Chapter 2
Chapter 2
I woke the next morning at 5:30 am, and forced myself to take a quick shower and down a can of ice cold coke to try to wake up. The night before had been tedious, since mom was in such a bad mood about the cigarette smoke smell that lingered in the house, and she had made me not only bring in the groceries, but also put them away after rearranging the cupboard. This was, of course, after setting up her heated mineral water foot massager; she demanded it have a water temperature of exactly 100 degrees, and exactly 2 cups of Epsom salt, which must be stirred in one tablespoon at a time, so that it all melted. It was a time consuming chore to say the least. I didn’t get to bed until nearly midnight, and I was slightly off my A-game as a result. But, as mom always said, when you play the game you pay the price, and I was paying for it this morning. I pulled out my uniform and put on my shorts, and then my white socks and black work shoes. As I was about to pull on a white undershirt I heard a light knock on the backdoor. I glanced at the clock, which read 5:58 am, and I immediately felt a clenching in my stomach; who could possibly be up and knocking at this hour. I knew both of my friends would still be in bed until at least 9 o’clock, and maybe later if they had really had a good time ogling Vanessa’s breasts (a slight touch of jealousy coursed through me at the thought, I admit) or got drunk enough to stay until last call. I crept slowly over to the door; one of the perks of my “studio” was having my own exterior door, so that I could come and go as I pleased. In truth it was more honest to admit that it was so that I didn’t wake my mother from her “beauty sleep” when I left for work early in the mornings. I didn’t really ever “please” to go out much, except for work and the occasional trip to the Quick Mart for a candy bar and a large cola. I placed my ear against the door again and heard another light knock. I jumped at the sound, and my stomach let out a loud gurgle, obviously because I was hungry, not because I was scared to death. The intruder must have heard it and he laughed and whispered loudly through the door. “Open up, dumbass. It’s Rich.” It took me a moment to process the words before I slowly opened the door, since mom was such a light sleeper, and peered out into the dimly lit morning sky. Rich reached out and pushed me backward, practically strutting into my room (studio) like he owned the place. He had a big smile on his face, and he waved his hand at me in a grand gesture, obviously a significant reminder of some great Cherokee warrior’s victory tradition. I stood rigid, watching him in dumbfounded awe, lest I ruin the ritual significance of the moment, and he slowed his waving hand in front of my face, holding up two fingers like he was holding a gun. He finally stopped with his fingers beneath my nose and looked at me expectantly. I held my breath, waiting for the moment of clarity that I knew must happen at the conclusion of such a grand ritual, and he watched me for a second before rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
“Smell my fingers, dumbass.” He whispered harshly. My eyes lit up in understanding; I must smell the blood of those defeated by his ancestors to gain the true knowledge of the ritual. I inhaled deeply, and the strange scent which assailed my senses caused a moments confusion; I had once bit my tongue while chewing a wad of big league bubble gum, and the taste and smell of blood was something I remembered quite well, but this was something new to me. I shook my head a moment before asking the obvious. “Aww, what the hell is that smell?”
Rich’s eyes opened even wider and he burst out laughing, though he quickly stifled his mirth, having been present at one of mother’s meltdowns before and knowing the pain in the ass that was the wrath of Sheila Greenbaldemal. He thrust his two fingers against my nose and rubbed, and in a low voice whispered the Shamanistic words of his people. “That is the scent of a women, you idiot. I hooked up with Brenda Claven last night at Tokes; I just left her house, and figured you would be awake already. Gods you are such a virgin.” He laughed again lightly and went over and jumped on my bed, kicking his feet up in the obvious grandeur of the alpha male. I rubbed my nose, but still the smell lingered. I almost felt like vomiting, but in a way it actually had a pleasant smell to it, sort of like smelling your own fart just to see how bad it was. It took only a moment before his words sunk in and I muttered. “I am not a virgin. I told you that.”
“Oh yeah, right, I remember. 10th grade, with Roxy Carmichael in her dad’s minivan. I still don’t believe you….because if that was true you would have done it again…and again. And again and again. Once you start, you can’t stop, dude.” Again a look of peaceful bliss crossed his sharp features, and he smiled in remembrance.
I thought about it for a second before replying. “She even said it was huge!” There was a smugness in my voice, though I did have my own internalized doubts. What I said was the truth…I thought. I mean, Roxy was small, only 4 foot 10 inches, and they had snuck out during lunch and climbed in the back of the minivan to make out. It wasn’t really that she had been attracted to me; I had heard she was the school slut, so I guessed everyone had tried her out. She wasn't very attractive, either; she had a pinched, pimply face, and dark, oily hair that laid flat against her head. She also was as flat chested as a 10 year old boy, but I didn't really care. She was the first girl who had showed any interest in me, and that was good enough in my mind. She had kissed me and then reached down and grabbed me between my legs, and she had squealed with delight when she found out what I was “packing”. “Its huge.” she had whispered in my ear as she lifted her skirt and unzipped my pants, thankfully releasing me from the suddenly tight confines of my J.C. Penney khakis. She had scooted down in the seat and lifted her legs, her hand wrapped tightly around my shaft. I tried to enter her, but she was so small that it wouldn't fit, and after several minutes of squirming and pushing, I finally entered her. I had barely even gotten any of it in when I felt a sudden burst of heat and fire and gushed out all over her thighs. She had squirmed for a moment and then, realizing what had happened, she looked at me and frowned and muttered “Seriously…like really…you didn’t just pop that fast did you? Oh my god what a waste, get off me you asshole.” She them pushed me off of her, and I tried to move, knowing that she was upset. This threw me off balance, and when she kicked open the sliding door, I fell out of the van backwards, my pants around my ankles. I landed on my back, penis flopping for the whole world to see, but luckily, I thought at the time, no one had been there to see the incident as it unfolded. I finally realized that someone had seen, but only after suffering through a month of strange stares and laughter and obscure jokes that I couldn’t really comprehend. But, I thought as Rich looked at me skeptically, I wasn’t a virgin. I mean, just the tip counts, right? And anyhow, mom had always chided me about how bad sex, drugs, and rock and roll was, and after my first experience with sex, I believed her. I had avoided any chance of encountering the evil trio, because mama was always right.
Rich again nearly burst out laughing and jumped out of the bed, waving his hand again in a grand gestured. A memory occurred to me and suddenly I realized that I did, indeed, remember the smell on his fingers, though it was not quite as strong as I remembered with Roxy. “Now I know you’re full of it, Stan. Get dressed, doughboy, I gotta get home and go to bed, and you need to get to work….playa…” He laughed and then shook his head again, adding quickly “…and tell old man Pleckerman he needs to get a new color, you pussy!” He headed out the door, but stopped for a moment and turned back to me, whispering one last comment. “Oh, and by the way, I will be by here later to get the tat finished. You get off work at like 6, right? I will be here at 6:30...and get out your dictionary, dipshit. No more misspelled words; you are an incredible artist, but dyslexic as fuck. And, if you spell this one right, I talked Brenda into letting you ink her up, and in return she will probably pay you…one way or another.” He grinned widely, lifted his magic fingers to his own nose, and in a grand gesture inhaled heavily, twirled his hand around and backed into the shadows.
The room was well lit, with large windows gazing out across the wide scope of the Intracoastal Waterway in Daytona Beach. The three young men sat facing the other man, his back to the windows, and they had to squint to keep the morning sunlight out of their eyes. Hector sat to the far left of the group, and his foot was twitching nervously under the chair, thankfully hidden from view. He was in his early twenties, and had been born in the states to his immigrant parents, so he was a citizen, though his parents were still waiting for their citizenship. He had never met the man before, but Hector knew that he was someone to respect fully, because his father had told him so, and father was a man whose reputation was well known among all who had met him. Hector had heard some stories, mostly spoken in hushed voices, about how his father had once been associated with a group of people that everyone in San Diego had feared. Others spoke of various prison stints that had occurred before Hector was born, and while he was a young boy he remembered his father being away from the time he was four until he was seven. After that, father had moved the family to St Augustine, Florida, and set up a custom automotive business that was dedicated to building rare, exotic, and specialty cars and trucks. There were never any money issues after that, although Hector once overheard parts of a conversation about a business deal, and so he thought he understood some of what was going on in his family. He mostly worked at the auto shop, but on occasion his father would call on him to run other errands. This time was different, he had been told; Hector would be meeting his father’s boss, and getting instructions on a new job. He had been told to pick two trustworthy friends and to drive down to Daytona that morning to meet with the man, who was sitting back in his chair, face shadowed by the bright sun behind him, appraising the three young men. The man sat in silence, his hands clasped together, as if in prayer, beneath his chin. His face was concealed completely by the contrast of light and shadow, but Hector could make out what appeared to be a goatee, and there was no hiding the man’s size; he was the largest, most muscular man Hector had ever seen. The man’s chair was much larger than the ones they were sitting in, and from Hector’s viewpoint it was almost as if he was standing over them, rather than just sitting across from them. He looked over at his two friends, Emilio and Franco, just to see if they looked as nervous as he felt inside. Emilio was sitting up rigidly, eyes focused straight ahead and just about level with the man’s folded hands. Franco was sprawled out, legs askew and slouched down in his chair. His arms were crossed, and he had a look on his face as though he were the first and most notorious gangsta to have ever lived. Hector looked back at the man and crossed his fingers, hoping that the trio would pass inspection and be given the job, which his father had promised would be rewarding. The moment dragged on, with no one saying a word, except for an occasional “mmhmm” from the man seated across from them. Hector found his eyes wandering around a little, first staring at a boat as it flew by out in the river, frothy blue water thrown from its wake and a bikini-clad woman laying out on its deck. He then looked at the wall, where beautiful paintings hung in immaculate gold frames. Each one looked expensive, and each differed from the next; one was a desert landscape, another being the view of a cenote, like the one he had seen on a trip to the Yucatan a few years earlier with his friends, and yet another being a Catholic mission with red doors, stucco roof, and a large golden cross gleaming in the sun. He looked to his left, and noted a bookshelf filled with leather bound books, thick and heavy looking, and obviously old. Hector then realized where his attention was demanded at the moment and quickly looked back to the man. “This is the life I want.” he thought as he contemplated the opportunity he was being sized up for. “This is my chance to go big, and make my own fortune. All it takes is a chance and a successful first venture.
The man lifted his head from his folded hands, and Hector held his breath. In the moment of total clarity, he realized that the room was completely silent, and that both his compadres had also stopped breathing. The man made a low noise, almost like a lion snarling, and then set his head back on his hands. Hector felt his stomach hit the floor; they had been found lacking, and his opportunity had slipped away. His lungs opened and his breath hissed from between pursed lips in dismay, and again he realized that those sitting beside him did so as well, in unison. He tried to steel himself for the rejection he knew was coming, and then the man spoke in a deep, heavily accented voice, startling the trio.
“It is most important for you all to listen to my instructions and to follow them without fail. There will be but one chance given to succeed, and the cost of your failure is not one that you will enjoy bearing. I have a large shipment coming in to the port in Jacksonville today at 3:00 pm. You will leave here, and drive my truck to the port, gate 9B. The guard will let you pass and you will be directed to a shipping container where a man will be waiting. You will know him when you see him, have no doubt. You will not leave the truck, but will roll down the window and tell him…” He paused for a long moment to let the importance of his next statement sink in. “…Guadalupe in burning, we need something to quench the flames. Remember those words by heart, or else you will not enjoy the moment after. Repeat the words to me…” He looked directly at Hector, as if Emilio and Franco were not even in the room.
Hector sat bolt upright, his head pounding at the unexpected demand. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a high pitched squeak came out. He then swallowed, took a deep breath, and repeated the phrase. “Guadalupe is burning, we need something to quench the flames.” At his last word he exhaled heavily, a sound like a sigh of relief, and the man nodded before placing his head back into folded hands. A long moment passed, and then he spoke again.
“Very good, you should memorize those words, since they may be the last you speak if they do not come out correctly.” He paused again, his head moving from left to right, pausing for a split second to appraise each young man individually. He then continued. “At that time, should you still be breathing, you will back the truck up to the container and help them to load the merchandise. You will then return to the warehouse outside, and back the truck into it. As your reward, you will get a portion of the contents of the delivery, which is in truth 600 cases of various types of alcohol that has been imported from Mexico. Of them, 400 are mine, plus another 5 single cases of samples. The remaining cases, 195, are yours to sell or do with as you please. Each case has 15 bottles, valued at 10-20 dollars apiece. Were you to sell them to a wholesaler, you would be able to make around $45,000.00, or close to $15,000.00 each. I will decide what you get, because my shipment is especially for a customer who placed the order specifically for what I have arranged to have delivered. I expect you to have returned by 6:00 pm, and if you have any delays, immediately inform me about them by calling the only number on this cell phone.” As he spoke the last statement his hands parted and he slid a phone straight toward Hector, who somehow lifted his left hand fast enough and caught the phone effortlessly. The man smiled broadly, and his bright white teeth caught what little light his shaded face held and illuminated his features ever so slightly. He lifted his hand, pointed his finger at Hector, and said almost jovially “Your padre was right, Hector; you do have much potential. If you do this right, you all may find yourselves with many more opportunities. Now leave me, go down the stairs to the left and exit the door at the bottom, and show the man there the cellphone. He will direct you to the truck and explain everything else.” He paused and folded his hands again, lowering his face so that his fingertips touched his lips, and the smile turned to a vicious frown. “Do not let anything happen to this shipment, or else you will never work for anyone, ever, again. Now go.”
In unison the three jumped to their feet and turned, marching out in a surprisingly orderly fashion as they left the room. They could barely contain their excitement as they exited the door, flashing the cellphone as if it was a policeman’s badge, to which the man pointed toward a large truck and began to lead them over. His voice was low and monotone, like a recording from an instruction CD. “The keys are in the ignition, and there is a GPS unit on the dashboard. The truck has enough gas to drive to Jacksonville and back. When you leave the warehouse parking lot, the GPS will direct you exactly where to go. There will be no smoking, no drugs, and no loud music in the truck, and you will not attract any unwanted attention. Should the police show any interest in the truck, you must immediately find a place to hide it until the risk is over? It would be wise for you to contact an associate between here and Jacksonville who could offer you a place to park the truck for a while in case you are spotted.” He paused and looked at the three young men and then continued. “The shipment is completely legal, I assure you, but we do not need to be delayed by an overzealous cop; the customer expects his shipment from us within a few days, and any delay is not warranted. Do you understand the instructions?” He looked at each of them, scanning their faces and watching as one by one they each nodded their heads, and then he smiled at them. This exposed a bright gold grille covering his teeth, and he smacked his balled fist into his open palm, which revealed his tattoo covered arms. Hector recognized some of them from his father and his father’s friends, and the guys who worked for his father. He nodded and smiled back, replying “No problem, ese. We got this.” At these words the man nodded, then started to turn, but stopped for a moment and looked back at Hector. “I remember when you were a little one, Hector. Your old man was so proud of you…and he still is. Better not mess this up, or else it will be hell to pay. El Lupe does not allow mistakes to happen without heavy punishment. Now get going, you are on a tight schedule. And good luck, homies.”