Boy Kills Man (6 page)

I wished I could've felt the same kind of buzz, but I wasn't the one who was packing. I just bit down on my lolly so I didn't have to hold the stick, and was pleased when he suggested that we track down a game we could both join in.

Alberto said he'd caught sight of a good one on his way here: a gang we knew from our
barrio
who often found themselves short on numbers.

Maybe it was the opposition, or just the fact that he had a gun under his shirt, but Alberto played a mean game that day. Every time I passed him the ball, he took it as far as he could. One boy who dared to bring him down found himself marked so hard he never got another touch. Not until Alberto left the pitch, at any rate. I didn't see him go. I was too busy in the box, but when I looked around I realised we were one man down. When I asked if anyone knew where he went the keeper joked that his boyfriend had showed up in a beat-up muscle car and the big guy had gone running. I didn't laugh like everyone else, but nor did I defend my friend's name.

Alberto left me to my own devices another two times that week. The week after, he went off on three occasions, maybe four, and then I stopped counting. The big match was looming, after all, so I began to strike off the days instead.

Mostly the man with the dead eye and the green Dodge would call him away, but sometimes he'd be gone before the break of day. I'd call round first thing to find nobody home but his sister. Even though I learned to knock, she always found me flustered. She was nice, Beatriz. Most girls her age peered down their noses at a boy like me, but not her. Still, she'd give me a look whenever I asked after her brother. It was a look that told me she knew something was going on with him, but couldn't make any sense of it. I wanted to tell her it was the same for me, but only once got further than drawing breath.

‘What can I do?' I blurted at the time. ‘I'm his best friend, not his father!'

‘I know that,' she had said, sounding calm and kind. ‘But you're the next best thing to him. Alberto would come to you if he was in trouble, so if there's something you want to share, Sonny, I'm here.'

‘Sure,' I said, partly because I'd had no choice but also because it made me feel so special.

I never mentioned this promise to Alberto. I didn't even like to tell him that Beatriz and I often chatted when I called round. I was worried that he might start asking why I was so interested and then give me hell because she was his sister and I was a kid and
blah blah blah.

Besides, whenever Alberto did show up he was rarely in a mood to shoot the breeze. Each time, he seemed to come back a different person: like a clockwork toy that had been wound up a turn too tight. I'd ask him about his day and he'd just bounce me into another conversation about a bootleg tape he'd seen on a stall, or a likely soccer transfer before the season started. It sometimes took him several reefers to calm down, but even then he wasn't himself. He would become almost too quiet – so lost in thought that I wondered if he would ever find his way out again. It never lasted long, he usually slept it off, and the next day his confidence would return in force. The way Alberto had been built meant he was naturally larger than life, but now that came with a swagger. He walked tall, chin up, in a way that I couldn't quite match. I tried to copy him but it didn't feel right. I figured it would take some practice, but only when he wasn't around.

All this time the money kept coming in, and Alberto proved to be a generous friend. One evening, I was killing time up on the roof when he appeared carrying a ghetto blaster. Brand new. Box fresh.

‘Tell me you haven't just carried that through the
barrio!
' I declared, amazed when he said that he had. ‘Man, the thieves in this city must be losing their touch.'

‘People leave me alone,' he told me. I knew what he meant, and felt foolish for trying to make fun of him. Only recently, some of the kids around here had noticed Alberto climb into the Dodge three days running. They began joking that Alberto was sucking dick for a living, but that came to a complete halt when word reached Alberto himself. Maybe they found out how he was earning his money, but it certainly earned him a vibe that demanded some respect. I just felt privileged when that vibe began to rub off on me. Galán even came to find me about running more cigarettes and actually offered to pay even more because I would be working alone. Galán must've known that Alberto had better things to do, but I took on a couple of runs to show I could be trusted just like him. Wherever we went inside the
barrio,
people treated us differently. It wasn't much, just a look or greeting, but it felt as if we were somebody, and I soon stopped feeling so sidelined. If anything, Alberto made every effort to share his good fortune with me – like the stereo that he had just set down at my feet.

‘It's a gift,' he said, leaning back against the extractor hood. ‘It's about time we had some music up here. Maybe some of that stripped-down shit you've been liking on the sly.'

‘Alberto, I can't accept this. It's too much.'

I was gawping at the offering when a CD clattered into my lap.
Nirvana: Unplugged in New York City.
A live acoustic session. Not a tape, or a pirate copy, but the real deal.

‘Take it,' he said, when I protested again. ‘Else I'll be offended.'

That evening, I felt like I was looking out across the rooftops from a throne. We fired up the stereo, worked out how to put the beat box on repeat, and then listened to Nirvana and smoked and tuned out of the world around. Everyone knew that the singer Kurt Cobain had taken his own life. According to the guy who sold the CD to Alberto, he had turned that shotgun on himself soon after the gig recorded here. That just made me listen to it more closely, wondering if he knew at the time that his end was near. He certainly didn't sound sad or frightened, just calm and a little jaded, like someone looking forward to a long sleep.

Firecrackers filled the silence between each song. They had been going off every sundown for a while now, and sounded exactly like gunfire. Maybe bullets featured in the mix, but there was no mistaking the
fiesta
spirit that was beginning to seize the city. The bunting was out all over the
barrio,
and people had made arrangements so they would be close to a television or a radio set come Saturday. We had no need to make such plans. For when Nacional played their first match of the season at the weekend, we would be there to cheer them on.

‘It should be like this all the time,' I said to Alberto, as another song closed. We were lying flat on our backs now, watching points of light break out above.

‘Damn right,' agreed Alberto. ‘I imagine it will be if we get a win.'

I hadn't even considered what the result would be – hadn't thought further than the kick off – but now I started thinking way beyond the match. Eventually, I said:

‘What do you want to be when you grow up?'

‘I am grown up,' he said, still focused on the stars.

‘You know what I mean. And don't say a striker because you know that's my ambition.'

I heard him chuckle, and then fall quiet. Kurt was singing over another volley of crackers about a man who sold the world. The guitar sounded shaky and unsteady in places, but that made it seem more real to me.

‘You know what I want to be most of all?' Alberto said eventually. ‘I just want to be safe.'

‘From what?'

I turned so I was resting on my forearm. Alberto took a breath, and glanced across to check that he had my attention: ‘I keep dreaming that I'm running away from something. I can't tell you what it is, because whenever I look over my shoulder I see darkness.'

‘It's just a nightmare,' I said. ‘We all have those.'

‘Sonny, this one comes to me so often it doesn't even scare me any more. I dream I'm fleeing for my life, and that my only escape is to wake up. Just once, though, it would be nice to dream that I was running
towards
something. I don't want to be so uptight about what's behind me all the time, do you understand?'

I wasn't entirely sure that I did, but I nodded anyway. ‘It'll happen,' I assured him. ‘It'll happen for us both, brother. We're going places already.'

Alberto sighed, and heaved himself into a sitting position. He lowered the volume on the stereo, looked out towards the scrapers. They stood like tombstones at the centre of the city, hemmed in by the sprawl.

‘If Mamá finds out I got a gun,' he said next, ‘the only place I'll be heading is Hell.'

‘You sound scared?' Now it was my turn to sit up.

‘I'm not scared of what she'll do to me,' he said quickly. ‘I'm just worried what the truth would do to
her
.'

‘She'd freak out, for sure.'

‘Freak out? It would
destroy
her, man, and that would be my fault. Her only son, packing a piece.'

‘I won't tell a soul,' I said to reassure him. ‘I swear it.'

Alberto shrugged, and lit himself a cigarette. ‘She won't take any money from me,' he revealed. ‘I've stopped offering it to her because all she does is look at me like she's going to cry, and now she's started searching through my stuff. Yesterday, I came home to find she'd taken my room apart and put everything back just how I had left it.'

‘Alberto,' I laughed, ‘she probably just dusted! It's no wonder you're having bad dreams. You need to calm down.'

‘I've got a
gun,
man! That's not so easy.'

‘Then let me look after it for you.' I didn't even think before I said this, but it was too late to take back. Just for one night,' I added. ‘So you get a good night's sleep.'

Alberto stared at me, considering what I had said, and then looked away shaking his head. ‘It'll give you bad dreams, Sonny. I guarantee it.'

‘I can handle it, Alberto. Trust me!' Now it was my turn to speak out. For this would be the perfect way for me to show that I was just as capable as him. Alberto may have been the chosen one, but it would prove that we were still equals. ‘Come on, brother. What do you say?'

‘I say you're crazy, Sonny. But you know what? I've been losing so much shut eye lately that it sounds like a good idea to me.' He unbuckled the holster as he said this, and I felt my heart begin to race. ‘You've got to promise me you won't fool around with it – don't even take off the safety catch. They've been counting the bullets see, just to make sure I haven't been working for anyone else.'

I went from hot to cold as he handed me the holster, again when I touched the pistol grip. It felt surprisingly light, like a toy, though Alberto seemed to think otherwise. He rolled his shoulders, said it was a relief to get the straps off his back.

‘Shall I wear it?' I asked. The truth was I didn't know what to do. I felt like I had just been handed a newborn baby. I had no idea how to hold it, and pretty much froze up.

‘Shall I wear it?'
he repeated, mimicking me. ‘No, Sonny. You take pot shots into the street until someone shoots back at you. Of
course
you wear it! Under your shirt, nice and tight so nobody can see.'

Alberto buckled me into the holster, and made me swear on my mother's life that I would just forget about it. Then he finished by promising to be at my apartment first thing to collect it from me. ‘So there goes your chance to come round and score on my sister,' he said, with a wink.

I stood up, feeling dizzy. The dope wasn't helping, and that last jibe of his had come out of nowhere. Even so, I was determined to show that I was in control here. I was the one with the weapon now, not him. I had a
gun,
with bullets in the clip. I had never felt such a sense of exhilaration. I had never been so scared of myself either.

‘Don't forget the beat box,' he said. ‘It's yours, remember.'

‘Alberto, why don't you take it home?'

‘A gift is a gift,' he insisted, dropping down to collect it for me. ‘But if it makes you feel better, think of it as payment for one night's peace of mind.'

I hit the stop button, found the handle, and together we left the rooftop in silence. The city remained restless, as it always did on a balmy night, only now I felt as if I was at the very heart of it.

‘Sonny? Was it you making that almighty racket on the roof? Show yourself, boy!'

This was my welcome home, before I had even closed the door behind me. I knew my mother was out because Uncle Jairo was watching TV with the light off again. It sounded like a talk show – one of those trashy ones where everyone shouts and my uncle felt he had to do the same rather than turn down the volume. I pushed through the curtain, found him nursing a beer at the table. He had the window wide open, but I was surprised he could hear anything outside. The glare from the screen made his long face look all milky, and threw his shadow across the wall behind him. On the show he was watching, two women were screaming at each other. They looked close to a catfight, and the host was having some trouble keeping them apart.

‘Uncle Jairo, I'm gonna turn in. Could you quieten it down a little?'

‘These bitches need a real man to sort them out.' Jairo said this without taking his eyes off the screen. At the same time the host made some lame attempt to intervene, only for one of the guests to shove him hard in the chest.

‘Are you gonna let her disrespect you like that?' Jairo almost knocked his beer off the table, then seemed to recognise he had just lost his cool with a television tube. He dragged a palm from his brow to the back of his neck, and shifted his attention towards me. I was still holding on to the curtain, half turned so he couldn't see me properly. Alberto had assured me that the holster was invisible under my shirt, but it still felt like a hot brick to me. As a result, I completely forgot what else I had come in with.