Boy Kills Man (12 page)

‘It's a beautiful day,' I said, looking up and around, but Manu didn't reply. I could hear screams before we had found the door, not that it rattled me one bit. I knew exactly what I would find inside – a group of guys surrounding some poor fool. This one had been bound by the wrists to an upturned pallet. The warehouse was big and empty and broken-up inside. There were containers strewn everywhere, broken glass and bird shit underfoot.

‘Where's the piece?' I asked, breaking the silence when they turned to take a look at me. I didn't meet their eyes or ask again, just stared at the guy I was here to hit. He was much older than I expected: thinning grey hair and an earring that didn't look right on him. His mouth had been stuffed with an oily cloth, and it was clear that he'd been badly beaten. I stared at him and he looked right back at me, and I saw that we had an understanding. Out of respect, I didn't break that connection even when I felt the grip come into my hand.

‘Don't fail me,' Manu breathed into my ear. ‘I'll kill you myself if you screw this up.'

I had a gun, at last. I held it loose beside me, watched one of the guys pick up a hacksaw from a workbench behind him.

‘What's your name, kid?' he asked.

‘Shorty,' said Manu, before I could speak. ‘It's his first.'

‘Well, Shorty, I got a tradition here I want you to see. Let me show you how we tie a Colombian neckerchief.'

The other guys chuckled nervously and made some space for him, and that's when I opened fire on the man he was about to cut.

Without blinking, I watched plugs of bloody flesh and fabric pop from his chest. He bucked and twitched and grimaced with every hit, but I carried on squeezing the trigger until the magazine ran out of bullets. I didn't need to see what my friend had witnessed before me. I just wanted to get the job done, and save us all some time and dignity.

The noise from each gunshot was tremendous, but it was the final one that seemed to slam around the warehouse for an age. Nobody said a word when I dropped my shooting arm, though what I had done left me breathless. Alberto might've left me behind, but this proved I could keep going without him – and do so with my head held high. The old man hung from the pallet like his bones had turned to twigs, but everyone was looking at
me.

‘You're enthusiastic. I like that in my
sicarios.
Maybe you were a little generous with the bullets, but the sucker had it coming.'
El Fantasma
was about the same age as my first hit, though he wore white sneakers with a suit jacket and jeans and that made him look much younger. ‘For six months that greedy jackal has been running to the cops about every move I make. Lucky I got friends on the force, huh?' I nodded when he looked at me, tried to stand still.
El Fantasma
had a round face, with curly dark hair that reached the collar. He was perched on the front of his big wooden desk, a signed photograph of the Nacional squad in a frame behind him, a single skin joint between his fingers. I would be taken to meet him at his compound after each job and didn't once see him without a private little reefer between his knuckles. Still, his thoughts never seemed clouded and his eyes were always clear. I heard he didn't touch any other drug, even though his business was to supply others in bulk, but it paid not to ask those kind of questions. One thing I was sure about: he could count out money with the same grace and speed as a card player dealing from a deck. ‘Here,' he said next, and snapped out ten notes from a money clip. ‘Put this in your pocket and keep it somewhere safe. There are thieves in the city, don't you know?'

He chuckled to himself as I folded it away, but then suddenly his mood changed and he told me to hand over the gun.

‘Pardon me?'

It was the first time I had felt afraid, but I refused to let it get the better of me. I just did as I had been asked.
El Fantasma
returned to the seat behind his desk and placed the weapon on the table. Then he unlocked the drawer and took out a box of bullets.

‘I have a feeling you'll be getting through plenty of these,' he said, filling the magazine. Just make sure they end up in the right place, Shorty. I know you and me have some history, but what can I say about that? If people flout the rules on the pitch, they got to expect a red card, am I right?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Who do you support?'

I looked up at the photo in the frame. ‘Same as you.'

‘Amen to that. What position do you play? I'm thinking a little firebrand like you should feed in from the wing.'

‘I play anywhere I'm needed,' I told him.

He nodded like he understood what I was saying and pushed the gun across the table.

‘Welcome to the team,' he finished with a wink, and from that moment on I set out to become his star player. I saw it as my duty – not just to myself or the friend I had lost, but to the people who mattered to me. If I could help to pay their way, I decided, I would be offering hope.

With some money in my pocket at last, I returned to the
barrio
that afternoon and headed for the one apartment I had avoided since Alberto went missing. I did wonder if I could see it through. My stomach was beginning to feel a little loose, and my mouth tasted like I'd been sucking on a peso. I knew from having spent so much time with my friend that this was down to the jab. I just hoped the calming effects hadn't worn off completely

‘Who's there?' Beatriz sounded different from behind the door, scared almost, but that changed when I said my name.

‘Go away. Don't come here any more.'

‘Please. I have something for you.'

‘It's too late,' I heard her say. ‘Leave us in peace, Sonny.'

Beatriz was speaking for her mother here, too. I knew this because when it became clear that her son would not be coming home she had retreated from the world around. Several times I had decided that I needed to face Alberto's family, that l owed them kind words at least. I would raise my hand to the door, but always stopped short of knocking. Often it was the sound of weeping that persuaded me to walk away, but mostly it was me. I simply hadn't been able to face his only sister, and went out of my way to avoid her more than anyone else I knew. Until, that is, I had something I could offer to make up for their loss.

‘Beatriz,' I said, trying again, and made sure the pistol in my waistband was well hidden. ‘I will not leave until you open up.'

‘Are you deaf as well as dumb? We don't want any more trouble. We never wanted any of this in the first place. Now we don't even have a body to bury, Sonny. We can't grieve, but we have to move on.'

‘I miss you!' What I said came from the heart, and silenced the voice behind the door. ‘I miss Alberto, too, but we're still here, aren't we?'

That was when I heard the bolt shoot back. The door opened up, and there she was: older than I remembered, sadder too. She had dark rings under her eyes and appeared to have lost some weight.

‘Go home, Sonny.'

Beatriz was wearing the same white dress I had seen her in on the eve of the big match, but it didn't look so special in this light. I could hear another person in the apartment. For a second I expected to see her brother spring out of nowhere, looking loaded up on pastry cake and ready to seize the day. Instead, I caught sight of his mother, just a shadow behind a screen. I didn't know what to say. All I could do was press a fistful of money into Beatriz's hands: half of what I had earned, but enough to make her gasp.

‘What is this? Oh, Sonny. Not you, too?'

Maybe she had been close to tears when I called, because her eyes welled before I could explain that I knew what I was doing. She looked at me in disbelief, tried to return my gift, but I just stepped away with my palms raised.

‘Take it,' I said. ‘It's the best I can do.'

I could see that she was touched. There was nothing I could've said about her loss that would come close to this, and so when she flung the notes in my face it knocked what life I had left right out of me.

‘The best thing you can do is
disappear!
' she exploded. ‘Get out of our lives, idiot! Leave us in peace!'

My mother was the last person I had wanted to face that day. It was only when I saw her that I realised why. I walked into the apartment, expecting grief from Jairo, and my guard just fell away. I thought I might start crying from shock or sheer relief, so I swallowed hard and took some deep breaths.

‘Look at you,' she said, from her seat at the table. ‘My boy.'

Normally, I would come in to find my uncle in the same place, looking like
I
was the last person
he
wanted to see. The apartment seemed so peaceful without him: filled with light and fresh air. She stood to greet me, drawing back the chair without making a sound. It wasn't just the pistol under my shirt that stopped me from walking into her arms. If she hugged me now, I thought, I might just tell her everything.

‘Where is he?' I asked, getting a grip once more. I glanced behind the curtain, but he wasn't napping in the bed. For a second I wondered if the old bastard had died. It explained the rosary beads I noticed she was clutching. ‘What's wrong?'

‘You're here,' she said. ‘It's all that matters.'

Mamá's voice sounded thick and dreamy, like she was speaking to a spirit and not her own son. She didn't blink enough to be natural, either, but then she'd been this way since she learned about Alberto. When she found out, I had expected her to join my uncle and scream at me. Instead, she disappeared for an hour, and came home like she'd lost her soul in the streets. She would weep to herself without warning, and often drifted into thoughts so deeply that Jairo took to shaking her out of herself. He kept on at her about the fact that the world didn't stop turning just because one dumb kid had wasted his life, and that unless she shook off this depression and started paying the rent we would all be better off dead. I hadn't blamed her when she went out to work and didn't come home for two nights, even if it meant Jairo found something else to grizzle about.

After all the hassle my uncle gave us, I had been more than ready to speak to Manu. At the very least, it got me out of the apartment and earning a living. I reached for my pocket once more, and showed my mother the money I had made. Having just tried to give Beatriz her half, I was prepared for the worst. So I pressed it into her hands now, said a silent prayer that she wouldn't surface from her thoughts too quick, and told her everything would be just fine.

‘It's all yours, Mamá. If Jairo tries to claim it for himself, you tell me.'

She looked up from the money, not even a hint of surprise behind the glaze. Her lips were moving some, but no words came out this time, so I rocked on to my toes to kiss her on the cheek and told her I had to be some place. I just didn't want to be around when my uncle came home.

‘Where are you going?' I heard her say, as I turned to leave.

‘Nowhere special.'

‘Will you be home again?' The way she asked me this, I could've been the adult leaving a child behind. Still, she sounded concerned this time, and I realised I had to get away quick.
‘Sonny?'
I darted out into the hallway. In her state, I thought, she might just forget all about me as soon as I disappeared. I swung on to the stairs and saw her follow me out to the rail with the money in one hand and her rosary in the other. She called out how she loved me, but it didn't sound all there. Still, I left knowing where I wanted to be.

The first thing I did when I arrived was talk to Alberto. I leaned forward in the pew at the back with my hands clasped tightly together, and tried very hard not to let go of myself. It felt quite natural to me, being inside a church. In Medellín there was always one just a block away, but few like this with doors open night and day. Mostly they were padlocked shut, but this place had been plundered so many times there was nothing left to protect. It meant when the faithful filed out after each service, everyone else crept in. As a child, I used to come here with my uncle. The trouble was his turn in the confessional often went on for an age. As a result, I had grown up thinking church was a place to misbehave when the priest wasn't looking, but all that seemed behind me now.

The peace in here was unreal. It could've been a world away from the surrounding city. Candles flickered in front of a plywood altar, also at the back where the Fallen Christ once hung, and the air was laced with incense and dope. In the pew across from me, several boys were sharing a joint and talking in hushed whispers. I had noticed one of them had black-feathered wingtips peeping from his vest, but that just reminded me to mind my own business. I had come in feeling restless and anxious to find some hash myself, but once I'd settled down all the tension seemed to ease. I didn't think it was right to talk to God, after what I had done, but spoke to my friend at length. I told him about the hit and asked him what he thought of me now. I told him I would take care of his family, even if Beatriz needed a bit of time before she realised how much she meant to me. I was going to ask how he felt about that as well, but a tap on my shoulder made me gasp and reach for my gun.

‘Easy, man!' said the boy who had disturbed me, the one with the wings and the nub of a joint I realised he had come to offer. He backed away, glaring at me savagely. ‘You were looking a little lonely, is all.'

I felt refreshed when I left, and ready to face the streets again. I hadn't made any friends, but I did feel I'd spent some time with an old one. I guess that's why I kept going back. Every time I took ride in the taxi, I'd ask Manu to drop me off outside the church. It was kind of hard, spending so much time with my thoughts, but I preferred being there than up on the rooftop. I had returned to our old haunt a couple of times, but it felt like something was missing. Jairo had laid claim to my beat box, which meant I couldn't even bring Kurt for company, and slowly I grew to prefer the pew.