Shadow Seed 1: The Misbegotten (58 page)

“Hey, man, what’s up?”  I was a guarded question, spoken with an equally guarded tone.

“Nothing much, vato,” he said in his gravelly voice, looking me over for a second.  Then his eyes shifted to Ramona, his gaze lingering over her round tits and hips, possibly even her crotch.

She endured it, having been under his scrutiny before.  Her eyes narrowed and a thin-lipped smile
emerged.

His eyes returned to me, his face bunching up with irritation.  “Hey, how come none of you fuckers pay attention, man?”

“What’re you talking about?”   The exasperation creeped into my tone of its’ own volition, I had no control over it.

“I was pounding on your front door for five fucken minutes and still none of you guys answered,” he explained, spreading his palms to either side of him.  “Then I went to the window and looked in.  I saw that retarded younger brother of yours playing on the damned video games with the pinche headphones on, not a fucking care in the world.”  He stepped closer toward me.  “I could’ve popped his ass, Estefan, right then and there.  I doubt any of you idiotas would’ve realized it.  He could be dead, right now, lying in his own shit for all you’d know.”  He actually squinted harder, which I thought would’ve been impossible, seeing his face was already screwed-up beyond recognition.

“Hey, man, don’t talk that way about my brother,” I warned, feeling those deep seeded, angry thoughts rise that some forgotten vault in my mind.  They were thoughts I’d rather not think about, but the fact it was
him
and he’d called Johan retarded, stirred the pot – the dregs were now spinning about the top.

“Or what, you little puissant bitch, what the fuck are you going to do to me?” he challenged, though he wasn’t yelling or demonstrative.  No, Robert’s delivery was always one of calm, though cold, the sort that lulled people to sleep almost like being frozen to death.

Ramona came forward suddenly, putting a restraining arm across my chest.  “Estefan, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.  Don’t fall for his little, sick trap.”

I forcibly pushed down those ugly, wriggling things from the past and stared back at my uncle as a smile slowly spread across his face.

His eyes flicked over Ramona’s body once again.  “I bet you can get a
rise
out of my nephew real fast… right, chica?”  Again, his chin jutted forth.  I felt my annoyance rise anew.

“A big one, old man, hard and stiff, you know what I mean, right?  And he doesn’t even need one of those little blue pills
² like you…”  She came close to me and put her arm around me, bumping me with her hip.  All I could do was close my eyes and shake my head slowly from side to side. 
Ramona was one crazy bitch!

Uncle Roberto gazed at her through hooded orbs, his lips pursed as if he tasted a fine wine, or maybe he was dreaming what Ramona might taste like.  I couldn’t tell
, because the expression was indeed sexual, but only in part.

“Estefan, you keep this one.  She’s perfect for you.”  Then he laughed, which made me take a step back.  Laughing was not something that Uncle Roberto did, so I wasn’t sure what was coming next.

Ramona tsked.  She felt she didn’t need his approval in any way, shape or form.  In her mind, she knew we were a good match.  Just as the sky was full of stars at night, she knew it was a simple truth.  Orange “Juice” Jones³ had said it best:

“You without me like Corn Flake
4
without da milk!”

I breathed deeply, letting the whole interaction wash away.  “On the real, uncle, why are you here?”  Changing the subject seemed like a good thing, so I went for broke.

He stood a bit straighter and brought his right hand to his neck, glancing left and right, reorienting himself with his surroundings.  With a flourish, he put the duffle bag on the ground.  It clinked and clanked, smacking of things made of metal.  “I come bearing gifts.  And, even though you guys don’t show any respect, I am still willing to give them to you.”  The arrogant Roberto had returned.

I glanced down at the large canvas satchel with interest.  “What’s in it?” I asked, looking from him to the bag a few times.

“It is an insurance policy, nephew.”

I felt the incredulity come back in force.  “What kind?”

My Uncle Roberto’s face lost all expression.  His eyes boring into mine like a drill bit searching for oil.  “The kind that has bullets – bullets that can be pointed at people and kill them…”

Fucken-Ay!  Thi
s demented, drug dealing, whore-mongering, murderer had brought us a bag full of guns!

{ ¹Brylcreem: once a brand of hair styling products for men; was
a
pomade
created in 1928 by County Chemicals at the Chemico Works in Bradford Street,
Birmingham
,
England
.
}

{ ²“little blue pills”: 20
th
and 21
st
century slang, referencing Viagra, an oral medication in the form of a pill; taken to assist men with erectile disjunction. }

{ ³Orange “Juice” Jones: a retired
American
R&B
singer.

{
4
“Corn Flake”: 20
th
century slang; referencing Corn Flakes, a popular
breakfast cereal
originally manufactured by
Kellogg's
.
}

~~~~~~~~~~~~♦~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Summer – 2018)

Protection

“H
ow many of you lazy bit-… bastards are familiar with a gun?” asked my uncle with a condescending leer upon his lips, as he glanced around the table.  He would’ve said “bitches” instead of “bastards”, but when he had looked about and saw there were mostly female faces staring back at him, he changed his mind at the last moment. 
See, even murderers can be chivalrous at times.

I raised my hand a few inches from
the surface of the table.  I felt awkward when I realized I was the only one who had moved.  All the others, including Flavia and Johan, were gazing back at my uncle slightly wide-eyed and nervous.  Tirza was actually biting her lower lip with trepidation.

He gave each of them a once over, a sardonic twist to his lips.  “It figures,” he muttered, then turned his attention toward me.  “How much do you know, baboso?”

“Quite a bit, but mostly handguns, a Beretta 9mm especially,” I answered promptly, keeping my anger in check, despite his insults.

All of the girls’ heads swiveled in my direction.  I could tell they were surprised to hear I had messed with a gun before.  It was a topic I didn’t bring up at the behest of my mother.

“Really?”  He raised his brow in mock surprise.

“Yeah.”

“You about the Safety then, correct?”

He was still acting like an ass, because only a real idiot handled a gun without understanding the importance of the Safety, so I nodded slowly, knowing it was a test.

“And cleaning, you know how to keep a gun clean, chivato?”

“Yes, man, I know how to clean a gun, but better yet I know how to handle a gun before cleaning.  I know how to make sure it isn’t loaded, to check for an errant round in the chamber.  I know how to dissemble it properly and put it back together.  I know what kind of tools and oils and rags to use.  I’ve done it many times.”  I stopped to let him chew on that for a while.

He was still frowning deeply.  A few heartbeats later, “How many times, Estefan?”

“A lot of times,” was all I was going to give him.

“And can you shoot the fucken thing?”  He sounded as though he was getting riled now.

“Yeah, I can shoot it, pretty good from what I’ve been told,” I answered with an innocent smile.

“No way, man!  Who the fuck taught you how to shoot a cuete, you little maricón?  You’re fucken lying to me!  No one taught you how to shoot!”  He was mad now, his face reddening.  The cords on his neck were straining.

“My mom taught me,” I replied slowly, but spoke the moment he stopped.

“Bullshit, Estefan, that’s fucking bullshit,” he waved a meaty hand at me, disgusted, thinking I’d been acting brave in front of the girls, but I hadn’t.

“She did teach me, Roberto,” I began, but he cut me off.

“That’s Uncle Roberto to you, little puto,” he rasped.

“Whatever,” was all I said, sitting back in my chair, slouching, crossing my arms about my chest and shaking my head, annoyed. 
Roberto was, and always would be, a king-sized dick.

We all stayed quiet for nearly two full minutes.  None of the girls so much as shifted in their seats or took drinks of the refreshments they’d brought from the house to keep cool.  They just sat there, either looking down or anywhere
, but at each other or my fucking uncle.

“When did she get a gun, Estefan?” he finally asked.  His voice was calmer, but it was easy to tell he was still pissed off.

I turned to stare at him directly in the face.  “She bought it after she separated from my father and he threatened to come back and beat the shit out of her,” I accused, fully aware that my dad was his biological brother – full blood, no bullshit.

His eyes narrowed.

“And when he did come back, all she had to do was flash him the gun from the window,” I went on, not about to stop now.  “That little piece of shit took off like a dog with its tail between its legs and has never come back.

“By that time, she was already pretty good with the piece.  She went to target practice every weekend, took me along after a while.  She wanted to make sure I learned how to respect the fact that there was a gun in the house, and… to make sure I knew how to use it should my father decide to come back with you guys in tow.  Over time, well... she taught me just about everything she had learned at the range, where she regularly took lessons.”  I shrugged my shoulders.  “So, you can believe me if you want or you can call me a liar.  I don’t give a shit, but I will tell you this.  My dad was lucky he never came back
again, because she would’ve put on right through his forehead before he had come within fifty yards of the front door.”

The silence preceding my little tirade was cacophony compared to what followed when I had finished.  Not only did no one move, they were frozen in place.  I don’t think anyone even breathed.

“Okaaay, Estefan, knows some shit about guns,” he murmured from the back of his throat, making his already rough tones deeper, gruffer.  “And that’s good for me, because I don’t have to sit around here and show all you mamasitas how to pick up a cuete without shooting off one of her pretty polished toenails.  Mr. Big Shot Beretta 9mm can show you all for all I care!”  He stood suddenly and slammed a fist onto the table.

Tirza yelped and Katie cringed from the sound.

Uncle Roberto laughed at them, gazed directly at them and laughed in their faces.  “Such little sweethearts,” he cooed, “I bet you both squeal like that in bed too, huh…?”  He trailed off taking a long, rude sounding inhalation through his nose, making his nostrils vibrate noisily.  “Ooo, I bet you facilonas squeal nice and long underneath a man.  Huh, am I right?”

“Knock it off, man,” I grumbled.  I
’d had enough of his stupid act.  “Get the fuck to the point already.”

Uncle Roberto let his eyes wonder over Tirza and Katie a while longer, a horny smirk written deliberately on his face.  He wanted them to see it.  He wanted them to know he was thinking about fucking them.  He wanted them to know he was dreaming about how they might look without any clothes on.  He didn’t care how old they were or if they had boyfriends.  He wanted them to know he was thinking about his cock sliding into their young pussies.  He wanted them to think about him, whether they liked him or not, he didn’t care.  He just wanted to be in their minds.  That was enough for him.

Then, he placed the duffle bag on the table, and, out of nowhere, was all fucking business.

What a douche!

“Okaaay, pendejos, let’s get down to business, eh?”  It was a rhetorical question.  We didn’t respond to it.  “First things first, ok, I’m going to get you all up to speed on the fucked up shit that is going on out there, so the next time I come over there won’t be some pinche bruto playing video games with a headset on, while the whole time the fucking shades have been left wide open.”

My brother was shrinking as far as he could go into the back of his chair.

“Johan, man, any joto with a potato-gun could’ve taken you out in his sleep,” he explained, crudely, but it was an explanation nonetheless.  “Don’t be so stupid next time.  Those motherfucken NIA motherfuckers are pro’s.  They will take you out big time like that!”  He snapped his fingers with surprising volume, even I sat up straighter.

Johan nodded lamely.

“Ok, ok, forget it, let’s get to it…  So, as you all know, for the past two going on three days the NIA has being raising hell throughout most of northeastern Los Angeles.  From what Juan and I have been able to piece together, from the word on the street, is the Alliance is conducting raids on Muto families from as far south as Lincoln Heights through Highland Park, Garvanza, even as far north as Eagle Rock.  We caught wind of whole families being taken into custody all the way in Atwater Village, which is technically due north of downtown, but they don’t seem to care.  The eastern border of the operation seems to be South Pasadena, but that’s getting out of our specific area of influence, so we can only guess at what is happening beyond that portion of the city.”  He stopped abruptly, glancing from face to face.  “Which one of you is Tirza?” he asked just as suddenly.  A moment later, my ex-girlfriend tentatively raised her hand.

For the first time since having stepped foot on my parents’ property, his face betrayed genuine emotion.  The whole Cholito façade fell away and the true man underneath was revealed.  It was almost as if he were - in his own demented way - apologizing for antagonizing her minutes prior.

Then, just as quickly as it flashed across his face, it faded like a mist before the morning sun.  “Your sister, as I am sure you know, was turned in for the Soplón Money by the yard monitor at her school.”  He said it atonally, methodically, as if he was trying to keep from eliciting emotion from her by speaking without any himself.

I glanced over at Tirza, seeing the tears forming in her eyes.  I shared a look with Ramona and then my cousin, both girls nodded.  I turned back to my ex-girlfriend and motioned for her to join me.

She shook her head in the negative, but her body betrayed her thoughts.  She stood, a little unsteady.

I beckoned her a second time and watched a shudder go through her.  She peered back at me just as the tears fell from her eyes.  Suddenly, she was all motion.  She swept around the table and sat down next to me, her tiny butt fitting perfectly next to mine.  She put her head on my arm.  “Thanks, Effy…”  Her voice was small, lost.

I put a hand on the side of her head, stroking lustrous russet-colored hair as Uncle Roberto cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything beyond that.

“What you might not know, chavala,” he began anew,
his voice deeper now, urging all of us to listen intently, “is that your little sister scared the shit out of those NIA maricones.”

We were riveted, sitting up straighter, brows knitted together, barely remembering
we needed oxygen to stay alive.

“What they are saying is this, chica.  The trauma inflicted upon your sister at being taken against her will, out of her regular routine, seemed to have frightened her so bad, she changed.  Apparently, this ch
ange was so quick, she mutated right there, right in front of all the troopers, and that was when she began to spread fear.”  His eyes went wide, his arms splayed to either side of him.  He was standing now, half bent at the waist.

“How did she make them fear her?” I asked, missing how a fun-loving, autistic tween could scare the battle-hardened motherfuckers from the NIA.

Uncle Roberto’s head swung toward me as he stood, inhaling and stretching to his full height - five foot five.

Yeah, he towered.

“You do remember your cousin, Tita, don’t you, Estefan?” he asked, which made me frown instantaneously, because she wasn’t a topic I had expected to discuss.

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“And do you remember what happened to her?”

“…She became a Troll…,” I mumbled, a sick grimace coming to my face.  I hated saying that about my cousin.  She has always been so nice to me, and so pretty.  It was terrible to think she had turned into some sort of seven-foot beast of a woman, deformed and twisted, her skin ripe with boils and blisters that oozed.

Uncle Roberto nodded, sucking at his upper lip.  “Well, her sister,” he pointed at Tirza, “became something more than a mere Troll…”   The silence that ensued was dramatic.

“W-what h-h-happened?” asked Tirza, her arm involuntarily snaking around mine, her hand gripping by bicep.  It was the grip of
anticipated horror, she knew she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear.

“There are no words for what happened,” my uncle said, which was annoyingly inadequate.  I was about to ask for him to explain in greater detail, when he spoke again: “What she became has no words either, but whatever she
was
–.”  He emphasized the word in the past tense, letting us know that Lisa Cardenas was in fact dead.  “…She managed to take out almost two squads of their shock troops before they were able to take her down.”

Tirza nuzzled the pit of my arm and began to cry in earnest.

I shifted my body, so she could cry on my chest.  I hugged her with both arms, firmly, letting her know I was there.

“Don’t be so sad, chavala,” he soothed in his crass, uncouth manner.  “She killed over forty armed and armored men before she died.  She went out swinging hardcore.  You should be proud to have a hermana who will fight to the very end.  There’s no shame in that.  You remember that, ok?”

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, Tirza nodded nevertheless.

I couldn’t believe it, but I was actually glad my asshole of an uncle had said what he said.  The timing was perfect.

“The consequence of that incident though,” he began again, “is the reason the NIA is capping whole families instead of merely arresting them now.”

“Wait a minute, what are you saying?” asked Ramona, who up to now, had remained content to watch.

My Uncle tipped his head toward her, an eyebrow rising.  “After Tirza’s sister had killed so many of their own, the NIA brass declared that the Muto’s were ‘just too dangerous’ and set a directive giving their troopers full license to kill all those suspected of contamination on sight.”