp of his concoction and then grimaced. It occurred to Sam that K-Dog might want to get his liver examined by medical experts, because there was no way he was human. “He was out of Coleman, time I got there,” K-Dog said. “Man, those peppers. That’s some burn.”
“What was the word on him, though? He must have caused a stir getting out of prison like he did and becoming a big deal.”
“Oh, you didn’t say his name around the LE. You say his name around Junior and you were asking for a beat down. Know what I heard? After he found Jesus and all that? After he started writing kids’ books and shit, he actually turned state’s and rolled up on Junior and maybe ten or eleven soldiers.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Man found God,” K-Dog said. “What can you do? You can’t do anything, that’s what.
“Who plans on it?”
K-Dog actually had a misty look in his eyes. Man, pruno could make anyone feel sentimental. Sam picked up his glass and toasted K-Dog, let him know he felt his pain.
“You gotta be tough,” Sam said.
“True,” K-Dog said, his composure back where it should be.
“Who was the toughest Latin Emperor?”
K-Dog scratched his chin and really gave it some thought. “Well,” he said, “I think you start with a guy like Junior Gonzalez and work your way down. You know of him?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“You should keep it that way,” K-Dog said. “He’s out now. Literally ran into him at Publix one day. You know, that’s the funny thing. Standing in line, buying your shit—you know, Pop-Tarts, Fruit Roll-Ups, whatever—and you look across the aisle and there’s some gangster in line buying the same shit, plus, you know, a big thing of Woolite, paper towels, whatever. Even a gangster needs to wash his shit, right?”
“You guys talk about old times in the parking lot?” Sam hoped he wasn’t overplaying his hand, but, then, he couldn’t really feel his hands anymore.
“We talked some shop. I told him I was keeping it on the narrow, got my own printing company now, all that. He told me he was ruling, which I took to mean he wasn’t giving up the life.”
Ruling. Interesting.
“Was he top dog in prison?” Sam asked.
“Oh, indeed,” K-Dog said. Just then, one of K-Dog’s three cocker spaniels came bounding into the room and leaped onto the couch with Sam. For a guy named K-Dog, it didn’t really fit that he was housing spaniels, but even Sam had to admit they were cute. He could have lived without seeing K-Dog giving the one on the sofa a kiss on the lips, however. “Know what I missed most in prison? These little guys. All my life, I’ve had spaniels. They’re just good, nice dogs. Now, Junior? He was bad news my first couple of years. But by the time I got out? He was working in the library, leading education groups, had the warden’s ear on things. Complete turnaround. Homeboy had already done twenty-five, right? He learned to play the game like all the rest. Me? I just had five years, so I knew I could get out in three, four, if I kept my nose clean. Ernesto? He had my back until that shank, but even still, people didn’t give me too much trouble, on account of what I could do with paper and ink. But Junior was LE to the fullest. Even if he was toeing the line, you knew he was running that gang, inside and out.”
Sam reached over and scratched the dog behind its ear, which caused the dog to emit a low growl of pleasure. If only all things were so easy. He decided to move the conversation closer to the finer points, seeing as the dog’s growl echoed in his head like he was at a Pink Floyd concert in 1974, minus the floating pig and the laser, though he had the feeling that any more pruno would bring those forth, too.
“Did you know Father Eduardo was a Latin Emperor?” Sam said. “I saw him on television the other day and then got on the Google, and there it all was. Can’t see him doing that gang-life stuff.”
K-Dog took a deep gulp of his concoction and then grimaced. It occurred to Sam that K-Dog might want to get his liver examined by medical experts, because there was no way he was human. “He was out of Coleman, time I got there,” K-Dog said. “Man, those peppers. That’s some burn.”
“What was the word on him, though? He must have caused a stir getting out of prison like he did and becoming a big deal.”
“Oh, you didn’t say his name around the LE. You say his name around Junior and you were asking for a beat down. Know what I heard? After he found Jesus and all that? After he started writing kids’ books and shit, he actually turned state’s and rolled up on Junior and maybe ten or eleven soldiers.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Man found God,” K-Dog said. “What can you do? You can’t do anything, that’s what.
Similar Books
